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Lucy Liu Deserves a Renaissance

By Kayleigh Donaldson | Celebrity | January 30, 2025 |

Lucy Liu Getty 1.jpg
Header Image Source: Theo Wargo via Getty Images

There is one moment in Presence where Lucy Liu crumbles and it’s magnificent to watch. In Steven Soderbergh’s ghost story, told from the perspective of the spirit haunting a suburban family home, Liu is consistently good as the workaholic mother who ignores her daughter’s grief and favours her bratty jock son. But in a film where its squandered potential is evident in many ways, it’s all too evident that Liu just hasn’t been given enough to do. When she gets that brief scene to throw herself into emotionally, it’s a reminder that she’s frequently had to do a lot with a little.

Everyone knows who Lucy Liu is. She was one of Charlie’s Angels. She was the scene-stealing b*tch in Ally McBeal. Outkast crowned her as the ultimate hot girl alongside Beyoncé in ‘Hey Ya!’ Fry dated a robot version of her in Futurama. She helmed seven seasons of Elementary, has appeared in three Kung Fu Panda movies, and led the Crazy 88 in Kill Bill: Volume 1. For over 30 years, Liu has been a mainstay of film and TV, one of the most prominent Asian American actresses of her generation, and as far as I can tell, a universally liked figure with fans and the industry alike. By all standards, she has a great career and has made it. Yet I still can’t shake the feeling that she deserves more than what she’s been given.

Liu broke out in Ally McBeal, the dramedy about horny lawyers that became an unexpected cultural touchstone in the late ’90s. As Ling Woo, the spiky and ruthless lawyer who was the antithesis of the spunky optimist Ally, Liu was one of the few Asian female characters on network TV at the time. Showrunner David E. Kelley wrote the role specifically for Liu and she was a huge hit with audiences, even though she was the undisputed villain. Woo was cold, cruel, tyrannical, and kind of terrifying. She hated everyone and thought she was better than them, which she probably was. Liu was a big hit, even if Woo inspired as much derision as excitement.

Much like how Ally McBeal became the fevered focus of discussions on whether or not she was ‘good for women’, Ling Woo attracted a lot of critical attention for the stereotypes of Asian women she embodied. For a mostly white show, having your antagonistic b*tch character be the only Asian in the room who was a ‘dragon lady’ was, well, a lot. But Liu made Woo sharp and oddly appealing. She made being the bad girl look fun, especially compared to the oft-flaky Ally and the neurotic lawyers around them. It was clear that Liu was destined for greatness beyond the small screen. Then along came Charlie’s Angels, which let her be an action maven.

There are a lot of action movies in Liu’s filmography, which is highly erratic but without any long gaps. She keeps working, whether it’s voiceover work in those Tinkerbell movies, headlining one/two season network shows such as Dirty Sexy Money and Cashmere Mafia, or notorious flops such as Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever, that rare beast: a movie with a 0% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. It’s an admirable back-catalogue for any actor just in terms of consistent paydays and visibility, but it was sorely lacking in real opportunities for Liu to do more.

This is why I think Elementary was her greatest work. As Dr. Joan Watson, the sober companion turned co-detective of Sherlock Holmes, she got to display all of her strengths in a complex role that rose to her level. She was never Sherlock’s subordinate (or his love interest, which was one of the smartest decisions the showrunners ever made), and he also respected Watson in ways that other Holmes adaptations often dismiss. A lot of the time, she was the one in charge. Joan was pragmatic and could be blunt but also had the delicacy and empathy required to be a good detective, qualities her partner frequently lacked despite himself.

And remember, when she was cast, she faced a barrage of racism and sexism from the press and fans of that other modern-day Holmes series. It seemed beyond comprehension to these chumps that a decades-old story that has been adapted countless times (and whose author did not care about how his work was reinterpreted) could be changed to include someone like Liu.

For what it’s worth, Liu has expressed satisfaction with her career choices, telling The Guardian earlier this year, ‘I’m interested in working with people that I like, and I think that’s happened more and more.’ Being an Asian American actor, she says, has ‘never been an incoming-call business. Sometimes it has been, but it’s very rare, so it’s still a journey where you have to look at the project, see what makes sense.’ Doing big dumb movies like Red One allows her the financial security to dedicate time to her acclaimed art career and being a parent. She’s now in her 50s and has really done it all, often in the face of outright jackassery, such as when she had to deal with the grossness of Bill Murray during the production of the first Charlie’s Angels movie. She should be proud of her work.

Still, as a fan, I can’t help but hope for a director to really take a chance on her with a meaty role that gives her something unexpected to do. Imagine seeing Liu in a film by Marielle Heller or Lee Isaac Chung. I want to see her in projects that play around with that steeliness she made her name on. Soderbergh kind of got there but nowhere near as much as we craved. Watching an oft-underrated actor get their renaissance is one of the most satisfying things in modern pop culture, and I think Lucy Liu deserves it. So, where’s the Liu-naissance?