We Say We Need Asian Stars. Then We Don’t Cast Them.
by Chris Peterson
There’s a question that keeps coming up in the conversations surrounding Maybe Happy Ending, and I can’t stop thinking about it:
“How can Asian actors become bankable stars if no one will give them the opportunities to become bankable stars?”
It’s a cycle that feeds itself, and not in a good way. Producers say they need a star to sell tickets. But who gets to become a star? Who gets to headline the regional production, the Off-Broadway run, the national tour, the Netflix adaptation? Who gets that buzzy New York Times profile? Who gets to fail once or twice and still get another shot?
The answer, far too often, isn’t Asian actors.
When people push back on this, it’s often under the guise of just being practical. Theatres have to sell tickets, right? It’s not personal, it’s financial. But hiding behind commercial caution only reinforces the problem. Because no one is born a star. Star power is created. It's nurtured. It’s risked on. And historically, that risk has rarely been extended to Asian performers.
What’s particularly heartbreaking is that Maybe Happy Ending is exactly the kind of show that should offer a breakthrough. It’s smart, it’s intimate, and it feels explicitly written for Korean characters by a Korean writer(although Hue Park has confirmed that’s not the case). It’s not just a case of authentic casting. It’s an opportunity to shift the narrative. And yet here we are, once again, debating whether Asian actors can sell tickets instead of celebrating their chance to lead.
The comment I hear most often is, “Well, you need a name to sell tickets, and there just aren’t that many Asian actors who can do that.”
But my response is simple: How can we get more Asian stars if they’re not given the opportunities to become stars in the first place?
Star power doesn’t appear out of thin air. If we only hand out those chances to actors who are already household names, we’re not just maintaining the status quo. We’re actively blocking progress.
Let’s be honest. When Jeremy Jordan or Aaron Tveit are cast as romantic leads, we don’t question whether audiences will relate to them. We don’t stop to ask whether their ethnicity will affect ticket sales. We just accept that they’ve been given opportunities to build careers and followings. We let them take up space. We give them the mic.
I believe audiences are capable of embracing new stars if we let them. We’ve seen it happen with breakout performances from artists like Eva Noblezada in Hadestown and Ali Ewoldt in Phantom of the Opera. These actors moved audiences and led major productions with grace, talent, and charisma. But they had to work twice as hard, fight for space, and still rarely get the same level of coverage or career momentum their white peers receive after just one or two leads.
And let’s not forget how often we see white actors being handed leading roles with little to no commercial draw, just a bit of Broadway cred or a strong agent. The double standard is undeniable. Bankability is too often a smokescreen for unconscious bias.
I don’t think most producers or directors are trying to exclude. But we need to start recognizing that neutrality in this system still perpetuates imbalance. Playing it safe often means repeating the same patterns, keeping the same doors closed, and calling it logic.
And the truth is, the industry does have the power to shape public opinion. When a theatre decides to champion a lesser-known actor, invest in their visibility, and frame them as a star, audiences often follow. We’ve seen it time and time again. But that requires intention. That requires trust. That requires vision.
So what’s the answer? Start betting on the talent that’s already here. Cast Asian actors in roles written for them, and in roles that weren’t. Let them lead, fail, rise, and lead again. Give them opening numbers, eleven o’clock numbers, and the keys to the curtain call. Don’t wait until they’re proven. Help prove them.