I’ll be straight: Charlie’s Angels is dumb but fun, an enjoyably junky summer movie (that happened to come out in fall). Thanks to the beauty of its slo-mo, wire-fu ballet, the movie easily ranks higher than the pretentiously overblown MI:2 and the growingly anemic James Bond franchise.

That could have been enough to say — after all, it’s clearly been critic-proof at the box office and no one’s exactly propping the film up for Oscar honors. But, inevitably, many also want to laud the film for putting some sassy, sexy and smart (though the latter is arguable) women back into the action genre instead of limiting them to playing helpless damsels-in-distress (i.e. MI:2’s waste of Thandie Newton) or vampy femme fatales (i.e. The World Is Not Enough’sSophie Marceau).

Yet Charlie’s Angels is still part of Hollywood’s disingenuous attempt to package a regressive form of pseudo-feminism in the eye candy shell of flashy action and body suits. The "girls" kick ass but they model it too, offering a butt-and-breast-fest that seems targeted for male viewers rather than offering any self-empowering embrace of female sexuality. Duh, you might point out, it’s a Hollywood film and it’s not as if the original TV series was fronting for the ERA either but, in a time where studios can clearly turn out uncompromisingly strong female protagonists (see Girlfight’s Michelle Rodriguez, The Matrix’s Carrie-Anne Moss, hell, even Mulan by comparison), it’s depressing to have to sit through Drew Barrymore’s cloyingly cute, faux vulnerability and Cameron Diaz’s ditzy dalliances and have these be considered role models for young women.

Provided, I’m no young woman but if I had a daughter, I’d be rather insulted to think that the road to female empowerment lies through spandex pants, plunging necklines and identities inextricably filtered through men (Charlie, Bosworth, various boyfriends/lovers). Gimme TV’s Sarah Michelle Gellar (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) or Jessica Alba (Dark Angel) any day as an alternative for women who get to play their characters with some depth.

This, of course, brings us to Lucy Liu.

On the one hand, Alex is far more likable than either Barrymore’s insecure Dylan or the airhead appeal of Diaz’s Natalie and Liu’s blend of brains, brawn and beauty seems strikingly better balanced than those of her peers. At the same time, some of my more cynical friends have convincingly argued that the film’s neo-Orientalist imagery, specifically the massage parlor scene, was created because Liu was cast, working off the logic that she either ameliorates any potential criticism of racial insensitivity and/or else necessitated the inclusion as the lone person of color (i.e. they needed to give her an "ethnic" scene). So what does this make her? Is Liu a positive role model? A negative caricature?

One reason why I’ve refrained from commenting much on Liu at all in my columns is because she’s become Asian America’s most important — and most perilous — media icon simply by being the only one out there. I can’t even remember another API figure who’s attracted as much attention (positive and negative). Maybe Connie Chung, even Nancy Kwan if you want to get old school, but Liu emerges at a time when the so-called GenerAsian is more attuned into media than ever, catapulting Liu from a modest, ensemble player into API’s lone superstar.

But the key word here is "lone." For all the firestorm of debate that Liu inspires, especially among those convinced she’s either our savior or doom, the real issue that should get people passionately up in the arms is the fact that she’s all we get to talk about. That’s why most of the tug-of-war over the value of her image feels myopic and ultimately, unproductive.

What Liu is saddled with is the burden of representation — a term that scholars apply to any prominent API in the media eye — authors (Amy Tan), actors (Russell Wong), musicians (Coco Lee) — who end up shouldering the accountability for being "our" spokespersons whether they asked for the job or not. These kind of entanglements are unavoidable to some degree…we’re so starved for any kind of media representation that we project all sorts of needs and fears onto whoever is out there. As the biggest API icon around, Liu gets hoisted up and dumped on for that very reason but the bigger question isn’t, "what is she doing?" but "why is she the only one who gets to do anything?"

Personally, I’d love to see the day where we can debate Liu’s latest role alongside, say Sandra Oh/Tamlyn Tomita/Sarita Choudhury’s new movie. It’s not as if Liu is any more deserving than other actors out there — it’s just that she’s been blessed (cursed?) with prominence while her peers fight for what little recognition they get. When the playing field is more even then we can debate Liu’s worth in a way that’s meaningful and fair. Let’s not kid ourselves, this has been a century-long fight but if we’re going to make any progress, we can’t let ourselves get sucked into making Liu the only vehicle for our fall or rise.