The Eternals star has a plan to tell better stories in Hollywood.

Gemma Chan’s curriculum vitae spans genres, areas of interest, and even industries: At one point, the Crazy Rich Asians star was a model, and she started out with ambitions of pursuing a legal career. Now, her current status still transcends arbitrary titles: Sure, she’s an actress (her latest role: starring as Sersi, one of the genetically mutated beings in the Chloé Zhao–directed Marvel Studios Eternals film), but she’s also a staunch AAPI-rights activist, consummately community-minded, and now, a producer too. For W’s annual Best Performances issue, Chan talks to Lynn Hirschberg about her very first gig, being painted blue in Captain Marvel, and returning as Sersi in a to-be-announced Marvel movie.

What was your first acting job?

I did a commercial for the now-defunct search engine Bing. I had to learn reams and reams of related words—it was a lot to memorize. The money from that commercial paid for drama school. But sadly, it did not do much for Bing.

Did you have trouble telling your parents that you wanted to be an actor?

Yes. I studied law initially. My parents were immigrants and wanted their child to have a steady profession. Not acting.

After school, you played a dominatrix in Secret Diary of a Call Girl.

That was fun! I’m still friends with most of that cast.

You wore a lot of latex. Did that prepare you for playing Sersi in Eternals?

The latex was comfortable! My costume in the Marvel Universe was much more confining. But still far easier than my first time in the Marvel Universe, when I was famously painted blue in Captain Marvel.
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The actor knew her father had served in the merchant navy, but it wasn’t until she read about Britain’s mistreatment of Chinese seamen in the 40s that she understood just how much his experiences had shaped her family

“Take the rest of the noodles and the pak choi and you can have it for your lunch tomorrow.” My dad pushed the takeaway containers and their remaining contents across the table towards me.

“I’ve got loads of food at mine, why don’t you and Mum keep it?” I protested. I knew he’d insist I take the leftovers with me. This routine would always play out at the end of family dinners once I’d left home and, this time around, it felt both familiar and oddly comforting – because it had been a while since our last dinner.

Well, more than a while. It was spring, last year, and the pandemic had meant that, for months, like most families, we’d only seen one another through our screens. This was the first time in a long while that we’d been able to get together for a meal. We were even legally allowed to hug (if we exercised “care and common sense”!). I had brought champagne to celebrate, and we ordered from the local Chinese takeaway. I’d like to say it was a bid to support an Asian business that had been struggling, like many others, during the pandemic, but – in truth – it was sheer laziness. We’d talked and gorged ourselves on crispy aromatic duck with pancakes, stir-fried king prawns with peppers in black bean sauce, and chow mein with beansprouts. My childhood favourites.

“OK, I’ll take them,” I said, “but my bag’s too small to carry the boxes.” My dad got up from the table and went to the hallway to retrieve his rucksack. He rummaged around inside for a moment and then pulled out a neatly folded plastic bag. Opening it out, he offered it to me. I reached for it and then my hand paused in mid-air as I gawped in disbelief.

“How long have you had this?” I asked in amazement. He shrugged. This was no ordinary plastic bag. Indeed, the bag was not of this millennium.
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