Transcript of Jon M.Chu’s Speech At USC Commencement 2025

And she said, lucky for me, she is not into athletes. She’s more into middle-aged Asian guys with dad bods, so… And now she’s married to a doctor, so you’re welcome, babe.

We’ve got five kids, a 7-year-old, a 5-year-old, a 3-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a 6-month-old. So she deserves all the applause, yes. And I am excited to have my family here at USC, because this place means so much to me.

USC Memories

Every inch of the campus holds a memory, or three chapters of my time here that built the pieces of who I am today. My freshman year, I lived over at Mark’s Tower. Yeah. This is Mark’s Tower. That’s great. I’d spend Thursday nights at Trattie’s, where I learned I was allergic to alcohol. Tuesday nights at the Pasta Roma, where I learned I love carbs, the beginning of my dad bod.

And I even snuck into the Oscars when they had them at the Shrine. I made a fake pass, Kinko’s, laminated. They can’t take this away from me, right? Okay.

The cinematographer of my student film, Alice Brooks, just shot my latest film, Wicked, 22-plus years, yes, 22-plus years from when we had our first coffee at Starbucks, right across the street.

And I know you’re eager to get out into this world, but this campus will always feel like home to you when you return. So take it in tonight. Look at how beautiful you are. You made it. Look at all your loved ones around you, or texting you. They made it too. And they know all your flaws. They know everything you did, and they still like you. That’s pretty good. In fact, they love you. And one day you’ll need to remember that.

A Generation Facing Unprecedented Challenges

In prepping for today, I have to admit, I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Like a lot, a lot. About what you’ve been through. COVID. Oh, thank you. Oh, COVID, financial crisis, environmental catastrophes, and yet you made it through. You’ve managed to stay the course and get it done. We’re proud of you. We’re all proud of you.

And now you have a bigger task ahead, tasks that I, as a storyteller, have no idea how to give you advice on. I kept thinking, why am I the commencement speaker this year? They should get a world leader, an inventor, get Will Ferrell back. I agree. I agree. Well, you’re stuck with the guy who directed Step Up to the Street, so, uh. And the more I thought about you, the more I think, that’s great, there’s some Moose fans out there. Okay.

The more I think some of the lessons in my life may actually help you on your journey. Because our worlds are colliding, no matter what industry or discipline you’re in. Our futures are linked. And there’s an urgency to be really real with you, so that you are prepared.

Because I believe your generation faces a task more profound than perhaps any generation before. I know you feel it. And I want to acknowledge that this is not normal. It is not just you being paranoid, it’s true. You are being asked not just to navigate a changing world, but to fundamentally define who we will become in the face of unprecedented technological, cultural, and political shifts. Your job is not simply to inherit a world, but to reimagine it and set the foundation for who we are moving forward.

Because we’re living in a moment when those old stories of who we are and what we stand for are breaking down. It feels like fear, blame, and division dominate our airwaves, overwhelming the space where our dreams used to live. Surviving instead of thriving.

But here’s the thing, this isn’t necessarily cause for despair. In fact, it’s a moment of profound opportunity. Because when the old stories fall apart, it means it’s time to write a new one.

My Story Begins at Chef Chu’s

My story starts at a little Chinese restaurant in Los Altos, California called Chef Chu’s. Oh, some of you have eaten there, I see, yes. My parents started, who are here tonight, they’re over there. My parents started in 1969, and it’s still open today, 56 years later. They’re there every day. Comfort food at comfortable prices. My dad, who’s 82, still works there every day, and they are living the embodiment of the American dream.

They moved here from Taiwan, and to them, America is the greatest story of the world. Their English was limited when they arrived, but they loved Elvis, and The Beatles, and Dean Martin. And they had five kids, I’m the youngest, and they wanted us to be like the Kennedys. So they dressed us alike, and even would call me John John.

And they loved movies. Like movies on all the time at the house. For context, this was a Reagan’s 80’s America, where Steven Spielberg and George Lucas were filling us with wonder. Michael Jackson made us believe we could float. Michael Jordan was proving we could actually fly. And Steve Jobs was my hometown hero.

But the timeless American fairy tale that played in our household was Wizard of Oz. And my parents instilled in us that if we just follow the yellow brick road, faith, discipline, hard work, and loved what we did, then the American dream would lead us to the wizard who would grant us our heart’s desire.

And as the ultimate host at their restaurant, my parents loved being part of the American fabric. John John, we might be the first Chinese family these customers have ever met. We must not just fill their bellies, but fill their hearts, so that the next time they meet a Chinese family, they will give them more respect. We’re ambassadors, they’d say. Okay mom, whatever.

The pinnacle of the year would be when we’d gather around the TV and watch the Academy Awards, the Oscars. These Hollywood people were beautiful, cultural leaders, fashion icons, untouchable to normal human beings. And when they spoke, the world stood in applause. Oftentimes my parents would actually applaud right in the living room as well. But to actually get to Hollywood, that was a far, far cry from the restaurant booth I do my homework in. We had zero connections into this world, and to me the gates were so high it didn’t look like they let anyone in, let alone anyone who looked like my family.

Finding My Lens

And then one day, I found the lens, in the form of a little Sony camcorder. And it changed me. The moment I looked into the viewfinder, that little tubular eyepiece you put your eye against to see what the lens sees, everything around my vision dimmed to darkness. And only a small frame of light appeared. My hyper mind became calm and silent. Time slowed down, a surrender to the present. And through this little frame of

…light, I found moments. Moments that I couldn’t see otherwise. Details about life, my dad grabbing the hand of my mother, my brother’s long legs leaping from the stairs, a close-up of my sister’s eyes opening wide while she watched my other sister open a birthday gift. And it felt like my secret. But when I would play back on the TV, it felt like I could share my secret, as if they were right there within my own eyes.

And they would actually yell at the screen, at me, as if they were right there. They’d say, move the camera down, John, stop moving, you’re giving us a headache. But they were with me. This thing was conjuring empathy. I had never experienced a tool as powerful as this. It just kept making me more curious at what else I could do.

So I edited a family vacation video together with music and sat my parents down in the living room to watch. The moment they saw us on the bright screen, their eyes locked in. A few moments later, they teared up. They saw our family as the American dream fulfilled. Their dream passed on to us, now on the screen. Like a Gene Kelly musical. Everything they had hoped for, I could make believe, existed. And I was hooked.

Interestingly, we didn’t just see that family on the TV. We also became that family on the TV. My parents already knew the information. We went on the vacation, we did all the things in the itinerary, but what makes them still talk about that vacation today was what they felt when they watched that video. One image of us gave us worth that set the narrative for who we are for the rest of our lives.

This was a revelation. A random clip can turn into an organized story, that can turn into an emotional reaction that causes empathy, that can then cause action on the part of the viewer. This is even more important in today’s world and something that really compelled me to communicate to you this evening. Because while knowledge is now accessible to anyone with AI, within seconds, gaining understanding and empathy is more elusive and now more valuable.

The Battleground of Modern Storytelling

And some already know this. Some already know this and it’s become a business. Today’s storytelling is both our greatest hope and our biggest battleground. Everyone from marketers to politicians to AI itself is competing for control over narratives. Whoever tells the best story holds the power. Your ability to understand, interpret, and ultimately shape stories is critically important no matter what you want to do or how you want to live your life.

When I started making films in high school, I was the only video guy on the campus. Now every kid in America has a phone and knows how to edit and that’s a big change with big consequences. It’s not enough to passively consume content anymore. We must become active interpreters and thoughtful creators. We must have enough story grammar to discern truth from falsehood, authenticity from manipulation, and real empathy from performative emotions.

Machines can analyze data, predict patterns, even create art, but they cannot authentically feel or intuitively connect. In whatever field you are in, your power to convey information in ways that emotionally connect will be more valuable than we even currently acknowledge.

So I urge you to embrace your understanding of story, even beyond your comfort zone, because I believe it’s the only way the groundbreaking ideas you plan to bring to this world will truly land and endure.

Rejecting the Finality of Identity

I know you are graduating, you know who you are, you mastered your major, and you are on the verge of becoming the answer to the age-old question, what do you want to be when you grow up? Well, I recommend you reject that question completely. It feels like, thank you, that guy definitely rejected that question. It feels like a final definitive form, but the very nature of growth is change. What do you want to be while you’re growing? Now that’s a question.

I think if you’re doing it right, every day you’re becoming more finely tuned to the truth of who you are. Like musicians in a symphony, you’ll find your life’s themes recurring in new keys, old wounds transforming into new gifts, and relationships shifting and deepening over time or falling apart. And that’s okay. That is not a mistake, that’s a work in process.

Your job isn’t to solve yourself, it is to learn to play your notes with increasing honesty and complexity. You will change sooner and more than you can even imagine right now, and so will your closest friends. So give them grace to do it, and I hope they give you the same.

Redirecting Imagination

And coming out of college when I was sitting where you are tonight, I was terrified about where to start, but what I did know was that I didn’t want to talk about me being Asian. I had spent my whole life just trying to fit in so my friends wouldn’t make Asian jokes, or that the only films said to me wouldn’t be ones about China. I didn’t want to be an Asian filmmaker, I just wanted to be a filmmaker.

But I heard a quote, “Worry is the misuse of imagination,” and it rocked me. Worry is the misuse of imagination. We think so deeply about what can go wrong, we leave no room for the imagination of what happens when it all goes right. And if we can redirect that imagination towards creation, we stop merely performing inherited scripts and start authoring our own.

And your true legacy isn’t something you’re going to leave behind, it’s the harmful pattern you recognize and change. Or as Steve Jobs would say, the dent in the universe.

Finding My Cultural Identity

That whirlwind of emotions was where I was at when the movie Crazy Rich Asians came into my life. A movie I made to confront the scariest thing I have ever known, my own cultural identity crisis. I wanted to make a movie about Asian characters that were beautiful, hilarious, materialistic, quirky, ambitious, sexy, powerful, in all the ways, flaws and all, that American movies had never painted us before.

The data folks in Hollywood saw no upside, no audience history for a rom-com led by the Asian diaspora. So I used my storytelling pitching skills to convince them to do it. And did I know things would change? No. But my imagination was already spinning with the possibility, not the worry.

And personally I had felt the urgent pull to do this at about the age of 38. After I met my wife, all my priorities changed. But also we were about to have our first child, my daughter Willow, who’s also here tonight. And I had to turn the viewfinder back onto myself and ask the question, when I look through that lens, am I proud of who I see? What was I still hiding as we were ushering a new life into this world?

I wanted her to be proud of her heritage, her skin, her hair, to know how beautiful every part of her is. And yet was I? And I wanted to know the long line of kick-ass women that came before her that was in her blood. My ana, my bubu, my popo, my mom, and my wife.

Truthfully, having made many movie sequels up to that point, I had lost my optimism. I felt like I wasn’t becoming the filmmaker I always thought I was capable of. I felt like no one wanted to listen to what I actually was, so it made me feel like an imposter.

But somehow I looked back at that American Dream story that my parents believed in so deeply, that Wizard of Oz fairy tale of the yellow brick road and the wizard waiting for us, and it dawned on me. The story has changed. And I wanted better for my daughter.

Even though I’d done everything I was asked to do, maybe the yellow brick road was never made for us in mind. Maybe there was no man behind the curtain waiting to help us. Maybe what we thought was home never thought we even lived here.

Suddenly memories I had forgotten since I was a kid came rushing back. “Go back to your country!” I remember being yelled at outside the Tower Records. “Don’t forget to stick with your race,” was whispered to me by a teacher. I used to laugh that off, and I’m honestly glad I did, because I don’t think I could have processed it. But suddenly it was all crashing in on me, and I felt compelled to make a story about someone who was Asian but all-American going to Asia for the first time to confront these feelings of inadequacy in country. And rather than financial worth, it

was going to be self-worth, and finding one’s cultural generational center in a world of new rules defined by the generation itself. A new generation could still self-love and self-care, but sacrifice it all for another if we chose to. We still had the guts and determination of our ancestors, even if we ordered from Uber Eats. I mean, I already signed up for the membership, so I have to order from there.

One of my longtime producers said to me while I was shooting, “I can see the dragon rising in you.” And that made me smile, because deep down I knew it was true. I was becoming a father, and that meant getting my stories straight.

Two weeks after finishing the shoot for Crazy Rich Asian, Willow was born. Stevie Wonder played the moment she took her first breath. “It feels like this is the beginning, though I’ve known you for a million years,” he sings. No lyrics could be more true.

Changing the Narrative

For Crazy Rich Asians, we resisted going with a streaming company because we felt like putting this movie on the big screen would tell a story in itself, that the people that look like this cast are worth your time and money to buy a ticket to a theater, something Hollywood hadn’t quite done yet. And we felt like it’s not just the movie, but the campaign itself could tell that story, and if the movie was actually funny and romantic and emotionally poignant, then we could change the narrative around what people thought when they looked at an Asian family. We could be ambassadors. And maybe Asians could be seen as what studio execs like to call “wish fulfillment” or “aspirational.”

And it worked. We set the temperature and the weather changed, and I was proud to call myself an Asian-American filmmaker. It became not only the first all-Asian Hollywood studio movie cast in 25 years, but was the highest grossing romantic comedy in a decade. It became a box office juggernaut, changed the landscape of what studios were willing to do, and since then, incredible Asian filmmakers, writers, actors, producers have been flourishing, making the studio lots a lot of money.

The Tree of Resilience

Now, when I started in this business, I made a painting. It was called “Resilience.” It was in my living room. It was a tree with empty branches, and every time something good happened, I would paint a little leaf on it. And this continued until, well, I moved apartments. It was too big to move, and it wasn’t very pretty, so I left it. But before I threw it out, I did paint the tree just to feel complete.

It will take many leaves for you to feel full-ish, but it will be worth the journey. Trees lose their leaves every year, yet they stand tall and wait for better days. I saw that on a meme on someone’s Insta story. I thought, this is so dumb, but so true. So I gave it to you guys.

Finding Home

So, this year with Wicked, I got my first real, real invitation to the Oscars. No Kinkos. And as the movie was nominated for 10 awards that night, including Best Picture, I wore emerald green, sitting fourth row next to Michelle Yeoh and my wife, and as we sat there waiting for the show to begin, I remember feeling so calm. More calm than at any industry party where I feel like I need to prove my membership. Here I was surrendered. Full breaths. Fully present.

And as I looked around, I felt like the whole room darkened like it did when I would look through that viewfinder. My wife nervously tapping her heel on the seat. Jeff Goldblum’s wide eyes as he’s humming to himself behind me. He does that. Demi Moore gracefully sliding to her seat. It felt like silence.

And Michelle grasped my hand. Just one year earlier, she had won her Best Actress Oscar, breaking the glass ceiling for Asian women in Hollywood. Yeah. And she grasped my hand. She’s the one who grasped my hand.

And then the drapes ascended, and a rainbow appeared. An Ariana Grande in ruby red. Our Galinda, the good. Glowing effervescently through the scrim. And then the music began. And I knew I was home. Not at the Oscars, but deep within myself. And she sang, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Way up high. There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby. Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue. And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.”

Your Extraordinary Story

And I clicked my heels three times, and I’m back down to earth right here with you at the Coliseum on your big day. In the shadow of greatness. And with my daughter existing in a world where Cynthia Erivo’s Elphaba defies gravity. And I get the honor of speaking to 50,000 of you dreamers. As a filmmaker, and a father. A far cry from that silly immature boy who avoided the Coliseum all those years ago.

I know we are supposed to say conquer, win, be the best. But I’ve seen the other side of the rainbow. And nothing is better than knowing you’ve lived a great story. I hope you get to.

And as I wrote this speech, I had a hard time figuring out what to say to close things out. But as a parent, I realized all I wanted to say to you was what I would say to my daughter as she goes off into the world. And that is this.

You have an extraordinary story. Every single one of you. And I deeply, deeply believe in you. You will go through tough times. Terrifying times even. But your beautiful brain will figure out creative ways to get out of it. And your ferocity will get you through it. You will feel deep love. And deep heartache. And you will have profound questions. Many that never get answered. The greatest gift that God gives you. And I hope that you embrace every single one of them. Those moments. Because they are all reminders that you are alive.

And just so you know, that American dream, I think it does exist. It does. And it’s not just an American dream. I think it’s a world dream. It’s just that there’s more than one road to get there. And many are being paved right now as we speak. And I will do everything in my power, everyone here and everyone in the stands too, to ensure that they remain there when you arrive. So that you too can feel like you’re home.

Fight on, Class of 2025. Truly, fight on!

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