The closing credits for Ten Times Better are rolling on my computer screen and I realize that I have tears running down my face.
I am surprised by my reaction as Jennifer Lin’s documentary about George Lee isn’t inherently sad. It’s simply that I find myself so invested in the ups and downs of the story (I imagine my own Chinese descent has something to do with this) in such a way that has my emotions, almost instantaneously, physically reflecting what I see.
Ten Times Better
I get chills from the pure joy that radiates from Lee’s shining eyes and wide contagious smile whether captured in photographs of him dancing or filmed while speaking about his love for the art.
I am heartbroken to hear about the tragic death of George’s father (a polylingual Chinese acrobat) during his efforts to reunite with his wife and son at the end of World War II.
I feel empathetically anxious for Lee and his mother whose long path from Hong Kong to the United States has more twists than expected.
I am both in awe and indignant that Balanchine chose Lee and created the male solo in his Nutcracker‘s “Tea” for him and then ultimately didn’t invite the then-student to join New York City Ballet because he was – supposedly – too short.
I am impressed that the likes of André Eglevsky and Gene Kelly took notice of Lee’s ballet and Broadway talents, taking him under their wings and casting him in their shows.
I get goosebumps when listening to the outpouring of praise, respect, and attention George receives from fellow artists at a reunion.
Yet it is when Lee shares so matter of factly (about 23 minutes in) that after a wonderful performing career, “I sort of disappear quietly” that I feel a heavy drop in my stomach.
From the beginning of her film, Lin establishes the significance of Stanislawa Lee in the shaping of the young boy, both in dance and in character. His love for and dedication to her is unwavering.
At 5, George is taking class with his mom who is a semi-soloist with the Warsaw Opera and upon realizing his innate skills and passion for ballet, Stanislawa insists that one day the family will go to America and that her son will be a dancer – with one caveat: that he “gotta be ten times better” than his non-Asian colleagues.
(Ultimately, the pair land in Brooklyn, New York when a friend of George’s father sponsors them, yet their journey across the pond takes many years thanks to world and regional wars.)
In the denouement, the eyes once filled with joy now swell with tears, each drop encapsulating the gratitude Lee feels for his mom. I want to hug him. And then I realize why I, too, am on the verge of crying.
Because I am grateful for him.
On April 20, 2025, at the age of 90, George Lee passed away of heart disease, his story finally out from underneath scratchy film footage and dust-covered Life magazines, all thanks to Lin’s investigative research and creativity.
And it is with this realization – which triggers a feeling of great relief – that the tears slide down my cheeks to the rhythm of the Blue Bird variation music accompanying the end titles.
Please do yourself a favor and watch Ten Times Better on PBS’s American Masters Shorts series to see historic footage of George dancing in the studio and performing on stage. In just under thirty minutes, Lin will take you on a beautiful ride that will have you wanting to return again and again.
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Featured Photo of George Lee dancing in Flower Drum Song at the Thunderbird Hotel from his personal collection. Photo courtesy of Jennifer Lin, director of Ten Times Better.
