Showdown in Little Tokyo serves as a wonderful/exacerbating ( I still can’t decide because again..Nostalgia is a helluva drug) tasteless reminder of the fact that no film is apolitical. They are always at the behest of some master(s) and are subject to the master(s) worldview. Even for action movies of the time, this movie is out of pocket, and pumped up on its own drugs of choice, making one narratively irrational choice after another, forgetting plot points, and practically yelling racial epitaphs while claiming it’s actually in love with Japanese culture, but that’s not to say it was alone in this. It’s one of many great examples of just how in love over time whiteness has been with itself, and how long movies served as propaganda in lieu of proof of white superiority. You want to know why people were so incensed at a white man teaching a black man how to eat fried chicken in that “The Coloring book” movie, (a stereotype whites themselves created, because just about everyone loves fried chicken) watch Showdown have its white lead explain the most basic “back of a cereal box” aspects of Japanese culture to a cartoonishly ignorant Johnny Murata, and then at the end of it all have Galactus Drago climb all the way into full on Japanese garb to kick Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa’s ass, cheered on by new girlfriend Tia Carere playing “new girlfriend Tia Carrere”. Okay she has a name but it might as well have been “new girlfriend Tia Carrere”. After getting baby oil all over the very talented, and very much so wasted Tagawa in the midst of their Mortal Kombat (baby oil was the other half of this budget , everyone else was clearly working for coupons from the local Safeway) Lundgren turns to the camera where it is revealed we are now in He-man the movie, and it all makes sense. End credits read…”Now who’s the master?!” ….or at least they might as well have.