Tired of being cast as gymnasts or great table tennis players, the women behind new sitcom Chinese Burn shaved their heads and came out fighting

‘Chinese girls,” says the voiceover. “Sweet, innocent, submissive Chinese girls. Conservative and virginal – good at maths, ping pong and looking after men.” The voice is accompanied by a sequence of appropriate images: a gymnast, an engineer, a table tennis player. Then we suddenly hear the sound of a needle scratching across a record and an unruly voice spits: “Screw that! Here are three Chinese girls who kick that shit in the ballbag!”

Which is pretty much the premise of Chinese Burn, a caustic sitcom in the style of Fleabag. Its ballsy leads – Jackie, Elizabeth and Fufu – are on a mission to shake up the way east Asian women are perceived.

“We’re not the other,” says Shin-Fei Chen, who co-wrote the show and plays Elizabeth. “We have similar goals and dreams and failures and fuck-ups.” Yennis Cheung, her fellow writer who stars as Jackie, agrees: “Chinese women are never portrayed as ambitious, but we are. We want to work, we want to make it in other countries. We’re going to be OK.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Thwarted sommelier … Chinese Burn’s Elizabeth played by Shin-Fei Chen. Photograph: Nicky Cooke/BBC/Roughcut Television Ltd/Nicky Cooke

They certainly don’t pull any punches with their characters. Aspiring actor Jackie has a half-shaved head and only dates white guys. Elizabeth calls herself a “failed Chinese daughter” and wants to be a sommelier, but is reduced to walking the streets dressed as a giant cup, to promote Taiwanese bubble tea. Fufu, meanwhile, is a kooky Buddhist fashion student with way too much cash. “We’re Chinese girls in London, bitches,” they chant as the opening credits flash by in shocking pink on electric yellow. “You’re gonna love us long time.”

The series starts with Fufu arriving unannounced at Elizabeth and Jackie’s London flat, explaining that Elizabeth’s parents “said it would be OK”. To which Jackie fumes: “Fucking Chinese parents.” We then follow the trio as they each try to make it in the big city, along the way dealing with their casually racist landlady, highly groomed Asian men chatting them up in pubs, and a series of condescending white people who call them cute, Lucy Liu, or address them in Japanese.

This is all drawn from life. Cheung came to the UK from Hong Kong in 2006, as a rising pop star signed to Sony, with a background in classical opera. Chen, meanwhile, grew up in San Jose, California, studying business before moving to the UK to attend the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. The pair met about five years ago at an audition: the role called for little red dresses – and Chen came out of the bathroom with hers tucked into her granny pants.

In every TV role I’ve had, I’ve had to wear a cheongsam. I don't even own one in real life!

“All the other actresses were silent,” she says, “but Yennis was like, ‘Oi, your dress!’” They’ve worked together ever since, writing, doing shoots and even presenting annual dinners in Chinatown. “We’re the Asian Poehler and Fey,” says Chen.

British TV is not exactly overrun with shows boasting a three-dimensional east Asian female lead, let alone three, which makes Chinese Burn feel not just funny but important. “In every TV role I’ve had, I’ve had to wear a cheongsam,” says Cheung, referring to the one-piece Chinese dress. “Neither of us even own one in real life!”

The pair effortlessly rattle off a long list of roles they’re expected to play on screen, from takeaway workers to submissive girlfriends and illegal immigrants. Cheung tends to get the badass, Chen the reporter, the office girl or the lawyer. “I’ve never been offered a fully rounded east Asian character,” says Cheung.

Of course, as comedians, the pair write primarily for the laugh. And laughs they find, not just in all the racial stereotyping they’ve experienced, but also in the perspective being away from home gives. Drawing as much on British comedies (Benny Hill, Mr Bean, Monty Python and W1A) as on Hong Kong slapstick (Stephen Chow’s Shaolin Soccer and Kung Fu Hustle), their writing is a compelling mix of physical comedy, barely contained Superbad-style rage and fast banter.

When Fufu, played by Yuyu Rau, asks after Elizabeth’s banker boyfriend, Jackie quickly sets her straight. “Ollie dumped her on WhatsApp and now she sleeps with randoms.” Cue a nameless white guy slinking out of the flat, on the phone to his wife.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Highly-groomed Asian men chat up the trio in pubs … Chinese Burn. Photograph: Nicky Cooke/BBC/Roughcut Television Ltd/Nicky Cooke

One of the funniest scenes sees Elizabeth, the thwarted sommelier, walking past a couple ordering wine in a French restaurant. Clad in her padded turquoise teacup costume, with a giant pink and gold straw sprouting from her head, she bangs madly on the window and yells: “Choose the 2009! The health of Burgundian grapes in 2009 was exceptional!”

The waiter hurriedly excuses himself and steps outside. “I told you before, stop coming here!” he barks and shoves her over. As she rolls to the ground, he gives her a kick – and her costume’s cheery bubble tea jingle starts up. “You know one day I’m going to be a famous sommelier,” screams Elizabeth, flailing around on the pavement unable to get up. “Don’t you know that Chinese people are the best at everything? We’re taking over the world!”

The scene ends with Elizabeth letting out a roar of fury and giving him – and the world at large – the finger (both hands). Cheung and Chen readily acknowledge the freedom they’ve had as female comedians, something they would never have had in China. “Actresses still generally play certain roles,” says Cheung. “The romantic interest, or making men look good, laughing at their jokes. There is no way that we would have been able to do a show like this. For a Chinese girl to joke about sex in China means she must be a slut or perverted.”

The show, they’re fairly certain, will not appeal to all Chinese men. But they’re not remotely bothered. They just want Chinese audiences to at least find it authentic. “When you see someone fall,” says Cheung, “it’s funny. You forget they’re from a different culture. Making people laugh is universal.”