Electric Cinema: Women in Film
The first rendition of ‘Women in Film’ started on cozy beanbags while sipping on some sweet rosé. I was unsuspecting of the depth to which my thoughts and emotions would be stirred that evening. The theme was to explore womanhood from the viewpoint of women—an idea quizzically estranged from us more often than not. As I followed the journeys of these women I was reminded of my own awakening to the different role I play as a female. I remember the look of disbelief on my friend’s face when I told her that I would probably forgive a cheating partner, late into my teenage years. I believed it was a matter of strength and perseverance, and it was the norms of my world. Life moved on, and so did we. It wasn’t a matter of financial or emotional dependency, from the women I witnessed they often had both. It was an idea that had quietly permeated my own core and ideals, and I translated betrayal as a precursor to love and forgiveness. How removed I was from myself. Watching Ava DuVernay’s stunning film, Middle of Nowhere (2012) and the powerful letter she writes to her husband at the end of the film reminded me of my own tendencies to afford lingering loyalty at the expense of the self. As I watched the powerful narratives, of women by women, I was struck by just how essential these moments of genuine connection are for us. If I had not realized it before, I would have realized it right there in that fluffy beanbag, that my worth was more than how well I complemented others. People need other people, this is an undeniable truth throughout my life, but women through women is another dimension altogether. It is rough and unapologetic, it is sensitive and protective.
Soft Duality was by the French Louise Pezet working and thriving in Seoul. Her psychedelic visual melded powerful women in their respective worlds. Their different tropes from their different narratives was subverted by transforming the clips to their negatives, beckoning me to question the underlying message and ideas on which these women were portrayed. Who were these women beyond their story lines, and from which point of view were they created? In the negative, these characters lost their physical characteristics but endowed them with distinct personas too easily reduced in female character development.
Mrs. Housewife (2013) and Black Water (2016) are visual performances by Ji Sung Eun, a Korean artist, actor and director. The two works shook up the traditions associated with marriage and death, and what it means to be a good wife. The first depicted the artist following the various steps of how bridal lessons go—teaching women how to perform roles to such specificity that she becomes a robot. It is eerie how she smiles and she bows, her exaggerated movements suggesting how much she yearns to break out but continues to do so within the shell society has crammed her in. Each step is dictated and picture perfect, from her beauty routine to comforting her crying child, so tightly guarded that it is predictable she will live by this unspoken manual till death do her part. It was also interesting how there was no oppressor present, questioning who exactly was driving her to live this way. “Black Water” also dived into the theme of marriage and death, reversing the roles by merging these two ‘events’ together. The ominous black figure continues to trail the subject throughout the performance beginning at her wedding, until he seemingly dies behind a memorial table. Here, she throws the bouquet over her shoulder to where he stands, removing herself from him and giving him permission to wed someone else. She walks off powerfully, hands on her hip, but is soon closely trailed by another entity as she walks off stage. It draws closer and closer until it follows her by the heel, a demon that cannot be exorcised but becomes a shadow to everything she does while the figure she left behind watches on.
Farewell examines the lingering affects of violence and abuse in those closest to us and the aching desperation with which the children want to remove their burden. Directed by Wei Ping Leong, a mother has gone missing and escapes to a motel. The son seeks her out and tries to convince her to come home. The story fleets between their memory of the abusive father and the young man she sees before her. In one of the final scenes, the large suit that he wore to act as his father, and the guns and roses placed in the briefcase suggest the love and loss of her relationship to her abuser. The son compares her memory to falling autumn leaves, suggesting that she too is beginning to shed her trauma but also has a tinge of melancholic regret—our mothers are aging too, their hardships hardened in them. In their loneliness, they enter a winter solstice.
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(Disclaimer: All interpretations of the films are personal opinions of the writer and may or not be the intended meaning by the creators. Images are screenshots from the films.)
