The vengeful woman and the changing face of Asian… | Little White Lies

Women In Film

The venge­ful woman and the chang­ing face of Asian hor­ror cinema

22 Jun 2016

Words by Amandas Ong

Two individuals, one holding a gun, in a dark, lush environment.
Two individuals, one holding a gun, in a dark, lush environment.
Will this endur­ing trope become obso­lete as we move towards a less gen­dered worldview?

What’s with the red eye shad­ow?” asks the ex-cell­mate of Lee Geum-Ja, the pro­tag­o­nist of Park Chan-wook’s Sym­pa­thy for Lady Vengeance, when they cross paths months after being released from prison. Geum-Ja replies: I don’t want to look kind-hearted.”

Armed with her red shad­ow, which she wears almost like war paint, Geum-Ja goes on to take revenge on the man who is respon­si­ble for her wrong­ful incar­cer­a­tion. In the process, she shat­ters the stereo­type of the good, whole­some woman that’s all too often trot­ted out in oth­er gen­res in East Asian cin­e­ma. But Geum-Ja is not alone: she joins a mot­ley crew of oth­er char­ac­ters – ghouls, assas­sins and vam­pires – in demon­strat­ing what it means to por­tray female aggres­sion and pow­er on screen.

More recent­ly, Japan­ese pro­duc­tion com­pa­ny Kadokawa Daiei arranged for a wide­ly watched base­ball match to be inter­rupt­ed by actress­es play­ing Sadako and Kayako, the female ghosts of the much-hyped Ringu and Ju-On series. This was part of a num­ber of pro­mo­tion­al events that were staged in antic­i­pa­tion of a crossover film to be released lat­er this month. Tap­ping on their respec­tive nation­al folk­lore, Hong Kong, Japan, and Korea have long estab­lished them­selves as some of the best and most ter­ri­fy­ing mak­ers of hor­ror films (which sub­se­quent­ly find their way into the­atres out­side of the region, cour­tesy of the inevitable Hol­ly­wood remake). A dis­pro­por­tion­ate­ly large num­ber of these films, how­ev­er, revolve around the venge­ful woman” trope. What exact­ly is it about female sub­ver­sion that lends itself so well to East Asian cin­e­ma, and is there an expla­na­tion for its endur­ing appeal?

There is a remark­able con­sis­ten­cy with­in East Asia when it comes to the depic­tion of maligned women seek­ing revenge. They are often vic­timised by their bio­log­i­cal qual­i­ties, which range from mater­ni­ty to their phys­i­cal appear­ance. It’s not a coin­ci­dence that these are the same qual­i­ties that are inex­tri­ca­ble from Con­fu­cian ideals of wom­an­hood that have been per­va­sive in Asia for almost two mil­len­nia. Onwards of the Han Dynasty, para­bles about the self­less wife and hum­ble daugh­ter-in-law – both of which can be con­flat­ed with­in the ide­al of the xian qi liang mu – became a huge part of offi­cial edu­ca­tion in Chi­na and the wider region. How a woman dress­es and car­ries her­self reflects on her com­mit­ment to these patri­ar­chal norms, so female pro­pri­ety is mea­sured accord­ing to her child­bear­ing abil­i­ty and her rejec­tion of sex­u­al attrac­tive­ness. In oth­er words, the female body is an object of both for­bid­den desire and shame.

Asian hor­ror cin­e­ma is thus the per­fect out­let through which a restric­tive image of fem­i­nin­i­ty can be con­test­ed: noth­ing could be fur­ther from the Con­fu­cian lady than a woman who ter­ri­fies men with her grotesque physique, super­hu­man strength and undis­guised anger. In par­tic­u­lar, direc­tors such as Kim Jee-woon (A Tale of Two Sis­ters) and Hideo Naka­ta (Ringu, Dark Water) are respon­si­ble for mak­ing the long-haired wraith syn­ony­mous with Asian hor­ror. Hair, as the lit­tle-known Kore­an flick The Wig demon­strates, is the embod­i­ment of female sex­u­al­i­ty and mys­te­ri­ous pow­er. While it has to be neat­ly coif­fured in life, hair can be lit­er­al­ly and fig­u­ra­tive­ly let down in death, enabling the woman to seek redress for her suf­fer­ing. Very often, as films such as the mad­cap, under­rat­ed Hausu show, the anger of these women is indis­crim­i­nate and not tar­get­ed against spe­cif­ic indi­vid­u­als but soci­ety at large.

Hausu revolves around a house that devours any­one who is unfor­tu­nate enough to set foot in it, because it is pos­sessed by the spir­it of a woman who died wait­ing for her lover to return from war. Like­wise, Carved is a sleek, mod­ern update of the Japan­ese urban leg­end of the kuchisake-onna (lit­er­al­ly trans­lat­ed to mean slit-mouthed woman”) that dates back to the Heian times about 800 years ago. Meant as a moral­i­ty tale empha­sis­ing fideli­ty, the orig­i­nal sto­ry goes that the extra­or­di­nar­i­ly beau­ti­ful wife of a samu­rai had her mouth slit from ear to ear as pun­ish­ment for cheat­ing on him.

When he’s done with the gris­ly deed, he asks her: do you still think you’re beau­ti­ful now?” Dri­ven insane, she trans­forms into a half-demon that ambush­es peo­ple trav­el­ling alone at night, slash­ing their mouths to look like her. When­ev­er these wild-haired, muti­lat­ed women send our hearts lurch­ing into our throats, they are con­vey­ing a stri­dent mes­sage: look at what you have done to us, now look at what we can do to you. We are all com­plic­it in the per­pet­u­a­tion of gen­der roles that hurt not just women, but also men.

Even more inter­est­ing is how the venge­ful woman now haunts the sil­ver screen in more auda­cious ways than ever before. Since the late 1990s, Asian hor­ror cin­e­ma has seen an increase in the num­ber of films fea­tur­ing vio­lent women that are very much alive and kick­ing (as opposed to dead women with an axe to grind about how they were treat­ed). The obscure 1972 thriller Female Pris­on­er #701: Scor­pi­on, about female con­victs who escape from jail and pit them­selves against the yakuza, found a huge cult fol­low­ing both in Japan and abroad when it was released on DVD in 2004.

Takashi Miike’s now-clas­sic Audi­tion, Fruit Chan’s Dumplings and Pang Ho-Cheung’s slash­er, Dream Home, all fea­ture women who are bent on a par­tic­u­lar goal and will stop at noth­ing to achieve it. These films all seem to sig­nal a shift towards acknowl­edg­ing the evolv­ing pres­sures on con­tem­po­rary Asian women to bal­ance their careers and their tra­di­tion­al duties as wives and moth­ers. They offer audi­ences an explo­ration of what hap­pens when women seize the trans­gres­sive oppor­tu­ni­ty to fight back.

Despite its con­tin­ued evo­lu­tion, the rep­re­sen­ta­tion of the venge­ful woman in Asian hor­ror remains quite a long way from doing fem­i­nism jus­tice. She may be a sym­pa­thet­ic fig­ure but she is still a vil­lain, an aber­ra­tion of prop­er” wom­an­hood. There is also a glar­ing absence of women direc­tors in Asia, let alone those who work pri­mar­i­ly with the hor­ror genre, so we have yet to see a com­plex rep­re­sen­ta­tion of women by and for women.

Park Chan-wook has stat­ed that he didn’t set out to make a point about gen­der rela­tions with Lady Vengeance. Yet his most recent film, The Hand­maid­en, is also ground­break­ing (though ambiva­lent) for its por­tray­al of a les­bian rela­tion­ship. What will Asian hor­ror look like as peo­ple grad­u­al­ly move towards a world­view that is less gen­dered, that doesn’t con­sign women sole­ly to the male gaze? Hope­ful­ly, this means that the venge­ful woman will become an obso­lete trope, and audi­ences might just have to find their scares else­where in the future.

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