The Generational Plight of the American ‘Black Girl’

 

Black Girl film poster.

In the late 1960’s, Drama Desk winning playwright Jennie Elizabeth Franklin found success in her fourth play, Black Girl. Not to be confused with Senegalese filmmaker Ousmane Sembène’s 1966 film Black Girl set in France, the African American version directed in 1972 by Ossie Davis is adapted by Franklin, based on her work. While Sembène explores the traumatic plight of the imported immigrant, Franklin and Davis convey the consequential impact that mental conditioning has placed in the Black family structuring; mainly the weighed burdens unfairly set on matriarchs.

Betty Everett— the singer behind the popular track— “The Shoop, Shoop Song (It’s In His Kiss),” sings the title “Black Girl,” playing repeatedly throughout the film. 

Rose (Louise Stubbs) is angry that Billie Jean (Peggy Pettit) has quit school. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

A distressed Billie Jean taking Rose’s unleashed ire. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

In the American Black Girl, Billie Jean embodies the unnatural fear and hostility nestled in the minds of those who feel threatened by education’s close relationship to success and “betterment.” In order to sabotage Billie Jean, Norma and Ruth Ann, Billie Jean’s manipulative older half-sisters, jeopardize a young girl’s vulnerable mentality with verbal poison. Perhaps in addition to those who tease and taunt her in school, Norma and Ruth Ann are also other reasons that Billie Jean has dropped out. Norma and Ruth Ann represent the pains of being stuck in unhappy situations, of misery loving company. Thus, Norma and Ruth Ann taint Billie Jean’s dancer ambitions, turn it into a patriarchal testament (dancing for the lustful male gaze) instead of a young Black girl embracing the art of her graceful human body. Billie Jean moves in an elegant rhythm similar to ballet style— “ballet” is a word Norma frequently mispronounces. 

Old habits come back to bite as Rose (Louise Stubbs) passionately kisses her philandering ex Earl (Brock Peters) in front of the family. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

Mu’ Dear (Claudia McNeil)—Rose’s mother— believes that the “Bible belongs on the shelf not in self” whilst posing in front of white Jesus’s portrait. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson. 

The stern, sacrilegious Rose, mother of the three, is blind to Norma and Ruth Ann’s resentment, believing that Billie Jean is on her way to becoming much like her— a tired existence in a humble, multigenerational house where contempt and strife collide. Often, the disappointed Rose compares Norma, Ruth Ann, and Billie Jean to Netta, her foster daughter up in college aiming to become a teacher and upcoming law student. Rose only saw potential in Netta and gave up hope on her biological daughters altogether. That hurt Billie Jean’s already fragile self-esteem. Norma and Ruth Ann were tearing her down constantly. 

Norma (Gloria Edwards) calling Netta’s photo the callous B word to Ruth Ann (Rhetta Greene)— who then mispronounces the word “deaf.” DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

Netta (Leslie Uggams) in her dorm talking to Rose about her Mother’s Day plans. Fifty years later, Uggams would star in Nikyatu Jusu’s feature-length debut, Nanny. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

Black Girl struck a personal chord with me. I was repeatedly bullied by my teachers and peers over my physical appearance— hair and clothes sadly— and dropped out my senior year of high school. My mother also experienced the same, dropping out at sixteen-years-old (she once told me that she only had two outfits) and later completing her GED after having children. I too received my GED and completed undergraduate and graduate studies; the only member in my family to achieve the feat. Although she never said “I’m proud of you,” I believe that my mother was. My brightest memory is of her clapping at my undergraduate graduation. As proud and strict a parent as Rose, my mother also wasn’t keen on apologizing (which is a strange communal trait). She demonstrated “sorry” in her actions. I believe sometimes parents never want to see their children correct them or showcase knowing what they did not learn or understand. They want to be stay in the dominant roles as parent forever, the person retaining greater knowledge. Still, I admired my mother correcting my English papers or us learning algebra together. 

Billie Jean succumbing to Ruth Ann and Norma’s deceit. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

During the big showdown, however, Billie Jean discovers that Norma and Ruth Ann have been destroying Netta’s encouraging letters to Billie Jean. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

Norma and Ruth Ann ostracizing Netta for keeping to her studies and not pursuing sexual conquests also hit home. Some people truly are uncomfortable with individuals who seek higher goals, whose ambitions focuses on career pathways and not hookups heavily prevalent in pop culture. I do not talk to my Bible wielding family about my celibacy because it causes distress, harmful jokes, and invasive questions. Last year at my brother’s grandmother’s funeral, my cousin asked me, alone in his car, “why does it seem like you don’t like sex?” In moments that Norma and Ruth Ann circle Netta, accusing her of all kinds of foul, wicked cruelty, Netta’s expression grows more intense, frightened, familiar. These are women around her own age. Why is it so important to know the sex life of someone else, to criticize those uninterested in the act? Netta is educated and virtuous too? Oh, the girls hate that. Or maybe it is not hate at all. Their misplaced envy— their dislike over Netta behaving unlike them—has transformed into a toxic rage, especially Norma, who then pulls out a knife.

Netta also privately assures Billie Jean that Rose has never said “I love you,” much less hugged her foster daughter. Rose withholding motherly affection and praise from Billie Jean has affected the young girl so much. Billie Jean almost turned into Norma and Ruth Ann. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

A hypocritical Rose worries that Billie Jean’s dancing will be the makings of future promiscuity, that the generational cycle will repeat. Yet, in the next instant, Rose does little to protect Billie Jean from Herbert, the other house occupant despite Billie Jean protesting her dreams go beyond empty pleasures. Billie Jean’s room connects to the kitchen and back door. Anyone can come through unsupervised. It doesn’t help that Herbert doesn’t knock. Rose nonchalantly says that Billie Jean has nothing Her set hasn’t seen before— setting Billie Jean up for potential sexual harm. Rose comes across as believing such access is natural, not unseemly. Billie Jean is a minor. Who knows what is occupying that man’s mind for him to continue shocking behavior towards a mere child? How can Rose obsess over Billie Jean’s future when she’s not even understanding the present danger under her own roof? This demonstrates the long historical pattern of women purposely turning a blind eye. 

Family at church on Mother’s Day. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

Netta giving Billie Jean the hope she needs to move forward. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

Thankfully, Netta believes in Billie Jean— a healthy relationship that Norma and Ruth Ann try to destroy. It is already bad enough that Billie Jean is named after Norma and Ruth Ann’s charismatic father, how dare she try to better herself too!

Mu Dear embracing her granddaughter Billie Jean before our heroine finishes school alongside the trustworthy Netta and trains for dancing. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

And Rose, finally realizing that the spiritualist was wrong in dismissing the treasure right in front of her very face, her very blood: Billie Jean. DP: Glenwood J. Swanson.

My next goal is to read Jennie Elizabeth Franklin’s Black Girl play and write a compare/contrast essay of source material versus film, seeing as Franklin wasn’t happy with this production. At least, Franklin had a win in ensuring that Peggy Pettit—star of the touring the off-Broadway version— received the starring film role; the studio wanted a lighter skinned actress (Hollywood history still repeats on this unfortunate standpoint). This film, however, does render a heavy story of generational trauma. You think about the tremendous sorrow Sembène’s girl experienced and that of Nikyatu Jusu’s modern Aisha in the horror Nanny; how these three individual vehicles connect together to form a resonating narrative. While Sembène’s girl and Aisha are visibly drowning from the subjective gravity of “slavery by another name” aka underpaid/undervalued servitude, Billie Jean’s self-esteem is constantly threatened to submerge in overwhelming doubt— doubt of which caused not just by her family, but the cyclic damage brought by white supremacy. Although no white characters are present in this piece, the consequences of colonialism is a haunting, terrifying ghost that lingers in the smallest of ways.

Therefore, Jennie Elizabeth Franklin and Ossie Davis’s Black Girl validates a simple desire to be loved and respected, to be treated as though her purpose on earth matters, and that in light of stacked generational odds, her mother will stand right beside her, embracing all that she is and all that she will become. 

Worthy Films Depicting Maternal Loss

 

Sometimes films encourages mourners to see that the valiant spirit of our mothers (or motherly figures) will always be with us no matter what. 

It has been a year and five months since my mother passed away. 

Every single day after, I have felt the impact of her loss, even in films regarding dying mothers, absent mothers. During my childhood, I always thought it peculiar that Disney animations have the mother figure long expired, leaving female characters with only their fathers for company— Jasmine, Ariel, and Belle for example. While these fairy tale girls grow up lacking maternal guidance, we’re not allowed to see them express loss of the motherhood figure. Perhaps the suggested time has past or their mothers died in childbirth, leaving their memories devoid of real, vital connection. There are no underlying existences for their grief. They just exchange one male presence for another.  

Personally, my grief will never fully heal. It is eternal. Art remains a medicinal beacon for me, especially cinema. When I compiled my list, thinking of works left off from Join Cake regarding this sensitive subject matter, inclusive stories are still a problem to other film writers. Although many of us have yet to see every work ever made, I am performing a service for those who need other recommendations. Some have big names and larger budgets and others do not. 

Here are essential heartbreaker films that deserve notice:

Big Mama prepares holiday feast with her daughters: Teri (Vanessa Williams), Maxine (Vivica A. Fox), and Bird (Nia Long).

George Tillman Jr’s Soul Food (1997) centers on the Joseph family in Chicago: Joe “Big Mama” Hall, a diabetic mother, her three adult daughters: Teri, Maxine, and Bird, and their complex relationships with men and food. Narrated by Maxine’s son Ahmed, the matriarchal structure hangs in the balance as Big Mama’s life falters between life and death. 

Food history plays a distinctive role here. The legacy of labored cooking traditions and cherished recipes are past down from generation to generation. Yes, it can be greasy, cheesy, buttery, salty, and glazed and second and third helping plates may contribute to the generational diseases. That does not change the simple fact that Black food packed in the emotional ingredients of our ancestors far exceeds bland, unseasoned palettes. With the infamous Boys II Men song “Mama,” this messy family dynamic drama somehow makes the heart grow fonder, missing mothers and grandmothers alike. 

Sole (Hope Olaide Wilson) stands up to her maternal grandmother.

In Soul Food’s opposite, Tchaiko Omawale’s experimental film Solace (2018) channels maternal loss as an inherent eating disorder. Although seventeen-year-old Sole’s mother has long since passed away, Sole’s grief is a quietly bottled secret manifesting through the very harmful self-inflicted actions her mother made. Sole misses her father— whom she lost while staying with him in New York City. Yet, when Sole moves into her dead mother’s family house in Los Angeles, California, a dangerous habit threatens to tear this artist’s world asunder. 

Olympia (McKenzie Chinn) relies on her mother Angie (Penelope Wilson) for guidance.

In McKenzie Chinn and Gregory Dix’s Olympia (2018), a struggling Chicago artist named Olympia frequently visits her dying mother Angie at the hospital. It hits home harder than the other films because my mom’s last days were spent at a nursing facility, siting or lying on an assigned bed, always wearing a blue hospital gown despite a closet containing her favorite house dresses. In post-COVID society, we were not granted visitation, not granted a final goodbye. 

Olympia and Angie are two creative souls veering on life’s differing stages; Olympia’s a temporary career setback and Angie’s body ready to make the final bow. Their mother/daughter relationship is beautifully rendered, very caring and heartfelt. Although Olympia is not prepared to lose the strongest figure in her life (none of us are truly), a wise Angie assures Olympia that she has a valid contribution to make in the world. 

Makeup artist Maye (Salli Richardson-Whitfield) values her talented performer aunt Amanda (Beverly Todd) like a devoted daughter.  

Although Ava DuVernay’s poignant debut I Will Follow (2010) focuses on a niece packing up the boxes of her recently deceased aunt’s house, a maternal dignity is richly painted in the close relationship between Maye and Amanda. Abstract and poetic, vividly expressed through Maye’s whimsical memories, the film highlights that incredible notion that our aunts can be our surrogate mothers, our newfound best friends, our significant ties to family tree treasures. Amanda’s love for Maye felt both alike the genuine, sympathetic aunt and the compassionate, generous mother. It was Maye present for Amanda’s final days and Maye reliving those tender moments warmed and bathed in Amanda’s vocalized affection.  

In Seoul, Korea, the mother (Soo-ah Lee) searches for Bin (Song-Lee Kim) and Jin’s (Hee Yeon-kim) estranged father— at the cost of her daughters. They likely will never see her again. 

So Yong Kim’s Treeless Mountain (2008) is a sad story of abandonment— another form of grief entirely as Bin and Jin— two little girls— are left behind without a goodbye from their impoverished mother. This showcases the darker side to single parenting; the depressing desperation that takes place way past the post partum stage (or maybe the mother had never been properly diagnosed). For women without income or a reliable partner— lack of stability for their children begins adding a weight on them, taking a considerable toll on their emotional, physical, and mental well being. In this powerful film, you feel sorry for the suffering mother and also understand her actions to leave Bin and Jin to an undesirable fate. 

Three generations of women celebrate Marion’s birthday— Marion’s mother Nelly (Margot Abascal) and Marion’s future daughter Nelly (Josephine Sanz). Marion (Gabrielle Sanz) blows out her candles.

Céline Sciamma’s Petite Maman (2021) —one of my favorite films of 2022— looks at mourning in a subtle magical innovation. Nelly, a sweet eight-year-old named after her grandmother is transported to playing with her own adolescent mother, Marion— a charming mesh of future and past connecting to the other. While the adult Marion has disappeared to grieve her mother’s death alone from her husband and Nelly, little Marion (who may be the most clever imaginary friend) and Nelly enjoy their precious, limited time together around identical childhood homes.  

I cherish my listed films for showing different types of maternal loss at various ages for the girls and women left behind. I resonate greatly with these grieving characters who must manage to keep their composures together for the sake of those still present on earth— whether for their siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, their own children, or their own individual self. In the real world, we have to adapt without the sentimental foundation our matriarchs have built and nurtured within us. We the broken-hearted population have to find the good part in surviving without our mothers— daughters most especially— and continue living as we did. 

‘Kindred,’ Delivers A Botched Hot Mess

Kindred Hulu advertisement.

As far as adaptations are concerned, John Jennings and Damian Duffy’s graphic novel (published 2017) of Octavia Butler’s Kindred (published 1991) far better exceeds this new Hulu series. Just a few sparse choices make these eight episodes bearable. Created by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins, the Obie winning playwright behind Octoroon, his modern day take has a millennial Dana battling severe depression and hooking up with Kevin, a mediocre waiter who may also be suffering from an undisclosed mental illness. 

During Dana’s first trip to the plantation past, she encounters a shocking surprise. FX/Hulu. 

The series begins with Dana having dinner with her Aunt Sarah and Uncle Alan. They are not pleased that she sold the New York City brownstone (inherited from her grandmother) to buy an unfurnished house in Los Angeles. In this economy, how believable is it to make that reckless choice to sell a hard-to-come-by brownstone and move across the country alone anyway? 

Insert Kevin— an awkward white waiter— smiling at Dana throughout her tense family meal. Kevin makes a completely douche-y move: announcing to everyone in vicinity that he’s giving Dana a ride home (wow, Sarah and Alan left Dana stranded in an unfamiliar place knowing she had no transportation?). Although Kevin’s coworkers laugh it off, the gesture does little to soften the discomfort. If he had succeeded in harming a young Black woman— who would have cared about her well-being? 

Dana returns back to the past. FX/Hulu. 

In Butler’s novel, Dana and Kevin are married. This helps establish a stronger foundation than two strangers who begin a “with benefits” situation in the series. Thus, Dana transports back into the past after her preemptive encounter with Kevin, returning in an alarming state. The writers are trying to make Kevin appear genuinely kind for staying with Dana, but it comes across false and rushed. Dana and Kevin need more time as a couple, ample growth to truly know each other way before startling events arise. Kevin seems so desperate for a woman and Dana seems so needy— this pairing has the required ingredients of unhealthy co-dependency.

Meanwhile, Dana’s fractured relationship with Sarah and Alan warrants concern. Retired police officer Alan definitely acts as though he could care less what happens to Dana, often checking in on Dana via Sarah’s orders. He is not her blood uncle, but damn. Also, Alan makes it clear that something may have been wrong in the family— he had purposefully moved Sarah across the country for a reason. Still, does that mean he’s emotionally manipulative or worse? The busy nurse Sarah rightfully worries over her niece’s mental state, but Dana becomes irrational, cold, and standoffish. Neither woman apologizes for the bitter words exchanged at Dana’s empty house. Obviously, this is not the idyllic Black family structure. There is residual pain, mainly for isolated Dana. She has no other family. No girlfriends. When Dana finds her mother alive in the 19th century, the reunion is short lived. Sadly, Dana clings to Kevin, the only person trying to stay with her. 

Kindred’s focus should stick to Dana and her ability to time travel. It should be deciphering why Dana must always rescue Rufus Weylin, red-haired white child of rapist cretin Thomas and villainous poison Margaret. Why is the time longer in the past versus a few minutes back in the present? Is it the Los Angeles house conducting this fantastical thread? Why then during Olivia’s own mysterious disappearance was she able to time travel during a New York City car crash that killed her husband? Carlo and Hermione, the unnecessary couple next door to Dana’s house and Penny, Kevin’s worried sister provide no additional strength and draw in no clues for the mystery at hand. These weakly rendered characters are storyline fodder that shift from the main task at hand: Dana. 

Ronda Racha Penrice— one of few Black women reviewing the series, wrote in The Wrap:

This is not to say that Kindred should have indulged in “trauma porn.” Instead, Jacobs-Jenkins and his collaborators should have dug deeper. Although Johnson and the rest of the cast do a good job in what they have been asked to do, the writing and overall plot and circumstances fail to do the same. As “Kindred” flows from episode to episode, it never fully taps into Dana’s innermost feelings of shock, horror, and perhaps even desperation as an enslaved woman.

Like so many other movies and series set in this era, “Kindred” doesn’t deliver the emotional connection needed to elicit the true outrage we should have for this dastardly institution. And, with the resources available to us today, that is just unacceptable.

Mother/daughter Olivia (Sheria Irving) and Dana (Mallori Johnson) are trapped in the past. FX/Hulu. 

Sacrificial Black women characters is another trope that’s been under the radar— a diversionary plot device that needs to be explored further. Think of Jacqui choosing to blow up in the first season of The Walking Dead or Irene staying behind to die in Tales From the Crypt: Demon Knight; certainly other examples exist. Olivia is in the same defeated place. When Dana tries to give her the option of returning back home in the present, Olivia chooses to remain in the past, helping the enslaved, especially parentless Alice. Beyond that, however, Olivia stays a homebody in her cabin. 

While intimacy coordinators work on many television and film sets, hopefully racial trauma personnel has been created too. Slave centered big and small screen pictures have been gradually growing for years and often an upcoming Black actor’s first major gig and the key to awards contention— certain juries love this genre. The actors undergo an overwhelming amount of recreated Black ancestral humiliations including being whipped. In a dark uncomfortable scene, Dana’s clothes are maliciously ripped by Thomas— not for rape— but another cruel violation altogether. 

With several Butler adaptations (helmed by Issa Rae, Ava DuVernay, Wanuri Kahiu, and Viola Davis) set for the future, perhaps now was not appropriate for this specific story. The series features too many questionable moments: Dana and Kevin’s constant coupling at the plantation, slaves forced to act animalistic in front of drunken white men, Kevin foolishly running his mouth, Kevin opening runaway Winnie’s hiding place in Olivia’s cabin, Kevin arriving back indecently to where only little Alice is present, and Dana transported in present Los Angeles without Olivia (who may have arrived in New York). It took tremendous patience to finish these unwavering episodes. 

Olivia would rather stay on the plantation to raise an orphan girl than build a relationship with Dana, her own daughter who still needs her. FX/Hulu.

If FX/Hulu greenlights a second season of Kindred, let’s hope that the writers try to salvage the spirit of Octavia Butler’s legacy and not continue destroying it for the sake of appearing deceptively woke and modern.   

Until then, Butler fans should reread the actual source material or enjoy the pages of the hardcover comic book. 

‘The Sister’ Rewards Bad Guy Behavior

 

The Sister on Hulu. 

I watched The Sister only to support Simone Ashley’s pre-Bridgerton era. 

A colossal mistake. 

Neill Cross’s four episode series is a terror for women watchers or those who align heavily with advocating for women’s rights; each character more offensive than the last including the lead: Nathan, a real foul chap. 

Nathan meets Elise at a New Year’s party. She follows him out into the woods, gets into a stranger’s car (his name is Bob), takes mystery drugs, and dies during coital with Nathan. Instead of alerting authorities, Nathan decides to not only help Bob hide Elise’s body, he later trails Elise’s distraught sister, Holly at her real estate job. Holly reels over her missing family member whose case sadly goes unsolved. It then worsens: Holly actually marries this man greatly involved in Elise’s whereabouts— and Jacki does nothing to help. 

On the wedding day, Jacki (Nina Toussaint-White) sits next to creepy Nathan (Russell Tovey) as Holly (Amrita Acharia) gets up to talk about her sister. 

Who is Jacki?

Well, Jacki, a police officer, is apparently a close friend of the Fox family. During the diligent investigation of finding Elise, Jacki questioned both Nathan and Bob, two skeptically behaving characters among the many people present at the ill-fated New Year’s party. Although she seems very shocked that Holly is engaged to Nathan (because they hadn’t met prior to the engagement party?), Jacki gives Nathan the cliche “if you hurt her” speech sans digging into the strange coincidence of this former suspect marrying Elise’s sister. If Jacki were a true friend, she would have told Holly all about Nathan and Bob. It is an honor code among women, especially women friends, to not withhold huge crucial secrets. Nathan is already hurting Holly by not being honest. Jacki— whose obligation should be Holly first, Nathan last— makes an ugly situation worse in keeping quiet. Instead of asking the right questions regarding how Nathan met Holly and so forth, Jacki lets Nathan slide more than once. 

In almost every picture, Elise (Simone Ashley) stares out at Holly, her sister and Nathan, an accessory to her disappearance. 

In the present, Holly and Nathan live together in an opulent house where framed photos of Elise are everywhere— a depressing reminder to Holly that her sister is never forgotten and a brutal reminder to Nathan of his buried crimes. Yet, Nathan’s guilt rarely cracks— until Bob shows up on a random evening. The biggest scare in Nathan’s life is not Elise’s ghost haunting him to infinity. It is Bob who knows the truth behind Elise’s disappearance. 

We couldn’t have that mess up Nathan’s domestic bliss with Holly. 

Elise (Simone Ashley) is too comfortable with these strangers: Nathan (Russell Tovey) and Bob (Bertie Carvel). Heartbreaking. The series paints her final moments as a typical party girl looking to score. 

Honestly, Nathan comes across as unhinged and not a good liar. He appears to have no family or friends of his own. Ever since Holly’s tearful plea for help regarding her missing sister on the news, Nathan has grossly attached himself to Holly and the Foxes. His unhealthy fixation is neither romantic or cute in gesture. In fact, he makes the series all the more sinister. A wife can never truly know her husband one hundred percent, but you feel sorry for Holly who allowed a man to take advantage of her vulnerable state of mind. She deserves better— as does Elise’s ghost. 

Unfortunately, Holly will not see the light. 

Poor Elise. Other than being completely photogenic, we never know who she is. 

Disjointed The Sister is a terribly slow pace series with wobbly flash forward sequences allowing Nathan to get away with his detrimental acts. He dug up a grave, put a body inside, stalked a sister knowing that information, and married into a grieving family. Moments happen when Nathan almost gets caught, but alas, nothing. He is at a crime scene wearing gloves and police see nothing weird in his odd behavior, making no inquiries. Plus, the morbid replays of a brown woman dying over and over, her skull kept in a box, her dress in a freezer, the rest of her remains unknown— ugh, so awfully offensive to watch. Perhaps the bad writing suggests that an unchaperoned young woman on her own at night is asking for the consequences of her choices. Do not gallivant in dark forests with strangers, engage in unknown drugs, and premarital sex— societal death wishes. Sure Bob planned another ghastly scenario entirely, but that’s not what played out— the only person in real danger was the woman. At least, Bob who acts as deranged as Bob on Twin Peaks, owns up to his calculated intentions. Nathan is a loose canon dressing up as a “good guy.” 

Holly is often in scenes drinking wine. Here she tells her friend Jacki about Nathan’s old pal Bob coming to visit. 

Yes, Jacki is intrigued by Bob. She goes as far as investigating Elise’s disappearance again and coming to Bob’s residence late at night (by herself). 

The saddest takeaway is that women are horrifically developed (or underdeveloped) here. Holly and Jacki easily accept Nathan’s lies. They truly buy that Nathan met Bob on the road after the New Year’s party. Why would anyone want to hide such dumb information unless some deeper implications were afoot between the two of them? Are both women’s intuitions severely broken? Has Elise’s absence made them dimmer? Is Holly so desperate to have a baby that she can overlook Nathan being questioned in the past regarding her own sister? It is beyond disgusting that Nathan slept with Elise— which Holly will never ever learn— and gets rewarded in the end. Jacki— who threw reopening the case— believes Nathan is good for Holly. Does that mean an accessory/killer should raise children? 

Sometimes we must learn the hard way that male creators/showrunners still do not have women’s best interests at heart, let alone realize how women think/behave. And cringy The Sister— its title should have been renamed The Creepy Husband— fails in every aspect of granting Elise true justice. 

The Other Aligning Love Story in ‘Decision to Leave’

Ga-in (Jeong Ha-dam) and Seo-rae (Tang Wei) share commonalities. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.  

This second Decision to Leave essay reflects on San-O and Ga-in, the devastating story within a story that metaphorically sets up the imperative dynamics between the main protagonists Hae-joon and Seo-rae.

We are introduced to San-O via Hae-joon’s unsolved cases wall, a wall of disturbing crime scene photos hidden behind a blue-green curtain. Before Seo-rae’s involvement with him, the Jilgok District murder in Busan has been Hae-joon’s top priority. The pictures of this particular crime focuses on a victim’s skull found on the side of a mountain— cause of death being barbarically bludgeoned by a hatchet. Ki Di-soo’s discovered body is another death caused by severe head injuries and located beneath a mountain. Beom and Di-soo’s deaths employ opposing revenge tactics— one coldly displaying intent and the other cleverly suggesting suicide. Yet, the reasons for both of these demises are on the accounts of them being extremely cruel to women. Ga-in’s mistreatment is San-O’s excuse for killing Beom. Di-soo’s physical and emotional abuse is Seo-rae’s.

Seo-rae poses a question on if an outside love can penetrate the concrete foundation of an existing marriage— connecting the poetic coincidence between her and San-O. They’re both in love with married people. However, San-O knew Ga-in prior. Seo-rae is experiencing love for the first time with Hae-joon. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Like Seo-rae, San-O (Jeong Min Park) fits the anti-hero archetype— making rash decisions that have horrendous consequences all for the good of another person. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Ga-in, an abuse survivor and accessory-after-the-fact of San-O’s crime, follows the men behind, not realizing what San-O’s outcome will be. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

Hae-joon— who often sees criminals as criminals— learns that he and San-O share common ground despite acting on opposite sides of the law. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Furthermore, San-O and Seo-rae are individuals who take matters into their own hands. They could not report to the police mainly due to immoral pasts—San-O, a former prisoner having no desire to return behind bars and Seo-rae, wanted in her native China for the pacifying murder of her mother. How could San-O ask Hae-joon about Beom’s assaulting Ga-in without being judged for his previous crimes? Hae-joon never doubts that San-O is guilty, keen on him as the murderer from the start. It is the reason for Beom’s murder that Hae-joon is trying to decipher. If Hae-joon were as attentive to detail as San-woo— Hae-joon’s Busan partner blatantly criticizing Hae-joon for being sexist—there are doubts that he would be so quick as to providing Seo-rae true emotional support. In the second half of the film, a hardened Hae-joon treats Seo-rae as he likely would have in the first part if his tender feelings hadn’t distracted him from his task, going as far as arresting her, placing her in jail, and administering a polygraph test. 

“Why do women sleep with such trash?”

During his emblematic rooftop confrontation with Hae-joon, San-O brings up an age old thought that predates time— blaming women for staying in terrible relationships. The patriarchal system has stretched across the world, across history. For centuries, women have been treated as men’s property, often left incredibly helpless. Women must be kept in line with abuses ranging from emotional, psychological, sexual, physical, and financial. In many scenarios, breaking free from trapped unions are imprisonment sentences is simply not an option. Thus, it is easy to fault the vulnerable, to pin the man’s inflicting cruelty onto the victims themselves, but rarely inquiries into why men are inflicting the cruelty. Ga-in, a mere beauty shop owner living faraway, needs support and care. Like Seo-rae, Ga-in found herself in an inescapable predicament with Beom. Seo-rae could not leave Di-soo because of the power he wielded over her. While San-O eventually rescues Ga-in and hides away with her, Seo-rae— a friendless immigrant— has no choice but to place her survival above all else. 

After they brilliantly solve the Jilgok case together using hints of their own love story, Seo-rae drops by the utterly depressed Hae-joon’s home. Together, they burn the Jilgok and Huso Mountain crime scene photos. DP: KIM Yi-jong/MUBI.

Seo-rae aides in Hae-joon’s sleeplessness, a subtle calm before the approaching storm of her own crimes coming to light. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

“Actually I like a woman too. But her husband beats her. I want to kill that bastard so much it hurts!”

Candidly pretending Di-soo remains alive, Hae-joon speaks to San-O about Seo-rae in present tense; his words depicting both a purposeful distraction and a heartfelt confession. Hae-joon is falling for Seo-rae and hates not having had the power to protect her from possessive Di-soo. This romantic declaration revealed to a murderer’s ears showcases the chink in Hae-joon’s armor— the new Achilles heel he could not have anticipated. Hae-joon too is capable of the very evil acts that a guiltless San-O has done in the name of love. If Hae-joon prevented Seo-rae’s silent suffering prior— meaning breaking the oath of the badge and perhaps later further sabotaging his mediocre marriage— his honor would still be destined to shatter. From their first meeting, an undeniable connection between them started to form.  

The two intertwined stories of San-O and Ga-in and Hae-joon and Sri-rae dissect the nooks and crannies of moralistic plot, exploring beyond good and evil counterparts of the human psyche. The viewer is left imagining fairy tale scenarios for these unfortunate characters. What would have happened if San-O had not ever been a prisoner? Would he and Ga-in have stayed together living in perfect bliss? Or is it in his inherent nature to conduct on the wrong side? Is it possible that Hae-joon could believe Seo-rae’s battered wife account and put the shady immigration officer Di-soo away for his many misdeeds? Would Hae-joon be able to leave his wife and child behind for happiness with Seo-rae— a woman who mercy killed her own mother merely because it was asked? 

Seo-rae knows that her time with Hae-joon filters through an invisible hourglass. She continuously initiates physical contact during the second murder investigation— embracing him, giving up evidence, kissing his lips, and stroking his face and hands. Deep down, Hae-joon must know it too. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

The glaring difference between Ga-in and Hae-joon’s similar situations is that Ga-in willingly stays with San-O. She accepts his aggressive overprotective nature. She is okay with him killing her husband. San-O probably told Ga-in that he did it for her. Yet, San-O also admits to feeling that Ga-in is responsible for his destructive behavior. However, prideful policeman Hae-joon is not the kind of person who could live with Seo-rae’s crimes, especially not after their stolen moments together. Hae-joon’s gentle benevolence and Seo-rae’s nurturing spirit would have been a blissful pairing. Instead of looking within, Hae-joon holds Seo-rae liable in his own failures to do his job properly. Yes, Seo-rae not only lied, she had Hae-joon destroying evidence. At the same time, as a married officer of the law, he should have listened to San-woo. Now with their forbidden love story marred by Seo-rae’s betrayal, Hae-joon— not as forgiving as Ga-in— would always be doubting whether Seo-rae truly cared about him, if she played a seductive ploy to get out of facing capital punishment. Thus, Hae-joon no longer trusts Seo-rae, but she trusts him, seemingly implicating herself as both an apology and cryptic profession of love. 

San-O’s death includes scissors and a nasty plunge right in front of Ga-in and Hae-joon. DP: KIM Ji-yong/DP. 

Meanwhile, Seo-rae's choice expresses a woman patiently waiting to die alone. Her note lies in the last phone call with Hae-joon, echoing his words in her native Mandarin, words she knew he would not understand yet. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Decision to Leave’s parallels of Ga-in and San-O and Hae-joon and Seo-rae tells such a sorrowful trajectory. San-O makes the choice to die rather than face incarceration/death penalty. His suicide is as bloodily violent as his crime. Also, his jumping off the rooftop mirrors Seo-rae’s attempted framing of Di-soo’s mountain fall. Seo-rae—whose fate was sealed the moment she fled China—takes Hae-joon’s words to literal creation. She crafts a quieter, moving end within the earth itself. While Ga-in is able to cling to San-O’s broken body and see that he is lost to her, Hae-joon will be forever tormented by the memories of the mysterious Seo-rae, crying piteously as he unknowingly steps over her sand/sea grave. 

A distraught Ga-in cradling her dead lover San-O whilst looking up at the only other witness to his suicide. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

Hae-joon in complete despair searching for Seo-rae whose disappearance bears no witnesses, no clues. She secretly ends her life in Korea just as she entered it— by sea. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

There lies a gut wrenching depression in bearing witness to the end of a life. Yet, an even greater horror exists in never again seeing the someone you could not resist holding briefly in your heart.

‘Decision to Leave,’ A Dark Romantic Mystery Is Best Film of 2022

 

Decision to Leave film poster. 

Decision to Leave will probably burn your whole entire soul alive.

The titillating, cat and mouse story filled with many dangerous twists and turns keeps you on the edge of your seat, nerves shivering, breaths coming out in charged pants. You must pay attention to every last detail that transpires between Jang Hae-joon— the smart, married cop and Song Seo-rae—the widowed murder suspect. As their surveilling roles push and pull against the other in some strangely riveting magnetism, the provocative game between them intensifies into an emotional fire threatening to forever haunt them both.

And my goodness, you want it to. The chemistry is that smoldering. 

Inspector Hae-joon (Park Hae-il) is trying to decide if Seo-rae (Tang Wei) purposefully pushed her husband off a mountain. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

The first murder mystery in Busan, South Korea leads Hae-joon, a former smoker and insomniac with a poetic sensibility and knuckle cracking proficiency, into solving the case of a dead man fallen down from a mountain. The hungry bugs have already started devouring the deceased’s flesh, fluttering in his wide, opened eyes. Naturally, the wife Seo-rae, a Chinese caretaker of elder women who see her as a long lost granddaughter, is the best possible suspect for the crime. Very demure and subdued, not the grieving picture of a widow, Seo-rae is already not wearing her wedding ring and going right back to work. She pointedly reveals that she is not a benevolent person, that she is a wise being of the sea. The sea will eventually become the most devastating element of their acquaintance. Although Hae-joon proclaims to be a sea person too, his actions speak mountainous volumes. 

From the seat of his parked car, an attentive Hae-joon watches Seo-rae’s tender movements during stakeouts. He grows more and more intrigued by the striking young woman who feeds an outdoor cat, studies Korean soap operas, and consumes ice cream for dinner. As he calls her or she calls him, he imagines being at her side, seeing her close up, observing her responses to him. The obsession is a most believable slow building turmoil that begins bleeding into his sixteen-year relationship to Ahn, a genius power plant worker he visits once a week in the town of Ipo. Around Seo-rae, Hae-joon experiences pleasant sleeps in his car, waking up blissful and behaving kinder than usual to his coworkers. 

However, whilst having sex with Ahn— who believes Hae-joon is occupied in another case— Hae-joon’s mind concentrates on the mysterious Seo-rae, primarily her x-ray. Post coital, he lies to Ahn about the situation, switching the roles of Seo-rae and her dead husband. This casual fib will only twist on him later. Coincidentally enough, Ahn talks about her co-worker June quite often (even June’s crush/jealousy). Hae-joon is too preoccupied with Seo-rae to understand, let alone focus on these subtle red flags from his wife. Thus, Ahn is openly comfortable discussing June’s obvious desires and a closed off Hae-joon pretends that his simmering passion for Seo-rae does not exist. Not speaking on it means not acknowledging, not acting on it. 

Many light flirtatious interactions between Seo-rae and Hae-joon come into play in both police stations— Buran and Ipo. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

The cop is sinking further down the rabbit hole and only Soo-wan, his male partner notices. Hae-joon slips up in his task, leaving Seo-rae free to do her sleuthing on him. Soo-wan believes Seo-rae guilty and Ahn remains in the dark. Seo-rae is an isolated woman with no outlet in which to reveal her innermost thoughts and feelings except using her phone as a recording diary/translator. Her motives are purely secretive, adding layers to the intrigue of her character, a character who is adept, calculating, quick yet not immune to falling into the complications of desire, of love. She is seemingly playing this poor, sopping detective. At the same time, she is learning from him, becoming educated beyond learning Korean. He excites her, shows a tenderness rarely bestowed on her by a man. The key to everything is in shared technology— the phones that come and go as evidence, the cyber translations from Chinese to Korean, the earbuds, the tracking/surveillance. Also, Hae-joon sneakily catching Seo-rae’s whispers to her cat and reading transcripts of her Apple Watch voiceovers are simply too endearing— he gets a euphoric rush from realizing she thinks of him as he thinks of her. 

Old women are sadly used in this particular narrative as scapegoats. Seo-rae’s thirst for killing began with her dying mother who tells Seo-rae about her Korean heritage in the Homi Mountain. Unfortunately, it is a capital offense to aide in death despite Seo-rae’s mother requesting the fentanyl. A desperate Seo-rae marries in order not to be deported and endures brutality including her maniacal abuser’s initials tattooed on her flesh alongside his many bruises. It seems other than her late mother, no one else has since cared for Seo-rae, loved her unconditionally. Until, she becomes a successful caretaker. The key to Hae-joon figuring out the first mystery was Seo-Rae’s Monday patient, a dementia woman who adored and trusted Seo-rae mainly because Seo-rae brilliantly executed the part of youthful, gentle caretaker. Who would ever suspect her of containing malicious or evil intentions? The spell Seo-rae had placed on Hae-joon seemed to be broken. A beautiful, naive, tragic figure could be capable of harm— of deceiving and killing elder women and putting his job in jeopardy— a smart, dignified cop.

Seo-rae enjoys the meal Hae-joon prepares her in a scene that earlier mirrors him cooking for his wife who too cherishes his culinary talents. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Decision to Leave is not as sexually explicit as other Park Chan-wook films. It almost appears rather tame. Instead, he finds other devices to create his signature eroticism. The uncharted lust practically spills from the seams moment upon moment that these two characters interact. When Hae-joon sniffs Seo-rae’s perfume, purchases expensive sushi for her to eat at the police station (which pisses off his erratic partner), prepares her a Chinese meal late at night, fights a man with sweaty hair and heavy panting as she witnesses him from her car, or rubs lotion onto her calloused hands during a rainy walk, he is showing an unprofessional interest. Things heat up further as Hae-joon unexpectedly undoes his belt— only to put on his holster as Seo-rae observes him. Once Seo-rae calmly breathes and recites sweet words to help him sleep in bed, that alone is a deeper intimacy than what holistic Ahn grants him. On top of everything— Hae-joon and Seo-rae keep staring at each other in that manner of no one else existing but the two of them. Eye connection is frequently a strong indication of attraction, of longing. A serious thing too, when considering how often Hae-joon drips solution in his tired eyes. 

Once Hae-joon— a man who constantly needs to be in the shoes of the dead— figures out Seo-rae is not the perfect victim, the crushing tide is brilliantly conducted. As a hurt, disillusioned Hae-joon decides that he can no longer associate with Seo-rae due to his damaged pride from her betrayal, Seo-rae’s genuine feelings grow deeper at this point. Yes, she has committed crimes to save herself from further misery and harm. How could he possibly understand what she— a foreigner in a new country still struggling to speak the language— was going through? Hae-joon foolishly believes it would be so simple for Seo-rae to just walk into his police station and tattle on a former immigration officer? Women are not always believed. 

After thirteen months apart, Hae-joon and Seo-rae meet again at the fish market in Ipo, their respective spouses by their sides. Despite the awkwardness, clipped dialogue, and silent communication, Hae-joon and Seo-rae’s desire for each other remains an undeniable cord drawing them in. The way their eyes connect or try not to, the way he suddenly smiles— it is all so wonderfully orchestrated, the perfect forbidden fate. In this pivotal, electric scene, Seo-rae— now a tour guide and no longer a caretaker/nurse— is already subtly giving Hae-joon clues to her next crime. 

The temptation is too great: Hae-joon remains stoic in Seo-rae’s presence. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

At the second murder mystery, this time Hae-joon— who has been nursing depression from his incurable broken heart— will not let Seo-rae get away so easily. He tries a sterner approach with Seo-rae, determined to not let his feelings entangle. His inquisitive female partner, however, does not believe Seo-rae guilty of killing her second husband— a man threatening to tell Ahn of Hae-joon’s emotional affair. Seo-rae recorded Hae-joon’s “shattered” confession, words that signified his love for her, something that he does not argue or deny. Yet, Hae-joon’s determination in seeing justice done employs him to turn the tables on the inner workings of his great attachment to Seo-rae. When he cuffs their hands together and she strokes his fingers, he cannot reject her. It is eerily poignant that Seo-rae tells Hae-joon that she purposely cleaned the crime scene, thinking of his sensitivity to blood. 

Clever symbolism runs rampant throughout the film. The blue-green colors of water/sea continuously appears: the wallpaper in Seo-Rae’s home, fetanyl pills, evidential dress, bucket to bury the dead bird (which both Hae-joon and Seo-rae have taken feathers from), and the filtered light in Hae-joon’s bedroom as Seo-rae breathes alongside him. Then, there’s the sushi. In his first scene with Ahn, Hae-joon admits to loving cooking and not eating any old sushi. With Seo-rae, however, he orders sumptuously enticing sushi at their impromptu interrogation— Shima— which Seo-rae eats alone prior to her heartbreaking plan. In his fierce determination to treating her like a regular suspect, he orders generic food and she is notedly disappointed. Shoes are the next big beacon— Hae-joon wears the comfortable hiking variety for the more energetic paced cases in Busan— especially necessary for climbing steep mountains and chasing bad guys. In low-crime Ipo, he wears loafers. When Seo-rae is at his Busan home, she is donning house slippers, a signifier of the intimacy between them. In Ipo, she is wears heels and has her hair down as opposed to her earlier ponytails. Finally, chapstick and mints— typical precursors to kissing and kept in Hae-joon’s endless pockets— are found twice by Seo-rae. She knows his content pockets just as he remembers her phone password. She applies the balm on her lips and then his in the manner that echoes him applying lotion to her calloused hands. Their final face to face meeting has Seo-rae replacing his chapstick with her own lips, a purely poetic exchange that reads more like a bittersweet goodbye to possibility. So well done! 

At home in Ipo, Ahn— who believes Hae-joon not only is having an affair with Seo-rae, but also may have conspired to kill the second husband—leaves with June. Perhaps, in some fashion, June is the man Ahn has always wanted. In that instance, we have these four people who behave similarly to each other. Hae-joon and Seo-rae sometimes act as mirrors or polar opposites. Ahn and June are two peas-in-a-pod science nerds. However, only a few are courageous enough to confront the issue of moving towards the right destiny. Unfortunately, Seo-rae realizes that she must make the sacrificial choice not just freeing him, but herself as well. She is a criminal. He is a cop. So, the two most imperative women in Hae-joon’s life leave him. Ahn knows that he has been lying to her about Seo-rae and Seo-rae believes that she is a reminder of his lost pride in being a dignified policeman. 

Seo-rae and Hae-joon finally have it out in Ipo. While he is pragmatic in his choices, she is cryptic, confusing him completely. Is that because of the language barrier or another secret battle altogether? DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Among the metaphorical repetitions and jarring parallels, the award-winning Decision to Leave (South Korea’s fitting choice for the Foreign Language Oscar for next year’s ceremony) is a wild, intimate ride from start to finish. Park Hae-il and Tang Wei’s charismatic performances are certainly the brilliant highlights of a mesmerizing, moralistic screenplay Chan-wook co-wrote with Jeong Seo-kyeong. KIM Ji-yong’s gorgeous cinematography— their first IMDb credit— just stays on your distraught mind long after the credits roll. The poignant music and sharp, gritty sounds too truly set the tone, lure your every sensory into this fascinating escapism.

Although the tragic conclusion breaks the heart to smithereens, the beautiful, dark Decision to Leave defines fierce yearning in its more sinful form, giving off a cautionary alarm to the predicaments a corrupted person can coax the innocent into if they’re not careful. Seo-rae bravely calls out the hypocrisy of the cop’s violent profession and the cop’s need for a stable home life with a docile partner instead of someone like her— a survivor only drawn to conducting violence for either those who wronged her or those suffering souls needing a way out. Seo-rae’s affect on Hae-joon alters him as much as he changes her, deepening a harrowing connection that cannot ever be given the necessary space needed to thrive. Hae-joon and Seo-rae are a pairing so vital, that it still hurts how they ended— as a guttural, unresolved case as cruel as the crushing deep sea. Ultimately, this ironic masterpiece of a film depicts two lonely people who found each other too late, whom under different circumstances may have been quite happy together.