About a year ago, the film Joy Ride premiered in theaters. I went into this movie 1) having auditioned for one of the roles way back in lockdown era (Sabrina Wu’s take is so wonderful and so very different from what I did based on the original character breakdown!), and 2) not expecting it to be anywhere near as wonderful as I found it. By now, as a queer femme Asian human, I’m very used to being let down by representation on the big screen. Lots of “every step counts” and other such weak defenses of half-assed attempts, and even straight up offensive portrayals. But in Joy Ride, I unexpectedly experienced great comedy, a really touching A-plot, and the most nuanced Asian characters I think I’ve ever seen. And in particular, that wacky Deadeye I had auditioned for got me thinking.
This film was marketed as an Asian women-led story and exuded ingredients of the classic American comedy recipe. And while that’s true, the movie’s exploration of themes surrounding identity is far more varied and nuanced than any template could dare to indicate, let alone embody. To continue, allow me to introduce the idea of sexlessness as it is ascribed to Asian people, in case you don’t have the joy of knowing it from personal experience; Asians in media are often portrayed as sexless–undesirable to everyone else in their environment, and either desirest of love who does not reciprocate, or desire is not something we even think to associate with the character at all. They aren’t particularly masculine or feminine “enough” for the people around them, but also not androgynous in a sexy way, they’re too foreign, even if they’re American or another palatable nationality such as British, and there doesn’t seem to be a reason that they are the way they are or are viewed by others the way they are viewed. They just are–as factual as most any archetype. And that archetype can be categorized as the butt of the joke, and not in a flattering or martyr-esque way.
Enter Deadeye, an unsettling and awkward character nicknamed for a physical condition that affects others in the same way she does merely with her presence. Deadeye’s quirky antics throughout the story are a source of comedy without feeling like we’re making fun of her for them. We see behavior that pretty clearly suggests neurodivergence, it’s presented to us in ridiculous situations, and we cheer Deadeye on. For example, there’s a sequence where the girls each find lover(s) for the night, but instead of sex, Deadeye seeks camaraderie in the form of a K-pop style dance battle with some guys staying at the same hotel. This part of the journey affirms–in such a fun, thoughtfully fashion–that Asian femmes can stand in their power in very different ways; that they can not only desire, but be desired intensely, too, and that “sexlessness” can mean someone is generally not very interested in sex, and that’s not a bad thing! This cleverly allows us to cheer on Deadeye’s potential sexuality–maybe in the asexuality and demisexuality realms–and gender queerness in a way we might not even know we’re ingesting, which is crucial for any feature film that seeks to succeed in the box offices and plant the seeds of sympathy, and therefore empathy, and therefore change.
In the very end of the movie, having seen more obvious storylines get tied in satisfying bows, we learn that Deadeye has a final trick up her sleeve. Their sleeve, really. Their non-binary-ness contrasts with the three women’s arcs in such a beautiful way; while those three were on more interpersonal quests to do with identity, Deadeye was on an extremely personal one that was never shown with a heavy hand. Perhaps even more notable and impactful, we learn of Deadeye’s revelation through their friends using they/them pronouns when referencing them, not from a dramatic, emotional coming out scene. There’s still that feeling of sisterhood between the four friends, except it is now not the gender bond so much as that tried & true, forged in fire connection. And we see the change in Deadeye, too. They’re more androgynous-presenting now, in a way that suits them far better than the interesting outfits they wore prior in the film. Their style also feels like a firm but gentle response to the masc/femme, undesirable debacle of it all in relation to Asians of all genders. It says, “I’m going to speak up and live my life–not in alignment with or in direct opposition to your preconceived notions of me, but confidently being myself, in my truth, in the moment. Your rules hold no power with me.” And thank goodness for that.
To say one last goodbye to AANHPI month and Pride, I highly suggest watching this film. And let me know your thoughts when you do!
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