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Asian Cinema: Confucianism and Ero Guro:

A Dichotomy of Female Victimization and Empowerment
by R. Jung

Modern Asian cinema has seen an unprecedented wave of explicit violence and sexuality

over the past three decades, but it's noteworthy for the central roles that women play in many of

the horror genre's most popular and extreme films. The underlying reasons why women are so

often both brutal antagonists and brutalized victims, reflects complex sociopolitical traditions

throughout Asia.

The roots of Japan's thriving horror genre date back to the 1960's, particularly with the

foundation of the ero guro (erotic-grotesque) sub-genre exemplified by Shogun's Joy's of Torture

in 1968, and its sequel Shogun's Sadism in 1976. Japan's post-War monster movie genre evoked

the widespread urban destruction of the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Similarly, the emergence of violent, sexually-charged, torture cinema gave an outlet to a warrior

culture subdued following its surrender to Allied forces at the end of World War II. How does

any warring culture purge itself of its most violent impulses when there is no war or even a

build-up to war? Through its art, its literature, its music, and ultimately its films.

While deploying beautiful female characters who devolve as psychotic, possessed, or

spectral, is a tried-and-true formula in horror cinema, it is fair to examine, if not conclusively

judge, Asia's embrace of extreme horror through a cultural lens. The conservative traditions of

various Asian cultures have historically been both oppressive and highly respectful of women.

Yet there has always been an underlying subjugation of women in the deeply patriarchal and

ancient cultures of China, Japan, and Korea. Japan's history, as recently as the 20th century

remains sullied by the grotesque violations of humanity the empire's troops engaged in during the
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invasion of Nanking, China. The systematic rape of women of all ages was more than the

unrestrained lust and violence of a military unleashed, but a clear expression of dominance and

disdain for the Chinese, as filtered through the women and children of Nanking.

The sexual violation of mothers, sisters, aunts, and nieces was the most vulgar blow to

Nanking, then China's capital city, and a virulent expression of domination. “The incredible

carnage - citywide burning, stabbing, drowning, strangulation, rape, theft, and massive property

destruction - continued unabated...from mid-December 1937 through the beginning of February

1938” (History Place). Similar sexual oppression occurred during the Japanese occupations in

Korea and the Philippines, where there remain the last living survivors of imperial Japan's so-

called “comfort women,” forced into sex slavery at the service of the Japanese military.

How are the events of World War II relevant to post-War Japan's self-expression through its

burgeoning native cinema? Consider that the Rape of Nanking occurred in 1938, but just seven

years later Japan declared its unconditional surrender to Allied forces, and a near-total

demilitarization over the next two years while under US occupation. “This signaled Japan's

capitulation and the end of its colonial rule of the Korean peninsula...and Japan's attempt to

dominate China and the Asian mainland”(Swenson-Wright). Many of the same military present

in Nanking were then integrated back into a culture of mandated passivity. A nation that for

centuries had celebrated samurai culture had no choice but to find creative outlets to purge the

violent impulses of its recent past.

It is not hard to surmise that the simmering undercurrents of a society that repressed the

pent-up anger, shame, and frustration of its post-War subjugation, funneled them into symbolic

and overt representations of ero guro. This cleansed the base desires war and conquest could no
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longer fulfill. Aside from sociopolitical shifts, there were more pragmatic and strategic reasons

for employing petite, innocent-looking, and unvarnished Asian actresses in excessively violent,

psycho-sexual horror films. Pragmatic, because as in all cinema, Asia recognizes the value of

attractive female characters. Strategic, in the dichotomy of the cherubic-faced actresses, who in a

twist, prove to be bloodthirsty demons or vengeful ghosts. That young women have been utilized

in Asian cinematic horror in such numbers, as both antagonists and victims, has resulted in the

popularity of this gender-driven sub-genre of Asian cinema.

Prior to rise of the malevolent Asian female antagonist, the obvious choice was to use

children in such roles. Or the convenient stand-in for children; child-sized puppets and dolls. The

theme is familiar to American audiences with the lingering success of schlock horror franchises

such as Chucky, or the campy PG horror of Gremlins. Children themselves have been

successfully deployed in acclaimed horror films ranging from The Exorcist, to Children of the

Corn. They are also the wide-eyed protagonists that allow for audience empathy in mainstream

horror such as Poltergeist or The Sixth Sense.

Petite young women simulate the relative vulnerability of children and, visually at least,

even their innocence. Thus who better to surprise an audience with a shocking burst of brutality

than the character who appears most benign and non-threatening? In some ways women have

fared better in Asian cinema, which for all its victimization is still rife with great heroines, than

yjey have in Western horror. That it is so easy to single out Sigourney Weaver's Ripley from

Alien, and Jamie Lee Curtis' character Laurie Strode from Halloween, as two of Hollywood's

most enduring horror film heroines, implies that in Western horror women typically are victims.

More populated roles are that of the preening slut, who after a brief bit of gratuitous nudity,
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is summarily killed by the antagonist with the moral implication that she got what she deserved

for her promiscuity. Or conversely of the noble, but fairly hapless, damsel in distress who

repeatedly trips over her own feet while fleeing, and perpetually loses access to lighting and

phone service. Until she is rescued by the male hero who has recovered off-frame from a

seemingly fatal attack.

The greatest Western horror suspense director, Alfred Hitchcock, terrorized his female

protagonists (including Jamie Lee Curtis' real life mother, Janet Leigh) with brutal stabbings,

homicidal eye-pecking flocks of birds, and psycho-sexual paranoia. Even the psychotic mother

of the terrifyingly mundane Bates Motel proved not to be a woman at all, and therefore not a

victim; but instead her deeply stunted and disturbed son engaging in bipolar schizophrenic

episodes while committing brutality in his mother's dress. Asian horror cinema has both reversed

the trend of the female as a victim, and perpetuated it. While popular films feature cherubic,

almost Lolita-esque, distaff characters terrorizing and eviscerating, there are as many films that

take a near-fetishistic delight in the torment, torture, rape, and brutalization of women.

In many ways Asian horror goes much further than all but the most extreme Western horror

films in this respect. Still Asian scholars are skeptical of criticism or cultural evaluations when

emanating from Western critics not of Asian descent. "American media tends to masculinize

Asian horror films by highlighting issues of excessive violence and cruelties, thus appealing to

male spectatorship" (Lee).

Such apologism for Asian cinematic extremes is not only unnecessary, but an invalid

overreach, as on one hand the writer dubiously attempts to ascribe cultural bias to the West,

while on the other blaming “male spectatorship.” All while acknowledging that excessive
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violence and cruelty are prevalent throughout Asian cinema. Most critics and scholars come to a

deeper prevailing theory as to why women play such roles in Asian horror. The simple answer is

Confucianism. In her article titled “Mother's Grudge and The Woman's Wail” for the anthology

of essays, Korean Horror Cinema, writer Eunha Oh states: "The Confucian celebration of self-

sacrificing mothers and the sacred nature of motherhood forms the crucial apparatus for the

oppression of women, a repression that bursts forth in Korean horror cinema" (69).

The patriarchal ideaology of Confucianism is likely the strongest moral system throughout

Asia. Therefore it comes as little surprise that the Asian horror icon of the female ghost,

recurring in Japan, Korea, Hong Kong and Thailand, is usually a transgressor of Confucionist

principles. Or conversely an avenger on behalf of Confucianism, and raining vengeance on its

moral violators. As Colette Balmain, author of Introduction to Japanese Horror Film, writes:

"The reason for the success and ubiquity of such female ghosts is a mixture of female desire, and

fear of such empowerment” (Balmain).

Asian horror predicated on a female ghost is such a traditional formula that Thailand has

produced over a dozen films dating back to 1959 based solely on the legend of native female

ghost Mae Nak. In watching 2005's The Ghost of Mae Nak, the film is neither frightening nor

gory, save for a few rather cartoonish scenes. As ghost stories go, Mae Nak seems more of a

romance than horror. The film culminates with a tug on the heart strings as Mae's husband

expresses his undying love, and villagers who adore her weep before Mae's body frays into

shimmering light and ascends to the heavens.

Beyond the patriarchal shadows of Confucianism, there remains a perpetual application of

the female horror icon in Asia and the West, related to one singular distaff power that terrifies the
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patriarchy of all cultures: child birth. The act of child birth is still a difficult one for most men to

witness, and in an odd way it is nature's greatest horror scene, filled with blood, viscous fluids,

and viscera of indeterminate origin. It is the only naturally recurring event in which one's internal

organs are so graphically and willfully exposed, often to their partner, family, doctors, nurses,

and attendants. Of course if childbirth alone so terrifies, than the plethora of ways in which that

fear can be perverted, distorted, and manipulated is an impossibly rich vein for horror. What if

that which emerges from the pregnant woman's stomach is not at all what we expect? Not

human, or wholly recognizable? Neither helpless, nor benign. In Asian horror, childbirth

produces a wide range of horrific and unintended results. Mothers may die in childbirth only to

return as ghosts, as in the Mae Nak films; or conversely children are stillborn and return as

haunting entities.

Hugely successful Asian horror films of recent vintage such as like Ringu, and Ju-On are

also not particularly graphic nor exceptionally violent. In each, the fear comes more from the

lingering spectral terror of sudden death by somewhat mystical circumstances, than from the

more real-life terror of a homicidal maniac, or sadomasochistic band of killers. In each of these

films the goal of suspense is mainly achieved psychologically, by the fear of the unknown with a

few indelible images injected with the hopes of penetrating the viewer's nightmares.

Far more disturbing and graphic imagery comes from Korean suspense films, not classified

as horror, but containing genuine elements of horror, such as Old Boy, Sympathy For Mrs.

Vengeance, and The Host. The first two in particular, by visionary director in Park Chan-Wook,

have multiple disturbing moments bolstered by their dramatized realism and lack of fantastical

genre elements. When the titular protagonist of Old Boy cuts out his own tongue it is more
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cringe-inducing than anything found in Ringu and Ju-On combined. When he demonstrates his

detachment from civilized society by devouring a live octopus after being released from jail, the

scene supersedes any special effect or CGI. As for the female characters, the film's plot hinges on

an incestuous relationship between a brother and sister, and the sister's resulting suicide in the

shameful aftermath. It is noteworthy that the sister's suicide is triggered by symptoms of a false

pregnancy and her obvious fears of societal ostracization. Her incestuous brother has no such

concerns and continues on living with the shadow of her loss and his dark secret, until perhaps

the Confucianist guilt finally catches up to him and he too commits suicide.

In conclusion, a complex mix of sociopolitical, philosophical, psychological, and historical

factors have evolved the current status of women and gender in Asian horror films. The extremes

of never-before-seen levels of sex and violence in spindly horror sub-genres, are still balanced by

the otherwise benign roller coaster of frights provided by the most popular and well-crafted

mainstream films. So too are the portrayals of women who veer between tormented heroine and

victim with enough regularity that some semblance of balance remains. Ultimately it would be

critically dishonest to ascribe inflexible judgments on such complex and varied Asian culture,

based primarily on the alternately thrilling and repulsive excesses of its horror cinema.
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Works Cited

Balmain, Colette. "Inside the Well of Loneliness Towards a Definition of the Japanese Horror

Film." Japanese Studies. 2006. Web.

Lee, Hunju. "The New Asian Female Ghost Films: Modernity, Gender Politics, and

Transnational Transformation."Dissertation Reviews. 2013. Web.

Miura, Shogo. "A Comparative Analysis of a Japanese Film and Its American

Remake."Scholarworks. 2008. Web.

Oh, Eunha. Korean Horror Cinema. Ed. Alison Pierce. Print.

Schell, Orville. "Bearing Witness." NY Times. 1997. Web.

Swenson-Wright, John. "Why Is Japan's WW2 Surrender Still a Sensitive Subject?" BBC World.

2014. Web.

"Genocide in the 20th Century." The History Place. 2000. Web.