The Terracotta Bride presents so many ideas and themes in such a short burst that it can be hard to process. One of the most important themes in the story is the perception/treatment of women. Junsheng has absolutely no respect for women, seeing them as possessions that he can use as he pleases. This is made literal with Yonghua, who is a test run for an artificial body he can use to be immortal. Him and his associates created a new form of life as just a way to see if they can further their own lives. Although Yonghua is naïve and barely alive, the rate at which she’s learning makes sentience entirely possible in her future. If she were modeled after a man, the characters would marvel at this and potentially treat her like a person and not an object. Siew Tsin is the only one who treats Yonghua like a person because she relates to her. Siew Tsin is also seen as a naïve object by those around her...
A lot of Metropolis barely feels like fiction at this point, at least when it comes to its commentary on society. As a matter of fact, it weirdly feels like a predecessor to Bong Joon-Ho’s Parasite. Both visually portray class in similar ways; the working class literally live under the upper-class, who don’t really care about those beneath them. Sure, you can argue it’s a bit of an obvious visual metaphor, but I don’t think it takes away from how effective it is. I’d argue that some of the most powerful imagery seems obvious. It speaks to the core of what it’s representing, in this case how the working class is seen as below the upper class. It’s kind of hard to analyze it beyond that, because the film sums it up better than I could with its final card: “The Mediator Between the Head and the Hands Must Be the Heart.”
The Pulse Between Dimensions and the Desert uses fantasy and sci-fi to explore the intricacies of Mexican culture, femininity vs. masculinity in said culture, and various other themes Rios de la Luz has intimate experiences with. It was so refreshing reading a collection of stories that center on Hispanic and LGBT characters. Even though I’m not Mexican (Cuban-American myself), I feel a kinship with this work. That mostly comes down to the little things, like seeing a reference to “La Vida Es Un Carnaval” by Celia Cruz and suddenly being transported back to Hialeah in the early 2000s for a second. I felt the frustration seeping out of this collection, and not just in the obvious ways like the general disdain for white people and machismo men. This collection felt like the result of Rios de la Luz having read sci-fi and horror works for years and just asking herself where the people like her were. Where were the meaningful horror works written by and a...
Comments
Post a Comment