A 16mm MOS exercise for S&S:Film Summer at Tisch.
Shot, directed, and edited on the Steenbeck by Lydia Rui.
The original included the narration I wrote that inspired the film. Here it is below:
So, detective—you’re wondering what I’m doing here. If you’re going to ask, then
you must already know you can’t separate the history behind the act from the act
itself. And I’ll let you decide what act to call the crime or what act is but a crime
justified. Let’s start with my mother.
The woman pushed me out of her womb with room to spare. So as soon as she
had the chance she took me to her old acquaintance, the Chief Constable. She’d
always wanted a boy, she said, she didn’t have time for a girl. I was his to do with
as he pleased, stick her in the system, leave her on the street, “Or keep her for
all I care.” So he did, and we never saw her again.
He was a proponent of what he called tough love, a euphemism for the sins
that he gleefully propelled into my prepubescent body while he escaped his
sinophobic fears. Worst of all, he claimed, “I’m purging you from yourself” and
called me a slut as he robbed me of my fate. I could only take that depraved man
with his sausage-fingered hands that clammed over me like strawberry jam for
so long. I ran, a girl not yet fifteen, with the clothes on my back and the bag of
money I took from under the bed. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy, but that fucker
spun the string.
The life of a prostitute, it’s not far fetched for a girl like me, is it officer? It’s what
you’d expect. He said it first though. I’d just finished the routine with the three
musketeers when an unexpected visitor arrived at the door.
I knew it was him. I knew he’d come back for revenge. I knew as soon as I saw
his face that revenge was the reason why I still ate and slept.
I’d waited years to face the author of my destiny. But my impulse had come first,
the rage of the child within me overtook, and futile were my attempts to squeeze
an answer from this gringo to that existential “WHYYYY” that shook, me in my
daily debauchery. Blood and wine and wine and blood intermingled and danced
upon my hands. But my demons were left unexorcised. I sat and wept but with
dry eyes. And I waited for the knock to arrive. “Miss.”
The cuffs were chained and I remained where you see me now.
So, detective. You’ll decide what crime is the real crime, the society and the man,
and who the victim is here.
Copyright of Lydia Rui Huang.
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