For cinephiles and moviegoers alike, the idea of the male gaze has been discussed and dissected time and time again. The damsel in distress, the sexy secretary, even the glamorous Bond girl—portrayals of women through the male gaze have been limited and more or less objectifying. Women are depicted as objects of desire, whose only purpose is to serve, pleasure and empower their male counterparts. And whether intentional or not, when men sit behind the camera, it’s almost impossible not to be subjugated by the male gaze on the receiving end.
Anora recently won big at the 97th Academy Awards. A story of a young sex worker Ani who enters into a whirlwind romance and marriage with Ivan, the blasé son of an oligarch, the film swept the biggest categories of the night and Mikey Madison’s performance clinched her an Oscar, despite mixed reviews regarding the portrayal of the sex worker community.
While I did enjoy the film—the story, performances, and unexpected comedic timing—upon taking a step back, I see the underlying presence of the male gaze.
Although Ani is portrayed as strong, outspoken, and seemingly in control of her body, she is subjected to multiple gazes throughout the film—her clients, Ivan, and ultimately Igor, the tough yet kind-hearted henchman. At the end of the film, while the audience rejoices ever so slightly that Igor is ‘one of the good guys,’ Ani’s story is never truly hers—her story is continually depicted through the gaze of male characters.
Furthermore, the portrayal of Ani in Anora never goes beyond her profession as a sex worker. It’s as if she doesn’t have an identity beyond her physical body. The film unfortunately falls into the reductive and regressive stereotypes of sex workers. Director Sean Baker’s absence of an intimacy coordinator on set for a film featuring multiple sex scenes certainly doesn’t help his case as well.
As we explore the weight of these critiques, I can’t help but wonder how a female filmmaker would have tackled a film of this subject instead. For instance, The Stroll, a 2023 documentary film on Black and Latina trans sex workers in New York City, received overwhelmingly positive reviews on its authentic portrait of a heavily stigmatised community. This is largely due to the directors being a part of the community themselves. There is indeed value when stories are told by those who have a stake in it, as an outsider wouldn’t even be aware of where their blind spots may lie.
What is the female gaze?
“In conventional Hollywood films, women may be presented as archetypes—the strong woman, a self-sacrificing mother, the dutiful daughter, and more. These depictions can be facile and often relegated to supporting roles,” puts Alexander Lee, Programmes Executive of Asian Film Archive (AFA). While women’s roles may have evolved from being a side piece or the doting housewife, archetypical portrayals of women continue to perpetuate the idea that there is only a certain type of woman fit to be depicted in art, severely undermining the complexities of women in the real world.
Simply put, the female gaze refers to the gaze of a female spectator, character, or creator of an artwork. Some find it easier to define the female gaze in terms of what it isn’t: the female gaze doesn’t objectify the female form. It doesn’t relegate women to secondary roles only to perpetuate male characters’ perspectives or narratives.
But it is also much more than what the male gaze is not. The female gaze distinguishes itself as a form of empowerment, challenging the conventional gaze they’ve been subjected to for centuries. The women on screen are finally looking back, and their gazes are firmly carving out spaces of resistance and empowerment.
A wide spectrum of narratives
AFA’s upcoming programme ‘Look / See: The Female Gaze in Cinema,’ conceived to celebrate International Women’s Day and Month, looks at canonical works of influential feminist filmmakers, of both Western and Asian cinema. The titles featured “span decades and cultures, exploring how universal themes of womanhood, socio-political issues, and patriarchal structures existing in various cultures are being highlighted or challenged,” Lee shares.
On the programme’s lineup, Lee notes the distinctions between depictions of the female gaze in Asian and Western cinema: “Asian female filmmakers more rhythmically and seamlessly enmesh their gaze within their narratives, compared to the more self-aware and experimental approach of Western film.” In terms of the themes explored, “there is an emphasis on societal roles and collective struggles in Asian films such as Santosh and Wadjda, while films from the West tend to be more direct, advocating for personal empowerment and defiance.”
But as contemporary cinema is becoming increasingly globalised, the lines have slowly dissolved as women filmmakers as whole simply seek to “emphasise agency, subjectivity, and desire, through a cinematic space of resistance to reclaim their own stories.”
How has the female gaze evolved?
Female filmmakers have existed since the creation of film in the late 1800s, yet it wasn’t until recently did they start to receive recognition.
We’ve certainly come a long way from Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles., a groundbreaking work of the female gaze in the 1970s, also featured in AFA’s upcoming curation. The Belgian film revolves around a widow who turns to prostitution to make ends meet for her and her son and has since become a cult classic, lauded for its pioneering feminist ideologies.
From films like Greta Gerwig’s coming-of-age comedy Lady Bird to Céline Sciamma’s modern queer classic Portrait of a Lady on Fire, the gamut of female-led films has only grown in recent years. However, female filmmakers aren’t often afforded the luxury of creating anything they want—their stories seem to always need to feature some form of struggle, some kind of deep-seated pain, something that makes their story ‘worth telling.’ Be it gender bias, lack of financial backing, or the micro-aggressions against women in any workplace, trying to find their footing in a largely male-dominated industry has proven to be anything but straightforward for female filmmakers.
In spite of the hurdles, female filmmakers have continued to push the envelope. Take the 2024 body horror film The Substance for instance. Starring Demi Moore, the film tackles the ideas of beauty and aging, as a fading actress injects a mysterious serum into herself in hopes to revive her youth. The film epitomises the female gaze: what woman can’t relate to looking in the mirror and scrutinising every little spot, watching the reflection magnify all the deep insecurities we have been socialised to have?
But women filmmakers have also been creating films simply for pleasure, namely female pleasure. The 2024 erotic thriller Babygirl stars Nicole Kidman as a high-powered CEO who enters into a dominant-submissive relationship with her much younger intern, subverting the hackneyed tale of male boss and female secretary.
More importantly, the film explores the range of female pleasure, as the fact that powerful women desire pleasure (in the film, through relinquishing control) seems incomprehensible to many. While the film may not be a cinematic masterpiece, it’s a fun watch and a subject matter that can only be portrayed authentically by a female director.
Better but not nearly enough
While some female filmmakers have gradually become household names—Greta Gerwig, Jane Campion, Chloe Zhao, Sofia Coppola—the upsurge of the female gaze in cinema hasn’t necessarily translated to more opportunities for women.
When I heard people debating whether Coralie Fargeat (The Substance) or Halina Reijn (Babygirl) should be nominated this year, or when Justine Triet (Anatomy of a Fall) was nominated ‘over’ Greta Gerwig (Barbie) last year, I couldn’t help but ask: why not both? Only two female directors have won Best Director at the Oscars in almost a century since its inception and there has only been once where two female nominees were up for Best Director at the same time. It’s as if to say having one nomination is enough, and we should be grateful for it.
Art is a mirror that reflects the reality on which our society is built. But it has long been a fragmented one. We’ve taken steps forward, yet there’s still miles to go. And it’s not on the shoulders of women to fight for change, but for the industry to look inward, see the obvious gaps, and do something about it.
