snake woman herself
oddly enough, as a philosophy major, i’m not awfully attracted to artistic works on our subconscious. i’m specifically talking about the newly released film backrooms. to be honest, i was entirely distracted during the entire screening of the film. of course, at the time, i had a solid reason that distracted me from wholeheartedly and sincerely enjoying the film—that probably matters less now. for a highly emotionally and intellectually attuned creature such as me, i live inside my head too long, and the subconscious is less of a novelty than a routine that i attempt to reconcile with. it’s the disease of the discipline, no?
what has really fascinated me for the past few weeks is the netflix show straight from hell. as opposed to being drawn by metaphysical themes, i’m more attracted to actual, living persons. straight from hell tells the story of a woman. to be specific, a japanese woman in post-WW2. to be more specific, someone who rose from poverty to wealth and lifestyles. to be even more detailed, a nightclub owner who operates in accord to the standards of yakuza, recruits and abuses strippers, and a fortune teller who becomes successful by feeding on the most vulnerable parts of human desires, their fears and trembles,.
a person as complicated as that, plus her identity as an asian woman, makes a cringeworthy tale even more intriguing in so many different ways. she is no doubt a product of a time—of the bubble economy, of the postwar poverty, and of the newly thriving economy. yet she is also an inimitable character of her own accord. she fell in love, fell out of love, moved on, forged new paths of career, failed and went bankrupt, and started anew again. her story is not about morality, but a remarkably vivid person who can claim to have truly loved and be loved, hate and be hated, judge and be judged, fight and be fought, cried and laughed, and still have the guts to initiate something out of her comfort zone, regardless of what tactics or means she ends up applying.
i love this kind of character. perhaps “trickster” would be a proper description. or perhaps she’s more than that. i’m not saying that what she has done is admirable or praiseworthy (perhaps praiseworthy in terms of stamina and courage and wit, not in terms of ethics). i’m only saying, a life lived like that is a life well spent. not everyone has that sort of energy or momentum for life. artists and musicians call that as passion. poets see it perhaps as arch. philosophers see that perhaps as charisma. if anything, it’s a compelling, unique character.
of course, i can’t get over the soundtracks that hold the storyline together. i’ve listened to them over and over, sometimes while driving, sometimes alone at night, or sometimes i just sing in my heart in the middle of night. in particular, it’s the waltz of the family. two scenes are magnified by the exactly same soundtrack. those two scenes couldn’t be more different in terms of contents and tone. the first one is when she married into a wealthy family (before she left the man shortly after) at her early 20s. the second one is when she frames herself as the wife of a well respected sensei—at his funeral scene—for the purpose of elevating her social status, while manipulating the press to show that she’s arrived in her 50s. the first scene is tragic and solemn, exactly the tone of the waltz, highlighting an angel, a treasure falling from the sky, or in other words, someone who deserves much more than the role of a wealthy housewife. the second scene is more about effortlessness, conveying her role more as a gamer in the game rather than a participant who gets played. in the second scene, her actions are not noble, nor do they have enough integrity to be praised for. but it’s an important bedrock for her subsequent success in the public arena as a tv host and as a nationally beloved fortune teller. after all, at that time, sometimes even at today’s time, what else can a woman do?
the snake woman’s name is kazuko hosoki. she grew up in hell, rose up from hell, fell for the hell, escaped the hell, and became the hell. and this is a good story to tell.
susan sontag once said, her work is too austere, while her life is a brutal anecdote. well, for us mortals, our work might not as austere, but each of our own biography can be safely said as a brutal anecdote. or whatever. maybe it doesn’t even matter. perhaps stop taking yourself too seriously.