Abstract
Straddling between horror and comedy genres, Stree (2018) is a Bollywood production catering to mainstream audiences. Its unique portrayal of sexuality, however, acquires a special significance at a crucial socio-political juncture, when gender-based violence globally has seen a significant rise as well as becoming increasingly brutal. Stree uses a succubus as its central character to make a powerful social commentary on sexual violence and intimidation. The film presents a fearless female spirit free to decide who she wants as a male partner. Interestingly, the spirit abducts her victims only when they give consent. We see no rape, no brutality, or even forceful subjugation. The film thus uses the titillating idea of active female sexuality to draw viewers’ attention to the importance of egalitarian choice.
In this paper, I propose that the film’s central issue is a renewed awareness of consent. Further, I will investigate and use Laura Mulvey’s gaze theory to understand how a reversed sense of gaze gives birth to a new perspective. I will also use Doris G. Bargen’s understanding of supernatural agency to locate Stree at the centre of a renewed consciousness.
Keywords: Gender, violence, agency, power, consent, justice
Introduction
Straddling between horror and comedy genres, Stree (2018) is a Bollywood production catering to mainstream audiences. Its unique portrayal of sexuality, however, acquires a special significance at a crucial socio-political juncture, when gender-based violence globally has seen a significant rise as well as becoming increasingly brutal. Stree uses a succubus as its central character to make a powerful social commentary on sexual violence and intimidation. The film presents a fearless female spirit free to decide who she wants as a male partner. Interestingly, the spirit abducts her victims only when they give consent. We see no rape, no brutality, or even forceful subjugation. The film thus uses the titillating idea of active female sexuality to draw viewers’ attention to the importance of egalitarian choice.
In this paper, I propose that the film’s central issue is a renewed awareness of consent. Further, I will investigate and use Laura Mulvey’s gaze theory to understand how a reversed sense of gaze gives birth to a new perspective. I will also use Doris G. Bargen’s understanding of supernatural agency to locate Stree at the centre of a renewed consciousness.
Keywords: Gender, violence, agency, power, consent, justice
Introduction
Film industry is a key and perhaps the most vibrant industry of Indian economy. The number of films produced annually in India is higher than in any country of the world including the USA’s Hollywood. While Hollywood produces around 550 movies a year, the Indian film (movie) industry produces more than 1000 movies every year (Krishnan & Sakkthivel, 2010). Around four million Indians ‘go to movies’ on any given day of the year, and this number swells during festivals and holidays (Krishnan & Sakkthivel, 2010). (Chemmanoor & Pandya 2017: 22
The quote above has been obtained from an analytical study of the Indian audience. Many of the audience considered in these statistics are avid followers of Bollywood films. It is the sole source of their entertainment, education, and pastime.
The aim of this paper is to understand the role of interruptions in mainstream media and how they create an opportunity to talk about issues of gender and agency in patriarchal settings. My focus here will be on Bollywood. But what is Bollywood? It is the most dominant of the many Indian film industries, one which mainly produces films in the Hindi language, a language that dominates a part of the Indian society and culture. It is imperative to mention here that the scope of the paper does not allow me to delve deeper into the language politics that have been ever-present in the country. However, it is crucial to acknowledge the fact that a production in the Hindi language has the potential to reach a larger audience within and outside India as opposed to any other regional language of the country. The global reach of Bollywood has made it an influential industry in all aspects.
We live in a world where women struggle on a regular basis to escape an incident of abduction, murder, or sexual abuse. It is a known fact that the living, breathing human world has often failed women. For a considerable amount of time now, Bollywood has also been notorious for reiterating harmful stereotypes that affect society negatively. But so widespread is its influence that with each passing day, it is becoming impossible to ignore these questionable representations. To understand Bollywood and the kind of influence it exerts, I turn to Aditi Sen’s 2011 article ‘I Wasn’t Born with Enough Middle Fingers: How low-budget horror films defy sexual morality and heteronormativity in Bollywood’, which elaborates on the nature of the films produced in the industry:
[M]ainstream Bollywood is a construct of this patriarchal set-up, and is concerned about preserving order by selecting certain values over others, by oppressing the less powerful and sanitizing everything that does not fit their moral frame. (Sen 2011: 88)
The women or the other marginalised bodies are often used as catalysts that help the hero/protagonist achieve their designated goal. So, when these established notions are disrupted, it becomes our responsibility as the audience to take note of it and understand the message that is being given. These disruptions do not come easily. They are often met with challenges and rejections. These interruptions often come in the form of subversions that are not accommodated in the mainstream. In the case of this paper, I am talking about the subversions that come in the form of horror films in our living rooms. As Sen continues to say:
Stripped of all glamour, completely marginalized by the mainstream, horror films document the voice of the repressed who have been humiliated, disgraced, and ignored by tradition. Even though horror films have seen successful recently … Bollywood still has an ambivalent relation with the horror genre. (Sen 2011: 88)
Horror films in Bollywood have rarely been treated as serious works of art. Historically, they have been poorly made, with a very limited production budget. Directors who have ventured into the genre have always been under the watchful eyes of the critics and have been often questioned about their choice of filmmaking, as we can deduce from the quote above.
However, despite all these hurdles, Bollywood has developed a newfound obsession with horror cinema, and it has given way to an alternative way of understanding and questioning the society that is still doused in gender violence and inequalities. In this paper I try to outline these exact subversions through an examination of the 2018 movie Stree. Whether we will call horror films vulgarities or look at them as important social commentary is a choice that we must make as the audience. But as consumers, it is imperative that these subversions are noticed and talked about in detail.
Stree begins with the camera exploring the dark lanes in the suburb of Chanderi, a village in India. On the outer walls of each house is written the following: अउ स्त्री कल आना (1) (Hey lady, come tomorrow), which later becomes important in understanding how Stree is different. Every time the camera sees the statement, it moves forward. This is basically a woman's spirit on a hunt for her next victim, but she can’t enter a house until she is invited in. She is on a long hunt but never tries to force herself into a house.
In the film, men are absolutely terrified of this female spirit, and women turn protectors. This is interesting, given that in patriarchal cultures like those prevalent in India, women are considered weaker compared to their male counterparts. This constructed weakness often becomes the reason why women are victimised and violated. In the film men voluntarily drape saris (2) to hide their identity. This locality is oddly devoid of heteronormative stereotypes where being effeminate is not considered an anomaly or glitch in the system. Rather, it is encouraged as a form of defence mechanism. Men are kept behind closed doors and are given curfews so that their safety is ensured. It is interesting to see how the reality of women is re-lived by men in this film. In Stree, women have power over men, but the difference between the real world and this alternate reality is that in the supernatural world of Stree, women use their power and agency to create a safe society where consent is essential, and they do not exploit the vulnerability of the ‘other’ gender.
Stree is an important cinematic production for a variety of reasons. Apart from the fact that it has successfully captured the attention of a large section of the Indian audience, this film has become the site of many subversions that can be looked at as some kind of commentary on the rising gendered violence in the country. In the following section, I will talk about the following things that are dealt with in the film: the exploration of consent, the access to agency, and societal contradictions.
Analysis
Whenever there is a discussion of gender roles, something that inevitably comes to mind is the concept of consent. How well are we versed on this sidelined yet significant concept? What happens in its absence?
In section 375 (rape) under the Indian Penal Code, the definition of consent is as follows:
Consent means an unequivocal voluntary agreement when the woman by words, gestures or any form of verbal or non-verbal communication, communicates willingness to participate in the specific sexual act: Provided that a woman who does not physically resist to the act of penetration shall not by the reason only of that fact, be regarded as consenting to the sexual activity. (3)
However, this is immediately followed by one of the following exceptions: ‘Sexual intercourse or sexual acts by a man with his own wife, the wife not being under fifteen years of age, is not rape’ (Rape, Section 375, Indian Penal Code 1860).
This is where the concept of consent in Indian society becomes fuzzy. In a country where sexual violence in marital relationships is highly common, marital rapes are not illegal, and there is no need for consent when two individuals are married. This contradiction makes the whole idea of consent a grey area and as Bollywood has helped normalised the lack of consent as a positive response to romantic or sexual coercion, it becomes crucial that we speak more about it.
One of the major reasons Stree stands out is its subtle treatment of consent. The spirit we encounter in the film is full of rage because of the injustice she faced during her lifetime. After her death, her spiritual entity gives her more power over human beings. It is worth noting here that as she was both a woman and a sex worker in her former lifetime, and as such she was the victim of a lot of abuse. However, after her death when she assumes a new identity, she does not behave vengefully. Spirits are still somewhat less understood by human beings, and therefore, they are feared. Anything spiritual is not easily toyed with in the human world. Stree is aware of this reality, but she does not abuse this knowledge. She has a fixed timeline when she goes out to hunt a suitable partner. She never upsets that setting. She gives the social world enough time to prepare for her arrival. Once she is in the village, she respects people’s wishes about her presence. Anywhere she sees the line outside the house that asks her to return another day she does not break the boundary. She respects that wish. As for her victims, she only takes them captive when they agree to accompany her. The men must physically show their acceptance of her invitation with a nod of the head before Stree carries them away. This is a very symbolic stance. Whenever there is a crime of sexual violence, the lack of consent is especially troubling. An individual invades the boundaries (psychological or physical) of their victim and violates the body. But here, that does not happen, and Stree respects that boundary when she is not desired.
The power dynamics here are fascinating. Stree, the female spirit, has many advantages because of her spiritual entity, but she refuses to take anything that does not belong to her. Additionally, she never steps in unwelcome zones. She is well aware of her supernatural powers but refuses to abuse them. She waits for the consent of her chosen men before she proceeds to abduct them. I have wondered whether we can even call these men ‘victims’. They are abundantly educated on how to avoid Stree’s abduction because if the men refuse to answer her call, she will leave them alone. But all the men who end up being abducted voluntarily answer her call. None of them restrain themselves from the enticement. This whole trajectory is indicative of how women in Indian society are often equated with commodities, something that is to be enjoyed rather than treated as equal. This representation is reflective of the fact that men are often not obligated to be bound by social codes, whereas women are burdened with them. By showing this juxtaposition of a woman seeking consent and men breaking social codes it also becomes a commentary on how inequality breeds in a patriarchal society.
According to Meeraj Ahmed Mubarki, ‘With its theme of menace and destruction the horror genre has historically been regarded as articulating the historical anxieties of a nation’ (Mubarki 2016). This is why Stree has become an important marker in the history of Bollywood films. While Bollywood traditionally reflects the dichotomy of the nation’s fervour towards gender bias, Stree does an excellent job of questioning that.
This brings us to the discussion of agency, something that we cannot overlook when discussing consent. Before we dive deep into the use of agency in the film it is crucial to define the concept. Author Brownwyn Davies defines agency thus:
Agency is never freedom from discursive constitution of self but the capacity to recognise that constitution and to resist, subvert and change the discourses themselves through which one is being constituted. It is the freedom to recognise multiple readings such that no discursive practice, or positioning within it by powerful others, can capture and control one's identity. And agency is never autonomy in the sense of being an individual standing outside social structure and process. (Davies 1991: 51)
This is a definition that gives a sense of agency while being in conversation with the rest of the society. The agency must be looked at as a way of establishing the self while in a relationship with the social space. In Stree, we explore this idea. The film could have easily portrayed a vengeful spirit capable of taking whatever she wants. But she is instead attentive to the autonomy of an individual situated within the social boundaries. While alive, because of her profession and her gender, she had limited access to what some would define as her agency. She was not allowed to have a family as she was a commodity to be enjoyed by all. Her right to a life of her own desire was taken away because the villagers believed she did not have agency; however, when the power dynamic is reversed, she does not take away what is not hers. Rather, she waits for it to be given to her. The one who has experienced extreme violation refuses to act out the same way. She instead creates an exchange where the men can have a say in their abduction. This absence of violation and taking no for an answer without violence stands in stark contrast to other Bollywood romantic productions where even a ‘hard no’ is manipulated to a ‘yes’ and the basis for a romance.
In Stree, violence and violation are dealt with very seriously. There are no forceful sexual encounters or gory scenes. The question that comes to mind is whether the cinematography would be the same if the spirit were a man. The spirit in the film gives men a chance to access the agency of their individualism, which makes it different from many other heteronormative narratives that the film industry produces every year.
The next cinematic masterstroke that stands out is how the whole village reacts to the return of Janna, one of the pivotal characters, from Stree’s den. There is a tendency to isolate victims of sexual violence, especially when the victim is a woman. This is mainly because, in patriarchal societies, the woman must bear the burden of the abuser. The shame belongs to the victim as opposed to the perpetrator. However, in Stree, the trend of victim blaming has been reversed. Janna was abducted by Stree when he failed to ignore her beckoning. This pushed his friends to seek the spirit out, and Janna returned without so much as a scratch (but he acts as Stree’s messenger in the latter part of the movie). When he enters the normative space of the village, instead of the regular victim blaming he is welcomed with open arms, and he does not face any isolation because of the abduction. Even though we do not see any act of intimacy on the screen, Janna is released completely naked, which implies what might have happened in the absence of the camera. However, this is never an issue for Janna when he returns to society and assumes his roles as a son, a friend, and a resident of Chanderi. Such subversions are a staple of horror movies, which often become the site of the display of the unthinkable or unfathomable in an attempt to question existing ideas that are so embedded in our systems we stop getting unsettled by them. Here again, I would like to quote Mubarki:
A ‘return to faith’ marks the centrality of the Hindi horror genre and becomes the basis for its generic contours being different from the Hollywood horror genre. It also marks the horror genre's affinity with the Hindu mythologicals for its subversion of the known laws of space–time and for the way in which divinities in mythological and ghosts in horror cinema defy rational logic, laws of corporeal reality and realize impossible ontological experiences. These codes and conventions in varying permutations and combinations impart the unity of a genre to Hindi horror cinema. (Mubarki 2016)
These alterations in social codes can also be observed in how gender performativity happens. They do not stick to any heteronormative sense of the gender. A number of things happen in this context. The village witnesses cross-dressing as men drape saris to be safe from the spirit's grip. Women occupy the public spaces, and men are only safe in the domestic space. The outside world, which is normally a space for men to socialize and deny social rules, becomes a dangerous sphere for them. They must be accompanied or escorted by women so that they are not taken away by Stree. Men face a curfew, and they are vulnerable. Their safety depends on them being limited to the household domestic space whereas women get free reign to move around without the fear of being physically assaulted or harmed. This reversal is interesting as we observe considerably less violence in the village of Chanderi. This almost silently follows the Bakhtinian understanding of carnivalesque:
We must consider again in more detail the ambivalent nature of carnival images. All the images of carnival are dualistic; they unite within themselves both poles of change and crisis: birth and death (the image of pregnant death), blessing and curse (benedictory carnival curses which call simultaneously for death and rebirth), praise and abuse, youth and old age, top and bottom, face and backside, stupidity and wisdom. Very characteristic for carnival thinking is paired images, chosen for their contrast (high/low, fat/thin, etc.) or for their similarity (doubles/twins). Also characteristic is the utilization of things in reverse: putting clothes on inside out (or wrong side out), trousers on the head, dishes in place of headgear, the use of household utensils as weapons, and so forth. This is a special instance of the carnival category of eccentricity, the violation of the usual and the generally accepted, life drawn out of its usual rut. (Bakhtin 1984: 126)
All the rules are altered in the village of Chanderi. The binary of right and wrong is somewhat toppled and it makes one question the general idea of the world. The village becomes one big carnival where every known social code, rule, and practice stands challenged or altered.
Situating Stree in the Indian Context
In reality, in many communities in India, the family's honour lies within its women. When a woman is raped, it is very common for her to be isolated, rejected by her family and society, and, in the worst cases, killed because her body was violated, something that we see being altered in Stree. I will here quote an excerpt from the article ‘Borders and Bodies: Women, Violence, and Martyrdom In Shauna Singh Baldwin’s Partition Fiction’ by Debali Mookerjea-Leonard (2018). This is a very accurate representation of how many women were sacrificed in the name of honour during partition and it continues to this day in some regions of India; it is often given the cultural identifier of an ‘honour killing’:
And in order to pre-empt her violation by Muslim men and preclude her forcible conversion to Islam, Bachan Singh performs his ‘duty’—he kills her. ‘I called to Kusum,’ he tells Roop… By beheading her, Bachan Singh pre-empts Kusum’s violation, and in so doing, defends the honor of his son, of his family, and that of the Sikh community. In inflicting ‘real but honourable death’ upon Kusum, Bachan Singh averts her possible ‘symbolic death that marriage/[violation] and conversion entailed’ (Menon and Bhasin 48). Further, he couches this familial/patriarchal violence in the language of her (and his) sacred duty regarding what ‘Sikhs must do’ performed in the midst of items of religious significance: the prayer, the ceremonial sword, and even going so far as to justify it as divine will: ‘Vaheguru did not stop it.’ (Mookherjea-Leonard 2018: 140)
While, in the above quote, we see the mention of two distinct religious communities, it was, in fact, a commonplace scenario to violate women’s lives and bodies in the name of ‘honour’ or security and still is. In order to save a woman from sexual violence the better option was to actually kill her rather than live with the stigma of the assault. What happened to her voice? Why do we almost never hear her side of the story? Why is she just a poor woman bestowed with the heavy burden of saving the honour? In Stree we hear that long-supressed voice. The murdered courtesan does not stand back without a fight. She was looked down upon because of her profession but men came to her to quench their desires. When she refused to be objectified anymore, she was killed, and her voice was taken away. But in her supernatural form, Stree comes back to haunt the village and question their conscience. She is not just a blood-hungry monster; she seeks justice in her otherworldly form.
Interestingly the whole village of Chanderi is afraid of a spirit that does nothing but seek companionship. They are in constant fear of being abducted by this spirit. However, we see the victims return safely to the town when Stree has found acceptance and dignity. Interestingly, the men in the town are afraid of a seemingly harmless female spirit. Where does this fear spiral from? Is it the fear that the men are unable to control a woman, never mind that she is also a courtesan, one of a group of women who traditionally were not respected because of their professions? Was the fear a result of gender roles being inverted? Or was it the fear of being in a woman’s place and being prone to that violence and not having the agency to protect one’s own body? These questions continue to loom above our heads as we struggle to find answers in the real world. In this instance, I am reminded how Ashima Jose in her work tells her readers what Mulvey says about this fear:
According to Laura Mulvey's view on phallocentricism, men feel subconsciously threatened by the female body. They perceive women as fear inducing reminder of the possibility of the absence of a penis and castration, which makes women a dangerous object — one which evokes anxiety. (Jose 2017: 55)
Understanding Gaze Through Stree
To understand why Stree is an important cinematic narrative in contemporary times it is crucial to understand the usage of gaze theory and how there is a reversal of that in this film. Laura Mulvey is credited with the conceptualisation of the male gaze in cinematic narrative (mainly Hollywood). In her now famous essay ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’ she says:
In a world ordered by sexual imbalance, pleasure in looking has been split between active/male and passive/female. The determining male gaze projects its phantasy on to the female figure which is styled accordingly. In their traditional exhibitionist role women are simultaneously looked at and displayed, with their appearance coded for strong visual and erotic impact so that they can be said to connote to-be-looked-at-ness. Women displayed as sexual object is the leitmotif of erotic spectacle: from pin-ups to striptease, from Ziegfeld to Busby Berkeley, she holds the look, plays to and signifies male desire. (Mulvey 1975: 5)
Therefore, according to Mulvey, in mainstream cinema, women are the object of desire, and there is an active manipulation that happens in the way we look at the female characters on screen. Mainstream cinema has long established the perspective of the male viewers. Thus, we often see camera angles focusing on parts of women that would be appealing to men. The same happens to the world that we see in the cinema. It is a man’s world. The rules are played according to heteronormative ideologies that make men comfortable. But when we look at movies like Stree, there is a conscious change in that representation.
I therefore propose the idea of a reversed gaze, where we see an alternative to the heteronormative society on our screens. In Stree, we see things that are often bizarre, marginalised, or looked down upon in the real world. By giving a visual representation of these alternative realities, it becomes possible to imagine a world where conflict resolution can be achieved without violence. In the film, we see that men are comfortable with women taking charge. In the village of Chanderi women become the ones holding all the power. This considerably reduces crime. Interestingly enough, these women who now hold the power to regulate society are concerned about the safety of men, yet they themselves do not exert any form of violence. We also see that men very comfortably cross-dress in public without being ridiculed for it. In Chanderi, Stree’s village, masculinity is not identified with muscle power or violent subjugation. Rather, men and women have equal respect in the village.
Thus, if we talk about understanding the gaze here, we see a completely alternate way of looking at the society. When a few men raise concerns about being violated by Stree, one of the characters reminds them that the spirit is a woman. She is not a man and will not do anything against anyone’s will. This is a significant moment in the film. The fact that this is pointed out is an intentional move because it then also questions the role of the camera which traditionally looks at women as objects. As Vivek Sachdeva notes
Camera was not only expressing director’s fantasy, but also catering to the fantasy of the male audience. Thus camera, in the hands of male filmmakers, became a tool to fetishize female body and, by using female body for his gratification, also an instrument to exercise men’s dominance over women. (Sachdeva 2017: 247)
Camera, the tool of fetishisation, becomes something else in this film. It assumes the role of a commentator that jolts us out of our habitual comforts where we fail to reject the objectification of women on our screens. By pointing out on camera that the spirit being a woman will never violate a man’s body we are forced to think of the change of the gaze. The violence that is associated with revenge is questioned. The connotation of power is rethought. The spirit will wait for consent and will only strike if she gets a positive response from the man in front of her. This exchange of dialogue in the film is an important inclusion. The fact that this is spelled out so clearly helps us understand that even though there is a revenge-seeking female spirit that apparently terrorises the village, she is not abusive.
Mulvey, in her essay, talks about scopophilia, which is basically the gaze that Hollywood has established where women are objectified rather than treated as subjects with their own voices. Here I take the liberty of reiterating what Sachdeva says:
…[C]inema, by reducing female subjectivity to a commodity, provides its viewers the scopophilic pleasure. She has given three ways through which gaze operates in cinema: first, the camera operated by men looks at the body of women as objects; second, the gaze of the male actors within the film and third, the gaze of the male spectators on the female who identifies with the gaze of the camera/actor. (Sachdeva 2017: 250)
The same has been perpetuated in industries like Bollywood, where female objectification is still a burning problem today. However, with a film like Stree, the gaze is not only questioned; there is also an opportunity to look at women characters subjectively. Rather than painting the female spirit as a revenge-seeking, fear-inducing violent entity, the film gives it a legitimate backstory and actively tries to narrate the story from her perspective. Even in her supernatural form, Stree is extremely humane and respects the will of her victims. It is the men who constantly fail to stick to the social codes and are abducted. Stree, for her part, does not break rules or violate personal space.
Another very important subversion in the film is that a marginalised profession is brought within the manifolds of mainstream society. To appease Stree, a man born of a sex worker was essential. So, the protagonist, Vicky, who ultimately relieves Stree of her eternal suffering, is the son of a sex worker. But it is refreshing to see how his birth identity is not stigmatised. Rather, he is loved by all even before he emerges as the saviour of the village. Therefore, by incorporating the protagonist’s biological connection with a sex worker and yet being able to live in a society with dignity, which is otherwise known for marginalising the children of these professionals, the film breaks a huge stereotype. Sex work is normalised, and the heteronormative taboo attached to it is criticised.
Why Use the Supernatural to Talk About Agency?
At this point I want to briefly look at another aspect of the representation explored in Stree. I begin with the question, what does a female spirit like Stree do for female agency? For this, I want to consider one of the most interesting analyses, by Doris G. Bargen, in her essay ‘A Woman’s Weapon: Spirit Possession in the Tale of Genji’ (1997):
Afflicted persons — or their mediums — twisted, turned, cried out in strange voices, tore their hair, rent their clothing. As a mode of expression of the experience of spirit possession was diametrically opposed to quiet artistic pastimes; but it too had a recurrent pattern, a strangely ambiguous, even contradictory pattern that sent out conflicting messages as well as message of conflict. It sprang from a destructive impulse directed against male dominance. At the same time, spirit possession was a constructive phenomenon that engaged women in female bonding and in collective self-assertion. The mononoke acted as the apparent victim’s vehicle for dramatically calling attention to otherwise inexpressible grievances. (Bargen 1997: 6)
Bargen clearly indicates that even though spirit possession is often looked at as a violent representation of desires or is used to induce fear, it often serves the crucial purpose of providing agency to ones who do not have a voice. If we look at Stree, the female spirit breaks a number of barriers and brings to the forefront women who are otherwise voiceless under the oppression of patriarchy. In the film, because the men are vulnerable, women assume the role of protector and are given access to a sense of power that is otherwise usually in the hands of men, especially in rural India. The spirit also highlights a profession that has served mankind for the longest period of time yet is looked down upon because it involves sexuality. The female spirit herself, being a sex worker, is only appeased by the son of another sex worker. This way, the community of sex workers finds an agency within the film universe through which they can be connected directly to the mainstream. The female spirit, with her grit and determination, pointedly makes people understand that she and women like her deserve dignity and respect. Even when the spirit is given an open offer to consummate her sexual desires with a man, she makes it clear that she is not haunting the village for that. Rather, she wants the respect that people refused to give her when she was alive because of her profession. By doing this, she makes the point that sex workers are not objects; rather, they have every right to an agency with the aid of which they can decide how to use their own bodies.
To me this is an important message that comes across through the film. Agency becomes a very central theme of the film. The spirit Stree not only ensures that agency is given to other women she also gives men space to exercise their will and agency. The supernatural thus does the unthinkable, providing equal agency to everyone despite their class, caste or gender. It is ironic that it is necessary for human beings to conceive of the supernatural to imagine the changes that would make the world a better place.
Role of Promiscuity
Aditi Sen has this to say about 1990s horror films:
This was the time when horror films consciously started fulfilling their basic role—subverting the mainstream moral order. What made subversion possible was the Censor Board’s attitude towards these films. The Censor Board’s idea of ‘adult content’ was limited to topless shots and butt cleavage, so if they did not find any of these things, the films passed the test. It was this myopic vision of the Censor Board that finally allowed the filmmakers to create actual ‘shocking content’ that was not limited to topless shots and indecent exposures. (Sen 2011: 78)
To this day, this nonchalance of the Censor board toward the horror genre continues, which is probably why such a subversive film like Stree is available to the audience. Despite the basic plot being of a vengeful woman hunting for men, the woman is not the stereotypical vamp of Bollywood who feeds on unsuspecting men. Stree respects boundaries, yet she is difficult to bring within the bounds of the social code. Stree redefines the sense of norm in this film. So, the question here is, do we call these subversions promiscuity? How does it alter heteronormativity? How does it change the understanding of the body in a given space and time?
Had this film belonged to a different genre, the reality of its reception would probably be different. The audience would likely be more focused on the nuances that can be missed easily in a genre film because of the adrenalin rush that comes from the act of watching a horror film on a big screen. Instead, Stree treads the dangerous waters of promiscuity and subversions while striking a fine balance.
Conclusion
In summary, I am tempted to say that Stree successfully challenges a number of harmful stereotypes that often cloud our vision from problematic representations of women on screen. This film is a firm critique of a society that fails women on a regular basis. India, one of the fastest developing countries, has a high rate of violence against women, ranging from rape to female infanticide. In fact, female infanticide in India is so high in some areas that it is illegal to determine the sex of a baby before its birth. Apart from women, any gender other than the male community is always under the radar of oppressors. It is a long way off before everyone feels equally safe. But Stree gives us a glimpse of a world without oppression. It is a world that nurtures kindness and is sensitive towards the pain of others. This film gives hope for a better and more accepting society where every gender has agency and is worthy of a decent life.
In conclusion I would first like to clarify that this research is not exhaustive and that there are further questions arising from this work — in fact, that is the aim. I consciously choose to speak about a film that is not the stereotypical rom-com of Bollywood, simply because I look at it as a crucial interruption in the ocean of heteronormative narratives. It is an essential voice within the crowd of love songs and dreamy happy endings, a narrative where a woman is respected and accepted for her just demands. She does not accept the torment that a cruel society meted out to her. She speaks out and people listen.
References
Bakhtin, M. (1984) Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics. Minneapolis: University Of Minnesota Press.
Bargen, D.G. and Murasaki Shikibu (1997) A woman’s weapon: spirit possession in the Tale of Genji. Honolulu, Hi: University of Hawaiʻi Press.
Chemmanoor, F.T. and Pandya, F.H. (2017) ‘What Makes Audience to Watch Bollywood Films in India: An Empirical Study’, International Journal of Marketing and Business Communication, 6(2), pp.22–34.
Davies, B. (1991) ‘The Concept of Agency: A Feminist Poststructuralist Analysis’, Social Analysis: The International Journal of Social and Cultural Practice, 30, pp.42–53. doi: https://www.jstor.org/stable/23164525.
Jose, A. (2017) ‘Male and Female Gaze in Bollywood Films’, Literary Herald, 3(4), pp.53–59.
Meraj Ahmed Mubarki (2016) Filming Horror: Hindi cinema, ghosts and ideologies. New Delhi: Sage.
Mookerjea-Leonard, D. (2018) ‘Borders and Bodies: Women, Violence, and Martyrdom in Shauna Singh Baldwin’s Partition Fiction’, Revista Canaria de Estudios Ingleses, 76, 137-148. https://doi.org/10.25145/j.recaesin.2018.76.010
Mulvey, L. (1975) ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’, Screen 16(3), pp. 6–18. https://doi.org/10.1093/screen/16.3.6.
‘Rape’, Section 375, Indian Penal Code, Available at https://indiankanoon.org/doc/623254/ (Accessed 27 June 2024).
Sachdeva, V. (2017) ‘Subverting the Male Gaze: A Case Study of Zindegi Na Milegi Dobara’, in R. Nayar (ed.) Cultural Studies in India. Abingdon: Routledge, pp.247–262.
Sen, A. (2011) ‘I Wasn’t Born with Enough Middle Fingers: How low-budget horror films defy sexual morality and heteronormativity in Bollywood’, Acta Orientalia Vilnensia. [Online] 12 (2), 75–90.
Stree (2018, dir. Amar Kaushik). AA Films.
Footnotes
Bakhtin, M. (1984) Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics. Minneapolis: University Of Minnesota Press.
Bargen, D.G. and Murasaki Shikibu (1997) A woman’s weapon: spirit possession in the Tale of Genji. Honolulu, Hi: University of Hawaiʻi Press.
Chemmanoor, F.T. and Pandya, F.H. (2017) ‘What Makes Audience to Watch Bollywood Films in India: An Empirical Study’, International Journal of Marketing and Business Communication, 6(2), pp.22–34.
Davies, B. (1991) ‘The Concept of Agency: A Feminist Poststructuralist Analysis’, Social Analysis: The International Journal of Social and Cultural Practice, 30, pp.42–53. doi: https://www.jstor.org/stable/23164525.
Jose, A. (2017) ‘Male and Female Gaze in Bollywood Films’, Literary Herald, 3(4), pp.53–59.
Meraj Ahmed Mubarki (2016) Filming Horror: Hindi cinema, ghosts and ideologies. New Delhi: Sage.
Mookerjea-Leonard, D. (2018) ‘Borders and Bodies: Women, Violence, and Martyrdom in Shauna Singh Baldwin’s Partition Fiction’, Revista Canaria de Estudios Ingleses, 76, 137-148. https://doi.org/10.25145/j.recaesin.2018.76.010
Mulvey, L. (1975) ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’, Screen 16(3), pp. 6–18. https://doi.org/10.1093/screen/16.3.6.
‘Rape’, Section 375, Indian Penal Code, Available at https://indiankanoon.org/doc/623254/ (Accessed 27 June 2024).
Sachdeva, V. (2017) ‘Subverting the Male Gaze: A Case Study of Zindegi Na Milegi Dobara’, in R. Nayar (ed.) Cultural Studies in India. Abingdon: Routledge, pp.247–262.
Sen, A. (2011) ‘I Wasn’t Born with Enough Middle Fingers: How low-budget horror films defy sexual morality and heteronormativity in Bollywood’, Acta Orientalia Vilnensia. [Online] 12 (2), 75–90.
Stree (2018, dir. Amar Kaushik). AA Films.
Footnotes
- The Hindi script of the sentence that reads ‘O stree kal aana’.
- A piece of cloth which is normally measured in yards and is traditionally draped by Indian women across the subcontinent.
- Rape, Section 375, Indian Penal Code, Available at https://indiankanoon.org/doc/623254/ (Accessed 27 June 2024).