How can rural traditions be generative sites to explore identity? Introducing Peafowl (2022), Dr Gemma Ballard of the University of Sheffield School of East Asian Studies tells us that part of the answer lies within this debut feature from South Korean filmmaker Byun Sung-bin. Peafowl follows a young transgender waacking dancer returning to her claustrophobic hometown following the death of her estranged abusive father. The film was shown as part of Queer East, an annual film festival showcasing queer stories from East and Southeast Asia that comprises essential viewing for cinema-goers.
Choi Haejun provides a stellar performance as the film’s central character Shin-myung. Choi herself competes in waacking, a dance style created in the gay clubs of the US West coast in the 1970s. She also starred in Byun’s precursory short God’s Daughter Dances detailing a transgender woman’s summons to conscripted military service. Through the film’s dance sequences, Shin-myung experiences defeat and finds solace. Choi’s performance presents an alternative to queer characters we’ve seen before; Shin-myung is catty and mean, blank and pouty-faced. Rather than righteous anger or heartbreaking innocence, resentment seeps out into the cold clear countryside air. She could snap any minute. The measured control in Choi’s delivery shows us a woman so used to hurting that she wears it with pride.
Peafowl has a distinct visual style with rich colour and limited camera movement giving the film a fake, surreal quality. Forcing Shin-myung to give up Seoul freedoms for familiar rural prejudice, the film leans into the “unnatural” characteristics of queer urban life through images of nighttime excess and hedonistic joy. However, cinematographer Kim Hae-in pares back the colour in the film’s rural scenes for a simplicity that won’t let Shin-myung hide. In these washed-out settings, Shin-myungs hyper-femme garb is uncanny and ridiculous (though iconic). Layers of aesthetics are peeled away and refined as her struggle with forgiveness and intent to find her “colour” enmesh her two disparate lives, forging a dancer more than just the sum of her parts. Although generally engaging, it often fails to reflect the depth of emotion portrayed by the cast: the grieving Woo-gi (Kim Woo-kyum) comes across somewhat unhinged in the bright outdoors and the warm homely tones of Shin-myung’s traditional family home.
Unfortunately for its diverse set of characters, the translated script struggles to immerse the audience, relying on heavily expositional dialogue to set up major character motivations. Shin-myung’s Seoul entourage are limited to unconvincing “Slay, queen!” one-liners that tragically underrepresent the life-saving power of queer friendships. In one club scene featuring some impressive editing and choreography, we’re left with the sense that something more is about to happen, some heartfelt sentiment almost expressed, but quickly and abruptly whisked away. Shin-myung’s involvement in the plot’s major crisis feels contrived, reminiscent of Cinderella’s glass slipper situation with more upsetting consequences, and the film’s spiritual encounters feel somewhat shallow despite their crucial narrative role.
Complications aside, the film delivers a visually appetising glimpse into South Korean queer culture that casts aside a cinematic history of what Ballard describes as homophobic “cautionary tales”. Locked in a head-on tackle with the nation’s battle between deep tradition and growing urban globalisation, Byun Sung-bin’s Peafowl takes a show-don’t-tell approach to that old queer adage that “forgiveness must be for yourself”.
A special thanks to The Showroom Cinema for giving Forge Press access to Queer East Film Festival 2023!
Image Credit: IMDb and Queer East
