Sometimes, a photograph is all that remains of someone’s life, especially when their story was never considered important enough to be written down or remembered by others. Early in Mokya Shin’s Easter, Saekja sits with an old photo album, looking back at a younger version of herself and the women who once occupied that world with her. The photographs are full of sequins, beautiful costumes and friendships, showing people who were already living openly as themselves, finding happiness and enjoying one another’s company at a time when South Korean society offered them very little understanding or acceptance.
Now 68, Saekja was part of South Korea’s early transgender nightlife, performing in clubs throughout the 1980s. Although her experiences tell us a great deal about the difficulties transgender people faced during that period, Shin is equally interested in the woman she is today. Saekja has a wonderful sense of humour, speaks openly about sex, relationships and getting older, and takes obvious pleasure in revisiting her younger years, especially when looking through old photographs and recalling who was the most beautiful, who had the best dance moves and who could honestly hold a tune.
Much of what we know about the lives of transgender people in South Korea comes from newspaper articles, police reports, court documents and accounts written by people who were never part of the community themselves, which means their experiences have often been told through the observations and judgements of others rather than in their own words. Research into Itaewon shows that transgender people were already living and working in the area during the 1960s, with the community growing throughout the following decade as clubs featuring transgender performers became part of the neighbourhood’s nightlife. In Easter, Shin gives the women who lived through those years the chance to tell their own stories, drawing on memories of friendships, relationships, and performances to offer a more personal account of a time and community that official records could never fully capture; and Saekja remembers a great deal.
Saekja recalls leaving home for Busan when she was just sixteen, and as she looks back on her younger years, she speaks about the clubs where she performed, the friendships she made, the men she loved and the gender-affirming surgery she underwent in a yeogwan, a small Korean lodging house, in Donam-dong rather than in a hospital. Some of her memories are difficult to hear, including the time she and other transgender women were arrested and detained for three days, accused of being men who wore makeup and sold drinks, as the authorities described them at the time. She also talks about the men who were happy to pursue relationships with transgender women in private but, when marriage and social expectations became part of the conversation, chose women whom she describes as “authentic women”.
At times, Saekja’s memories bring sadness, especially when she speaks about rejection and the prejudice she faced, but she also has a wonderful sense of humour and a frankness that makes listening to her an absolute pleasure, even when the conversation turns to painful experiences. She talks openly about her body, relationships and growing older, without losing her appreciation for beauty or feeling the need to explain herself to anyone. Shin explained in our interview that she came to understand Saekja’s idea of being natural as being “unguarded, not hiding”, a beautiful way of describing a woman who has spent much of her life dealing with other people’s expectations while trying to live as she wishes.
The film also uses Buddhist stories about creatures considered monsters to question why people are so easily feared or condemned simply for being different. There is something rather touching about the way Shin connects these ideas to Saekja’s memories, especially when we consider how many of the clubs and gathering places that once formed part of South Korea’s transgender nightlife have disappeared. These were places where women could perform, earn a living, form friendships and enjoy one another’s company, even when much of society refused to accept them.
Watching Saekja also makes you think about how much queer performance in South Korea has changed. Artists such as Nana Youngrong Kim and the drag performers associated with Neon Milk have reached audiences through fashion, music, television and social media, opportunities that would have been difficult to imagine during Saekja’s younger years. Of course, transgender identity and drag are not the same, and greater visibility does not mean that discrimination has disappeared in a country where same-sex marriage remains unrecognised and comprehensive legal protection against discrimination is still lacking. Nevertheless, seeing how different generations have found their own ways to perform and express themselves is wonderful.
At times, the film’s mixture of mythology, reconstructed memories and documentary footage can feel a little complicated, and some viewers may wish Shin had spent more time simply listening to Saekja, whose humour and extraordinary memories are compelling enough without much embellishment. Nevertheless, Easter is a great documentary about a woman whose life deserves to be remembered, and about the friends, performers and lovers who shared that life but whose stories might otherwise disappear with her generation.
Shin describes the title Easter as a way of bringing back “time left out of history”, and listening to Saekja talk about her younger years, you begin to understand exactly what she means, because there was so much more to these women’s lives than the prejudice they faced, from the friendships they cherished and the nights they spent performing to the beautiful clothes they wore, the people they loved and the memories that still make Saekja smile decades later.
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Written by Maggie Gogler
Featured image courtesy of BFI LFF
View of the Arts is an online publication dedicated to film, music, and the arts, with a strong focus on the Asian entertainment industry. As we continue to grow, we aim to deepen our coverage of Asian music while remaining committed to exploring and celebrating creativity across the global arts landscape.
