Debut: Horror, Animation, And Campiness Confront Internalized Racism In ‘Shé (Snake)’
Shé (Snake) is an invasion of space, something monstrous digging under your skin, threatening to consume you. The short follows 16-year-old British-Chinese violinist Fei (Xionan Wang), whose psyche and physical form undergo rapid change when newcomer violinist Mei (Alina Lew) arrives, threatening everything she has worked toward.
This is Renee Zhan’s live-action directorial debut, and she sure has a story to share. The short draws from her own horrific experiences with internalized racism, as she is a Chinese-American herself. Zhan weaves her personal horrors into Fei’s story, explaining in her Q&A, “I wanted to communicate [the horror of internalised racism] in this film.” The narrative rejects convention and does so unabashedly. Having previously focused solely on animation before making Shé, this short marks a significant transition in Zhan’s career.
A director’s commentary and Q&A with Zhan accompany the short on Vimeo, offering brilliant insight into the twisted tale she conjured up. Unlike her previous animated work, she says that Shé’s “development and scriptwriting had to be a lot more rigorous and precise.” This rigor is reflected in Fei’s state of mind throughout the film.
Her thoughts begin to unravel, literally, when an open wound on her neck delivers a multitude of slimy creatures. These are no stereotypical creatures, however. They are a physical manifestation of Fei’s consciousness, sharing her hair and, eventually, her entire face. They ultimately are Fei, a grotesque combination of her deepest self-doubts and negative thoughts. They tell her Mei is replacing her, which is exacerbated by the teacher mixing the two’s names up. It’s an intentional choice on Zhan’s part, coinciding with her own journey.
She states the film was, “inspired by an experience I've had many times, of being in the same room as another Asian woman, and being inevitably mixed up and called each other's names.” The narrative’s strength lies in the intertwining of personal experience with horror, as Zhan herself endured much of what Fei experiences in the short. Zhan goes on to say, “It's a feeling that I think many minorities have experienced, of being replaceable. And when that feeling is internalised, I think it's when you start to see yourself as something monstrous.”
The film’s third act presents Zhan’s sentiments through the creatures, who present as a wild, surrealist mixture of the campy aesthetics of House (1977) and the intensity of Whiplash (2014). After battling the creatures, Fei and Mei acknowledge their differences and come together to play a beautiful Chinese folk song on bone instruments, which were formed from the creatures’ leftover remains. Given that this is a horror-focused narrative, the horror elements could have been strengthened thematically instead of being focused on the aesthetics of the creatures.
The short’s themes of internalized racism were at their strongest when Fei faced them tangibly, from a human-oriented perspective, rather than fighting stop-motion creatures with her head affixed onto them. This was especially noticeable in the climax, which was all about the creatures, and as a result, Fei and Mei’s final performance felt unearned. This stunted the film’s emotional impact; the content was there, but its assembly was lacking.
Zhan’s admiration for animation is undeniable, serving as a main inspiration for Shé and remaining a crucial component of her career thus far. However, the animation never felt necessary, which is a problem. In no way is Shé a bad film; in fact, it is a wholly original, entertaining, and clearly meaningful narrative, especially to director Zhan. Her insights in the director’s commentary were electrifying, helping to paint a clearer picture of the film thematically. Without Zhan’s commentary, however, Fei felt distant, given that the creatures took over for much of the film. They would have been more effective if Fei had been further fleshed out emotionally.
The most horrific elements of the film were actually early on, where Mei is framed as the enemy. With so little known about her, the horror of the unknown has room to creep in. Given that Fei is the emotional core of the film, the horror shone through when Mei ripped her spot out from beneath her, or when Fei’s family tells her, “FeiFei, why can’t you be as sweet and polite as Mei?” The question is also followed by Mei stealing Fei’s face, and while only for a moment, this instance reveals a further layer to the narrative.
While Mei is never actually an enemy, this is where the horror lies: Mei is a villain to Fei, even though they are simply two Chinese girls who share a passion for the violin. Implementing Mei as a doppelgänger was the best choice Zhan made thematically, especially when tackling the horror of internalized racism. She discusses this in her director’s commentary: “that feeling of internalized racism that Fei’s been experiencing is now externalized. You see people who look like you not as friends or allies, but as enemies, as the competition.” The narrative would have benefited from choosing a singular horror trope, ideally Mei as a doppelgänger to bring the themes to the forefront, rather than relying on the aesthetics of the creatures.