2020
The film tells the tragic story of a trans woman over fifty years old in Malaysia. Narratively, the story focuses primarily on the violence inflicted upon Andy—mockery by the police, exploitation by her boss, the death of a close friend—while devoting little attention to her daily life. Although there are heartwarming scenes, these serve mostly to intensify the subsequent losses. Aside from Andy, Su Ho (an undocumented Vietnamese migrant), her son Xiao Kang, and a hearing-impaired friend, all other characters are functional—they appear briefly to inflict harm and then disappear. Viewers are given no insight into their motivations or backgrounds. For instance, we are not told why Andy’s daughter screams at her with such hatred at the wedding. Good and evil are oversimplified into personal behavior, while the structural oppression of trans women by society is stripped of its context. In terms of narration, the film employs a first-person point of view and uses flashbacks to reveal Andy’s past. For example, after Lucy’s death, the film cuts to a joyful memory of Andy dancing with her. Unfortunately, these flashbacks serve no narrative function beyond heightening Andy’s sorrow. In terms of mise-en-shot, the director appears intent on manipulating the audience’s emotions. The film heavily uses close-ups—especially of faces and violent moments, such as Andy’s naked body being mocked from behind or a hand violating her—all without restraint. Dialogues are often shot with reverse shots, and the backgrounds are frequently blurred. In contrast to deep focus or wide shots that allow viewers to choose their perspective and understand a character’s relationship with their environment, this film directs viewers to see and feel only what the director chooses, with no space for critical thinking. Due to decontextualized narration and out-of-focus backgrounds, viewers witness the event but not the cause. Reverse shots also show only the character’s spoken words, not their reactions. Furthermore, the film’s highly stylized cinematography underscores the director’s intention to guide viewer emotions. Most scenes are shot in low-key lighting, while scenes featuring hopeful characters use bright, halo-lit backlighting. Framing is often closed, with many high-angle shots reinforcing the characters’ sense of despair. The choice of props for Andy and Lucy also raises concerns about the creators’ perspective as outsiders to marginalized experiences. Items like nail polish, bright red lingerie, and pink car keys might be acceptable symbols to convey character traits quickly. However, scenes where Andy sleeps without removing makeup or wears a long dress while hauling cargo feel unnatural. Lee Lee-zen, the actor who plays Andy, also revealed that the production team initially asked him to alter his voice and mannerisms to appear more feminine. Moreover, while Andy is supposed to be a Malaysian Chinese woman, she speaks with a Taiwanese accent, which alienated some Malaysian viewers. This raises the question: can representation by non-marginalized individuals truly and faithfully voice marginalized experiences? In summary, the primary issue with Miss Andy is that it only conveys the "pain" of being a trans woman. Viewers witness the violence Andy suffers and feel her sadness, but they are not given the social or familial context that produced the trauma. Thus, rather than generating positive outcomes for marginalized communities, the film risks existing merely to elicit sympathy from mainstream viewers—demonstrating traits of trauma porn. According to queer theory, gender identity should be diverse and fluid. Yet, by presenting trans women through the lens of trauma porn, Miss Andy turns them into objects of voyeurism. Audiences rarely see Andy fight back, and she is instead portrayed as a tear-jerking figure, diminishing her agency. The film overlooks the complexity and resilience of trans women's daily lives, emphasizing violence to the point that viewers may walk away thinking, "So that’s what being a trans woman is like—pure tragedy." Although well-intentioned, the film inadvertently pushes trans women from one binary (male/female) into another fixed stereotype. That said, despite its issues with trauma porn, Miss Andy does raise awareness of the struggles of trans women in Malaysia. Given Malaysia’s conservative stance on gender diversity, earlier LGBTQ+ films often had their intimate scenes censored and ended in tragedy to express the characters’ "remorse." Perhaps Miss Andy faced similar limitations or censorship threats, prompting the filmmakers to adopt such an emotionally heavy-handed style. Nevertheless, the film sparked considerable discussion after its release. Hopefully, one day, we will see an Andy who is not tragic—proudly walking the streets of Malaysia as a joyful, resilient trans woman.