Review of Naghmeh Shirkhan’s Maki
Review by Sabrina Vetter
Developmentally Edited by Alexandra Hidalgo
Copy Edited and Posted by Jennifer Bell
Maki, (2018). 1h 29 min. Directed by Naghmeh Shirkhan. Featuring Naomi Sundberg, Julian Cihi, and Mieko Harada.
“I wanted to explore themes of love and loss, power and manipulation through a new lens and I found ample inspiration in the Japanese Diaspora,” says Iran-born, US-based director Naghmeh Shirkhan about what led her to making Maki, a film for which she also wrote the screenplay. Shirkhan chose New York City as the setting for her story about the film’s central character, Eva (Naomi Sundberg), and how she tries to negotiate life in a foreign city while entangled in more-than-complicated relationships with both her lover Tommy (Julian Cihi) and her boss Mika (Mieko Harada). It is here where Japanese immigrants like Eva are promised they can find refuge in an enclave community where there is no need to know their new homeland’s language or have relations (professional or personal) beyond those sharing the immigrant and diasporic experience. The problem for Eva, is that her enclave is a Japanese community that exists in New York’s night club sector and is marked by sex work and crime. The film’s title derives from Eva’s alternate name “Maki,” which she is referred to in her work life. The use of two names indicates that there are two lives which Eva tries to negotiate: the private person, and the person that she is supposed to be, in order to fit into the new life in this Japanese community in the US. Since the main character refers to herself as “Eva” (and also the film credits list the character under that name), this review will also use this name, in order to discuss the protagonist.
While Shirkhan’s film is never explicitly clear to what extent the Japanese hostesses in Mika’s night club serve their male customers in terms of physical gratification, Mika is regularly referred to as “Mama-san” (a term used to describe the matron of a bar, nightclub or geisha house as well as madams) and the fact that she does not just run a regular bar becomes obvious rather early on. Her employees are prostitutes—if not by their own will, then by being left with no other choice by their employer. Such a depiction of forced sex work as a means of survival for immigrants isn’t new to narrative film, but nonetheless, is a reminder that the immigrant experience is never just a trip to another country, but a journey entangled with emotional and physical struggles—even more so for people of color arriving in a country that sees itself as primarily white.
Maki reminds the viewer of the 2018 Austrian film Joy, directed by Sudabeh Mortezai. Mortezai’s film dives into Austria’s Nigerian immigrant community and how women, upon arriving in the European country, have to work as prostitutes in order to pay back the money that has been spent on their journey and so their passports can eventually be returned to them… a process that isn’t finished in a month or two, but can take up to almost a decade. Similarly, in Maki, Mika takes away Eva’s passport without the latter’s knowledge in order to prevent her from leaving the country, thereby forcing her to pay back her “debts” by means of forced prostitution and involvement in criminal activities to get hold of her personal documents again. While Maki doesn’t dive as deep into the realm of forced prostitution of immigrant women, the similar storylines allow the viewer to draw parallels between women’s immigration stories, where isolation due to language barriers is a decisive factor. The theme of isolation is central to Maki. This is not only evident in the dynamics of the Japanese community depicted but also by how little is said by the protagonist and how her restrained demeanor sets her apart from her supposed friends.
As the film progresses, the audience is only slowly able to put together how Eva ended up in her position. Shirkhan is not interested in spelling out everything directly. Only as the film progresses, the audience gets a sense of the main character’s story, which makes for a compelling viewing experience. In the film’s opening shot, Eva struggles to apply the makeup that supposedly makes her appear as an elegant hostess, indicating that she is not familiar with the New-York-nightclub lifestyle. Later on, a video call with her family in Japan gives insight into why she left her home country. On another occasion, an encounter with Tommy’s drunk ex-girlfriend reveals that Eva is not the first woman to be in danger after falling for his charms. Since dialogue is sparse, it is up to Sundberg to use physicality and demeanor to portray Eva’s isolation, dependence, and exploitation. She uses small gestures to convey Eva’s innocence, inexperience, and shyness. Whether it is Eva dropping a drink so as to not have to get physical with one of the night club patrons or hiding her belongings nervously in Tommy’s bedroom from their mutual boss Mika, who supposedly is not in the know about the couple’s romance — Sundberg gives us insight into Eva’s inner struggles of fear and discomfort by relying on calm, restrained physicality to convey Eva’s emotional state.
Despite Eva’s restrained demeanor, Shirkhan writes and directs the film in a way that lets us know that Eva is neither ignorant of her situation nor unable to own her life. A decisive scene which foregrounds Eva’s agency, is when she pays a visit to Tommy’s alleged ex-girlfriend, in order to understand the genuineness of his feelings. During the conversation, truths are revealed, eventually making Eva question the reality she thinks she lives. Also for this scene, Shirkhan is interested in focusing in on how to tell a story with little words. While entering an unfamiliar person’s apartment disrupts Eva’s daily routine (which unfolds between her own home, Tommy’s place, Mika’s nightclub and restaurants she visits with other nightclub hostesses), choosing a small apartment as a setting for one of the film’s central scenes is no accident. The one-on-one-conversation wastes no time on courtesies, making Eva face the truth about the state of her relationship and her life in the US as a whole within a small space where there is no room for her to hide — mirroring the constant state of confinement she lives in mentally. At the same time, by choosing a limited space as setting for this scene, the director also speaks about the circumstances that Japanese female immigrants to New York live in when ostracised by their community: with little money, in little space, and compared to those still part of the community that supposedly protects them, in solitude. A taste of what awaits should Eva turn against her employer and those who work for her. Interestingly, once she leaves the confined apartment, Eva is the agent of her own story.
As we follow Eva’s journey, Shirkhan also depicts an immigrant story and all the hardships that come with moving across oceans when you have no money, no job, and no education to show for. When people arrive in such a vulnerable state, close-knit immigrant communities serve as both a refuge and an obstacle when it comes to becoming acquainted with a new country. In the Japanese community depicted in Maki, the outsiders are those who are not part of the immigrant community, not the immigrants themselves. Through this lens, Shirkhan presents the US as a scary, even threatening country to its newcomers, in line with the country’s increasingly harsh immigration policies that leave many immigrants in impossible situations like Eva finds herself in.
However, while her critiques of American treatment of immigrants ring true, Shirkhan seems to struggle to go beyond familiar tropes which bind East-Asian female characters to two stereotypes: China Doll and Dragon Lady. While the China Doll stereotype is usually presented as submissive, soft, and delicate, the Dragon Lady is her counterpart by appearing as cold, hardened, and reckless. Both these characters appear in the film in the characters of Eva aka Maki and Mika, whose monikers mirror each other in what I’m assuming is a move to contrast them in the viewers’ minds. While it is not in any way an issue for a director to play with stereotypes, it would have been great to watch this film push and question them more than it currently does. Still, Maki shows a world we wouldn’t usually get to visit with a compelling character dealing with an impossible situation with dignity.
By centering a Japanese woman as her main character, Shirkhan is able to tell a story that is new to audience members, especially those not familiar with Japanese communities in New York. The film brings to life the hardships of immigration faced in a new home country such as the US. Eva’s minimal dialogue makes it possible for the film’s lead actress to allow the audience to get to know the main character and what drives her (or holds her back) by means that go beyond the words that are spoken but are found in restrained physical movements, shyness, and insecurity. Shirkhan implements this difficult feat in a memorable way.
You can watch Maki on Amazon Prime and learn more about the film on its website, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. You can learn about more of Shirkhan’s work here. Connect with Sabrina on her profile.