Originally published on 7 April 2023 at Cinema Poetica / Translated by Permata Adinda
In her last monograph Regarding the Pain of Others (2003), art critic Susan Sontag wrote, “we are living in a time where spectacle shapes reality.” Camera takes pictures and records events, allowing viewers to bear witness of things that would be otherwise beyond their reach.
Yet, what are the ethical implications of witnessing “the pain of others”? How are we to distinguish between works intended to elicit empathy and those merely indulging in the sensational? To record, in the words of Sontag, is to frame. And framing, inevitably, entails exclusion.
In Gina S. Noer’s film Like & Share (2022), the practice of recording and framing is shown to be closely related to the everyday lives of its characters, especially the two protagonists Lisa (Aurora Ribero) and Sarah (Arawinda Kirana). The practice is also an entry point to explore realities of sexual violence on the internet (commonly known as Online Gender-Based Violence/OGBV) as experienced by Sarah and Fita (Aulia Sarah).
Like & Share is undeniably a work of fiction while Sontag’s Regarding The Pain of Others is a critique of the practice of photographing other people’s traumatic experiences in a real world setting. Nevertheless, Like & Share, inspired by real instances of sexual violence on the internet, seems to echo Sontag’s question: what situations are excluded from the frame of an intimate video taken and/or distributed without consent? Grappling with the question, the film closely follows the lives of those victimized by such violence.
To Frame and To Be Framed
Lisa and Sarah actively engage with social media on a daily basis. For both high school teenagers, smartphones are instruments to capture their lives and surroundings, which they further disseminate through various online platforms. Producing autonomous sensory meridian response (ASMR) videos, they aspire to become prominent content creators on platforms such as YouTube.
Apart from Sarah and Lisa, Like & Share also portrays children their age engaging in similar activities at school or in public places. Some kids appear to be creating TikTok-style dancing contents while others are recording themselves on ice skating rides–all for their social media accounts.
These activities make it seem like they are living inside frames which in most cases they create themselves. Like & Share, however, adds a new critical layer: what if other people place them inside a frame they have no control over?
Like & Share’s response is to delve into the protagonists’ lives off camera. In a sense, the film gives the impression that the characters are being watched. Many scenes in the film portray Lisa and Sarah with everyday objects–including mirrors, windows, and doors–in singular frames. Occasionally Sarah is shown to be aware that she could somehow become a spectacle. She repeatedly asks Devan (Jerome Kurnia) if people outside the windows or on the street can see them in the room or on top of the building.
Unlike, for example, Searching (2018) or Profile (2018) where all the scenes are made of computer screen captures, Like & Share does not showcase its characters through the device or camera framing them.
Over-the-shoulder shots figure prominently, situating the audience in the same room as the characters. In fact, despite the initial scene showing the ASMR videos made by Lisa and Sarah, the camera frequently takes behind-the-scenes shots when both girls are recording their contents.
This approach, intriguingly, helps the audience to understand the social context that has enabled the OGBV phenomenon to occur. At this point, the film transcends a simple cautionary tale about the perils of the internet for youth; neither it argues about the purportedly central role of social media in escalating the risk of violence among teenagers. Instead, Like & Share underscores the immediate links between OGBV and the culture of patriarchy woven into the fabric of everyday life where online spaces merely amplifies what is already manifest offline.
As Lisa is watching on her smartphone screen a recording of a woman being raped, she is also depicted as inhabiting a world that cultivates and perpetuates patriarchy, an ideology that has long evolved into rape culture. This thematic exploration is rendered through various settings in Lisa’s daily life–her interactions with her family at home, school environment, the seafood restaurant owned by her mother’s husband, or leisure spaces such as at the ice skating rink.
A sheer manifestation of patriarchal culture can be seen from how Lisa’s mother expects her to be an obedient daughter. Furthermore, Lisa witnesses the hierarchical dynamic between her mother and her new husband, a relationship built around economic dependency that compels her to obey the husband. Another illustration of rape culture is conveyed by a scene where a sports teacher shows a video of Lisa swimming in a revealing attire to the entire class without her consent. In a word, in exploring the realities of OGBV, Like & Share foregrounds the normalization of violence against women.
By shedding a light on what is excluded from the frame, the film invites the audience to step into Lisa’s position; she does feel aroused when watching an intimate video only to subsequently question her own actions. Her further reflections are not rooted in “fear of sin” nor “fear of hell” nor shame at being caught red-handed by her mother, but in the growing realization that the woman in the video was raped and that she never consented to the dissemination of the video. That the sex video turns out to be the result of a non-consensual distribution of intimate images (NCDII) propels Lisa to question the ethical implications of her viewing.
The film extends the narrative elsewhere, showing another off-frame tragedy where Lisa’s best friend, Sarah, becomes a victim of NCDII.
The Myth of “Perfect Victim”
Like & Share sets clear boundaries between what is consensual and what is not without depicting Lisa and Sarah as “the perfect victims”. Both girls, as aforementioned, voluntarily and enthusiastically include themselves into frames and consensually disseminate the videos. They consciously film themselves for ASMR recordings, which they post to YouTube. They are aware that viewers might find their videos sexually inundated.
Apart from that, Lisa and Sarah are also depicted as teenagers with sexual desires such as Sarah commenting that the boy she likes has a “sexy butt” and Lisa obsessively watching pornographic movies and masturbating.
Furthermore, Like & Share is an attempt to start a difficult conversation: adolescent girls can have sexual urges and want to be the star of a show. Yet, this should not give anyone license to harass them. What is at stake is not morality—whether or not they deserve to be the victim of sexual violence—but their agency: do they have space to make decision? Do they want or consent to engage in sexual activity?
At times the film ruminates on choices and the freedom to make ones as often indicated by the shots at the window opened in Lisa and Sarah’s bedroom. Again, Lisa and Sarah allow themselves to be framed and watched with the film’s wide view shot capturing their bodies resting against the window. However, both girls occasionally close the curtains.
But the more obvious statement is in the dialogue. Lisa repeatedly complains for having no say to whatever her mother decides for her. Another example is the conversation between Sarah and her big brother about her desire to choose her own path in life.
When Devan forces Sarah to have sex with him despite her constant refusal, Like & Share clearly shows that Devan has consciously robbed Sarah of her agency. This part of the story indicates a departure from earlier scenes where Devan is shown to have some understanding of consent. In one of the scenes, Devan tells Sarah that she needs to notify him if she doesn’t like the meals served since she cannot stand spicy food in the restaurant. At the beginning of their introduction, Devan respects Sarah’s choices; he asks permission from Sarah to record her exercising, or respecting Sarah’s “no” answer when Devan asks her to join his gym class for the first time.
No Need for Subtlety
Like & Share is a powerful film not for its ubiquitous symbolism, but for its in-your-face approach has successfully brought forward examples of sexual violence.
Today, talking about sexual violence is no longer a social taboo compared to 5-10 years ago. Public support for victims of sexual violence to come forward has been on the increase, although there is no denying that victim-blaming and the intimidation against the victims continue to occur. With the growing concerns around the topic, every works of art seems to be walking on a tightrope: do they bring new conversation to the table, or are they simply riding the wave?
The main issue here is not the responsibility or the artists to incorporate cautionary tales but rather the imperative of being sensitive to the experiences of real-world victims of violence and not obfuscating the systemic conditions that have perpetuated the harm.
In certain periods of time, it is quite normal, even clever, to employ heavy-handed metaphors, subtle parables, or complex symbolism to get around political censorship. One could refer to Sundelbolong (1981), a classic Indonesian horror that highlights the impossibility of sexual violence victims receiving justice under the authoritarian New Order. The film has to assume that the victim must die and become a ghost before she could hunt down her rapists.
More recent films such as 27 Steps of May (2018) and Photocopier (2022) might be more straightforward in depicting sexual violence, but still play a subtle game when it comes to the recovery process of victims and the motives of perpetrators. 27 Steps of May, on the one hand, unapologetically displays self-harm as a result of the trauma experienced by victims of sexual violence. On the other, the same film resorts to the subtlety staple by presenting a character of magician along with his tricks to depict the gruelling process the victims of sexual violence must endure to recover from their trauma.
Photocopier particularly draws attention to sexual abuse and rape culture in college campus. Yet, in doing so, it has to bring in the gimmicky photocopier machine along with dramatic theatrical ploy and fog and smoke in the last act. The scene may have the intention of visualizing the instance of power abuse in which cases of sexual abuse dropped out of sight thanks to cover-ups by authorities. However, this treatment renders the story far removed from the higher education context it intends to convey.
In a time where people talk more openly about sexual violence, such mannerism can degenerate into a form of self-censorship that adds nothing to the film’s narrative–and even risk turning the whole story into a coy euphemism that obscures the victim’s experience.
One might compare this to pink-washing, green-washing, and even queer-baiting that have now been a commonplace in popular culture done under the pretext of “representation.” However, a meandering or half-hearted representation may actually end up a distraction or even worse: posing harm to groups already marginalized.
Like & Share hit theatres not only when sexual abuse and violence were more widely discussed, but also after Indonesia has passed The Sexual Violence Eradication Law to protect victims of sexual violence. The legal instrument does not only aim to punish sex offenders; more importantly, it upholds the principle of trusting the victims until proven otherwise, ensures the bureaucratic ease to process every report, and grants victims access to recovery.
In such a situation, it would take an unusually strong argument to hide behind metaphors. And Like & Share chose not to. It’s not that the film employs no metaphors. It does small but meaningful gestures, e.g. the framing of the character, the preference for colors or types of clothing that match characters’ mood. Lisa’s mother, for example, always feels the need to fix her daughter’s oft-messy hair—as she does to Lisa’s life. It all serves to re-emphasize what this film has already conveyed so clearly.
Despite the popularity of the subject, Like & Share has decided not to take the safe route. Instead, it took the high road of starting a difficult conversation. Lisa and Sarah are a complete embodiment of those vulnerable to stigmatization. This film raises a lot of questions–about the understanding of consent (does willing to check into a hotel room simply mean that you are willing to have sex?), grooming (can adults be victims of grooming?), and many others. Not all viewers, perhaps, are prepared to answer these questions.
In a firm and frank manner, Like & Share has commendably taken the risk.
Like & Share | 2022 | Duration: 112 menit | Director: Gina S Noer | Writer: Gina S Noer | Production: StarVision Plus, Wahana Kreator | Country: Indonesia | Casts: Aurora Ribeiro, Arawinda Kirana, Jerome Kurnia, Aulia Sarah, Omara N Esteghlal, Sahira Anjani, Kevin Julio