In Where’d You Go, Bernadette (2019), manipulative assistant Soo-Lin wedges herself between Bernadette and her husband, Elgie. While Jess is away in season five of New Girl (2016), her will-they-won’t-they love interest, Nick, sleeps with tourist Kumiko, who spends much of the episode in a bath towel dripping with sexual innuendos. In season two of Sex and the City (1999), Samantha grows suspicious of her new beau Harvey’s sexual-seeming setup with his jealous domestic housekeeper, Sum (an awful “dim sum” joke is made at her expense).
But elsewhere, the “other woman” trope rears its head without any outright cheating. In the first episode of Weeds (2005), suburban mom Celia sees her husband joyfully betraying her with a tennis coach, Helen Chin, on a nanny-cam recording. Under their gaze, Asian women are either invisible or slotted into one of five categories: I noticed it again in Netflix’s Senior Year, released this past May, and in media across the time span of the two films-media created not, as you might expect, by white men but white women.
#Older gay men fucking younger tv#
In other beloved films and TV shows written, directed, and/or produced by white women, the figure of the Asian woman might be hypervisible or erased, but she is always a whore. But like a stubborn rash, this phenomenon refuses to die out. I wish Bridget Jones’s Diary were an outlier indicative of a former era. Simultaneously erased and hypervisible, she exists solely to be a two-timing whore. Yet she is both nameless and faceless: The only shot we glimpse of her is of her naked back arched over Daniel on the floor. Though I’d seen the film years before, I noticed this time that the plot turns on an Asian woman: Mark’s Japanese ex-wife, the thorny source of his and Daniel’s decades-long conflict. In a fit of nostalgia, I recently watched Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001).