Style as an ethical choice
In portraying trauma, the way a story is told, which its structure, style, and form is never just technical. It reflects intentional choices that carry ethical implications. Decisions about how a story is structured—what sequence of events follows, whose perspective is privileged, and how image and sound are used—are not merely stylistic techniques. They determine whose trauma is allowed to be told, how it is made visible, and whether it is reduced to an emotionally consumable experience.
Wave Makers adopts a conventional linear narrative and institutional perspective. Set in the communications department of a fictional political party modelled on Taiwan’s Democratic Progressive Party, the series follows multiple characters but centers on two: Wen-Fang, a principled senior staffer and Ya-Jing, a competent but secretive staff member who previously had a hidden relationship with Zhao Chang-Ze, a senior figure from the rival party, and is now being blackmailed with intimate photos. The main plot revolves around political strategy and reform from within, with a sexual harassment case emerging as a subplot that gains prominence in episode seven. Rather than anchoring the entire narrative, the trauma surfaces primarily to destabilize Zhao’s candidacy for vice president.
In contrast, I May Destroy You uses a fragmented, nonlinear structure that resists a singular emotional arc or moral resolution. The series centers on Arabella, a young writer in London, and places viewers alongside her as she slowly uncovers the truth about being drugged and raped during a night out. From the moment the incident occurs, the director uses numerous handheld shots to depict Arabella's panicked and dazed state. Even her conversations with passersby are punctuated by a sharp, piercing buzzing sound. Close-ups of her face gradually increase, focusing the audience on her expression. We can't help but begin to sense that something is happening. The story intertwines with her as she navigates the turmoil of her creative endeavors, conflicts with her friends, the sexual assault suffered by Kwame, and her family's past.This approach does more than depict trauma—it immerses the viewer in a state of uncertainty, disorientation, and refusal to name or resolve pain too easily.
Refer to the 0:27 of the video for the shaking camera and harsh sound.
Kaplan and Wang (2004, pp. 9–10), identify four spectator positions in response to trauma films. Although their work addresses trauma and cinema in a cross-cultural context rather than focusing on specific types of trauma, their proposed viewing strategies remain highly applicable and offer a useful framework for understanding the spectator positions constructed by the two works discussed here.I will focus on two strategies, which are the “cure” position, where viewers are introduced to trauma but ultimately provided emotional resolution, common in mainstream melodramas that portray trauma as a discrete, representable, and ultimately solvable event and the “witness” position, where viewers engage affectively with the victim’s experience while maintaining reflective distance and political awareness.
Based on its narrative trajectory, Wave Makers can be categorized under mode of viewing—the cure position. After Wen-Fang learns about Ya-Jing’s situation, she actively encourages her to speak out, leading to one of the most emotionally charged moments in the series: the now-iconic line, “Let’s not just let this go, okay?” Motivated by this support, Ya-Jing decides to refile an internal complaint regarding the sexual harassment she experienced at work. Later, facing renewed threats from Zhao, she overcomes her fear and agrees to a media interview, where she publicly tells her story. The segment ends with her quiet but powerful request: that Zhao delete the photos and let her return to a peaceful life. Viewers, much like the campaign team surrounding her, are guided toward an emotional climax that culminates in collective outrage directed at Zhao. This offers a clear path of affective resolution and narrative closure, fulfilling the emotional arc typical of the “cure” model.
I May Destroy You aligns most closely with witness position. Rather than offering clear punishment for the perpetrator or a narrative of complete healing, the series keeps viewers alongside Arabella as she moves through an unresolved and often disoriented state. In the final episode, she imagines multiple scenarios in which she confronts her rapist at the bar—revenge, reconciliation, confession—each one emotionally charged but none confirmed as real. These imagined versions deliberately withhold narrative closure, compelling viewers to stay with Arabella’s uncertainty and fragmentation without the comfort of resolution. Unlike Wave Makers, which offers viewers a sense of emotional resolution and moral clarity, I May Destroy You asks something different—it asks us to stay with the mess. It doesn’t offer closure or clear answers. Instead, it invites the audience to sit with Arabella’s uncertainty, to feel disoriented with her, and to piece together meaning from fragments. This is not always comfortable, but it is precisely through this discomfort that the series cultivates a more ethically engaged way of watching—one that resists easy conclusions and leaves space for complexity.
Her gradual willingness to confront her trauma is mirrored in quieter, symbolic actions, such as finally opening the long-ignored box beneath her bed during a session with her therapist. These scenes invite emotional engagement while also encouraging reflective distance, prompting viewers to question their own expectations of what trauma narratives should look like, especially in relation to recovery and closure. In this way, I May Destroy You rejects a linear path of trauma and healing. Instead, through fragmentation, repetition, and imagination, it constructs a counter-narrative that positions the viewer not as a passive observer but as a witness—one who is drawn into the experience yet asked to remain aware of its structural and ethical complexities.
To sum up, how trauma is narrated is inseparable from how it is viewed, felt, and interpreted. Narrative style becomes a site of political and ethical significance, shaping not only what is told, but how viewers relate to suffering. In this sense, style is never merely formal, but a deeply cultural and ethical act.
Reference:
- Kaplan, E.A. and Wang, B. (2004) Trauma and cinema : cross-cultural explorations. Pbk. ed. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press.
