I CAME late into this BL phenomenon. In Ateneo de Manila University, where I taught Japanese cinema for more than 30 years, the Japanese “yaoi” for some reason did not become part of the syllabus. But many in my class knew about it and, I suspect, worshipped at the altar of men loving other men.
I know yaoi—the homoerotic romance manga or comics, which became an extension of shōjo manga, or comics for girls. It was called by many names but one term stuck and this was shōnen-ai: “boy love.” It was in the 1970s, however, when the term “yaoi” was developed out of a portmanteau of “yama nashi, ochi nashi, imi nashi” (no climax, no point, no meaning). There are many ways of reading the new term. One was the idea that the new form of storytelling relied more on sex at the expense of more articulated characters and a well-developed plot. But the term could also indicate the opposite of a narrative dripping with sexual connotations—an exploration of a pure love between two boys who do not know if they love each other, or if those glances exchanged between them carry desires or disruption.
From “boy love,” the label became “boys’ love” and was used to refer to male-male romance. What separated this form from the older homoerotic literatures was the fact that “yaoi” targeted women readers…at first.
Conventions developed out of the form. The most common approach is to have a pair, where one, the “seme,” is the active pursuer and the other, the “uke,” is the passive character who is pursued. This kind of relationship is the wellspring of the “bishonen,” literally “beautiful boy,” whose androgynous features comfort the uncomfortable because he is not only alluring but also non-threatening. To the man after him, the fact of the beautiful boy holds the pretense of a woman. Male rape is a common thread in this kind of literature, with the act either igniting the beginning of a relationship or creating a conflict, which moves the narrative to a soft, dramatic, resolving finish.
When the “BL” became a craze in the country, “yaoi” was the unnamed, unacknowledged influence. I would not be surprised if those who fell in love (obsession is closer to the fandom of BL) with BL did not care about its Japanese origin. There are reasons for this. One is the fact that the Japanese yaoi in cinema never really made inroads in terms of developing an interest the local viewers. Second, it was the Thai BL that sparked the interest of a huge chunk of the audience.
In my case as a viewer, it was through the much-vaunted Filipino BL called Hello, Stranger where I first became serious with this genre. The show was going viral and, being around cineastes and film critics, I felt I was the only one not into BL. Streaming over YouTube at the time I was “enjoying” the form was another hit, Gameboys. Eventually, I would be drawn to other BL films by the algorithms of the Internet, where the titles of other BL-oriented works would rear their heads, and caution, as usual, my anthropological antennae to respond to the stimulus out there.
Give the popularity of Hello, Stranger and Gameboys in no small measure to their leads (Tony Labrusca in Hello…and the maverick tandem of Elijah Canlas and Kokoy de Santos in the latter). Benefitting from good direction and writing, the two homegrown BL films are above the rest of inspired advocates and apostles of othered love. But these films deserve a separate review and will thus be a footnote in this column for the moment.
From a field exposure to the local form of BL, I moved into the Thai BL. My timidity to enter the gate into Thailand’s BL films was framed by my conscious anxiety that the language whose sound I am not into would deter my appreciation of the romance I expected to blossom, or burn like eager ember. At the back of my mind, however, I knew exposure and exposure and exposure to cultures and their sounds are the gut-felt way in easing bigotry, bias and rash judgment. All cultures, other than your own, are a matter of cultivated taste: you taste, try and nurture the sensing of another world. And accept.
As with all fieldwork, a key informant was necessary. I had one in the person of this woman who shall remain as Miss Netchaii M. She was into BL of all persuasions and permutations. She would give me links to films and alert me of special “seasons.” It seems the tandem in particular BL films would create such a massive popularity that viewers—all fans—were ready for any second part.
Thus, through Netchaii, I met “Tine” (Metawin) and “Sarawat” (Bright). Their story is part of the “Together Series.” The story is thin: it is about Tine who is being harassed by a gay admirer named Green. In order to stop this ardent, abrasive, and funny-looking suitor, Tine has to enter into a fake relationship with Sarawat, the most-sought after and most good-looking student in the campus. In the end, they end up as lovers. In terms of complexion, the story is all ice-cream and rainbow. Even when they kiss, you are getting two good friends out to enjoy each other’s company and not shock the audience into retching up.
Sotus was my second incursion into the world of Thai BL. At first, I thought the title was a Latin name but the film would reveal the secret of the acronym—“S.O.T.U.S.” stands for Seniority, Order, Tradition, Unity, and Spirit. It is the system that pervades the ethos of the Faculty (the Thai term for College) of Engineering.
Sotus is the story of a head hazer (Arhit) and a freshman (Kongpob), who is daring enough to question and fight the system—hazing, junior-senior kinship, and the abuse of authority common in any enforced social stratification. The difficulties faced by the freshman are so insurmountable and the hatred of the senior virulent, one wonders how the film manages to end the plot with the two loving each other to hell and back and hell again. The second inferno takes place in, you guess, it, the second season of the series. And a third, where the reality of any kind of relationship is always infected with the germ of separation and the troubling aspect of an impossible re-union. But re-unite, the Arhit and Kong do.
The third is called Together With Me: The Series. The characters are Korn and Knock. It begins with a knockout scene: a young engineering student wakes up, after a night of drunkenness, in bed with his childhood friend. He realizes he had sex with him the previous night. The two decide to keep the “thing” a secret.
Grittier than the other two series, Knock and Korn, while still university students, are of the muscled type and appear to summon a different kind of audience. They will eventually love each other but knowledge of their relationship will be limited to their friends. It was from this series that I began to question the earlier impression (shared by many in their writings) that the preponderance of BL films point to an openness of Thai society to gay cultures.
Terribly popular also, Knock and Korn would have two other series. In the Together With Me: The Next Chapter, the episodes would dwell on how Korn’s father would start questioning the gender (or sexuality) of his son, to the point of his ignorant fear that his handsome son could turn into a “woman.” As Knock’s father becomes more bigoted, his mother is silent and, we can surmise, tolerant and understanding of his son’s choice. Knock’s parents are more understanding and shown to be ready and accepting about their son’s gender.
The most enthralling theme of Thai BL is the presence of women abetting, ignoring, understanding, feeling repugnant, valiantly breaking up the bond between boys so she could insert herself in the autobiography of another boy, or being wildly crazy at the thought that boys do fall in love with each other and become mad, sad, and bad because of love. That will be Part 2 of this column.