After my first set of mini-reviews, I decided I liked the format, and would make it into a series. After all, I have no doubt whatsoever that the year will continue to contain lots of screen time of various descriptions.

We recently watched a Chilean crime series called La Jauria ("The Pack").

The plot revolves around a loathsome online game that recruits groups of young men, and goads them into hunting and abusing women. This might sound like an unlikely narrative, but chillingly, one of its sources is a real-life crime that took place in 2016 in Spain; another is the kind of internet challenge game whose existence seems to float elusively between the real and the imaginary.

It was an uncomfortable watch, often nearing the limits of what I can stomach viewing. I'm not sure I would watch a second series. (The final episode, incidentally, seemed primarily dedicated to preparing the way for this potential successor, and partly for this reason, and partly because it seemed to run out of time, was wildly below the standard of the others, which had generally been well constructed and scripted.)


(All the photos, by the way, are from Boneca de Atauro, a women's project in Timor Leste.)

Aside from its merits as a drama, La Jauria certainly makes you ask questions...

It was being written at the time when the feminist movement was beginning to significantly raise its voice in Latin America. As the director, Lucia Puenzo, remarks: "I've never written a show that was so in tune with everything that was happening."

The rather creepy theme song (written and performed by musician and feminist Ana Tijoux, who also plays the role of a hacker in the series) acts as a manifesto: "We shout justice when we are shut up... My body is mine... No to the church, no to the state, all that complicit, guilty apparatus... They touch one, they touch all. We are not alone."

Towards the end of 2019, a Chilean chant, protesting rape culture and the practice of victim-shaming, started to pop up all round the world: "The patriarchy is a judge, that judges us for being born... The rapist is you. It’s the police, the judges, the state, the president... And it's not my fault, it's not where I was, nor what I wore.”

And there is no doubt that La Jauria very successfully shines a light on the multiple (often insidious) ways in which gender-driven abuse can show itself, and on the power structures that shield the perpetrators of male violence.

The series also generally manages to steer clear of black-and-white stereotypes. Women, too, can be staunch supporters of the patriarchy (especially when protecting their sons); and the ghastly machismo that unfolds before us is shown to be harmful not only to young women but also to young men.

I always worry, though, with this sort of theme, that it might backfire, creating the kind of unhealthy fascination that can breed further violence.

According to Paula Luchsinger, who plays one of the characters: "This series breaks with several paradigms because it is starring women, and strong women. And that shows a very important change compared to television products where only men were protagonists."

We don't know exactly which television products she was thinking about, but some interesting context is provided here:

"Whether in the form of a news brief in a mainstream newspaper or of serialized reports in the tabloids and on morning TV shows, violent crime against women tends to appear in the media as an individual or family drama. This stubborn narrative of violence against women as a personal issue (that is, as private and even shameful to the women) traditionally figured in the Chilean press under the rubric of 'crimes of passion' ...  Today, in many national media, this narrative has taken a new form: a crime melodrama or detective story. Its leading platform is the television screen, especially on the morning shows, with their blend of information and entertainment. In these serialized stories -- which follow unsolved or high-impact cases -- the attacker appears as a mere instrument, the medium through which inscrutable and capricious fate has found a victim. The medium of television adds new doses of spectacle to the formula: dramatic re-creations with evocative soundtracks, accompanied by the opinions of retired detectives or even so-called clairvoyants... 'Above all, the morning shows appeal to a sense of spectacle,' says [former minister] Claudia Pascual... 'They drag out an old case with novel episodes. They spin theories, speculate, create a spectacle without at all aiding the investigation. And there’s no reflection or analysis, no condemnation of the crime as a case of gender-based violence. They turn it into a show, a Netflix series.'"

Perhaps it is its reaction to this genre that makes La Jauria such uncomfortable viewing. It makes absolutely clear that what it is showing is a) gender-based violence, b) absolutely systemic, and c) very scary indeed.



Not longer after finishing La Jauria, we watched The Investigation. This Danish dramatization, by director Tobias Lindholm, reconstructs the search for evidence that followed the murder of Swedish journalist Kim Wall aboard a homemade submarine in Denmark in 2017.

It is very well done. The crime itself is lurid in the extreme (if you met it in a piece of fiction, you would think, "Wow, a bit far-fetched..."). But the tone throughout the dramatization is sombre and restrained. The convicted killer's name is never mentioned. Instead, the focus is on the detectives, divers, volunteers, and scientists who pieced together the clues that would nail him, and on the courage of her parents, supported by a quiet but loving local community.

The lack of melodrama pays off: "Small breakthroughs become genuinely thrilling, while the sense of loss around this senseless killing becomes deeper and more authentic simply because it’s not overstated."

Of course, this crime, too, is an example of gender-based violence. According to the International Federation of Journalists, almost half of women journalists have reported various manifestations of this type of violence while working: "Of those who complained, almost 85 per cent said no, or inadequate, action had been taken against perpetrators."  

And, as Kim Wall's killing makes clear, nowhere is exempt. Writing before the whole truth was known, one of her former colleagues points out: "After traveling and reporting in Africa, Asia and the Caribbean, it was in her native Scandinavia, a supposed bastion of gender parity, that Kim has disappeared. It’s a chilling reminder that women’s safety can’t be shrugged off as a problem specific to developing countries, as if the west is immune to misogyny."

As though to underline that, this story about Chinese stand-up comic Yang Li fell into my inbox the other day: "When she first appeared on the third season of hit stand-up comedy series Rock & Roast, which hit streaming platforms over the summer, the young comedian became a national sensation almost overnight. By delivering an eclectic blend of thought-provoking, patriarchy-challenging jokes, Yang has earned rave reviews from women who felt heard and inspired -- as well as a ferocious backlash from online trolls, who recently took their opposition to the political level with calls to have Yang censored over her 'hate-inciting' views."

We still have such a long way to go...