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Pak's sneeze tease is just the latest of a proliferating number of works designed, in part, to cool the yellow fever of surfers who have made sites like Anal Asians or Singapore Sluts so popular. Pak, a member of the Workshop, a Manhattan-based Asian American filmmakers' collaborative, had struggled to find an audience for his comic shorts until he released one online two years ago under the title Asian Pride Porn.
Almost as soon as the film debuted, it soared to the all-time top 10 list on AtomFilms.com. Pak, who previously had toured only through independent festivals, gladly cites the keywords "Asian" and "porn" as a large part of his success. ''Sex films are the most successful films online," he says. "People often find my film when they're looking for porn. They may get off on it, or they might just find it funny, or think about something they don't normally think about."
In Asian Pride Porn, Tony-winning playwright David Henry Hwang (who memorably confronted orientalism in M. Butterfly) plays the host an infomercial that mocks clichéd porn services like Oriental Blossoms (555-ME-SO-HORNY) and offers a healthier alternativea XXX video titled Asian Pride Porn!
Purchasing pornography is bad enough, Hwang jokes on-screen: "I don't need guilt over the sexual oppression of women of color and anger about the absence-slash-emasculation of the Asian male in the American media." Instead, he prefers "positive images of confident Asian American men and women caught on tape." After screening a skit that features a yuppie Asian woman and a virile Asian delivery guy, Hwang hawks a series of empowering porn titles like Princess Mononookie, Anna and the Kink, and Whole Lotta Hapa: The Eurasian Man-Meat Special. This porn video, Hwang boasts, takes consumers "from onanism . . . to activism."
Pak relishes the disjunct. "I'm mocking bad culture by wallowing in it," he says. "The typical polemic will only play to a certain audience, but this way, people are getting something subversive. This lets us get the message out stealthily, so they don't even know what hit them."
Tricking audiences has been at the core of Prema Murthy's work for years. On her own, and as a member of the Williamsburg collaborative FakeShop, Murthy has pioneered live digital art projects that reinvent online strip shows and CU-CMe video. Her long-running Web project BindiGirl is an ironic, slick response to the prurient fascination with Asian female bodies and to the ways technology facilitates voyeurism.
Though BindiGirl has been featured in the Walker Art Center, Murthy admits it's basically "a tongue-in-cheek amateur porn site." Upon entering the page, visitors are greeted by an adult-content warning paired with a quote from the Kama Sutra, which cautions that women may "extract from [men] all the wealth that they possess."
Next, they meet Murthy in the character of Bindi, who is entirely nude except for strategically placed digital bindi dots. Audiences navigate through sections like "LoveChat," a comic, fictional dialogue between Bindi and an impotent man ("My measurements are 36, 24, 36"); "Bio," Bindi's meditations on her life ("It gets so lonely in here"); and "Harem," a photo portfolio of other South Asian women sporting nothing but red dots. Premium contentincluding live CU-CMe performances and "exotic souvenirs"costs extra.
"Yes, the pictures are cute and glossy," says Murthy, "but if you look closely, you might notice that it is both voyeuristic and claustrophobic." Images that would be at home on any pornography site (excepting the bindi dots) are paired with proto-feminist quotes from Indian religious texts, like "Women are the perfection of wisdom." Other images are violently cropped and confined. On one hand, BindiGirl is intentionally disquieting for the accidental visitors it attracts. On the other, it provokes art audiences to debate representations of South Asian women, including Murthy herself. "By placing the project in an art context," she says, "I hope to get people to ask if I'm making a comment or just using my girlish wiles to get some attention."
Mimi Nguyen wasn't trying to get people's attention when she first went online. Back in the mid 1990s, Nguyen, of the Bay Area, was dutifully using the Internet as a research tool to find material on Asian American women's work. When her efforts turned up little more than porn sites, she got "exceedingly irritated." So she created Exoticize Thisa/k/a Exoticize My Fista Web site offering Asian American feminist resources, including original essays, journal entries, links, and bibliographies.
In a posted message on the site, Nguyen writes that "Exoticize This is a practical combination of a 'do it yourself' ethic learned from punk and riot grrrl and years of feminist and leftist activism and theorizing."