[Editorial] Disability and Horror: Midnight (2021)

If you’ve seen Squid Game, you’re probably already familiar with Wi Ha-Joon, the persistent detective determined to find out the truth behind the deadly games. Wi Ha-Joon proves his versatility in Midnight, Oh-Seung Kwon’s taut and nerve-shredding thriller, where he plays one of the creepiest serial killers to ever grace the silver screen. While that may seem like a spoiler, this film is not at all mysterious, it is a suspenseful game of cat and mouse, that is designed to look at the manipulation of perceptions, and exactly how dangerous that is for people with disabilities.

Midnight is a story of the struggle between a serial killer and a victim, but also of the struggle with perceptions that those with disabilities face. So Jung (played by Kim Hye-Yoon) works as a tech support specialist for her company, where she takes abuse in sign language regularly. Additionally, she is expected to go to dinner after hours with clients that mock her as she smiles sweetly and mocks them right back, but subversively, in sign language. Already, the film has set her up as a character who knows how to manipulate perceptions when necessary.

One night, she witnesses an attempted murder, and is able to outwit a serial killer with the help of her assistive device that senses sound. She and her mother, both Deaf, barely escape his clutches in a fairly even battle of wits. The serial killer lurks around corners, testing their abilities repeatedly, and taking advantage of all sensory gaps. The mother and daughter pair are exceedingly observant due to the need to read facial expressions and cues in the visual world. As a result, they manage to discover the killer’s identity, but find themselves battling a system that perceives them as unable to protect themselves.

People with disabilities regularly need to manage other people’s perceptions of them as weak, or vulnerable, often caught in the trap of having to appear disabled enough to receive necessary services, but not so disabled that they are deemed unfit to take care of themselves. This double-bind is common in the disability community and relates directly to how the women and the serial killer have to control the people around them to either keep themselves safe or literally, get away with murder. The mother-daughter pair go to a police station to report the witnessed attempt at murder, where they are treated politely with bureaucratic stiffness and presumption. When they attempt to reveal the killer’s identity, they are ignored with a sense of paternalistic and patronizing care, in favour of other concerns. 

The final showdown of the film relies on how others interpret a silent scene taking place between a young Deaf girl and a young man. The subtlety of this interaction lies in the faces of the onlookers and the assumptions about this pair that you see flit across their faces. While the film is a masterwork of suspense, that left me largely breathless for much of the runtime, it is this final scene that relies not on a test of strength or speed, but on how a crowd of people view the killer and the young girl, and respond. 

As a person with mostly invisible disabilities who much of the time carries a cane, I know the difference between life with it and life without it. I feel the difference in the gaze that fixes me, and perceives me as, variously, a nuisance, a vulnerable creature, a person to be protected, or if I’m lucky, just another person. The difference in perception is a part of life for those of us who live with disabilities, and I deeply appreciate the nuanced look at perception and disability afforded by this dark and delicious thriller. I highly recommend seeking out Midnight and questioning your own assumptions as much as possible throughout the viewing and well beyond.

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