Xiao Qiao and Sun Shangxiang from Red Cliff
You can usually be assured of one – but only one – decent female character in a historical epic, but anything more than that (agency, a relationship with another woman, an important part to play in the action, passing the Bechdel Test) is less of a guarantee. So, when a film gives you more than the bare minimum, it’s a cause for celebration. Say for example, two female characters.
But you know what writers and audiences love? Putting women in binary roles, and then pitting them against each other. The good girl and the bad girl, the Madonna and the Whore, the Dark or Light Feminine, feathers or flowers, Maidens and Crones. Usually if there are two women in a male-dominated story, they’ll be bland BFFs (Cecelia and Blanka), bitter rivals (Morgana and Guinevere) or have nothing whatsoever to do with each other (Rowena and Rebecca). Complex dynamics are completely out of the question.
Where am I going with all this? Xiao Qiao and Sun Shangxiang of Red Cliff manage to avoid many of the pitfalls of the gendered archetypes mentioned above, even as they embody others. Together, they very much form the two halves of the Tomboy and Girly Girl binary. Xiao is demure, feminine, soft-spoken and elegant, who is renowned for her tea-making skills and functions as a nurse during the war effort. In stark contrast, Shangxiang is argumentative, outspoken, determined and sometimes downright rude, who is an active participant in the combat that the entire film revolves around.
But the most important thing about both their characterizations is that neither depiction of womanhood is held up as superior to the other. Let’s be honest, modern audiences tend to prefer the scrappy tomboy to the prim little madame (say, Arya and Sansa) though in the times in which these stories are set, it would have been the Proper Lady who would have garnered the most respect. But in this case, Xiao and Shangxiang are portrayed as equals.
That in itself is worthy of commentary, but what fascinates me even more is that this balance is reflected in the structure of the film itself. In part one of the story, Xiao is positioned as the impetus for the war (Cao Cao’s lust for her is his primary motivation), but it is Shangxiang’s arrow which draws first blood from the invading enemy forces. In part two, both women play a crucial role in the final victory: Shangxiang’s undercover reconnaissance provides essential intel regarding Cao Cao’s forces, while the film’s emotional climax sees Xiao on a mission of her own, walking into enemy territory with the goal of distracting Cao Cao long enough for the wind to change and her husband's plan to work.
Basically, Shangxiang is Mulan (with a small dose of Éowyn when she finds out the hard way that war is not as glorious as she imagines it) while Xiao reminds me a little of Elinor from Brave, especially since Red Cliff finds a way to weaponize tea-making in the same way that embroidery was the key to breaking the spell over Elinor in Brave. It’s not just Xiao’s beauty, but her feminine skill with a brew that successfully stalls Cao Cao at a critical moment.
Between them, these women essentially begin and end the war. They are counterweights to each other across the film’s two halves, and the pivot is the scene – the only scene – in which they interact with each other. As it happens, it’s a warm and affectionate one, in which Shangxiang asks for assistance in removing her garments, and Xiao tries to protect her friend’s modesty by silently warning the men to turn around.
[Context: Shangxiang has concealed the large map of Cao Cao’s encampment underneath her armour, wrapped around her body, and is too excited to share what she’s learned to wait for any privacy].
That’s all we get from them, but somehow it’s enough – an interaction between two women that manages to be close and intimate despite occurring in a room full of men.
Neither woman could do what the other one does. Furthermore, no man could do what either of these women achieve (that goes without saying when it comes to Xiao, but the reason Cao’s men are so easily drawn into Zhuge Liang’s trap after Shangxiang fires her arrow is explicitly because the soldiers refuse to be intimidated by a girl). One is not braver than the other, for both walk knowingly into the enemy camp, albeit in profoundly different ways, and emerge victorious.
They are more than the archetypes they embody, for their opposing feminine energy makes them perfect foils to each other, and are intrinsic elements to the plot itself. Best of all, they’re not rivals but friends – this is made very clear, even if we only catch a glimpse.
