What is trauma porn, and what isn’t?

Many films are accused of using blood and gore to titillate their audiences. What then is an ethical way to show violence on screen, wonders K Phaniraj.

When Vetrimaran’s Tamil film ‘Viduthalai: Part 1’ was released last year, scenes featuring police atrocities against Adivasis were criticised as ‘trauma porn.’ Many other films have faced criticism.

The phrase ‘trauma porn’ gained prominence towards the end of 20th century, with the advent of live coverage of events like war, ethnic conflicts and racial violence on satellite television. Today, such clips can be found on social media reels. 

Gory and raw visuals presented as unfiltered documentation lead to the questions about the ethicality of such presentations. The socio-psychological goal of presenting visuals involving violent acts perpetrated by privileged communities against marginalised and discriminated communities came under the scanner.

It is argued that such visuals, catering to the consumption of socially and politically powerful groups, momentarily induce traumatic emotions in such an audience and provide cathartic relief (a feeling of relief after experiencing intense pain) seconds after it ends. This provides visual entertainment devoid of any understanding of real traumatic experiences; it does not lead to an empathetic commitment to putting an end to it. Like sexual pornography, it serves to instantly stimulate and satiate desires without any responsibility for the subjects of desire, and thus the phrase ‘trauma porn’. 

Subsequently, the phrase has been extended to describe graphic depiction of violence in literature and cinema.

Most films from Hollywood made by white directors on black lives like ‘The Help’ (2011, Dir. Tate Taylor) and Quentin Taratino (‘The Hateful Eight’, ‘Django’) have been sharply criticised by black theorists and critics as trauma porn. 

They are not just arguing against the colour of the directors, but also positing the aesthetics of films made by black directors like Regina King (‘One Night in Miami’) and Chinonye Chukwu (‘Till’) to demonstrate what isn’t trauma porn. They say it is not just about the ‘white saviour complex’ but also about the socio-psychological effect of one’s aesthetics. A deeper understanding of the organic life of marginalised communities consequently prompts inclusive social actions, they argue. 

Black Public Media (BPM) partner and cultural strategist Sonya Childress, being aware of the difficulties in achieving them, clearly puts forth realistic criteria for aesthetic evaluation. What is your personal connection or unique vantage point to the story? How might you mitigate your biases or knowledge limitations that may impact the storytelling? Who can you partner with to inform your understanding? How will you ensure your filmmaking practice is equitable, ethical and anti-racist? How will your filmmaking honour, and have the true consent of the people at the centre of the story? 

Childress’s evaluation is based on concepts of ‘extractive storytelling’ and ‘just storytelling’. Extractive storytelling refers to filmmakers capturing visuals about the trauma and constructing a visual narrative from their ‘point of view’. They may not be fully aware of the lived experiences of the subjects. They may be well intentioned and such narratives may satisfy the filmmakers’ guilt. But their narratives are unidimensional, satisfying for the intended audience — invariably the non-marginalised. 

Alternatively, Childress proposes ‘just storytelling’, a filmmaking ethos that is locally grounded, healing-focused, anti-racist, and in conversation with justice movements. Following this thought, it is not difficult to realise that trauma porn happens not  because of a conscious project but because of an ‘exclusivist creative process’. 

These critical evaluations have a definitive relevance for Indian film making. The creative process of showcasing the lives of India’s marginalised communities, such as Dalits, Adivasis, Northeastern people, and minorities, does not escape the traps of ‘extractive story telling’.

Vetrimaran’s ‘Viduthalai-Part 1’ (2023), Anubhav Sinha’s ‘Article 15’ (2019) and ‘Anek’ (2022), Gnanavel’s ‘Jai Bhim’ (2021) did face sharp criticism for indulging in trauma porn. Given the vitiated and exclusivist Indian socio-political environment in the first two decades of the 21st century, these criticisms were taken as harsh and narrow sighted. The larger framework of the aesthetics of trauma porn was sidelined.

Unfortunately, if we were to pick trauma porn elements of a work, we look at it as an abusive mindset. We have not come to terms with the socio-critical discursive nature of identifying and critiquing extractive storytelling elements of trauma porn. 

If I say the above Indian cinematic works should be open to radical critiquing from the perspective of the lived experiences of marginalised lives, it neither takes away their contribution nor demeans their social intention. Childress’ criteria for evaluating a work of art is equanimous: Even if one belongs to a marginalised community, the work has to be evaluated on the same criteria to determine whether it is trauma porn or not.

An example of how a film can avoid the trap of trauma porn in spite of having traumatic visuals is Pa Ranjith’s debut feature ‘Madras’ (2014). It is the story of reclaiming a public wall in a north Chennai neighbourhood. Ranjith, being from the locality knows its ups and downs, and worries and pleasures. Even the minor characters are given a well rounded life background. The locality visually expresses not only traumatic experiences of people but also the vibrant will to live a satisfying life within its limits.

The film interweaves the violence with daily squabbles so that the violence doesn’t become a momentary entertainment. It develops as a resolve to reclaim occupied spaces for long term welfare. Subsequent works of Ranjit mind this grammar and successfully surpass the traps of trauma porn. It is certainly debatable as to whether artistes from non-marginalised communities can adapt this model. But surely, one can say that an artiste with a sensitive and meaningful collaboration with marginalised communities can nearly achieve that. Films like Manso Re’s ‘19.20.21’ (2023) are an interesting case in point.

(The author is a senior film critic and teaches sociology)