The biggest surprise of 2023 so far has been the number of times I’ve gone to see an R-Rated studio comedy because the grapevine told me a character was asexual. Given the track record of ace characters being underrepresented, the chance to support art that features traces of asexuality is always a thrill for me. Whereas it feels more explicit in something like No Hard Feelings (2023) which also explores amatanormativity’s intersectionality with capitalism, there was something straight out of left field with Joy Ride (2023). Maybe it’s because it wasn’t on my radar, but finding early reviews referencing the orientation of a supporting character named Deadeye thrilled me to no end. The ace canon was expanding.
I suppose the easiest way to say this is that I don’t expect the lead characters in cinema to always be asexual. That is not a failure on the creators’ part. All I want is for these characters to feel integrated into their environment and feel real. Their identity should express something complimentary about how they respond to others. More often than not, an asexual character is simply someone who is cold or robotic, sometimes synonymous with autistic coding, and with an antisocial streak. There’s usually a lacking complexity to them and they’re there more to provide a parallel to the leads which, depending on the context, are hypersocial or hypersexual. That’s why it's very easy for a character to just be labeled asexual simply because they’re inactive within the story.
Within this framework, Deadeye is a revelation of a character. They fit the stereotype, but they are not a victim of it. To understand why I think this is some of the best representation we’ve gotten in recent years, I want to briefly break down what Joy Ride is doing. Yes, it is a sex comedy that is often so profane that a character named Lolo makes artwork derived from penises and vaginas. There’s a drug-infused sex scene that is so wild that I forgot how tame modern raunchy comedies have been. Multiple jokes are made about pelvic tattoos that lead to a third-act gag that is kind of incredible. I don’t know that I’ve seen a film be so willingly horny in a long time. Whereas No Hard Feelings found Jennifer Lawrence asking if anyone in Gen-Z had sex anymore, I think Joy Ride not only holds that beer but vomits it up in a nightclub.
But to conclude the film is merely a raunchy comedy is to discredit the heart of why it’s so much more than innuendo. In the modern age especially, there’s been discussion throughout Asian-American cinema about dual identity. In fact, the director and co-writer Adele Lim’s other credits include the hit romantic comedy Crazy Rich Asians (2018) which was the first significant Asian-dominant American studio film since Flower Drum Song (1961). The opening scene features an interesting wrinkle as a child Audrey meets Lolo and immediately confronts a racist colleague. Audrey is adopted by white parents, creating a conflict of identity that keeps her at odds with Lolo and her other friends. She struggles to even feel Asian-American, turning to a career in law in order to find some control. When she decides to find her birth mother, it leads to an East Asian journey that includes stops in Japan and South Korea.
What becomes clear from here is that Lim wants to break down the stereotypes that Asians have placed on them in American cinema. There is a self-awareness about trying to make three-dimensional characters that are allowed to be messy, selfish, and do a cavalcade of dumb things. There’s an acceptance of sexuality that few films have really allowed. Maybe it’s because of the tapestry that identity incorporates into this journey, but it allows for the characters to have a sense of history and struggle with individuality. Lolo in particular is so against the grain thanks to her sex-positive attitude that it makes everyone else uncomfortable. It’s a story so clearly aware of how the internet globally connects us that the third act centers around the pros and cons of social media.
And then there’s Deadeye. They’re the cousin invited along simply because of their language fluency. Again, this provides contrast with other characters who struggle with their heritage’s vernacular and need translation in order to survive. Their journey is less important narratively, but it’s a story that comes to respect their desires in these clever ways that are in themselves subversive. Whereas the film is trenched in hypersexual humor, there’s no disrespect paid to Deadeye. While they’re at best a “coded” asexual character, I see their ability to go along with the crowd and make dirty jokes to be a revelation. They are supportive of their friends and doesn’t overreact. Deadeye isn’t prudish. They’re in on the joke and that’s what’s important.
This is largely because the starting point paints them as an outsider even within the friend group. Deadeye is self-described as socially awkward and mostly knows people through online forums for K-Pop. Because of this, most of their “friends” are defined by user names and can misconstrue other aspects of their identity. Much like Sabrina Wu’s real-life identity, Deadeye being non-binary allows for interesting conversation around the modern Gen-Z definition of being Asian. As a character later declares, there’s no wrong way to be Korean. Deadeye may be introverted, but they’re far from insecure. Even as their clothes shift between feminine and masculine displays, they navigate with a fully formed style. They’re more likely to observe situations, only ever speaking up when their special interest comes up, such as a rendition of the Megan Thee Stallion and Cardi B hit “W.A.P.”
I think reading the character as asexual only benefits the greater read. In any other film, Deadeye lacking a sexual story would be a lazy crutch. However, I think it contrasts well with the other characters who seem hellbent on hooking up with everyone. The recognition that there’s diversity within the Asian identity allows for recognition that the stereotypes shouldn’t apply to the modern generation. They want to break them apart and find something new. Joy Ride lives by that policy. By having someone be asexual and have it be accepted by the other characters reflects that, yes, sex may be important to some but it isn’t the defining trait.
Maybe it’s because I was tipped off to Deadeye being coded, but I was quick to find ways that they were cleverly defined. Part of it was in the fashion choice and even the social dynamic where they seem more willing to embrace esoteric trends. In the scene where Kat is introduced kissing her muscle-clad co-star, everyone swoons over his pecs while Deadeye yawns. It’s a brief moment, but adds the right level of validation to this theory. At no point is Deadeye going to be pressured into sex. Even in the raunchiest moment of the film where their friends are having their worlds absolutely rocked, Deadeye’s place in the montage is a dance battle. While it crescendos into an inspired punchline of a night gone wrong, this again suggests that the greatest thing that Deadeye desires isn’t sex, but music and dance. This is how she bonds with others, and Lim allows it to just exist without criticism.
All in all, it’s difficult to really argue that there’s much that’s crucial about Deadeye being asexual. This is a story of Audrey looking for her mother, and Deadeye at times fades into the background. Even Lolo and Kat have more significant arcs. They are more present for the adventure of it all, and those scenes are often the most enjoyable. The scenes where they decide to con children out of money through made-up card games reflect how Deadeye operates. They’re not conflicted with relationships and instead live in the moment, so eager to just embrace the oddities of life. Sure, Deadeye can be seen as arguably autistic as well, but asexuality contrasts in every moment. They’re not caught up in uncomfortable sexual tensions and just welcome friendships. Also, given how much they’re accepted for being non-binary is wonderful, especially as any effort to call them by their deadname is fought against. Deadeye is their name now, and that’s all that matters.
The only other note I would like to give around Deadeye’s character is that they did fit in the one trope that TikTok has picked up on. If you’re familiar with BoJack Horseman or Sex Education, you’ll know the trope that aces wear yellow beanies. In the final scene, Deadeye is seen wearing one. Again, not crucial character development but I would like to think that Lim fit in this subtle nod with intention.
At its core, the idea of coding for any subject is to create images or dialogue that suggest a character’s hidden identity. It may not be visible to the general public and may overall be a mere coincidence. I don’t know how much of Deadeye being portrayed as asexual is simply me clamoring for representation. Given that it’s less deliberate than No Hard Feelings, I’m willing to accept that Lim might have not had any ulterior motives in Deadeye. It’s a character who is allowed to exist without their differences being commented on and treated like a joke – or at least without shared consent. At no point do I think that Deadeye was the victim of a joke. They end the film friends with everybody, and that’s so refreshing. More so than being some of my favorite coded representation of the year, I think it presents a progressive vision of non-binary characters that just accept that that’s who they are and nothing will come of it. Their identity is not a factor in how the audience is supposed to perceive their actions.
So yes, seeing Deadeye experience queer joy was a wonderful sight. This is still very much a gross-out comedy that goes in a lot of deranged directions, but it’s ultimately one with an acceptance of the characters. It’s a study of identity that is also fairly sweet. There are some aspects that I don’t really like about it, but it still fulfills the role of a sex comedy. If anything, it shows how to do a contemporary version without it feeling uncomfortable. I don’t know that more sex-repulsed people will appreciate this as much as No Hard Feelings, but I genuinely liked Joy Ride more because of how confidently it was allowed to simply exist as a story of friends getting into wild mischief. It is shocking in all of the right ways and presents something new.
Deadeye as a character is very likable and I am encouraged by the amount of acclaim they’ve gotten since the film’s release. With that said, I accept that they’re a supporting character, more designed for humor and observation, so their development wasn’t as complicated. I do think the whole concept of finding community online is a nice touch that also speaks to queer identity and the way that leads to a new name speaks well of a non-binary journey. They are at odds with the other characters, but not in a grotesque way. If anything, it comments on the disconnect of Asian identity even within a family, as her journey with Audrey leads to some compelling disagreements. Still, for as much as Deadeye fits asexual stereotypes, I don’t think it’s necessarily in a reductive manner. They are not defined solely by their lack of connection with the world around them. It is part of the puzzle, but you’ll miss a lot if that’s the only thing you found.
As much as I’m here for the modern age of LGBTQIA+ cinema being far more nuanced, I still am at odds with any belief that asexuality will get the same boost that gay or transgender themes have gotten. Things are looking good for the most part and we’ve made progress from even a decade ago. I’m grateful for where Gen-Z’s exploration of sexuality can go, and Joy Ride gives me the hope that there are even more ways to be subversive with identity. Given that I am willing to bet that Barbie (2023) may be the trifecta of ace cinema this summer, it’s a good time to be going to the movies. I’m not only glad that coded asexual representation is alive and well, but that each one has been so different. Much like how Joy Ride explores Asian-American nuances, it’s nice to know that not all queer people are alike. It’s nice to know people are getting the memo.
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