In this blog post, I’ll first outline the definition and history of melodrama, as well as the reasons for its popularity, and then examine how these elements are emotionally brought to life in Wong Kar-wai’s short film “The Hand.”
Definition and History of Melodrama
There is a couple. They love each other. However, their family or society does not accept their relationship. Soon, trials arise, and the couple suffers. They either overcome these environmental constraints and succeed in their love, or their love is ultimately thwarted by those constraints.
This is the typical plot of the genre commonly known as melodrama. While there may be some variations or omissions in its elements, melodrama has a relatively long history, with a format and narrative that were established quite early on. It is highly likely that melodrama developed its typical framework early on due to its connection to the tradition of tragedy. Ancient Greek tragedy served as an archetype that many subsequent art forms sought to adopt or transcend, and melodrama, too, has continued a long history within that direct lineage.
The tragic emotions evoked by melodrama are very familiar to us. The fictional situations created by tragedy often feel more realistic than reality itself, eliciting a sincere sense of belief from the audience. To effectively express tragic sorrow, a realistic setting that constrains the protagonist is necessary, and the nature of those constraints must be based on everyday experiences with which the public can empathize. Rather than relying on fantasy, the characters attempt realistic solutions; in this regard, melodrama characters are portrayed as being thoroughly dominated by their social and familial environments.
Tragic sentiment established itself as one of humanity’s defining emotions alongside medieval Christian culture. The sacrifice of Jesus and the martyrdom of the saints inspired believers to reflect on their sense of sin and their quest for salvation. During the 17th-century Classical period, tragedy reemerged as the exclusive domain of aristocratic society; following the 18th-century Enlightenment and the Revolution of 1789, it evolved as protagonists and themes shifted toward civic and realistic issues.
Since the advent of cinema, the lineage of melodrama can be traced back to directors of the silent film era—such as Griffith. His directorial hallmarks—for example, long takes, narrative-driven composition, close-ups of suffering female protagonists, and melancholic music—demonstrate melodramatic devices that emphasize the victim’s chastity and suffering. After World War II, Hollywood filmmakers experimented with the emotional power and narratives of melodrama, and by the 1950s, the genre had reached maturity, even attempting to subvert social themes and the convention of happy endings.
One of the major strengths of genre films is their ability to incorporate complex stories into familiar formats, thereby “thematizing” them for the general public. Scholars have pointed out that melodrama provides an emotional pathway that is easily accessible to the public, and the potential for it to convey social messages or foster an awareness of reality has also been emphasized.
On the Popularity of Melodrama
Melodrama is one of the dramatic genres that is particularly familiar and readily accepted in Korea. Melodramatic narratives, which we encounter constantly through television, movies, and dramas, enjoy widespread popularity that transcends specific eras and regions. Behind this universal appeal lie the core themes of “love” and the resulting emotion of “sorrow,” which are central to melodrama.
As the name “melodrama” itself suggests, “melos” refers to musical elements, while “drama” refers to narrative. Music immerses the audience in emotion and evokes memories, and melodrama naturally incorporates these musical characteristics into its narrative. Love is an issue that humans can never fully resolve, yet it is also an emotion that provides deep pleasure and subtle joy. Humans cannot escape love; while yearning for it, they seek out various substitutes.
From a psychoanalytic perspective, humans who have passed through the mirror stage and the symbolic order constantly feel a sense of lack and harbor a desire to return to that initial state of complete fulfillment. Since no single object can fully satisfy this lack, love inevitably leaves behind an incomplete and unresolved problem, thereby generating sorrow. This fundamental lack and persistent desire are at the core of the tragic emotions evoked by melodrama.
Unlike the active overcoming or fantastical resolutions seen in screwball comedies or fantasy, love in melodrama is inherently accompanied by sadness. Knowing that human lack can never be fully resolved, the audience projects their own experiences and emotions onto the protagonist’s situation, feeling both empathy and pain.
While comedy tends to deal with collective life and social relationships, tragedy and melodrama focus more intensely on an individual’s inner suffering and emotions. Melodrama holds up a mirror to the audience, compelling them to look within themselves. Audiences identify with the protagonist, recall their own past romantic experiences, and reinterpret and relive those situations. When this personal identification occurs, the compassion and sorrow of the melodrama become “my own story” rather than just someone else’s.
Film Overview and Synopsis
Director Wong Kar-wai’s “The Hand” (2004) is a short film included in the omnibus film “EROS” (2004), alongside short films by Michelangelo Antonioni and Steven Soderbergh. Xiao Zhang (Zhang Zhen), a tailor, runs an errand for Madame Hua (Gong Li), a high-class prostitute and regular client from his apprenticeship days, and accidentally witnesses her bringing him to orgasm with her hands. Madame Hua tells him that the sensation he felt that day will be of great help to him when he makes clothes, and Xiao Zhang nurtures a secret love while cherishing the memory of her gentle touch.
Since Xiao Zhang is merely Madame Hua’s personal tailor, he can only watch her from afar, even as he painstakingly crafts the clothes she wears to entertain other men. As time passes, Madame Hua goes bankrupt and ends up staying in a cheap hotel by the docks, where no one comes to see her. When she asks him to make a dress for her to wear to meet a Korean-American man—calling it her last chance—Xiao Zhang takes her measurements by feel with his hands instead of a tape measure. Soon after, she ends up selling her body even to the men at the docks and lies bedridden with an illness.
Xiao Zhang pays her overdue rent and takes back the clothes he had altered to fit her. Madame Hua says she has ruined everything but that her hands alone remain clean, and she once again brings Xiao Zhang to orgasm with her hands. When Xiao Zhang tries to kiss her, Madame Hua covers her mouth with her hand, saying she might pass her illness on to him, and the two shed tears.
Melodramatic Analysis: Icons, Characters, Plot
First, in terms of icons, ‘The Hand’ makes a significant attempt. Traditionally, the melodrama genre does not have many distinct icons to highlight, unlike screwball comedies. Typical of the genre were environmental framing devices that emphasized the theme—such as the low ceilings in early melodramas or the window frames seen in Douglas Sirk’s films. In contrast, in ‘The Hand’, director Wong Kar-wai’s signature cinematic tools blend with the melodramatic atmosphere to create an effect that oppresses or confines the characters. These icons appear repeatedly throughout the film—not just once or twice—conveying a sense of intentionality to the audience.
The motif of “mirrors” is particularly striking. Most of the film’s characters are shown through mirrors; the only character seen directly outside a mirror is Xiao Zhang, who stands at the center of the narrative. Even Madame Hua is shown without a mirror only in the final scene, where she confesses her love while appearing ill. Madame Hua’s beautiful reflection in the round mirror, as well as the figures reflected in the square mirrors, suggest that they are beings unable to reveal their true feelings as they navigate the confines of society. The image of the mirror signifies that what is seen is not the true self but a representation—a reflected illusion—and thus cannot convey genuine emotion.
Furthermore, images of “narrow rooms,” “hallways,” and “stairs”—which appear to be signature symbols of Wong Kar-wai—recur as a recurring motif. Xiao Zhang’s tailor shop and Madame Hua’s hotel consist of narrow, low-ceilinged hallways and small rooms, and the stairs that Xiao Zhang must run up every time he goes to see Madame Hua appear throughout the film. These spatial characteristics, combined with a cinematographic style that relies almost exclusively on close-ups, serve to emphasize the film’s theme. Madame Hua’s days of wealth are depicted through mirrors in spacious rooms, while her ailing self is shown in person within a cramped hotel room. This contrast is also linked to the interpretation of the film’s theme.
The motif of the “hand” plays such a central role that it even appears in the film’s title. The characters reach out to one another through their hands. Madame Hua uses her hands to leave a lasting impression on Xiao Zhang, and in turn, she responds to his love with her hands. Xiao Zhang takes measurements and sews clothes with his hands, revealing that this is his expression of love. In particular, Madame Hua’s hands—once adorned with rings and bracelets that symbolized her ability to fend off the government’s greed—transform into hands that brush her hair back after suffering violence, and into simple hands that grasp Xiao Zhang’s as he measures her emaciated body, effectively revealing her plight.
Another defining feature of the film is the “absence of the body.” Madame Hua’s work as a prostitute is mostly implied through sound and voice alone, while Xiao Zhang experiences orgasm by touching the clothes he has made; thus, the love between a man and a woman is expressed through their hands. Sex scenes are almost entirely absent throughout the film, which appears to be the director’s intentional exclusion of the physical aspect of love.
Next, looking at the characters and setting, Xiao Zhang is a diligent and kind tailor who has had experiences with women since his apprenticeship and loses his virginity at the hands of Madame Hua. In contrast, Madame Hua is extravagant; she views men solely as lovers, is capricious, and indulges in pleasure. No man stays with her, and her clients see her only as a prostitute. Externally, apart from the desire for money and social contempt, environmental factors are not particularly emphasized.
In this film, environmental constraints typical of melodramas—which typically hinder love—do not appear in a clear form. The reason their love cannot be fulfilled stems less from social constraints and more from personal issues: Xiao Zhang’s inability to strongly express his true feelings, and Madame Hua’s obsession with money, which leaves her uninterested in true love. In other words, the conflict stems primarily from personal factors.
However, upon closer inspection, it is also true that the social background is woven into the characterizations. First, the setup—a prostitute who must chase after money and a young tailor lacking financial means—illustrates a one-sided relationship between a client and a service provider. This implies a structural limitation that makes it difficult for the tailor to become the prostitute’s client. Second, the social convention that love between an upright person and a fallen one is unlikely to succeed also serves as a background source of conflict. The overly upright Xiao Zhang and the pleasure-seeking, older Madame Hua appear incompatible due to social prejudice.
In terms of plot, ‘The Hand’ presents a very ambiguous ending. While their love is mutually accepted to some extent, Madame Hua is ill, and her frail body prevents Xiao from kissing her. In one sense, their love is fulfilled; in another, it is broken. We do not know what became of them after the film ends. An open ending can stimulate the audience’s imagination or leave room to question the nature of social constraints, but in this work, it merely leads the audience to naturally imagine a tragic outcome.
A moral narrative is hinted at in the fact that Madame Hua’s desire for money disappears only when she is ill and nearing the end of her life, and as a result, she comes to see true love. However, the characters do not seem to react strongly to such social and environmental factors. Xiao Zhang is unable to actively approach her and merely watches from afar, while Madame Hua, despite her pessimism about life, does not even attempt suicide. This is because the characters’ persistent efforts to achieve love and the pain resulting from their failure are not sufficiently revealed within the plot.
In the final scene, the image of the two shedding tears while holding hands is interpreted less as regret over a ruined love and more as tears of compassion, comforting and sharing each other’s pain. This is neither an escapist ending, nor a false conclusion to a fractured narrative, nor a completely deliberate device. Perhaps it can be described as a film in which the importance of the ending is relatively diminished through the interplay between the characters’ symbolism and the film’s stylistic elements—a choice rooted in Wong Kar-wai’s brand of realism, which prioritizes the story’s authenticity and personal emotions.
The reason I chose Wong Kar-wai’s ‘The Hand’ was that I really wanted to see it, and above all, because it was a Wong Kar-wai film. I also had high expectations for Lorenzo Mattotti’s illustrations and Caetano Veloso’s music. When watching melodramas, Wong Kar-wai’s films offer a significant shift in perspective. Wong Kar-wai is an artist who creates works that are the most melodramatic on the surface, yet upon closer inspection, everything is thoroughly transformed under his directorial grammar. “The Hand” seems to be almost the only one among his numerous films to feature a standalone story. Many of his films are intricately intertwined; characters from the past are revived or reappear within entirely different characters, as if traveling through time, making analysis difficult and the search for an overarching meaning challenging. Of course, this does not mean that each individual film is meaningless or lacking in substance.
The most striking aspect of ‘The Hand’ is the repetition of the same scene that opens and closes the film. The introduction of this structure—which could be described as a circular narrative—demonstrates the director’s clear intent. In particular, due to this highly deliberate and symbolic setup, Madame Hua does not appear at all in the opening scene but is introduced solely through her voice. The narrative of Xiao Zhang visiting her while she is ill in a cheap hotel quietly frames the beginning and end of the plot. The opening scene shows only a close-up of Xiao’s face as he arrives, while Hua—who admits she is ill and has lost everything—appears only as a voice. The consistent long take, shot in an unchanging composition, signals to the audience that “Xiao’s story is about to begin” while simultaneously arousing curiosity about the “absence of the body.” When the same scene is repeated at the end, the audience already knows the full story. Madame Hua’s figure, which was invisible at the beginning, is revealed at the end, leaving the audience with a fresh and surprising impression. This signals that the story is no longer just about Xiao, but about both Xiao Zhang and Madame Hua, and illustrates the evolution of their love as Madame Hua’s place in Xiao’s heart becomes more defined. As the audience realizes that the voice belongs to Madame Hua—who has lived a harsh life and is now haggard and ill, a far cry from her former beauty—they finally spot her on screen when she tells Xiao to forget her quickly and find another woman.
Returning to the topic of melodrama, “The Hand” is unmistakably a melodrama. It deals with the love between two people, a love that remains unfulfilled and ultimately ends. The characters suffer and grieve. This may be the difference between Wong Kar-wai’s films and the love stories of other filmmakers. The excruciatingly sad and painful scenes and characters lend the film a far more unique and intriguing quality, unlike “melodramas that don’t feel like melodramas,” which display indifference to the pain of love. From the audience’s perspective, it’s as if they are offered a warm, humanistic sense of kinship with the director and a safe haven where they can lean on his film and cry. While the film makes a subversive attempt to challenge the grammar and conventions of the melodrama genre, this attempt is asserted clearly without making the audience feel uncomfortable. This is because the plot and atmosphere follow familiar emotional fluctuations and showcase aspects of love that audiences prefer. In this regard, ‘The Hand’ can be described as a film that evokes a fundamental and serious reflection on love and existence while maintaining firm control over its narrative framework.
