SINdie

Adapted from a classic Filipino short story, Tanabata’s Wife is the directorial bow of author-turned-director Charlson Ong, in tandem with his two collaborators Lito Casaje and Choi Pangilinan. A prolific writer of short fiction, Ong has won several awards for his work, including the Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards, the National Book Award and the Gawad Balagtas, the lifetime achievement award from the Writers’ Union of the Philippines.

Told in three acts, the film tells of the winding romance between Tanabata-san and Fasang. Set in the La Trinidad Valley near Baguio, Tanabata-san is an aging farmer whose friends urge him to settle down. He hires Fasang, a young Bontoc woman, as a farmhand with nothing but the promise of four pesos and a full belly. Though initially reticent and distant, the pair, as promised by the title, grow close as they close the gap on their cultural differences. Companionship soon gives way to swelled bellies and laughter in the nursery as the two continue to lead their quiet but hardscrabble life.

Beguiled by the wiles of nearby city lights in fledging Baguio, dreams of a further tomorrow creep into Fasang’s horizons; her desires soon grow wings as she is whisked away by her interloper, Okdo, along with her son Kato. Unmoored, Tanabata lets his fields fall into ruins as he unsuccessfully nurses the injury of his lost love. Fasang learns of this and eventually returns to her ailing lover and the two are reunited. It truly is like that old adage about setting loves free. Fortunately for Tanabata, love found its way back home.

The loving craft and attention to detail behind Tanabata’s Wife’s construction is evident. Each frame of the film is a signed confession of love towards Japanese cinema. Ozu and Kurosawa themselves are name-dropped in the credits. Nap Jamir’s cinematography is quietly thoughtful, the compositions are precise but never rigid and the depth in each image is layered and dense without ever feeling overwhelming. The shots cascade together and slide into each other’s grooves like a river of flowing poetry. This is cinema as a gentle breeze on an autumn afternoon.

The domestic dining table scenes set in Tanabata’s hut are firmly within Ozu’s purview—the two share moments around a low table set against a window as they shed the skins they wear for the world outside their confines. In there they are a world alone, in there is a place that only they know and in there they are the only two people who know. Their counterparts, the rolling greens that stretch beyond the image, the heavy footfalls and scrounged up dirt and the rolling drumbeat rainfalls, come straight out of Kurosawa’s playbook, the director so famed for his composition of movement using environmental details.

Where the film falls short of the otherwise easy naturalism it has worn thus far is in the performances. Miyuki Kamimura puts up a serviceable and competent performance as the genial Tanabata but the rawness of his screen partner, first time actor Mia Fanglayan, is evident and made for some distracting moments. Still, it is a very admirable first foray into screen acting, despite some tonal inconsistencies in the performance.

Written by Koh Zhi Hao

Graves Without a Name (French: Les Tombeaux Sans Noms) opens with director Rithy Panh having his head delicately shaved by a monk before observing a mourning ritual. Soft clay figurines are gently carved by hand, laid to rest in a sheath of banana leaves, with mounds of rice and some accompanied by a single cigarette.

Like the films in his body of work, Graves Without a Name (2018) concerns the atrocities committed during the reign of the Khmer Rouge and the legacy that it has come to impart on a nation. For Panh, the subject is personal, as he himself lost his father, mother, sisters, and other relatives during the genocide. Framed by his ongoing journey in the hopes of putting the spirits of his family to rest, the resulting film is deeply symbolic, as he engages in religious rituals to find his family’s remains: an elderly woman spins a bell and attempts to communicate with a spirit; in another scene, a piece of paper is symbolically wrapped in a sliver of white cloth and placed in a small coffin, before it is burnt.

With such rituals in mind, objects acquire a new meaning: they signify fragments of a collective past, a universal remnant of a loss that cannot be named. Panh interviews rural farmers who survived the regime and they recollect the horrors they experienced. A spoon is not simply a spoon: as one farmer described, without a spoon one could not eat; spoons were so valuable, they wore them around their necks at all times as they worked. As he recounts his story, a shot of a spoon being carefully cleaned fills the screen.

When an interviewee speaks of how food was rationed out at the communal dining hall, small piles of rice are delicately laid out on a cloth, visually conveying how little one had to eat. A large bowl of watery soup with flecks of green and barely-there fragments of rice is suddenly crowded by spoon after spoon, dipping into what little is left. Items such as clothing, buttons, fragments of bone, or a tooth, all come to mean something else as they come to signify a life, though without its distinguishing elements: "Mass crime gets rid of the being, age, origins, memories, glances, names".

Other stunning visual moments feature photographs of Panh’s family, placed in a diorama of the Cambodian landscape, at the heads of small graves, before fading away. Throughout the film, scenes of the regime are projected onto a screen propped up on bare land, images of productivity as men and women dutifully march and go about carrying baskets, as if re-enacting history exactly where it took place. When coupled with Marc Marder's score, the result is an unsettling atmosphere, characterised by an undeniable tension born out of the suffering being spoken of but an undeniable sensation of passivity, as the perpetrators are long gone, removed from the resulting social fabric that still lives with suffering.

Narrated in French by Randal Douc, the interviews are juxtaposed by selections from Christophe Bataille, Jean Cayrol's screenplay for Alain Resnais'Night and Fog, poems by French surrealist Paul Eluard, from Panh's own book, The Elimination. I would not have known it, had I not looked it up, as the selections are befitting, hauntingly spoken as a shot pans over a stunning rural landscape, only for viewers to be reminded, that these are the haunted lands that the farmers speak of. “Nature is an ambiguous grave”, as the narrator describes.

Sitting in these fields, farmers candidly describe not only the hunger, but the fear, cannibalism, violence, rape, and execution, that they witnessed during these years. The past etches itself on their hands and their faces, worn and exhausted, yet they tell their stories so bluntly and so plainly, one after the other, that the viewer, too, is desensitised to it. They acknowledge how they knew of some complicit in the hatred expressed during those years, as one farmer tells a story about an aunt who willingly denied city-dwellers from Phnom Penh the appropriate amounts of rice that they were entitled to.

One farmer ruminates on the nature of “bak sbat”––broken courage. He argues that it is the legacy of trauma, a psychological disorder, that survivors have passed onto their children and their grandchildren. A shared trauma that has shaped the collective consciousness of the present, it materialises as they inability to address problems and the unwillingness to fight back. The atrocities of the past are carried forward to the present and who bears the brunt of it but the survivors themselves? One of the interviewees discusses the nature of karma and how bad karma appears to be so ubiquitous for the people of Cambodia: "Why does karma weigh on so many Cambodian people? Why is it so intense here. It doesn't happen anywhere else, just Cambodia. This karma, we didn't deserve it. It was imposed upon us. It isn’t the outcome of our actions. Our leaders imposed it upon us." And knowing that fills one with a deep sense of injustice.

As beautiful of a film it is, meditative, nuanced, and respectful in its exposition of the atrocities committed, Graves Without a Name is a heavy watch. Not only did I find myself emotionally exhausted and heavy-hearted, but I also felt angry after seeing it. To see a generation so scarred by the past yet still so willing to reflect on what had taken place, is staggering––as a viewer, I would like to say there is a sense of relief as they tell their stories, but I don't know if I can. There is pain, remorse, guilt, but most of all, necessity, in these stories being told. With Cambodia's young population, most of today's citizens are now too young to remember what took place in those years, and though museums and media such as Panh's body of work exist today, for most, it is only through the passing down of these narratives that this part of the country's history is rightfully remembered.

For the most part, these survivors who have tried to begin anew, appear to find themselves tethered to the past, with a collective trauma looming as death lingers in the air and rests in the soil, as spirits continue to roam across the lands on which they dwell: “The pain remains imprinted in our hearts. A life like this marks you for life.”

Melissa Noelle Esguerra is a multifaceted writer who likes to explore all things pertaining to art, film, culture, and literature. She obtained her BA (Hons) in English Language & Literature with a minor in Linguistics from New York University. After having spent the last four years in New York City, she now resides in Singapore.

Singapore is always under construction.

You might walk past a field today, only to discover barricades around it tomorrow and that the land will be built into a new condominium in the next year or so. Sometimes older buildings will be demolished to make way for the new, especially if the commercial value of that land trumps its heritage and cultural value. The sounds of bulldozers and cranes have become the backing track to areas close to the heartlands, alongside the bird calls and cars trying to park downstairs a HDB block.

Or sometimes, the KPIs that dictate almost all our economic decisions in this country cause buildings to have an undetermined fate.

Tampines Junior College is no exception to this rule.

In April 2017, eight local Junior Colleges will be merged into four instead. This decision was made due to the dip in annual student intake, which did not come as much of a surprise since the country’s birth rate has been consistently falling over the years.

Despite the logistics and the sense it may make to merge the schools, with Singapore land a constant scarcity right from the beginning, buildings are more than just brick and mortar. These places hold sentimental value for the people who have spent years making memories in every corner.

Merged is an interactive web documentary on Tampines Junior College’s last days on campus, before they merge with Meridian Junior College. The bite-sized videos are interspersed between texts and images of the school.

Besides capturing the facades of the school itself, this documentary also dives deep into the people that have made the school what it is today—the students, teachers and the various staff of all capacities.

Through the stories and moments shared on camera, Merged.sg becomes a microsite of a collective storybank of what Tampines Junior College means to those it has touched. Besides the sentimentality, it also sheds light on the implications of what a merger entails—loss of jobs, and a change in physical landscape and the nature of the neighbourhood it is a part of.

Informative and candid, the documentary captures the honesty of its interview subjects well and the familiarity in each of their demeanours (friendly ban mian stall owner, anybody?) makes it easy to find yourself a part of the narrative being shared, and empathising.

I appreciate that some perspectives being shared are not ones that we tend to think of, and may very well take for granted. For example, a student shares about why he chose Tampines Junior College and that it has been his dream to attend it, as the first JC student in his family. It made me wonder how accessible a junior college education really is, and how many families may factor in convenience before choosing to send their child there.

And if convenience is a priority for some, then what exactly is Tampines losing besides a landmark and sense of identity of over 30 years?

The interactive documentary begs its audience to take part in this journey to uncovering and asking questions, instead of just being a passive viewer. Through scrolling and clicking links that lead you to different parts of the school, I become a visitor of the school and somehow, learn the little things that make me feel like an insider.

That this merger has something to do with me, and I am a part of its history.

After all, it is all in the small details and these are the things that we tend to miss the most. Some buildings may be demolished, but some memories stay with us for a lifetime.

Merged was featured in The Future of Our Pasts Festival (TFOOPFest), which included two panel discussions and an exhibition. The documentary can be accessed at this link: http://merged.sg/

Written by Dawn Teo

I tend not to cry when watching films. For one reason or another, I always end up unscathed, with no tears streaming down my face even after watching one of the most heart wrenching stories.

Funan, Denis Do's debut feature, has broken that cycle.

The word "Funan" was the name of the first important Hindu kingdom in Southeast Asia, an ancient state in Cambodia which is believed to have risen in the 1st Century AD. Today, the region is better known as covering parts of Vietnam, Thailand and Cambodia. This word directly connects Funan the film to the historical event it is portraying.

Funan is an honest and brutal portrayal of life under the communist Khmer Rouge regime, told through the eyes of a broken family. Recently, it was part of the lineup in the Cambodian International Film Festival, which was held from March 9th to 15th 2019. This was chosen, rightfully so, as it is a piece of history which should be remembered and a story which should be watched.

Funan takes places from April 17th, 1975—the day Khmer Rouge seized Phnom Penh (capital of Cambodia)—to early 1979, when they were forced to retreat due to Vietnamese forces. The film follows protagonists, Chuo (Bérénice Bejo) and Khoun (Louis Garrel), a married couple, in the strenuous four-year battle against the world around them, all the while separated from and searching for their young son, Sovahn. Chuo is based on Do’s own mother, who lived through the Khmer Rouge regime and whom the film is sensibly dedicated to.

It’s a frightening rendition of one of the most horrific massacres in recent history and painfully reflects the negative side of human nature, which will hopefully one day cease to be relevant.

Denis Do, the film's director, was born in Paris, France in 1985. He has a passion for animation. Funan is the story of his personal history. He makes the choice to focus on the humanity of the people involved in the Khmer Rouge regime. Inspired by his mother's journey, his debut feature is a true hit.

While it is an animated film, one would not really consider Funan as family-friendly. A showing to a child would require them to be mature and for many difficult questions to be answered. It’s harrowing to watch the characters have to deal with the unfair torture they are subjected to and having their status lowered from citizens to slaves. However, the choice to tell the story not in live-action but using animation is a beneficial and effective one.

Funan dives into interiority and conveys the paradoxes of the character's souls. The soft and realistic style is honest and bares it all, but provides a safe distance between the viewer and the story. Funan’s source matter is already incredibly hard to take in; if it were live-action, it may well have been too difficult for many to digest. Throughout the film, the torturous experiences which the protagonists go through are juxtaposed against the beautiful natural background in which the story takes place. The beguiling setting makes the pain the characters experience so much more heartbreaking.

Bejo and Garrel both deliver standout performances and are able to capture the voices of their characters beautifully. Their vocal work is emotionally striking and both tone and inflection are utilized heavily to effectively portray Khuon and Chuo’s parallel journeys. Their characters are able to find spare moments of intimacy, with Khuon blowing Chuo’s ear from behind her. This becomes a motif which returns throughout the story, each time reminding the audience of the Khuon and Chuo’s positions within the story. Watching them both visibly decay over the seemingly never ending four years is torturous. But it is their strength in surviving this dire situation which makes their story so powerful.

Throughout the film, Do has chosen to cut away from violent acts. Funan never explicitly depicts violence, but instead implies death using sound and reaction. While this is sometimes confusing and can break the flow of the scene, it does not detract from the film’s power. The choice might have been to focus the attention on the effect of violence on the people who succeed it or let the audience fill in the blanks. Either way, it hides the explicit torture which people went through, and chooses instead to see how this torture affected the ones who survived.

The audience is asked to follow along each character's journey and, if you do, you won't be disappointed. Every character is affected by the world which they reside in, not only in a direct way but in an indirect, subliminal manner. Funan does not necessarily leave the viewer on a positive note. When the credits roll, you know the survivors will have to work long and hard to rebuild their lives. This takes a lifetime. But it is a lifetime earned and fought for.

Overall, Funan is a powerfully honest and beautifully brutal recount of the Khmer Rouge rule over Cambodia and its effect on the people subjected to the regime. A testament to the fact that animation can be used to tell powerful stories, it forces the viewer to take a few moments out of their day and think about the pain which we inflict upon one aother. It’s a story which deserves not to be forgotten; you literally cannot just walk away from Funan.

It's definitely worth a watch. After all, it made me cry.

All image credit goes to Funan dir. Denis Do (2018).

Written by Valerie Tan

A Dog's Life by Chang Yi

The Singapore Chinese Film Festival (SCFF) is back for the 7th time! Organised by the Singapore University of Social Sciences (SUSS)’s Centre for Chinese Studies (CSS@SUSS), and Singapore Film Society (SFS), the festival will be held over 11 days from 18 April to 28 April at Golden Village Suntec City, Golden Village VivoCity, The Arts House Screening Room and Filmgarde Bugis+.

SCFF2019 is proud to present two new sections: (i) Filmmaker in Focus: Chang Yi, where the festival will be screening his latest work, an animated movie A Dog’s Life, and his award-winning films Kuei-Mei, A Woman and This Love of Mine, which have been digitally restored and remastered, and (ii) Non-Chinese Language Cinema by Chinese filmmakers, which showcases the diversity of spoken languages and cultures explored by talented Chinese filmmakers.

The 7th Singapore Chinese Film Festival showcases over 60 films from the region. More than 20 filmmakers will attend post-screening Q&A sessions or panel talks. Amongst them is Ms Oliver Chan, director of the opening film Still Human which garnered eight (8) nominations at the 38th Hong Kong Film Awards.

Still Human

Moviegoers can also expect to meet directors of four out of eight feature films from the Hong Kong films: Jun Li (Tracey), Lee Cheuk Pan (G Affairs), Jevons Au (Distinction) and Jessey Tsang (The Lady Improper) are the new generation of directors, and their films cast light on different social issues in Hong Kong. Among the five Taiwanese films in the Chinese Panorama section, Long Time No Sea is a heart-warming movie for the whole family while High Flash and The Scoundrels feature award-winning Taiwanese actor Wu Kang Jen.

The Lady Improper

Chinese Shorts Showcase features six collections of short films. The Golden Horse Film Academy Short Films 1 & 2 include eight short films produced by emerging filmmakers who were invited to take part in the mentorship and development programme by the Academy over the last ten years. Some local and Malaysian filmmakers who are alumni of the programme will reunite with highly acclaimed Taiwanese film editor and Chief Administrator of the Academy Mr Liao Ching-Song in the panel talk titled “10 Years of Golden Horse Film Academy”.

In addition to the eight short films, others made by the academy’s alumni include An Elephant Sitting Still (Hu Bo), 14 Apples(Midi Z), Luzon (Chiang Wei Liang) and Firefly (Lau Kek Huat).

Luzon

Non-Chinese Language Cinema by Chinese filmmakers is a new programme segment this year. The festival has selected four films, 14 Apples, Soul on a String, The Silent Herdsman and Berlinale K-Plus winner A First Farewell– which illustrates the diversity in spoken languages and cultures explored by these talented Chinese filmmakers.

A Final Farewell

The closing film is In Our Time, which consists of four short films directed by Edward Yang, Ko Yi-Cheng, Chang Yi, and Tao Te-Chen. It marks the beginning of the Taiwanese New Wave, a movement of the 1980s to rejuvenate Taiwan cinema.

Advance sales starts from 4th April 2019.

S$13.50*: General Public

S$10.50*: SFS Film Addicts and SUSS Members (Only for tickets purchased over the counter with presentation of valid membership card)

Tickets for sessions at GV Suntec City and GV VivoCity are available at the GV box office and www.gv.com.sg.

Tickets for sessions at Filmgarde Bugis+ are available at the box office and online - http://fgcineplex.com.sg/buyticket.

Tickets for sessions at The Arts House are available online through https://scff.peatix.com. For screenings at The Arts House, there will be a special discount bundle at S$50 for a choice of any 5 different films. For details, please visit https://scff.peatix.com

Admission to all panel talks is free. Please visit www.scff.sg to reserve your seat.

Here is the festival trailer:

We Are Little Zombies by Makoto Nagahisa

The Asian Film Archive (AFA) will be transforming the new Oldham Theatre, located in the revamped National Archives of Singapore (NAS) building, into a public space with regular film screenings. The 132-seater, wheelchair accessible hall is equipped with 4K digital, 16mm and 35mm film format projection capabilities. The new building will be officially opened on 7 April 2019.

At Oldham Theatre, AFA will present a curated mix of classic, contemporary and new releases of critically acclaimed Asian film titles. With post-screening dialogues, film-related lectures and workshops, the theatre will be a social and educational space for audiences to engage with the rich film heritage of Asian cinema, as well as to discover the important film archival and preservation duties carried out by AFA.

House of Hummingbird by Kim Bora

Contemporary titles making their Singapore premiere at Oldham Theatre include We Are Little Zombies by Makoto Nagahisa, which clinched the World Dramatic Special Jury Award for Originality at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival, and House of Hummingbird by Kim Bora, winner of the Grand Prix of the Generation 14plus International Jury for the Best Film at the 2019 Berlin International Film Festival.

Programme details will be available soon at https://asianfilmarchive.org. Tickets can be purchased on AFA’s website, as well as onsite at the Oldham Theatre box office.

Here’s what to expect at the Oldham Theatre this year.

May 2019

Singapore International Festival of the Arts (SIFA) 2019: Singular Screens

Curated by AFA, Singular Screens features an international selection of exceptional new works celebrating independent and singular films from Singapore and abroad. Valuing the ingenious and the risk-taking in cinema, the film programme hopes not only to be diverse in representation but be bold in putting together its palette of cinematic adventures.

Demons by Daniel Hui

Screenings will be held at the Screening Room in the Festival House and at Oldham Theatre, NAS building.

The films that will be making their Singapore premieres at Singular Screens include:

Demons by Daniel Hui, Singapore, 2018 (Busan International Film Festival; Berlinale Forum)
The Dead and The Others by João Salaviza and Renée Nader Messora, Brazil and Portugal, 2018 (Jury Special Prize (Un Certain Regard) – Cannes International Film Festival)
Present.Perfect. by Zhu Shengze, USA, Hong Kong, 2019 (Winner of Tiger Competition, International Film Festival Rotterdam)
Black Mother by Khalik Allah, USA, 2018 (International Film Festival Rotterdam, Toronto International Film Festival)

Full programme line-up will be unveiled on SIFA's SIFA: Singular Screens.

June – July 2019

State of Motion 2019: A Fear of Monsters

The State of Motion 2019: A Fear of Monsters exhibitions took place in January and February 2019 as part of Singapore Art Week 2019. They investigated the histories and trajectories of Asian horror and focused on the monsters at the intersections of art, popular culture and cinema.

As an extension from the film history and contemporary art exhibitions presented this year, AFA will be showcasing a constellation of Asian-based monster films at Oldham Theatre. Explore the transnational appeal and cultural consumption of the horror genre while tracing the transfiguration of monsters in a programme that promises to unite and entertain through fears and desires.

Folklore: Nobody by Eric Khoo

Highlights include:

The original 1954 Godzilla, restored version premiering in Singapore
Hausu (House, 1977), a Japanese horror comedy cult classic
Classic Malay horror films from Shaw Malay Productions – Sumpah Orang Minyak by P Ramlee and Cathay-Keris’ Sumpah Pontianak by B.N Rao
Folklore, the first horror anthology series by HBO Asia, featuring acclaimed directors from six Asian countries

AFA will also be launching a publication for the first time as part of the State of Motion series. The publication comprises a collection of essays from esteemed writers and a catalogue of the film history and contemporary art exhibitions held in January and February 2019 as part of State of Motion 2019: A Fear of Monsters. The publication explores the production of horror, our fascination with monsters, and the shared history that they represent.

Reframe: Migratory Times

Migratory Times presents a series of Chinese-language fictional films showing transitional times in Southeast and East Asia. The settings of the films span the Ming dynasty, the Sino-Japanese war and its aftermath, colonial and postcolonial modernity, revolution and resistance.

The films themselves were made during critical times in cinema history: postwar Singapore, China at the cusp of the Communist Revolution, the sunset of Healthy Realism and the rise of the Taiwan New Wave and the Hong Kong New Wave. With their own histories of loss, rebirth and restoration, these works offer the opportunity to examine the intersecting forces that condition how history can be affectively archived and re-activated in aesthetic works.

This programme is guest-curated by Assistant Professor Elizabeth Wijaya from the University of Toronto, Canada.

Titles include:

小城之春 by Fei Mu (Spring in a Small Town, China, 1948), restored by China Film Archive and widely regarded as one of the greatest Chinese films ever made
傾城之戀 by Ann Hui (Love in a Fallen City, Hong Kong, 1984) starring Chow Yun Fatt and Cora Miao
华侨血泪 by Cai Wen-jin (Blood and Tears of Overseas Chinese, Malaya, 1946), restored by China Film Archive, subtitled by AFA

August - September 2019

Singapore Shorts ‘19

Organised by AFA, Singapore Shorts ’19 is the year’s showcase of the best and the most promising Singapore short films. A critical platform for excellence and diverse thought in moving images, the selection is overseen by a panel of respected professionals across Singapore’s film industry. Alongside screenings of the selected cinematic works, the programme will also feature post-screening discussions with the filmmakers, dedicated reviews from critics and a special section of older titles from AFA’s collection.

This year’s guest programmer is renowned local playwright Alfian Sa’at. The selection panel consists of Aishah Abu Bakar (Independent Film Programmer), Kristin Saw (Singapore Film Commission), Assistant Professor Lee Sang Joon (NTU Wee Kim Wee School of Communication and Information), Pauline Soh (National Gallery of Singapore) and Thong Kay Wee (Asian Film Archive).

SEA of Sadness

Under the enigmatic title SEA of Sadness, guest curator Gertjan Zuilhof presents an outstanding list of Southeast Asian films produced over a period of 15 years – combining classical masterpieces and contemporary work by young directors, feature-length films and shorts, including all genres from “pure” documentary to experimental shorts and fiction films.

Offering a glimpse into the Southeast Asian region’s vibrant cultural life, the selection is sensitive, personal and reflects the memories and hopes of the people in the countries that the films were made in.

Asian Restored Classics 2019

The annual Asian Restored Classics (ARC) is a film festival presented by AFA to celebrate the best of Asian cinema. The festival provides a platform to screen iconic classics restored by different institutions.

Having featured films from the 1920s to the 1990s in the past three editions, ARC 2019 in its fourth year will look to premiere a new slate of timeless restored Asian gems. ARC will be opening with three film screenings at Capitol Theatre. Subsequent screenings will be held at Oldham Theatre.

Reframe: Singaporeana!

Singaporeana! is a programme of films that demonstrates the long history of unreliable ‘cinematic postcards’ from Singapore – telling tales of newcomers and old hands who find themselves travelling through ancient, bewildering cultures and zones of many possibilities. The restored version of Saint Jack (1979) by Peter Bogdanovich will be making its Singapore premiere as part of the film’s 40th anniversary.

In addition to the screenings, a one-day ‘Singaporeana Symposium’ of papers and talks, in which academics, writers and artists explore the films from multiple angles, will also be presented. Topics will include colonial and post-colonial narratives and history, documentation of urban spaces and architecture, performance of Singaporean identity and others.

October-December 2019

12th Perspectives Film Festival

Perspectives is an annual arts event that features breakthrough films which are thematically curated. Now in its 12thyear, the festival is an annual practicum course run by the Nanyang Technological University’s (NTU) Wee Kim Wee School of Communication and Information. Perspectives is organised by undergraduates from NTU and is the first student-run film festival in Singapore. AFA will be a programme partner for the 12th edition of the festival.

30th Singapore International Film Festival

The Singapore International Film Festival (SGIFF) is the largest and longest-running ﬁlm event in Singapore. Founded in 1987, the festival has become an iconic event in the local arts calendar that is widely attended by international film critics, and known for its dynamic programming and focus on ground-breaking Asian cinema for Singapore and the region.

Committed to nurturing and championing Singapore and regional talent, its competition component, the Silver Screen Awards, brings together emerging filmmakers from Asia and Southeast Asia while paying tribute to acclaimed cinema legends. With its mentorship programmes, masterclasses and dialogues with attending filmmakers, the festival also serves as a catalyst for igniting public interest, artistic dialogue, and cultural exchanges in the art of filmmaking. AFA will be the programme partner for the 30th edition of the festival.

New releases of critically acclaimed Asian film titles

Asian film titles from the festival circuit will be released with short runs throughout the year at Oldham Theatre, NAS building, allowing audiences to catch films that are not always easily available.

In June and July 2019, there will be a run of We Are Little Zombies by Makoto Nagahisa, Japan, 2019 (Berlinale 2019; Sundance Film Festival 2019).

In September 2019, there will be a run of House of Hummingbird, by Kim Bora, South Korea, 2018 (KNN Audience Award, NETPAC Award at Busan International Film Festival; Grand Prix for the Best Feature Length Film (Generation 14 Plus International Jury) at Berlinale Generation).

The screening line-up listed above is accurate at the time of release. More programmes may be added subsequently. Visit AFA’s website (https://asianfilmarchive.org) for updates.

Spanning three eras of modern Cambodian history, Caylee So's In The Life of Music presents an ode to music and its capacity to tie generations together even in the face of immeasurable violence. In integrating the Khmer Rouge era of Cambodia's history with the history of popular Cambodian music of the 60s, So emphasises human relationships—be it between the two lovers, a former song writer and a child soldier, or a young woman and her uncle. What ultimately comes through is that no matter our backgrounds or familiarity with Cambodia, at the heart of the song is a haunting humanity that pierces through and stays in our mind long after the film is over. SINdie had the chance to ask Caylee So some of our questions. Read on for her answers.

SINdie: In the process of conceptualising the film, what came first—the idea or the song? In other words, did you build your plot around the song, or did you have an idea of the plot and the song came into it after?

So: When we had the idea of wrapping the story around ONE Sinn Sisamouth song, I knew right away that Champa Batambang was the song. It is a song that is so recognisable, that even if you don't know the lyrics, the melody would haunt you, in the same way I hoped our story would. While the story came first, it was inevitable that we use this song.

How did you reconstruct a Cambodia of 1968 and 1976? Did archival footage/images/documents play a role in doing so?
It was much tougher replicating 1968 than it was to replicate 1976. The Khmer Rouge created so much propaganda footage that it was much easier to access those images in archival research. But because so many artifacts from before 1975 were destroyed during the Khmer Rouge era, we had to rely on old classic films and very few pictures to replicate key scenes and costumes for the 1968 scenes. It was tough. We were really challenged in a way we weren’t expecting, and often times, we consulted with people who had lived through those eras for ideas and references.

How much and what kind of research was involved in writing the screenplay for this film?

To keep the three eras authentic to the times, we had to do research into the years the songs were released and written and into the history of the Vietnam war, being mindful of the effects both had on our story. To capture what it felt like inside the genocide camps, I talked to a lot of survivors, to write the story that felt authentic to their memory, and not from the propaganda footage meant to deceive the public at the time. Most of the 1976 sequences were written based on the experiences of people I had talked to. We chose 2007 as a specific year, because it was the year that saw the country be more stable, and I saw a large return of the diaspora. Cambodia 2007 vs. Cambodia 2019 feels vastly different.

To ask a more technical question, I noticed that the scenes from 1976 were shot in square format. I wanted to ask what your intentions were behind this choice?
I had thought about different aspect ratios for different eras, and for me, because everyone was placed in a figurative box during the killing fields era, having that story told in that manner would convey visuals that feel claustrophobic, small, and trapped.

Lastly, how did the song Champa Battambang itself inform the performances, both in terms of acting but also in terms of making the film (constructing the shots, editing)?

Initially the film was divided into three chapters, and each chapter had a title. The song would correspond and convey the essence of the story told in that chapter, or decade. In the first chapter, 1968, The Song of Love, we wanted the song to convey a sense of joy, of newfound love, and the excitement and celebration of that emotion. In the second chapter, 1976, The Song of Death, we wanted the song to be reinterpreted to a song of loss and defiance. In 2007, The Song of Birth, we wanted the song to be what it is to so many of us: a legacy song, a song that just like the people in our story, has survived a genocide. Champa Batambang lives on in people’s hearts; it’s a song that allows the memory of love to be eternal.

We discussed thoroughly with the actors in each chapter what that song would mean for their character, and we were also challenged to create the same sense in the aesthetic of each decade. Since Chapter One was more about love, we made sure there was a sense of vibrancy in the colour palette, the editing, the movement of the camera, and in the way the song was sung. In the second chapter, 1976, we thought we would strip away the colours and instil a sense of silence and a lack of movement, in the song and in the scenes. The camera never moves, the editing is slower, the song sung was full of a painful silence. In the final chapter, the 2007 era, it was a mixture of movement and stillness as our character confronts the past, but also carries on the burden of that memory into a chapter that is meant to inspire a more hopeful future. Just like the song, we gave the scenery more colours, the camera work was more personal and voyeuristic, the frame more expansive.

Responses have been edited for clarity.

Interview by Tanvi Rajvanshi

The European Union Film Festival (EUFF)returns for its 29th edition, reflecting the diversity of perspectives, histories and cultures from across Europe. Featuring the best of contemporary European cinema, the 29th EUFF runs from 10 to 19 May 2019 at the National Gallery Singapore.

Films screened are recent and have encountered success in their country of origin. The films showcased in this festival may belong to a specific country, but they are all representative of Europe’s common cultural heritage. This film festival, now in its 29th year, is a window into the intriguing world of European cinema but also offers a platform to showcase films by young Singaporean film-makers.

Opening Film

The 29th EUFF presents 27 films from across Europe with Romania as the featured country this year for the first time. The festival opens with Beside Me (pictured above), Romania's first inspirational story. The directorial debut of Tedy Necula, the film explores the idea of human connectivity in a cramped space as the story revolves around several passengers who are locked in a subway station.The film is a telling reminder that we are all strangers until something brings us together. The cast reunites some of the biggest names of Romanian cinema.

Just like previous years, the festival has something for everyone....

From films about extraordinary lives like 'Jan Palach' from the Czech Republic

To a film on the lives of three generations of women, Belgium's 'Le Ciel Flamand'

To musicals (this one blends techno with comedy) like 'Magical Mystery or: The Return of Karl Schmidt' from Germany

To historical drama like Austria's 'Mademoiselle Paradis'

To documentaries like UK's 'Power in Our Hands'

Student Films At EUFF

The festival continues EUFF’s established tradition of collaborating with a Singaporean film school. It offers several first time student filmmakers a platform to showcase their student shorts. Partnering for the fifth time with Ngee Ann Polytechnic's School of Film and Media Studies, the EUFF will present short films by students and alumni of the school alongside the official film selection.

Short films to be featured by the Ngee Ann Polytechnic's School of Film and Media Studies include 1276, Cleaned, Not Clean, Stitches, Life in the Void, Saving Sungei, Son OfKafan.

EUFF 2019 Dates & Ticketing

The EUFF will take place from 10 to 19 May at National Gallery Singapore's Ngee Ann Kongsi Auditorium (Basement 1).

Festival tickets are priced at $12 and are available for sale through SISTIC from 4 April. Purchase of a festival ticket will include one complimentary admission ticket to all exhibitions at National Gallery Singapore. Several participating countries will be hosting pre- screening receptions and ticket holders to those movies are invited to join these receptions.

Concessions are extended to National Gallery Singapore members, those aged 55 years and above, NSFs, students, Singapore Film Society members, and group purchases of 6 tickets or more ($1 off per ticket).

For ticket sales visit www.sistic.com.sg. Visit www.euff.sg for more information and updates on the 29th European Union Film Festival.

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#EUFFSG

TW: Rape

27 Steps of May is a poignant film that explores the lasting effects of trauma that consumes a woman long after she was raped in her teens.

Stuck in the bottomless pit of depression and self-harm, May (Raihaanun) has lost her will to live, as well as her need for speech. Her protective father (Lukman Sardi) tries to lure her out of her self-deprecating state but to no avail.

Despite living under the same roof, both father and daughter lead double lives. May discovers a crack in her wall through which she peeks at a magician (Ario Bayu) and gradually learns to open up to him.

Blaming himself for her rape, her father vents his anger and frustrations in underground fights. With their constant lack of communication and hidden secrets, the pair suffers in solitude.

Each time their relationship seems to be progressing, small events would occur that cause them to fall back into the same pattern of isolation and grievance.

With a subtle approach to addressing past demons, the film is meticulous in its symbolism of small and careful steps.

27 Steps of May is a film by Ravi L. Bharwani. We spoke to the director about his inspiration, as well as the behind-the-scenes of the film.

SINdie: There are multiple layers of pain in the film, from the daughter's rape to the father's rage in his fights and the almost non-existent communication between both father and daughter. How did this story first come to you? What was your inspiration for the film?

Ravi L. Bharwani: It started with a theme that I was obsessed about, which is alienation. Two of my previous films also talked about the same theme. The second point was from the 1998 riots, there was political and turmoil chaos happening in the country. During that time lots of women were raped and people murdered brutally, especially in the Chinese communities.

Both points became the backbone for me to create the story of the woman and her struggle to break away from the trauma. Later on it develops into a story of rape, and I realised that there are themes that I didn’t see. Guilt, trauma, these are also themes that have been quite personal, from my personal experiences as well.

So it’s a mix and match of all these experiences and events and obsessions and resulted into a story about this film, about 27 Steps of May. Throughout the film, I realised that I didn’t want to make a political statement of the happenings. I just want to focus on just one family and how the violence, especially sexual violence, can be so devastating, not just on the victim but on the family as well.

How closely did the film follow the script? Were there scenes that were omitted in the edit?

Yes, some scenes were taken out during the editing, not much, but there were some scenes. Quite a couple of scenes we did not shoot it as well because of time constraints as we did not anticipate a couple of stuff. Especially thinking of how time consuming and tedious it is to prepare the set.

To give you an example, when we want to move the cupboard from one point to another, the cupboard where the dolls were placed, during the second take, readjusting and realigning all the dolls into becoming one straight line and fitting it according to how the character is in the film was just so time consuming.

We also have limited space on the set because we actually shot it at a house, a real house, that was about to be demolished so we couldn’t build two sets at the same time and work on it so we had to just do one thing at a time. So it’s time consuming. I discussed with the writer, Rayya Makarim, on how to omit these scenes and how to tackle it so that the story can convey the same message.

The crack in the wall gets bigger as the film progresses, how did you (or your art department) manage to achieve this physically?

We did not have the luxury to shoot on a set because of budget, so we found a house, that belongs to the writer actually, the house was going to be demolished. That way we had the freedom, given the house was small, but that way we could break the wall as much as we want to, or to attach walls. So we treated it like a set.

The art made a big hole on the wall, and also they made different sets of holes, maybe there were like 6 or 7 sets probably. That part of the set was like a square that can be attached to the main wall. Before we commenced shoot, we would already have 6 sets, 6 holes. So on shoot, we would know during which part of the scene we would want to use, let’s say, No. 2 hole or No. 3 hole.

But again, attaching the part of the set that has the hole to the main wall, it takes time as well, to make it seamless. So that’s another constraint that we had. Those are the technical stuff of attaching the walls. We had already decided from point A where there’s no hole, till the end part where the hole gets bigger and bigger. We already knew what the progress would be like.

The performances of your lead actors were very strong. How do you manage to elicit such strong performances on set?

Well, I think it goes back to casting. I cannot underline the importance of casting. Casting, casting, casting. I do my own casting, research well, ask people, whatever. I think 50% of the film is done due to good casting. After which we discuss, with the writer and the actors, what is the intention of the scene, why the character is doing this, why the character is doing that, so they know the intention of each and every line.

After this, we work on the set. We had the house already prepared for the shoot, so we had time to work on the set to do rehearsals. We had 2 weeks of rehearsals, but not on a daily basis. I do not tell the actors where the camera is going to be placed or the technical concerns. I just observe and see if they are going to the right directions. But at the end, I cannot get all these if there’s nothing in the script. Which brings back the point that I needed a good script in order to get a good performance.

And of course these actors are working from their hearts, they’re working with their emotions, not from a technical point of view, not that I wanted to achieve this or I wanted to achieve that. So that makes the whole thing less difficult for me to direct them, as they already had the preparations, the character’s psychological backgrounds. They already have all the materials that they needed, in terms of physicality, emotions and rationality, why they do this and why they do that, before they come to the set. All prepared.

How did you direct the fight scenes? Did Lukman Sardi have to train extensively for that?

We had only 2 days to film all the scenes for the underground cage fighting. And 1 day for the boxing. It was very hard for all of us, exhausting for Lukman and all the actors too. We had the fighting coach to help in directing the action scenes.

But what’s more difficult is that the fight isn’t just about punches. It’s about how the experiences he encounters with his daughter reflect on the fight sequences. To get all these, we had to train him for 2 fighting setups. His training was around 2 months before the film. We have a trainer that comes to workshop with him for the 3 fight sequences for the underground fighting. And he goes to a more formal gym for boxing training. So you can understand how difficult it is, how exhausting is it for him to work on these 2 different kinds of styles and physicality. So that’s the kind of training he had to do for this film.

What were some thoughts that you and your DP had when deciding on the camera movement and execution?

The original idea about the film is about steps. The film is about progress and change, baby steps. It starts off with the character who is making baby steps and progress.

I gave a simple guideline to all the departments on the film, we are going from point 1 to point 4. From number 1 to number 4. Just to give you a feeling on the progress from one scene to another, we agreed from where the actor was going to stand, from the starting point, and then we agreed on the ending as well, that this would be the end of the film. Then I left all the departments to play within those boundaries.

I wasn’t going to make a film that had character change from 1 to 100. Let’s say, suppose a big melodramatic film would have a character change from 1 to 100. I said this film was just going to be a small step, small baby steps that we want to take. Every department you see in all the scenes, there are minor changes, from the hairdo, from the makeup, from the colour of the set, of how the props are placed, everything. It’s all about progress, changes.

So same thing with the camera, it was initially restricted. Then it was moving, and finally there was fluid camera movement. So at the end, that’s how I wanted to give a kind of fluidity to her character, to give a feeling of how she’s a little bit more open, more fluid in her ability to deal with the outside world.

And from a technical point of view, we had about 3 takes for the last shot. We had so limited time so we had to work with the constraints. We did 3, or maybe 4 takes for that.

Lastly, what is the significance of the film's title, 27 Steps of May?

The film was inspired as a sort of allegory to the main 1998 event. The film is about steps the character made to break free from her struggle. Literal steps as well as psychological steps.

Why 27? That’s the interesting part. We thought okay, let’s count the number of steps that she has to take, literally, from her house to the outside gate. I counted a number, I don’t quite remember, and my producer, Wilza Lubis, she counted and gave a different figure. Another director, another producer gave a different figure, so we didn't know which one to choose. So who’s is right, who’s wrong? It wasn’t a matter of being right or wrong, it’s just that we have different pacings, different ways of strides so we didn’t know how to choose. So we came up with a figure, the 4 of us, twenty-seven.

Two plus seven is nine, according to Wilza. 27 is 2 + 7 = 9, which is a good chinese number so we ended up using 27. So I hope that this number 27 brings us luck with the film, especially since we’re going to screen here in cinemas in Indonesia on the 27th of April.

We would have asked for a simpler title, like just ‘May’, but then we have a film in Indonesia called ’May’ a few years back, so we decided to called it 27 Steps of May. Which was actually quite interesting as a lot of people were asking us the same question, at the festivals that we went to. So that’s the idea of the film and how we got into creating the title.

*The interview answers have been edited for clarity.
Do catch the film, 27 Steps of May, in cinemas (Indonesia) on 27 April 2019.

Written by Christine Seow

Self-described as a shit-hits-the-fan heist film, Fly By Night takes its audience on a wild ride through complex family ties, shifting loyalties and testy power dynamics, complete with explosive shoot-outs and the much anticipated car chase scene. Most notably, regional audiences will be delighted to see the familiar landscapes of Malaysia forming the backdrop of this debut feature by Malaysian director Zahir Omar. There is something exhilarating about watching a car chase scene, so often only present in mainstream Hollywood movies or Hong Kong cop films, play out so close to home.

Film buffs will be recognise the myriad of influences underscoring this film, from Godfather-esque confrontations to gory clashes reminiscent of Old Boy. Indeed, Omar asserts that Fly By Night is a concoction of the best bits of his favourite genres, a sort of homage to the films that have entertained him, and an attempt to entertain other people with the same tools.

It is a worthy attempt, a daring leap into the heist genre. However, despite the allure of its premise, the film seems to unravel nearing the end, escaping with convenient plans that are never quite explained or settling for shallow resolutions of its characters. In particular, it is a pity that greater revelations of characters are left unexplored, just as they manage to spark a deeper curiosity about individual backstories.

Nevertheless, Fly By Night will surely leave audiences in determined discussions long after the credits have rolled, and the presence of a film that straddles the line between arthouse fare and mainstream audience appeal makes one hopeful for future works from the Malaysian filmmaking scene.

SINdie conducted an email interview with director Zahir Omar on his debut feature.

SINdie: I understand that it took four years from conception to completion – how did the story develop over the years and what, if anything, changed from the initial genesis of your idea to the final script?

Zahir Omar: The first draft, which was written by Ivan, was very solid and the themes were very strong. We spent the next four years developing the characters and building the world around it, trying to make it as humanistic and fun as possible.

Fly By Night features many action packed, stunt intensive scenes – from a bar going down in flames to the car chases complete with gun shootouts. Was it stressful to work on such scenes, especially on your first feature film? How did you handle the direction of these scenes?

We were fortunate to have very good support from the production house, Planet Films, who has been doing commercials for over 20 years. The fire scene and the shoot-out were very specific scenes that I had in mind from the very early stages in the script. I spent most of the years figuring out how to shoot them with the limited resources that we had. Besides that, we had a very experienced director helping out with the stunt sequences, Farouk Al Joffrey, and his team shoot the car chase scenes, which made the film insanely slick. Thanks Chief!

You work with a lot of household names (Sunny Pang, Frederick Lee) in the film. Was it challenging to direct veteran actors? What were some of your takeaways from working with them?

Firstly, I’d like to say, I was very blessed to have them on this project with me. They were really cool cats, who knew their craft. I knew I had to make sure that in order to jam with them I had to be on my “A” game at all times because they would give nothing less.

One thing that strikes me is the ethnic diversity in your film, especially linguistically. How did the cultural landscape of Malaysia inform that choice?

At the time that this script was written, there was a lot of “us” vs “them”, which I believe with all my heart is not who we are. The keyword has to be “we”. Like it or not, we are all stuck on the same boat. Only when we accept this can we start progressing.

Are you hopeful about the Malaysian filmmaking scene? Where do you see it in the next few years?

Very hopeful. Some people have said that Malaysian film audiences are quite shallow. I believe the complete opposite. The Malaysian film audience have very in-depth film knowledge and taste. Story telling has been entrenched in our culture for centuries and we have been exposed to so many good films over the decades. Furthermore, our film industry in the past five years has sky rocketed in quality. I can see everyone is trying to be better at their craft, and that’s what matters the most. Exciting times!

Lastly, how did Joko Anwar end up making a cameo in your film?

I’m a fanboy with no shame. I called him and asked him. He said yes!

Fly by Night opened in Cathay Cineplexes (Singapore) on 11 Apr 2019.

Written by Jessica Heng

A Time for Us opens with a shot of lotus roots and spices being boiled in a pot with dried chili and peppercorns––the muted reds and murky water cutting to a dimly lit room, lived in yet lacking a life well-lived. From the cinematography alone, I was sold.

There is something about the subdued, faded hues in Alvin Lee’s A Time for Us (tr. 萍水相逢), as they imbue a sense of quiet domesticity and mundanity yet a stark realism in the scenes taking place in this 30-minute short film. Masterfully made, it took me by surprise to learn that A Time for Us was Lee's thesis film for the culmination of his studies at the renowned Beijing Film Academy. Having had its premier at last year's Singapore International Film Festival under the Southeast Asian Short Film category, the film also won the Special Jury Award at Romanian film festival Cinemaiubit. The accolades are certainly well-deserved.

A Time for Us tells the story of Bai Li Juan (played by Pan Ruo Yao), a single mother from the countryside who has come to Beijing to procure a Beijing Hukou, or a residency permit, for her unborn child through the black market. Given the existing stigma in China towards children born out of wedlock and towards single mothers altogether, her child isn’t entitled to a residency permit unless she’s married, forcing her to enter into a paid marriage in the hopes of attaining the permit. Indeed, as she waits to meet the other half in this marriage, a neighbor in his building looks at her with scorn. Li Xing Zhou (played by Qi Chao), the man whom she must marry is unable to speak. Writing in a notebook to answer her questions, he is patient with her as she is with him.

There is a tenderness between them from the start, irrespective of the circumstances that have brought them both together––necessity binds them, as do their social stations. Li Xing Zhou is ostracised, derogatorily labeled as "the weird man" by his neighbour's young son––the same neighbour who looked at Bai Li Juan with practised scorn. It speaks volumes of the way in which prejudice is learned and inherited.

Both outsiders on the fringe looking in, at most, Li Xing Zhou and Bai Li Juan have one another. Though their interactions are measured infused with the slightest tinge of awkwardness, they share a moment in a park as they dance with some elderly couples. For the first time in the film, Li Xing Zhou is coaxed out of his isolated world, where self-reliance manifests as a means of psychological and emotional protection––we see him smile, as Bai Li Juan takes his hand and they begin to dance.

Over time, actions which he would have done on his own take on another meaning: the act of washing dishes, of cooking, begin to mean something else when they are done for someone else rather than for oneself. Similarly, food plays a pivotal role in the film, as it facilitates progression in the (temporal) relationship of these two characters, enabling forgiveness and atonement. The act of cooking evokes both kindness and even acceptance, as we see at the end of the film.

Bai Li Juan is a formidable character. In spite of her circumstances, she perseveres in the hopes of something better. As the two characters sit in the dark during a blackout, she tells Li Xing Zhou, "This child is mine, I believe I alone can give him and or her the best and what I couldn’t have". It's a powerful thing to assert, given the context in which she is situated, with all the odds that are stacked against her. It takes a great deal of accountability to voluntarily take on the burden of exclusion and I would not go as far as arguing that doing so is part of the burden of motherhood and the selflessness that arises out of that. Her character embodies that idea that circumstances do not need to shape who you become as a person––that even though cruelty is all you've ever known, it doesn't mean that cruelty is what you give onto others. Instead, she makes the most of the cards that she's been dealt and does so with kindness, bringing Li Xing Zhou out of his shell. Towards the end of the film, as they sit in silence on the drive to the train station, Bai Li Juan peacefully looks out of the window, knowing in the end that she has done what she can do to give her child the best possible life.

By the end of the film, Li Xing Zhou, too, is transformed by the experience. Qi Chao acts the part very well, a quiet confidence now emanating from the character by its final few minutes. Lee's direction depicts this well, giving the character ample screen time for moments of reflection as he observes Bai Li Juan as she washes the dishes, as he lovingly cares for his plants, as he begins to put the toilet seat down now recognising that he is not alone as he as always been, and tidying his flat, placing greater care in his surroundings. These are simple acts and stolen moments, but they allude to growth.

Without spoiling it for you, what takes place in the final few seconds of the film simply shows that no matter how temporal or transactional, relationships are relationships all the same. We leave parts of ourselves with those we come in contact with––whether kindness or cruelty––and it lingers.

SINdie took the time to speak with Alvin Lee to discuss his craft and the story behind A Time for Us. Read on for more.

SINdie: What made you decide to tell this story?

Alvin Lee: A Time For Us was my thesis film as part of my studies at the Beijing Film Academy. To graduate, as a directing student, I had to shoot a short film. While I was thinking of a story for my film, I stumbled upon a Chinese article about a man entering into a sham marriage so that the opposite party's children could get the desired Beijing Hukou (residency permit). The article left a deep impression. I'm very interested in telling a story with an Asian sensibility, characterised by minimal dialogue, hence the nature of the male character, Li Xing Zhou, who does not speak.

Why the short film medium? There are a lot of storylines here that could have been extended to a feature length film.

As this was my thesis film, the concept and story were originally conceived for the short film medium but I do agree that there are possibilities of extending it longer.

Who or what inspires you as a filmmaker?

There are many filmmakers like Yasujiro Ozu, Terrence Malick, Andrei Tarkovsky, Hou Hsiao Hsien, to name a few, who inspire me as a filmmaker. As a whole, it's really my family, friends, and the people around me who keep me going.

I liked the way in which you use mirrors a lot throughout the film––to allow both characters to appear onscreen together even if they’re not engaging with one another. What does that signify to you?

The Chinese title of A Time For Us is 萍水相逢 PING SHUI XIANG FENG, a Chinese idiom which means "strangers coming together by chance" and it can also be directly translated as two pieces of leaves floating on the surface of the water that come into contact with one another briefly. This gave me and my cinematographer, Yao Jie, the concept that would guide how we would shoot the film.

In the first part of the film, before Bai Li Juan meets Li Xing Zhou, the camera movement is shaky as it represents the water current. When the two characters meet, the camera movement changes––it becomes still and smooth, much like the two pieces of leaves that can only float together smoothly along still water. You can only see a reflection on still water, hence the use of the mirror in the film.

As a whole, the mirror is also used as a storytelling device and as a means of character development, as there's no dialogue for Li Xing Zhou. The mirror is also used to better reflect on what he thinks. From a spatial perspective, we were also dealing with a very small space––70% of the film was shot in Li Xing Zhou's small apartment and the mirror was a way for us to expand and make better use of the space.

In terms of the imagery, what role does colour play in the film? Was this something you actively thought about? I noticed that at the start of the film, the colours felt quite muted and over time, they came to grow brighter and more striking, culminating in the scene where the characters have their photo taken for the wedding permit.

Color was not my primary focus for this film, but my cinematographer, Yao Jie, and I drew a lot of inspiration from the American painter, Edward Hopper, who is more well known for his composition and framing. The red background in the scene where they have their photo taken is actually due to requirements for the marriage permit––couples need to take a portrait together against a red backdrop to paste into their marriage booklet.

A Time for Us can be interpreted as a commentary on the nature of prejudice upon the marginalised––whether it be those who suffer from a handicap or go against conservative social mores, such as Bai Li Juan who decides to have her child even though she’s unmarried. How would you say this is reflective of what life is like in big cities in China, such as Beijing, today?

When I first started school at the Beijing Film Academy in 2014, I experienced a great deal of culture shock. For example, I didn't know that Hukou was of such great importance to Chinese people and that your life and even your child's life are greatly dependent on it. It impacts the type of work you're able to do and the type of school you're able to attend. In Singapore, we're all just Singaporean and we wouldn't be categorised in such a way based on where we live––whether it's Yishun, Tuas or Bedok, it wouldn't matter.

Despite the stigma, I think it’s very empowering that Li Juan decides to have her child. Would you say it’s common for women today to rise against the stigma as she has?

I have friends and people around me who are single mothers and I've seen first-hand how they've really sacrificed a lot for their children. To me, this is very touching and inspiring. I think subconsciously it came to also inspire my film.

Responses have been edited for clarity.

Suspicion consumes. Left unchecked, it will rot individuals from inside out and ravage entire communities. In small town Philippines, it’s practically wildfire.

In the crime thriller The Decaying, the disappearance of a Filipina mother sparks hysteria in her close-knit village. Suspicion falls all too quickly on her American husband Jason, a muscle-bound boor who is attempting to leave the country. His ill-timed behaviour does him no favours but, as in reality, the truth is far from certain.

Veteran screenwriter-turned-director Sonny Calvento clouds the truth in the subtlest of ways, threading a patchwork of hints and observations that never coalesce into a definitive whodunit. The result is an amorphous thriller that’s light on answers but rich in atmosphere. Viewers looking for a low-key political parable steeped in tension will find this a rewarding watch.

The Decaying begins when Jason abruptly fires his housekeeper Ingrid, who happens to be the cousin of his missing wife. Ingrid’s son soon catches Jason washing what appears to be blood-stained laundry, igniting her crusade that will last the rest of the film. But as she leaps into her vigilante investigations, Calvento slips in little hints that throw her lurid suspicions into doubt. Right after we see Jason washing the “bloody” laundry, we see a villager picking up an innocuous bucket of red paint—who’s to say what Jason was washing?

Calvento sows subtle clues like this throughout the film. They are clues that the characters do not see, or elect not to see; clues that take us further from the answers, yet closer to the truth—that Ingrid is operating on pure suspicion and not much else. It’s a clever approach to the film that builds to some genuinely nail-biting scenes. The viewer sees more than any one character, but does not know any better.

Set against President Duterte’s call for separation from the United States, the film also suggests a latent xenophobia underlying the locals’ actions. Like the other clues, this political edge is only briefly alluded to but provides timely commentary on the state of the world in this era of post-truth politics and rising nationalism. We see what we choose to see.

The Decaying sets up a blank canvas on which viewers can project and interrogate their biases. Perhaps Ingrid is right, perhaps she isn’t. I believe Calvento is more interested in your verdict than he is in the crime.

Director Sonny Calvento on set

SINdie conducted an email interview with writer-director Sonny Calvento on his debut feature.

SINdie: What was your inspiration behind this film?

Sonny Calvento: My father was a famous crime show host in the mid-1990s, best known in the Philippines for the hit television series Calvento Files. When I was seven years old I answered a death threat meant for him. My dad became very protective after that and I spent most of my day inside the house, where I had all the time to read his crime cases for his television show. This probably explains the urge to do a crime thriller/social study for my first feature film.

A year before principal photography, I came across a true story similar to the one you see in The Decaying. An American father and his two elder daughters gunned his philandering Filipina wife, chopped her body up and hid the pieces in a septic tank in their backyard. After the mother disappeared, rumours of murder started to spread amongst the neighbours. I was more interested in and disturbed by this part of the tragedy—the things that happened after the supposed killing and how the community collectively reacted to the rumours.

One thing I admire about your film is how it wraps socio-political commentary in the conventions of the accessible thriller genre. Why did you choose to work in this genre for this film?

I want my work to point out to my country issues that are relevant to them. My goal was always to marry social commentary with genre, but it wasn’t my original intention to make a thriller. My first draft was a psychological horror about a son who sees visions of his murdered mother.

But having been completed Armando Lao’s Found Story workshop, I felt a social responsibility to interview the people involved in the case that inspired this story. The thriller genre came naturally after I conducted the interviews. The neighbourhood’s real life investigation into the case played out just like a thriller, where no one knows what happened and the truth has to be slowly uncovered.

You’re a television screenwriter by profession and it shows in the screenplay. I particularly appreciate how your scenes kept me hooked by ending with more questions than answers, much like a television series. What was the biggest challenge in making the leap from the writer’s room to the director’s chair?

The biggest challenge in making the leap from writer to director is figuring out what to sacrifice. As a writer, I know everything in the script was written with a purpose. But when it comes to the shoot, there are many factors that affect the execution of that “perfect” script, from the limited budget to last-minute changes in locations and weather.

As a writer, it saddened me to sacrifice some things. But as a director, I forced myself to do it. Principal photography is a different ball game and I accept that.

I thought you nailed the casting but it must have been a challenge to direct both local and foreign actors on the same set. What was your process behind the casting?

When I was casting for The Decaying, I get my actors to act the simplest scenes—scenes without much range, drama or expression. I want to see how they act with sincerity. The tone of the film requires their acting to be realistic as possible. Casting Jason was the most challenging and we had more than ten actors audition. Billy Ray Gallion was in the United States when he auditioned for the film through a video clip. I was immediately convinced that he was perfect for the role because he speaks so much through his eyes. He can appear intimidating and humane at the same time just through his eyes.

The biggest complication in directing foreign and local actors on the same set is getting foreign actors to understand the culture on set in the Philippines. Billy is used to shooting in Hollywood where working hours aren’t as long as what we’re used to in the Philippines. Comfort could also be a challenge since we were working on a tight budget in a remote province without accessible electricity. But luckily, Billy adapted to our situation easily. He was able to understand our situation and his performance exceeded my expectations.

I also noticed how politically charged your film is. Many Philippine films that comment on President Duterte’s administration have targeted his severe approach to the Philippine Drug War. On the other hand, your film highlights his foreign policy—in particular, his call for separation from the United States. Why did you choose to talk about this in your film?

As part of the Found Story school of filmmaking, I believe in making films that tell more than the just the story of the main characters. The main story is only a vehicle to expose the state of the society around it.

I wanted to connect our president’s stand against the United States with his authorisation of extrajudicial killings to show his decisions’ far-reaching impact on the marginalised. The question I’m asking is whether our president is doing the right thing or is time to challenge his beliefs and policies.

We were in pre-production at the time when President Duterte had just been elected. His first order was to eliminate the drug problem in our country through extrajudicial killings. It was a time when verdicts were reached before guilt was proven. The neighbourhood in The Decaying reflects our changing Filipino society, one that executes judgement without concrete evidence.

Philippine cinema celebrated its 100^th anniversary last year and has seen a rising prominence on the global stage. What are your thoughts on your country’s filmmaking scene, and where do you see it in the coming years?

Filipinos generally prefer films with classical Hollywood narratives. The formula of 1990s Hollywood love stories still remains a hit with local audiences. But I’m very optimistic that our taste in films will diversify in the coming years. I’d like to think it has already started since there is a growing interest in independent films. Most of them are still rom-coms but the content has started to deviate from the usual mainstream rom-coms.

Making indie films in the Philippines is very possible even if you have a limited budget. In fact, we’re the leading country in the region when it comes to number of independent films produced in a year. Independent producers are especially supportive of first-time directors and they are all aggressively making films. I hope that that aggression and optimism for Philippine Cinema will pay off eventually.

Interview answers have been edited for clarity.

Written by Joshua Ng

VIOS is a scrapbook film. It’s an expression of loss and pain and a cathartic journey showing wholeheartedly what it’s like to lose a pet. The 20-minute film consists of many different types of video formats all sliced together to form one heartbreaking story: the passing of a beloved dog. Throughout the entirety of VIOS, the story of cancer and loss begins to unravel before us and even as passive viewers, we feel the emotion intensely.

What first catches the eye in the opening shot is the angles used. We are viewing the world from down low, constantly looking up from the ground. Clearly, the audience is asked to be drawn into the dog’s world, even before knowing exactly what the story is about.

VIOS is scattered with both on-the-whim and professional scenes, sometimes shot portrait-mode on a camera phone, sometimes images spliced together slowly to allow the passing of time to decrease, and sometimes the camera slowly focuses and unfocuses, like the moving eyes of a person deep in thought.

The speakers in the film are not characters: they’re real people. Wendy and Ler, as they are referred to in the end credits, made this film from their personal experience. Tracking their personal experience over the last few months of Vios’ life is a tremendous journey. During the voiceovers, their voices linger and crack, their tones shift, and their word gain more weight as the film progresses. VIOS is personal ode to loss and memory and an invitation into the journey Wendy and Ler faced four years ago.

There’s a shot near the end of the film, intimate and up close, where we see a nearly motionless Vios shed a tear in Wendy’s arms. The emotion which jumps out through the screen almost seems human. You can’t help yourself and feel as if Vios knows she is near the end of her life, trying to take it all in one last time. It’s almost as if the feeling of loss transcends human emotion and is felt by all living beings able to mourn. But is it a tear of full life experience or a journey cut short?

VIOS, in every sense, is both a reflection on death and a celebration of life. It brings together memories like a collage, documenting experiences as if they were written into a diary and then transformed into a short film.

SINdie conducted an email interview with Ler Jiyuan on his experience making VIOS.

SINdie: How does making a film about a personal experience affect the way you process it?

Ler Jiyuan: 4 years ago, when Vios was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma, we started documenting her entire cancer journey. What I and Wendy initially wanted to do was a video to help bring awareness to Canine Cancer in Singapore. After Vios died, however, we abandoned the entire project. I guess both of us were simply too traumatized to do anything.

3 years later (2018), we finally found the courage to go through the footage again. We were in a better place and was able to assess the footage much better. We were shocked by how much we had shot. Hours and hours of our lives together with Vios, captured on tape (oh well, SD card to be accurate). The footage was amazing - intimate, emotional, and at times even brutal. After some discussion, we decided that we would make a short documentary about Vios instead, because that would honour her memory best.

VIOS was my first documentary in more than 10 years. It was also Wendy's first film - she's usually in front of the lens as an actress. We relied heavily on the help of our dear friend Andy, who was the editor of the film. He brought a much needed balanced perspective which we were lacking. We initially wanted to do a more "message-driven" kind of film. Andy was the one who advised us to keep the film personal, let the images speak for themselves.

Looking at the end result, it did bring some kind of closure to us. Through the process, we also understood our choices better back then, and most of all, we were able to relive our times with Vios again.

How does an experience change when you choose to film it?

Now, as I looked back, I realized that shooting Vios' cancer journey was a kind of coping mechanism for me. I wasn't like Wendy (my wife), who was able to express herself emotionally. I felt a lot of frustration during that time which I had bottled up. I needed an outlet to make sense of Vios' suffering. Hiding behind the lens was my way - telling myself that we would immortalize the memory of her on film.

How does crowdsourcing through Kickstarter affect the filmmaking process?

The film gets made the same way. Our backers don't affect our creative decisions.

Being on Kickstarter was difficult for me and Wendy because we both had to learn how to use Social Media for promotional purposes. We were both noobs when it came to that, which was ironic, considering the fact that we are both in the film line. In the end, I had to seek the help of my younger friends - Yen and Joyce, to help us navigate this new strange world. I also hired an ex-student of mine, Matarsha, who handled the creation of the Social Media collaterals for the film. We managed to pull through a successful campaign with the help of these capable millennials, who had taught us so much.

What do you hope audiences gain from VIOS and your story?

With this film, we are inviting audiences into our personal lives, showing them a very vulnerable side of us. Initially, we were very afraid of what people would think. But along the way, we decided - fuck it - we were just going to do this film as truthfully as possible, in the exact way we wanted. What the audience will "gain" from it, I don't know. I just hope our story can touch them.

VIOS will be screening on the 22nd of April as part of the Singapore Chinese Film Festival.

Written by Valerie Tan

Civil disobedience has always remained something of an enigma to our humble shores. Besides the occasional trifle which explodes into the media spotlight, few cases have ever escalated to a scale that could allow us to empathize with both the fiery passion and also dire consequences such acts bring about. It was thus with a dose of careful scepticism that I approached Umbrella Diaries: The First Umbrella, not least because I have been conditioned to view acts of civil disobedience as futile. I find the leaders at the helm to be surprisingly far less idealistic than I had imagined. Instead, they are the ones who had counted the cost and regularly elucidated this same cost to other eager comrades.

The first of a documentary series by filmmaker James Leong, who regularly shines the spotlight on political conflicts elsewhere around the world, Umbrella Diaries tracks the genesis of the Occupy Central movement, weaving together the different camps and storylines to provide a comprehensive overview of the movement’s roots. The Occupy Central movement has certainly been the headliners of many films, and the presence of Umbrella Diaries inevitably lines up for scrutiny for what it brings to the table.

While there is most definitely a colouring of triumphant suffering à la French resistance, Leong also manages a humble exposition on the cracks within the movement and the mammoth task of not just organizing a resistance, but sustaining it.

Perhaps the most striking narrative lies in its portrayal of the simmering disunity amid the Hong Kong population. While the right to universal suffrage seems an attractive cause and the slogan of the movement, love and peace, a righteous strategy, it nonetheless manages to earn the ire of other citizens. What ensues is a scattered camp of diverging loyalties, almost Game of Thrones-like in the varying opinions and selective support each citizen accords the vying political entities. One citizen completely opposes the movement and goes so far as to cheerfully concede to China’s iron grip, another may support the student movement but recoil from association with Occupy Central, though both camps seem to champion the same cause of true democracy.

Then there are the police, a conflicted target of both outrage and sympathy. A recurring question rises to the fore throughout the film: how do they handle the teetering balance between diligently stewarding responsibilities and identifying with the collective indignation as a Hong Kong citizen themselves? Leong packs in organic interactions between public and personnel, but unfortunately limited access meant a scraping of the surface, invoking a sense that this thread was one least explored and could have benefited from greater inquiry.

One cannot help but applaud the tenacity of Leong and his team – the film is regularly interspersed with shaky, hand held footage, all a blur of colours and sounds that testify to the intensity on the ground. It is this veracity of the footage that perhaps lends the most credibility and hence sympathy to the people enduring tear gas and pepper spray each night, and thereby amplifies the heartache and helplessness in the face of less than ideal results.

In light of recent news where the nine leaders involved in Occupy Central have been convicted and now await their sentencing, the viewing of this documentary is made all the more relevant and potent. Amid spirited applause and loud whoops, one lone banner flutters across an overhead bridge, a cry that hopefully still rings in the hearts of Hong Kong citizens, one that will not be dulled by the long drought of seeming barrenness–do you hear the people sing?

SINdie conducted an interview with documentary filmmaker James Leong.

SINdie: How did the impetus to document the Occupy Central movement first come about?

James Leong: I was born in Hong Kong, and spent part of my upbringing here. In 2013, I came back to live in the city. The following year, it became clear that a clash was looming on the issue of political reform between Hong Kong’s pro-democracy camp and the central government in Beijing. We didn’t know that it would become quite so large- scale and dramatic, but we had a sense something big was in the offing. So, my producer Lynn and I started following events for Al Jazeera, and ended up making a three-part series of current affairs documentaries for the channel. Because we followed the movement closely, and were on the ground for all the major events, there was a lot of historically significant footage that remained unseen. Thus, we decided to make a longer form documentary on the topic.

With such a major movement being the topic of many documentaries, how did you decide on the angle/framing to take on your film?

The idea is to create a kind of “living history” of the umbrella protests, to give the audience the experience of what it was like to be on the streets with the protestors. To some extent, it is sympathetic to the aims and the methods of the movement in the lead up to and at the start of the mass protests (in late September 2014). But there’s also an observational feel to the film. I often let shots run on, so that audiences can absorb what’s going on and hopefully make up their own minds as to how they feel.

The one thing that struck me was how the Occupy Central issue split the entire Hong Kong into divisive camps. Could you comment on the seeming split within the country? How did it affect your framing of the matter?

I think the divisions we see in Hong Kong today would have occurred even if the Umbrella Movement hadn’t happened. These divisions exist because we are an open, free-ish and sort-of-democratic city in an increasingly authoritarian country.

I would like to clarify an event in your film – the decision to occupy Civic Square seemed spontaneous, given that the students charged toward the venue in the middle of Joshua’s speech, though I was always under the impression from media outlets that it was a planned takeover. Could you clarify if it was indeed a spontaneous moment caught on camera or a planned takeover?

We didn’t know it at the time, but the students came up with the plan on the evening of that day. Lynn and I had just finished our dinner and were heading back down to the assembly - pausing to get a few shots from the overhead pedestrian bridge - when Joshua made the announcement. Actually, I was changing to long lens and missed it. Luckily Lynn was rolling!

One other viewpoint I found interesting in your film was the portrayal of the police – most strikingly I remember the young police officer who was asked if he was okay after enduring a series of insults from the public. I was wondering if you had attempted to interview any police personnel or considered telling a portion of the narrative from their perspective?

Actually, protestors weren’t insulting the police in the scene you mention. It was more like they were pleading with them, and also trying to shame them. It would be really interesting to tell the story of the protests from the police’s point of view, but police wouldn’t talk to the camera. My guess is they wouldn’t be allowed to speak to media about the protests even now. So, all I could do is to include moments like the one you described, to give the audience some idea of how front-line police were feeling at the time.

Could you share more about your production process with us? What was the greatest difficulty in putting the film together?

It was hard keeping up with the scale of the protests, when many things could be happening in many different places at the same time. We had two cameras during most of filming, sometimes three, but it was still necessary to source for other footage. The tough part in editing was finding the right balance between explaining the history and politics, building the tense and sometimes chaotic street action into comprehensible scenes, and presenting the characters in a way that you can understand their motivations or at least how they feel.

On hindsight, now that the physical takeover by the Occupy Central movement has ended, do you think it changes the reading of your film? How would you determine the effectiveness of the movement given the continued unrelenting stance of China?

I think Hong Kong people are still processing their experiences of the movement. Many see it as a failure, because we haven’t seen any concessions from Beijing on electoral reform. But personally, I think it’s too early to tell.

I really liked how you included shaky footage in the documentary which gave a very real sense of grittiness. Could you share some of your on-the-ground experiences capturing footage while being at risk of the tear gas, pepper spray, etc?

Almost all of it was shot hand-held, because things were moving so fast you couldn’t use a tripod. Hauling around a heavy camera and a backpack full of equipment, as well as mask and helmet (to protect against pepper spray, tear gas, etc) was tough, especially in the hot and humid summer months. But we did get very fit!

What can we look forward to in the next installations?

Part two will tell the story of the occupation itself. Broadly speaking, if part one is about idealism, part two is about reality hitting. It will likely be greyer and more nuanced, and include a more diverse range of voices.

Umbrella Diaries: The First Umbrella will be screened as part of the 2019 Singapore Chinese Film Festival. You can catch the film on Friday, 19 April or Saturday, 20 April. More details here.

Written by Jessica Heng

An interest in a modern retelling of the Adam and Eve story that is Ave Maryam, a narrative feature by Indonesian filmmaker Robby Ertanto, led me to a close encounter with a 90s Indonesian TV soap opera icon and a foot in the door of understanding the touchy subject of how Catholics relate to Muslims in modern day Indonesia. Maudy Koesnaedi is one of the most recognisable faces in Indonesia, having played the iconic role of Zaenab in TV soap opera Si Doel Anak Sekolahan. Her relationship with cinema had always been fleeting over the years but with Ave Maryam, that has changed. It is one of her first major roles and it is one that could ruffle some feathers - a Muslim playing a Catholic nun.

Ave Maryam is actually the Indonesian version of the phrase Ave Maria. Based on the real life experience of one of Robby’s friends in Semarang, this is a tale about Maryam, a Catholic, who was assigned to help a nursing house. Life in the church is laborious as she has seven elder nuns to take care of, on top of a series of chores. Things start to change when a new liberal-minded Pastor named Yosef joins the church and becomes that breath of fresh air that breaks the stodginess in her life. Expectedly, the film explores the forbidden, a secret relationship between Maryam and Yosef. Robby, who has a penchant for drama and social realism, developed the story over a long period of time, making sure at the end of the day, this movie, when distilled down, is simply one about love and the universality of it. And Maudy was chosen by Robby not just because she fit the demographic profile but he wanted someone with charisma. Our interview with Maudy in Singapore proved every bit of that.

Photo credit: SINdie

I understand you started your career in TV, in the memorable role of Zaenab. When did you start trying your hands at film acting?

This is actually the first time I am in a lead role since my role in the TV series in 1994. I did act in some movies over the years but my scenes were limited or it was just a cameo. When Robby came to me with this offer, I thought this was my chance to explore my acting aspirations. In Indonesia, it is not easy to find opportunities to have roles for me in movies because many roles these days are for teenagers or millenials as the stories are about teenage romance. So came this role about a 40-year old nun. But actually last year, I was also back in the cinemas with my role as Zaenab in the movie version of Si Doel Anak Sekolahan. It was with the original cast, same actors basically. I was very surprised we had a good response for that. The Indonesians were still excited to see us. It did well at the box office and we really didn’t expect such a positive response because the series was old, in fact 24 years ago! So it was a nice welcome back to the movies.

Interestingly, some reviewers of Ave Maryam mentioned that they thought they were going to see Zaenab but as a nun in Ave Maryam but of course, it was a totally different role from Zaenab.

What’s Zaenab like? And how is it different from your character in Ave Maryam?

Zaenab is like a village girl. Batawi….in Jakarta, in a kampong. She fell in love with Doel and she would give anything to be close to Doel. She was very quiet, always crying, works patiently and quite naive. And people always compare Zaenab to Sarah, the girl who is very rich, very modern. So Doel has two choices between Zaenab and Sarah. Sarah is the modern one. So in fact, there were two camps of fans, the Zaenab team and the Sarah team.

Photo credit: SINdie

I can see why the TV show is so popular, with this rivalry going on. And how is this role different from Maryam in Ave Maryam?

Well, Zaenab is also quite different from Maudy. I am talkative and I love telling stories. And my son sometimes calls me ‘Hitler-mum’. Not mean but very….. Especially when I get angry….And you know., people get the impression that Zaenab will never be angry. Like when she is disappointed, she will just go to her room and cry. (aside to her husband) Bapak, what’s the difference between me and Zaenab? (her husband replies saying that Zaenab is much sweeter, drawing laughter from everyone)

And between Zaenab and your role in Ave Maryam?

Totally different. I am a Muslim and I know nothing about Catholicism and nuns. So I had to start everything from zero. Robby gave me a big chance to do this and I wanted to give my heart to the role and I told myself I couldn’t fail this. I put a lot of energy and focus into this role.

Way before we started the shoot, I went to Semarang, in the centre of Java. I live in Jakarta myself. I went to a nunnery and I interviewed them. I observed their gestures, the action, the atmosphere, the energy. I stayed there the whole day trying to understand them even though I didn’t sleep there. We also shot in the nunnery, so during the lunch breaks or whenever we had time, I would sit with them, chat with them. I listened to their stories. And I would ask them many questions ‘is this right?’ ‘Is this how you do it?’ ‘What do you think?’ And they were very enthusiastic in helping me. They were always around me to help.

Do you consider this a challenging role? Is it mainly because you have to learn how to be a nun or is it because the personality of the character makes it challenging for you?

First of all, because you are playing a nun. Second is because of the character Maryam. Maryam does not talk too much. There is minimal dialogue and everyone delivers meaning by expressions and the energy. So I had to put all my energy to communicate what Maryam feels and it required a lot more effort to deliver the message that she was in love, or feelings of jealousy. She could not display love openly like normal people, simply because it was secret, forbidden and very much a taboo. So even though I felt romantic but I could not show it, and I had to mix it with worry and other emotions.

So I feel happy when I read on people’s review that they can feel these things that I am trying to communicate. I am trying to deliver that feeling to the people who watch the movie. So that’s challenging. The other thing is in Indonesia, people have certain hang ups about religion. LIke why is a Muslim playing a Catholic? And why Robby specifically wanted me to play this character who is a Catholic.

So I spoke to my husband about this situation and asked him what he thought. He said ask my brother. And when I got a ‘yes’ from him, I went ahead. I did ask my god about this ‘if you are ok with it, please let me do it and guide me through this role and help me through this project’. But since the poster and trailer were out last year, we received some comments about it and I was trying to defend myself. People were trying to make up their own mind. I could not make everyone happy with my decision. I took that as advice and I said ‘can you transfer your advice to me to be a good Muslim for my future?’ So far everything is still ok and I can still handle it. And I am so happy that many priests and nuns who already watched the movie said thank you so much for being a sister. They said they are very happy that I can portray a nun.

Photo credit: SINdie

How about feedback from Muslims?

There has been an interesting variety of feedback. There were some who were extremely happy with this movie and said ‘this movie has to go to Oscar!’ (she laughs), or ‘Maudy has to win the Piala Citra’ or something like that. Then there were others who said ‘I don’t get this. What kind of movie is this!’ Even my brother said. He didn’t understand. There is minimum dialogue. Long shots, still camera and all. My brother said ‘I know this movie is good but how come people can understand the movie?’

Some of the Muslim viewers said they really wanted to watch the movie but they wear a hijab. So they asked is it ok for them to go watch the movie in the cinema? So I replied that it is totally fine. Some of them who did watch it in the cinema actually took pictures of them in the cinema and posted that the movie was really not just for Catholics. They can enjoy it as well. There were so many people with hijabs posting about the movie. I am just glad they are able to enjoy the movie as a movie itself and not think of it as being controversial. It is about love, simple love.

Name me one of the most surprising things you learnt about the life of a nun.

They are so relaxed but yet they have so many things to do. They can do it so efficiently. One of the chiefs would often come and ask me on set ‘Are you ok?’ ‘Do you need anything?’ So they give me this sense of peace.

You feel peaceful talking to them but yet you know they are very busy.

Yes. I also heard from my friend who studied in a Catholic school that they are very strong.

(pause) Robby and I really put our heart into this movie and treated the movie and the subject matter with a lot of respect because these people give their life to their beliefs.

Finally, one thing I would like to share is that a group of young trainer priests went to watch the movie and they were asked to write down their own reflections on the movie. And they told me ‘Thank you for making this movie’. So I am happy they could see the good side of this movie and not focus on the sensitive aspects of it.

Interview by Jeremy Sing

The movie opened commercially in Indonesia since 11 April 2019 and has travelled to several film festivals including the Hanoi International Film Festival, Cape Town International Film Festival, Jogja-NETPAC Asian Film Festival and Cinemasia Film Festival.

Have you ever gone about your day and accidentally run into a small dying animal? Something that’s been wounded and helpless. When confronted with such an image, you run through a gauntlet mix of sadness, disgust, confusion and anger.

That pretty much summarises my personal experience with Konpaku, directed by Remi M Sali. From hearing about it last year, to finally watching it for this review as it readies itself for its international premiere at Udine Far East Film Festival 2019.

By the way, you’ll have to search ‘Konpaku: The Movie’, if you actually want to know anything about the film, since just searching Konpaku won’t bring you close to finding the website, its marketing materials or a trailer. Therefore, nobody can really blame you if you’ve never heard of Konpaku, since the film’s publicity isn’t really a strong point here. I only heard of it since I’m a Malay filmmaker, and it’s a small community.

Since we’re on marketing, I find the title itself to be an odd choice. Konpaku can mean soul or spirit in Japanese, however, I don’t ever think this film would screen in Japan, nor does it have any co-production with Japan. So therefore, you’re going to assume its main market is Singapore.

Only Japanese-speakers in Singapore will know what Konpaku even means or its relation to the film’s premise. Translating your title for foreign audiences is extremely common. Take for example the recent James Wan produced horror film, The Curse of La Llorona. Singaporeans won’t really know that film, because it was retitled The Curse of the Weeping Woman here in Singapore, the main reason being that nobody in Singapore would know who or what La Llorona is—a female spirit of vengeance, whose calling card is her distinct cry.

Konpaku flips that around. It forcibly chooses to distance itself from most markets and audiences. I don’t know if anyone making this film had noticed but there’s only one country that mainly speaks Japanese and I’m not sure there is any viable plan that it’ll be distributed there, in comparison to the 3-4 countries that speak Malay.

At the end of the day though, the title and the marketing of the film is a separate issue. The heart of a film is what truly matters, and Konpaku is a stuttering, twitchy, patched up film that’s in a constant state of flailing disarray. I do feel that the filmmakers are genuine in an attempt to tell this story, which is allegedly based on real life events. There is some genuine care to connect these events to the audience. Sadly, however, the film barely manages to connect two shots together.

In just the third scene, the film showcases a complete lack of understanding of film form for a simple conversation between four friends. It's a basic film school exercise. Yet, the shots and editing grammar look as if they are trying to fight one another, constantly shifting perspective, shot size and screen direction, jump cutting, breaking 180 degree rules for no discernible cause or intentional effect within the scope of the story, because ultimately the shots are not staged with any sense of emotive, storytelling direction. It’s simply done with simplistic coverage and stitched together in post-production.

Due to a lack of any direction, the only way to keep things interesting, since the performance and direction isn’t interesting, is to keep switching between shots, erratically. Ultimately, most of Konpaku feels twitchy, syncopated and incoherent.

The film tries to follow Haqim and his chance encounter with a strange Japanese woman, Midori, that leads to supernatural encounters that affect him and those around him. It’s a simple enough setup, but nothing in Konpaku is done with any sense of simplicity or elegance.

Plot and characters lumber clumsily from scene to scene, in a film that’s unrelentingly sloppy in its craft and substance. It’s not an exaggeration to say that most of Konpaku is exposition, and mostly through phone conversations between Haqim and Midori. In one instance however, it is an online video call between Haqim’s mother and sister which turns both supernatural and oddly sexual.

There are a few scares in Konpaku, but most come from loud jump scares and it largely works because everything else in between is so achingly dull, it lulls you into a near comatose condition such that you’re more surprised than scared that something, anything has happened at all. The execution of these scares tends to be devoid of any real stakes and tension, and does border on the unfortunately hilarious.

Ultimately, the film traps its audiences in a limp lover’s embrace that is mercilessly cloddish and ungainly. It becomes easy to shrug off with a laugh. Trust me, there’s a lot of laughs to be had here, I just don't think they were intentional.

Konpaku will premiere at the Udine Far East Film Festival 2019.

Written by Rifyal Giffari

From Victoria Street to Ang Mo Kio crystallises a segment of history about Singapore’s first Catholic missionary Chinese girls’ school. It encapsulates the essence and ethos of the institution through the passage of time, simultaneously paying tribute to the inspiring educators who earnestly shaped the minds of their students.

The 70-minute documentary film is commissioned by St Nicholas Girls’ School Alumnae Association to commemorate the school’s 85^thanniversary this year. Directed by St. Nicholas alumnus Eva Tang, whose previous work was The Songs We Sang, the documentary is beautifully interweaved with touching interviews and re-enactments of past events.

As a former St Nicholas Girl myself, the film was eye-opening. I’ve heard stories from my mother; she was an Old Girl too (that’s what we call our alumni), when the school was still located at Victoria Street. But growing up, my sisters and I attended St Nicholas when it was already located at Ang Mo Kio, for a solid ten years of primary and secondary education. Yet through the film, my mother’s oral histories were transformed into a visual experience for me.

In my 7-year-old mind, the colossal building and vast school grounds of the Ang Mo Kio compound was confusing and daunting. But now, I can only imagine the desire of the students and Sisters at Victoria Street to have more facilities, as they had to have lessons at makeshift areas.

The school’s rich history is reflected in the film as it documents the origins of the school as well as its growth from its past to the present. Using the transition of black and white to coloured scenes as a parallel to the passage of time, it is a vicarious and nostalgic experience for the audience, especially for Old Girls. Coupled with fresh faces and stunning imagery, the film’s docudrama style helps to transport audiences into the past.

Needless to say, the documentary depicts several conflicts ranging from communist undertones to the rivalry faced between Chinese and English schools. Education was a prominent theme explored in the film with a huge focus on the efforts of the educators as the students try to grapple with being effectively bilingual. Being a Chinese school, it was an uphill battle to inculcate the use of English in its students. But with the zeal of the principal, teachers, and administrators, St Nicholas eventually became one of Singapore’s top schools.

Watching a documentary about my alma mater on the big screen definitely brought back memories. It was strangely poignant; I could understand and relate to these women who were twice, perhaps even thrice my age.

A memorable scene etched in my memory was when the girls were upset with the decision made by higher authorities regarding their new school building. In that moment of sadness, one girl muttered the lyrics of the school song. Gradually, the others chirped in one by one and subconsciously, I found my lips moving along and echoing the school song with them despite graduating a decade ago.

As seen in the film, St Nicholas Girls' School has since evolved and will continue to do so. After the renovation, the school grounds at Ang Mo Kio are now reconstructed and new to me, but one thing’s for sure; the spirit of our school will always be in us.

From Victoria Street to Ang Mo Kio is a great watch for all Old Girls and current girls alike, and it will be equally informative for educators as well as mainstream audiences.

From Victoria Street to Ang Mo Kio was screened at the Singapore Chinese Film Festival 2019.

Written by Christine Seow

Not Here: Human trafficking in the little red dot

C/W: Movie contains details of physical torture

Not Here, a local 30-min documentary which was released last month at The Projector and is now available on YouTube, discusses human trafficking in Singapore.

The film starts with a narrator stating how Singapore presents itself as a “near-perfect” country, as it’s orderly, clean, and fast-paced. It digs deep into the crevice of our worker exploitation system. Most of the workers featured here are migrant construction workers or those who arrived as domestic workers. The tales of emotional blackmail and physical torture are already enough to make you tear.

‘Mary’ (not her real name) was physically tortured by her family and also punished as though she lived in incarceration through methods of beating with objects, or whacking, or even making her dunk her hands in the toilet with bleach. Mary’s case is not an isolated case and she is one among many exploited domestic workers. This segment, being the first, provokes us to think about how we treat our domestic workers. Would we really go to such extreme means of torture to get our way?

The focus then shifts to our construction workers. Abdul (not his real name) has also been exploited by his employer. For Abdul, it was through means of emotional blackmail if he whistleblew about his injury and he was also coerced into lying about his injury. There are many cases which go undocumented of construction workers in Singapore being exploited or living in poor conditions. People are usually just going to tell you, "They clean your roads, toilets, and build your buildings because you don't want to". Abdul's story hopefully serves as a reminder about such awful practices by cruel employers.

The next survivor we are introduced to came to Singapore and got more than what they bargained for. Iriana (not her real name) talks about being told that she had to carry out some responsibilities in Geylang, only realising later that It was sex work. This caused psychological trauma for Iriana.

While the stories in the film were all very chilling, the offshore fishermen story was the most chilling. In this story, Reverend Father Romeo Yu Chang, a Port Chaplain expresses that these men who are sent offshore are unable to be protected by the law, and some succumb to suicide when overworked. It was a shame that a ‘survivor’ from this segment was not featured. But a consolation to that was Shelly Thio from TWC2 who explained in great detail why these men suffer inevitably.

The documentary took great care in censoring the workers' faces and even changing names if they found it necessary. The importance of Not Here should not go unnoticed, and they were also fair in giving nods to changes in legislations when some were made for the rights of workers, even if they came late or only could relieve a little of the exploitation these workers faced.

If the documentary were longer, it could have delved into living conditions of foreign workers and the struggle for affordable healthcare, as they do not have enough purchasing power and also live in crammed spaces most of the time. This is usually swept under the rug as well.

Not Here serves an important purpose in a country afraid to talk about worker exploitation and the consequences that these migrant workers are suffering due to exploitative practices from employers because it's more focused on the “If locals do not do these jobs, nobody will” narrative. Another film, released around the same time, A Land Imagined, also touches on worker exploitation (albeit with fictional characters). But will this be another elephant in the room for human rights in Singapore? Can we, a society that prides ourselves on “prosperity and progress” be willing to acknowledge that this is happening under our noses, and also be allowed to endorse whistleblowing for such practises? Only then can we proudly show people how Singapore appears so polished.

Watch the documentary below:

Written by Varun Naidu

Bare feet resting on dry sandy ground, coarse against the skin, while the sun shines down upon their weathered faces. The young men all gathered around a small old wooden table too small to accommodate their party of seven or eight. Conversations between them take place sporadically as they snack on sunflower seeds, littering the ground with abandoned shells.

This space, shared by a brood of chickens clucking and pecking away at the ground, may not have much but there is a comfortable sense of freedom. Ease translates into their every gesture and decision-making: riding off on their own motorcycles whenever they want, letting the wind caress their being.

This scene left a big impression on me while watching Soil Without Land, a film directed by Thai cinematographer and documentary film maker Nontawat Numbenchapol.

After all, this romanticised notion of freedom is almost immediately juxtaposed by joining the military. The sense of ease is now a privilege experienced by the men in small and controlled moments: shower and meal times. However, this new life of restrictions and enforced discipline may earn them political freedom in the long run - now the question is, will that day come and are these present sacrifices worth it?

The film follows Jai Sang Lod's transition from regular citizen to uniformed soldier. He is a young man whose family is a part of the Shan - Burma's largest ethnic minority group that is displaced from the nation at large. With no identification or passport while living on disputed land, he joins the Shan State Army together with many others like him to learn about manhood and patriotism under military terms.

An exploration of freedom on a personal and state capacity, as well as how political agendas affect the people on the ground, Soil Without Land shares with its audience the trainings done with the Shan State Army camp while revealing Sang Lod's thoughts from before and after this compulsory rite of passage for a Shan man his age.

Confronting and a glimpse into uncharted territory for persons such as myself, this documentary got me thinking about how little I know of the world beyond the Foreign Affairs section on the national newspaper. What exactly goes on beyond the reported news, and how much of what I know is curated by a higher authority who dictates what is to be seen or not? And if the media does not report on these happenings, is it as good as them not happening since they may never make it into our collective known history?

With all these questions, Nontawat Numbenchapol spares some of his time to share his thoughts with SINdie about this particular film.

How did the title of Soil Without Land come about?

At first, the working title of this story is NO BOYS LAND. Personally, I like this name. Because the meaning is interpreted in a variety of ways from NO MAN'S LAND or that the boy has no space for himself. But with these various interpretations, some meanings may cause misinterpretation. On some issues, such as the word BOYS, might make people think of CHILD SOLDIERS.

While finalizing the film, I feel that the land surface and the main color of the film is only soil and dust. The dust and soil that is seen here is not classified as belonging to any country. When I try to play with words, I think the language is quite pretty. So the English title of the film is a direct translation from the Thai title. In the Thai language, if you take out "without" in SOIL WITHOUT LAND, you get "Soil Land" (ดินแดน in Thai) which means territory or country. When this soil is without land and the creature called human that lives on that soil, how does the determining of territories of this world affect them when they are in an area without territory?

Share with us how you got acquainted with Jai Sang Lod, and how the film was born.

In 2016, I started this film project during the time that Thailand, a place where I was born and grew up in, is entering into a military dictatorship. Opinions, criticisms and democratic demands at that time were in critical conditions. People have to live without voice and hide from the state. These things pushed me to want to create works that speak about the state of Thailand at that time. But by speaking directly on the military dictatorship government is difficult to do and I may be incarcerated and deprived of their rights and freedoms. So I traveled to the Thai-Burma border highlands in the north of Thailand which I know is an area governed by the Shan State Army to oppose the Burmese military dictatorship. Because I wanted to reflect and understand the administrative structure in a small area ruled by soldiers along with Burmese-Thai politics during that time, it's like switching polarities across Thailand because Burma had just formed an election and obtained the Prime Minister from the election ruled by Aung San Suu Kyi.

In the Shan State Army camp itself, It was not easy for them trust and allow me to shoot and live with them at first.

I had to go back and forth from Bangkok to the area for more than six months and teach the people to shoot and edit the video as an exchange. The area is filled with young people growing up without cards or passports. They can't travel anywhere or leaving the area to have a legitimate life. It is also an area that the world has never been aware of or their existence. The only thing that they can do is to be a soldier to claim their freedom and existence from the Burmese government.

I choose to follow Jai Sang Lod among these young men as his character, intelligence and manner became more prominent than others. Like a first impression in a visual way that makes it easy to shoot. So I try to ask for an interview. Which I really did not interview only Jai Sang Lod but also many others. After talking on the lives of these young soldiers on the mountains, many people tend to live similar stories. Not very different.

Considering that you actually filmed within the Shan State Army’s turf, what was the experience like?

In my life, I had never been a soldier before. Not just the soldiers, but being in uniform is not my life. In primary and secondary education classes, I was forced to wear the same uniform and short haircuts. I used to protest that at home and school by wearing a cap all the time. Until the teacher at the school had to call my parents.

As I grew interested in history, politics, and government, I began to feel that the military dictatorship of Thailand today has affected my life. I learned that Thailand was governed more by the military government throughout its democratic history rather than the government from elections of civil servants.

Therefore, being able to live in a society and this military context is very exciting for me in trying to understand their ways of thinking. And makes it easier to understand the social structure and governance of Thailand, like being in a simulated small area of Thailand.

But in the context and the condition of that life is not the same. Their lives are somewhat more limited than me. And saw the necessity of the forces that had to protect their people from ethnic wars with the Burmese army. As for the Thai military, sometimes I felt that they try to maintain the monopoly power and use the force for only the people of Thailand.

In other aspects, there is a lot of heartfelt moments from the two Shan staff members who helped me when filming the soldiers here. They are very cute and easy to speak to. They have discipline, easy to work with, unlike the teams from Bangkok that I need to deal with differently. Most importantly, the view is very beautiful. Like having to rest all the time.

Before watching your film, I personally did not even know about the plight of the Shans. Do you think somehow they are invisible to the rest of the world?

It's not just you. It's only after I began making this project, I realized that the number of Shan people in Thailand is very high in both legal and illegal migrants. I especially never knew about the area where these Shan migrants came from. When bringing this project to talk to foreign investors, no one knows what we're talking about. They only know about the Rohingya. And for this reason too is why I want to spread their story. I want the world to know of their existence and hope things would be better.

What is your opinion about the idea of borders between nations and the displacement of people that comes with it?

I think that in the future, various borders should be thinner and less. Not just about geographic boundaries but as other borders, whether it be sexuality or mutual acceptance of different ideas. The greatest benefit of the existence of borders is the people in the management of resources, both human resources including other resources to manage everything orderly. Which is necessary. But the existence of borders that cause pressure or conflict, whether it is national, religious, or whatever, which often causes a war of not accepting differences is totally obsolete. These things are the ones that have created people who have to live in things that they didn't even create. Like the characters in this movie which live in a way that they should not have to.

How much of our environment informs our personal identity, and do you think that one can ever escape an identity?

The environment has a great influence in creating our own identity. "You are what you eat." Countries that want to rule their people, in order to maintain power, often block the rights to freedom of expression, freedom from the media, and blocking their people from the outside world because these things are what will lead people to leave them and create their own identity and individuality which you can choose for yourself. I think these are problems for the dictatorial government because it is difficult to rule. For anyone who has read this interview at this point, from countries that have freedom, may wonder and cannot imagine how being in those restricted worlds are like. Which I hope in the future, everyone will be able to break free from the identity that the authorities puts on to them for ease ruling and to choosing their own identity and accepting the differences in the identity of others.

Singapore has a mandatory conscription for all men from the age of 18 as well. Do you think military conscription should be made compulsory?

Absolutely not. Thailand is like this, too. At the age of 21, everyone needs to be recruited by the military by drawing a black card, or a red card. If anyone doesn't want to risk this, at high school, he has to study military subjects for one day every week for two years. Which I felt is very tortuous to have to do something like this. I did not choose to study military at high school and fortunately I caught a black card which means I was exempt from being a soldier.

I think that voluntary recruitment and by providing appropriate salaries is better for the army than to force the mind. If one has better abilities in other areas and must be a soldier when he needs to be, it would be a waste. And in the Thai military system, the allowance is very small, you wouldn't believe. You can't live in Bangkok or live the way you want with it.

Do you think this conflict of over 50 years between the Shan and the Burmese military will end anytime soon?

Everyone hopes for this when Burma had an election and Aung San Suu Kyi was made to rule. But then everything remains the same. Many council systems, soldiers are still in control. Aung San Suu Kyi couldn't do anything. Some people say that she wasn't planning on changing anything for the minorities in her country. She's more interested in other matters because she is still just a Burmese person. As an outsider, I had hoped that the increasing international pressure on these issues will help things improve. Even with the many ceasefire treaties and stuff, the fact is that those people still have the same life which is a life that cannot go forward or unable to go back. I hope that these problems will end soon. We may just not see that day coming yet.

Review and interview by Dawn Teo

The premiere had its international premiere at the international competition section of Visions du Réel in April, one of the oldest renowned documentary film festivals in the world. It will be released in cinemas in Thailand this summer. Look out for it!

Singaporean director Ghazi Alqudcy makes a Hitchcockian cameo in his movie Temporary Visa as a character whose apartment will be robbed. It’s a quiet nod to the creative process and places a small easter egg in the movie for viewers to find in this slow journey of finding the money to stay.

Temporary Visa tells the story of Jakub, a British man living in Bosnia Herzegovina, attempting to get 500 marks (local currency) to prevent himself from getting deported back to England. He lives with his girlfriend, Emira, and is best friends with Zlaja, a thief by profession.

Deportation, as a theme, has become increasingly common. Throughout the world, there are many cases where people are being deported for unfair reasons, stories which often make the news and are sometimes stranger than fiction.

However, Temporary Visa presents the story from a less deportation focused angle. The movie feels more like a commentary on what extents people go to to earn money and the blurring of lines between good and bad.

Jakub, the protagonist

Jakub, for the first half of the movie, spends most of his time attempting to look for money to pay for the documents required to prevent his deportation. He doesn’t have a job, go to school, or work for an NGO, so getting the paperwork and money together is a difficult task. He wants to stay with his girlfriend Emira. His friend Zlaja attempts to help him by teaching him how to steal and sell stolen goods. The moral quality of theft and search for money is a large theme explored in the movie.

Emira, Jakub's girlfriend

Emira is Jakub’s reason for wanting to stay in Bosnia Herzegovina. It is obvious from the beginning that she is also the driving force between them. She is the one with the job, the one who speaks with other characters on Jakub’s behalf, the one who eventually gets him a job at the hostel. She herself works at a clothing store, and we spend a lot of time watching her go through the clothes for extremely long takes.

Zlaja, Jakub's friend and a thief

For a thief, it is strangely easy to sympathize with Zlaja. While the way he earns money is definitely morally incorrect to many, Temporary Visa depicts many other characters as having criminal habits. Zlaja, for the most part, is characterized as a good friend. He immediately gives the money he has made to Jakub when his friend says he needs 500 marks. To him, the end justifies the means.

For a movie that is 2 hours long, most of the time comes from the shots where the characters are walking from place to place and cleaning the store where Emira works. Most mainstream movies tend to skip over these scenes, but in Temporary Visa, Alqudcy chooses to keep these moments inside. The number of scenes where we see Jakub walk up and down stairs is impossible to keep track of.

The only cuts in the movie are between scenes. Within scenes, we follow the character as they move around the space (apartment, store and the streets of Sarajevo), using a handheld camera. This makes the movement of the camera feel organic and part of the action, but calls attention to the fact that this is a movie. You feel ingrained within the frames, but are constantly aware of the fact that this is fictional. It feels, not necessarily in a bad sense, very low budget. There are no special lights, everything is natural. No wide shots to establish location. No music.

Nothing you couldn’t do with a camera phone.

Nevertheless, that is not to say that the movie is amateurish. Even though it gives the feeling of being filmed on the whim, to assume that there was no rehearsal time or intentional blocking would be wrong. The camera follows the actors so seamlessly without any fuss, constantly framing them in interesting and innovative ways.

It is difficult to place Temporary Visa on any spectrum. The movie explores the themes of deportation and money effectively, if a bit slowly. It’s pace makes the audience wait for the action, and the highest moments of tension really pay off. But at what cost?

Review by Valerie Tan Temporary Visa was screened yesterday as part of the Singapore International Festival of the Arts Singular Screens programme and will be screened again on 25 May, at the Asian Film Archive's Oldham Theatre Screening Room.

Review: Tanabata's Wife (2018)

Review: Graves Without a Name (2018)

Review: Merged (2019)

Review: Funan (2018)

Chang Yi's films and non-Chinese works share the spotlight at the 7th Singapore Chinese Film Festival

ShoutOUT! Make a date with Asian Film Archive's new Oldham Theatre this year

An interview with Caylee So on 'In the Life of Music'

ShoutOUT! European Union Film Festival is back with the best of contemporary European cinema

An Interview with Ravi L. Bharwani on '27 Steps of May'

An Interview with Zahir Omar on Fly By Night (2018)

An Interview with Alvin Lee on A Time for Us | 萍水相逢 (2018)

An Interview with Sonny Calvento on 'The Decaying'

An Interview with Ler Jiyuan on VIOS (2019)

Review: Umbrella Diaries: The First Umbrella (2018)

Crossing A Religious Line: An Interview with Maudy Koesnaedi

Review: Konpaku (2018)

Review: From Victoria Street to Ang Mo Kio (2019)

Review: Not Here (2019)

An Interview with Nontawat Numbenchapol on 'Soil Without Land'

Review: Temporary Visa (2018)