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ShoutOUT! Third edition of SeaShorts goes to Malacca in September

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SeaShorts Film Festival is set to debut in Malacca this 25th to 29th September. Now in its third edition, the annual affair will host as usual a fresh line-up of works from emerging and established directorial talents in Southeast Asia and beyond for a celebration of short film. 


An initiative of Next New Wave, visitors can expect a weeklong series of film screenings, forums, masterclasses, and other activities associated with movie production. SeaShorts’ diversity is evident in S- Express, a presentation of guest programmes specially curated to showcase the many local filmmaking scenes of the region. Brunei, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, and Malaysia are the ten countries in the spotlight. 

The Festival will also once again see directors vying for glory in two competition categories. Venice Film Festival Golden Lion winner, Lav Diaz of the Philippines, heads the jury for the SeaShorts Award, which recognises Southeast Asian short films. Indonesian cinema stalwart Garin Nugroho meanwhile presides over the judging of the Next New Wave Award, given to the best Malaysian short film. 

352 submissions were received this year with the announcement of results to be made on 1st August. Participants are in the running for a slew of prizes including Aputure lighting equipment, Zoom field recorders, as well as Deity Microphones. The three best entries to the Next New Wave Award will additionally earn their helmers places in the Finas Film Incubator Programme. 


The Festival will be bookended by two omnibus films. Curtain-raiser Ten Years Thailand features four directors—Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Aditya Assarat, Wisit Sasanatieng, and Chulayarnnon Siriphol—who foreshadow what Thailand could be like in 10 years, offering their takes on  that has seen authoritarian restraint on creative freedom and political dissent since the military coup of 2014.


Closing film 15Malaysia comprises 15 productions themed around taboo issues in the country, such as racism, paedophilia, and corruption. With a star-studded cast of celebrities and politicians in principal acting roles, the anthology was a massive success upon online release in 2009 and heralded a rise in viral political filmmaking that culminated with the electoral revolution of 2018. Filmmakers involved include Ho Yuhang, Yasmin Ahmad, Amir Muhammad, Linus Chung, Liew Seng Tat, Desmond Ng, Kamal Sabran, Tan Chui Mui, Woo Ming Jin, James Lee, Benji & Bahir, Johan John, Khairil Bahar, Nam Ron, and the Suleiman Brothers.

For attendees looking to participate rather than just spectate, they can learn the tricks of the animation trade at a two-day workshop by Filipino auteur Rox Lee who made a name with popular comic strip Cesar Asar. Widely considered an elder statesman of the film industry in his native Philippines, he will impart his signature DIY style seen throughout his half-century oeuvre. 

“SeaShorts represents an opportunity for people of different backgrounds to unite in their love of cinema and short films,” said Festival founder and director Tan Chui Mui. 

“From individuals directly involved in the filmmaking process to enthusiasts and audiences, it allows them to gather in enjoyment of never-before-seen releases, engage in discussion, and hopefully spark collaboration.” 

The event is made possible with the support of National Film Development Corporation Malaysia (Finas), The Japan Foundation Asia Center, Purin Pictures, Aputure Imaging Industries, Deity Microphones, Zoom Corporation, Epson Singapore, CK Music, and Sinema Media. More than RM10,000 has been collected through a fundraising campaign to help filmmakers attend the Festival. 

Full details of the 2019 programme will be unveiled in the coming weeks. Festival pass information is available at seashorts2019.peatix.com. For more information, visit nextnewwave.com.my. 

Review: Pengabdi Setan (Satan's Slave) (1980)

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The notion of a mortal death occupies several cultural positions; secularly speaking, it is the ultimate destination, a vanishing point towards which all roads lead; religiously, it is perhaps transitory, the receptionist’s room while you wait for the after-life, or a brief pit stop en route towards reincarnation. In this sense, death can function both as a period at the end of a sentence, where the meaning of the before ceases and where there is no after, or it could function as a comma, a breath where the before still carries weight into the after, one linked with the other. Pengabdi Setan (1980) or Satan’s Slave, screened recently at the Asian Film Archive’s State of Motion 2019: A Fear of Monsters, ponders the question of where a secular death begins and a religious one ends, all set in the confines of a single family home.


Directed by Sisworo Gautama Putra, Pengabdi Setan is an Indonesian horror film whose remake, helmed by Joko Anwar, was recently released to much acclaim and is in turn itself, a loose remake of self-made horror auteur Don Coscarelli’s Phantasm (1979). In a way, the film is the perfect harbinger for the zombification of modern cinema, with her endless nested Russian dolls of sequels, remakes and prequels embedded into one. The film follows the mourning of a family after the death of their matriarch, Mawarti. The film takes special care to tell us that this is a family that has strayed from its religious roots. The father, Munarto, is too caught up with work and chasing material wealth. The daughter, Rita, is lost in a trance of parties and hedonism. The son, Tomi, has a developing interest in spirituality but lacks guidance. This leaves only Karto, their devout but almost preternaturally sickly servant. With the appearance of a sinister new housekeeper, Darminah, things quickly go bump in the night as the family begins to see visions of the departed Mawarti.



Lumbering despite its relatively lean 90-minute run time, the film lugubriously shuffles towards its tired conclusion, culminating in a domestic zombie apocalypse that is undone by a convenient deus ex machina, where the family is rescued by a religious leader right in the nick of time as they collectively pray the dead away.

The film makes no bones about its seeming religious inclinations, electing for the view that spiritual devotion will deliver us from shadows that jump at night. Moral sermonizing aside, what Pengabdi Setan (and indeed many horror films) suggests about death is more curious. Here death is not the endpoint in which things conclude, here death is not a liminal point of departure where the baton is passed from the physical to the spiritual, but here death is stasis, death is a continuous and current state of affairs that will replay endlessly until the sins of the living are purged and the toll for the after-life ransomed. Pengabdi Setan perhaps then is suggesting that death may indeed set us free, but not until it is finished with us.

Written by Zhi Hao

Review: Song Lang (2018)

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The trailer for Song Lang (2018) may make one recall of Chen Kaige’s Farewell My Concubine,due to its similar storytelling blueprint of queer relationships set within a theatrical context. However, apart from these premises, Song Lang is more than just a mere Vietnamese rehashing of Farewell My Concubine—it holds its own as a distinctive tale of intertwining human connections set in a nostalgic past.

Set against the backdrop of the 1980s, the film follows the unfolding relationship between Linh Phung (Pham Luu Tuan Tai, or Isaac) and Dung (Lien Binh Phat), two warring characters whose life trajectories cross paths by chance, before slowly converging due to their shared love for Cai Luong. Cai Luong is a form of modern folk opera unique to Vietnam, comprising of a blend of Vietnamese opera, music, and spoken drama. For Dung, Cai Luong was his childhood: as an adolescent, he would watch performances backstage together with his father who was a Cai Luong musician himself. His childhood takes a pained turn when he faces abandonment by his mother, accompanied by the death of his father shortly after. Dung grows up to become an enforcer of loan sharks, suppressing his painful memories through a facade of violence and hard-headed masculinity. Fate brings Dung to cross paths with talented Cai Luong actor Linh Phung, who initially despises Dung for his brash mannerisms and threats against Linh’s indebted Cai Luong company.


Lien’s debut in acting was commendable, as he nailed the portrayal of Dung as a man burdened by a life of violence and unfulfilled aspirations. As Dung, Lien exuded a sort of quiet intensity in his understated performance, culminating in an imperturbable exterior which housed an internal emotional conflict. This is juxtaposed with Isaac’s own emotive character of Linh Phung, one who seems to be an idealist of sorts. At one point, Linh Phung even explains to Dung that he believes that time travel exists, but through three means: through people, places and objects. These contrasting personalities resulted in undeniable on-screen chemistry between the two characters, and watching their relationship unravel as the plot progressed was a joy.


A notable point of interest was the nature of Dung and Linh’s relationship: Song Lang seemed to have intentionally left some space for ambiguity in defining their relationship. Apart from some few scenes founded on subtext and subtlety, the only moment that really implied something more akin to a “love drama” between the two co-protagonists was at the final act, where Linh displayed growing apprehension towards his performance, partially due to his anxiety on whether or not Dung will show up after his show to join Linh's troupe. All this seemed to be an intentional move on Leon Le’s part to disassociate physical intimacy with their relationship, instead focusing more on the nature of their intertwining life trajectories which ultimately result in something larger than themselves. Thus, Dung and Linh’s relationship remains largely enigmatic in nature, but ultimately represents an interesting take on queer representation within Vietnamese cinema.

Another strength of Song Lang is the film’s recreation of the Vietnam of the 1980s. The film successfully immerses audiences into an era of old-school Nintendo games and radio cassette players, set against the socio-political milieu of Communist Vietnam. From the film’s intriguing choice of a 3:2 aspect ratio—usually used for full-framed photographs—to the vintage-styled color palette that has most scenes tinted with amber hues, the movie manages to create nostalgic impressions of a era long gone. The Cai Luong theatre scenes also provides a glimpse into the behind-the-scenes processes of such a theatrical production, with tight spaces bustling with backstage activity. It was particularly interesting to see how the film managed to recreate the ins-and-outs of the Cai Luong theatre setting within the movie with a great degree of verisimilitude, presenting a “performance within a performance”, or a meta-stage moment, when considering the film in entirety.

  

However, the film is not without its imperfections. While Lien does a commendable job in his acting debut in this film, Dung’s conflicted emotional journey seemed somewhat under-developed, particularly at the moments before the climax of the film. The progression of this emotional journey peaks with a scene depicting Dung sobbing on the rooftop of his home. While this scene and that build up towards it felt like necessary moments to reflect the momentous decision Dung will later make—which is to leave his violent life behind for a chance to join Linh’s Cai Luong troupe—it was nonetheless an under-developed moment in the film. Apart from Dung’s breakdown, there was limited exploration of the depth of the internal emotional conflict within Dung.

A twist occurs when Dung’s eventual fate ends in unexpected tragedy as he is stabbed by one of his loan shark victims; Linh never finds out the reason for Dung’s ultimate disappearance. Again, this remains a largely underwhelming climax, as there lacks any proper plot-based catharsis nor any satisfactory denouement thereafter. While this final act appropriately reflects the theme of love and loss, one cannot help but feel that a more fleshed-out denouement would have seen a better sense of emotional fulfillment and resolution of the movie from the audience’s perspective.

Nonetheless, one should still applaud Leon Le’s efforts in bringing the golden age of Cai Luong to the cinema screen. The film successfully captures vignettes of the past through exploring the shared histories and connections of the people of that era. For both the experienced cinephile as well as the layman unfamiliar with Vietnamese cinema, Song Lang will be a pleasure to watch. With a masterful cast and powerful storytelling, Song Lang presents a distinctive elegance in its investigation of what it means to face one’s past, all within a riveting narrative of love and loss.

This film premiered at the Tokyo International Film Festival last year in which its lead actor Lien Binh Phat, who played Dung, won the Tokyo Gemstone award for his role. It has since travelled to several film festivals on the film festival circuit, having most recently screened at the New York Asian Film Festival.

Review by Bryson Ng

Review: God or Dog (1997)

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Religion can be sticky and it is still one of those topics we do not talk about much in 2019. Let's not even talk about wanting to become a God and then believing it to be true. So imagine what a racket it must have been for Director Hugo Ng to release this film back in 1997 to address cultish behaviours and the darker side of human nature.

Inspired by the 1981 Adrian Lim murders which shocked Singapore, God or Dog addresses the issue of charismatic leaders who misguide others to gain money, sex and material comforts. Due to the realistic nature of how the film depicts the 1981 incident, casting proved difficult. In the end, Ng found himself writing, directing and acting in this 86 minute film.


The viewers follow the lead Sin, modelled after Lim, as he went from vulnerable to 'God'. That sense of vulnerability was shown through the plain three-room flat Sin lived in with his wife and young son. His mind stifled by drones of the standing fan, his son repetitively disrupting the pet gold fish and his wife going about daily house chores. It was that drudgery of the every day, and the underlying desire to get out of this situation.

However, things started to change when Sin went under the wing of a questionable faith healer and master who took advantage of others to get whatever he wanted. Looking past his master's tricks, he ousted and took over the practice. He began building his own empire once his own family was out of the picture - first it was just lovers, then money and this dark road eventually led him down the road of murder.

Although the acting and the effects used were nothing to rave about, the storyline itself kept the action going and was the most intriguing. I enjoyed the use of varying languages that slip in and out of dialogues. The mixed use of Hokkien, Cantonese, English and Mandarin kept that authenticity for me and brought me back to that time where English was not the only language one could be educated in. They immediately brought my mind back to a different era and phase of Singapore's history.


It was also a great choice to have a leading character such as Sin, for he was the most curious and strange compared to the ordinariness of everything else. Ng portrayed him to be empty and on the verge of losing his mind at the beginning, before bringing his character to such heights of greed, craze and grandeur.

Being vulnerable himself to being the one manipulating others who were like him, Sin went through a gradual transformation in his beliefs and the ways he carried himself. It was an interesting dynamic to observe - the gaining of power and eventual downfall. I guess I could say that it was the delusion that brought about the horror of it all. So many questions crossed my mind as I sat in my seat, taking the film in scene by scene.

How could this man believe that he is God? Where was the remorse or the regret? Was he pretending or did he truly believe in his supposed holy powers?

Though he was the driving force of such audacity, I could not help but feel sympathy for Sin. With the film portraying his beginnings and to follow through this journey of psychological transformation and manipulation, I could not help but acknowledge that perhaps this was a monster born out of circumstances and desperation.

And that was the true horror of it all, that I did not see a monster on screen but a man simply crying out for help.

God or Dog was given a recent rare screening at the Asian Film Archive's (AFA) Oldham Theatre as part of the AFA's 'A Fear of Monsters' screening series.

Review by Dawn Teo

ShoutOUT! 26 Southeast Asian shorts vying for awards at SeaShorts

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 Vinegar Baths by Amanda Nell Eu from Malaysia, one of the shorts vying for awards at SeaShorts

More than 350 submissions were received by the SeaShorts Film Festival this year, happening in Malacca from 25th to 29th September. Started in 2017, SeaShorts is an annual celebration of Southeast Asian short film featuring film screenings, forums, workshops, exhibitions, and music performances by filmmakers, inspired by the S-Express short film exchange programme started in the early 2000s. This year, 26 short films have been selected to be in competition for the SeaShorts Award and Next New Wave Award (for Malaysian works).

Festival founder and director Tan Chui Mui said, “SeaShorts celebrates the breadth of possibilities that cinema has to offer, and this is evident in the 26 films vying for honours. The Official Selection presents titles exploring new narratives, issues, and practices pertinent to Southeast Asia, much of which may never be seen outside the context of events like ours. They reflect the enduring social relevance of filmmaking, and why it is important for all of us to be a part of it.” 

Comprising two categories, the annual competition counts a veritable who’s who of industry players among the jury panel. Venice Film Festival Golden Lion winner Lav Diaz (Philippines) leads judging duties for the regional SeaShorts Award alongside actor-director Bront Palarae (Malaysia) and Asian Film Award-winning editor Lee Chatametikool (Thailand). Respected helmer Garin Nugroho (Indonesia), artist Sherman Ong (Malaysia), and rising filmmaker Shireen Seno (Philippines) meanwhile decide the Next New Wave Award, which goes to the best Malaysian effort. 

Nominees stand the chance to walk away with the lion’s share of prizes including Panasonic Lumix GH5 4K cameras, Aputure lighting equipment, Zoom field recorders, and Deity Microphones. The top three local submissions will additionally earn placements in the Finas Film Incubator Programme. 

Out of competition, audiences can look forward to a bumper programme of activities for every preference. On top of daily screenings, highlights include an animation workshop by Philippine auteur Rox Lee as well as performances, talks, forums, and an exhibition by participating guests. Anthologies Ten Years Thailandand 15Malaysia will feature as the opening and closing films respectively. 

The event is made possible with the support of National Film Development Corporation Malaysia (Finas), The Japan Foundation Asia Center, Film Development Council of the Philippines, Purin Pictures, Panasonic, Aputure Imaging Industries, Deity Microphones, Zoom Corporation, Epson, CK Music, and Sinema Media. More than RM10,000 has been collected through a fundraising campaign to help filmmakers attend the Festival. 

Festival passes are available for purchase at www.seashorts2019.peatix.com. For more information, visit www.nextnewwave.com.my.


Official Selection for the 2019 SeaShorts Award:

A Million Years, Danech San, Cambodia, Malaysian premiere
  • Relaxing at a waterfront restaurant, two people share a seemingly ordinary conversation that takes a turn to furtive experiences.


Ballad of Blood and Two White Buckets
, Yosep Anggi Noen, Indonesia, Malaysian premiere

  • A couple selling congealed blood find their livelihood endangered by shifting religious beliefs.


Blessed Land,
Phạm Ngọc Lâ
n, Vietnam, Malaysian premiere
  • Past and present converge in the search for a grave. Read SINdie's review here.

Cold Fish
, Thanh Đoàn, Vietnam, World premiere

  • A girl and two men harbour veiled obsessions that are only bared in their private spaces.


Ethereal Creature
, Tinnashine Mongkolmont, Thailand, Malaysian premiere

  • Two friends attempt to return a forbidden fruit that they stole from a mythical tree fairy.

Kingdom
, Tan Wei Keong, Singapore, Malaysian premiere

  • The quiet, atmospheric terrain of a forest is intruded by a lost man. Read SINdie's interview with Wei Keong here.

Levitating Exhibition
, Ukrit Sa-nguanhai, Thailand, World premiere

  • Stories unfold as housekeepers of a fancy love motel go about their duties in maintaining the establishment’s timeless beauty.

Mother, Daughter, Dreams
, Linh Duong, Vietnam, Malaysian premiere

  • A search for a vanished man lands his daughter and wife in unfinished dreams.


Nasi Mah Bali K Rumah
, Hasanul Isyraf Idris, Malaysia

  • The director’s hyperpersonal experiences come alive in visual detail.

New Land Broken Road
, Kavich Neang, Cambodia

  • Three young hip-hop dancers make a night pitstop on a deserted road in Phnom Penh.


Pencil
, Gina Tan, Singapore, Malaysian premiere

  • Set against the backdrop of the 90s, two best friends find their bond tested.


Please Stop Talking
, Josef Gacutan, Philippines, Malaysian premiere

  • A man tries to repair his relationship with his son, but a mysterious black figure gets in the way.

Rest in Peace
, M. Reza Fahriyansyah, Indonesia, Malaysian premiere

  • A couple grieving over the sudden death of their son encounter difficulties in preparing for his funeral.

Qinglang de Tiankong
, Thamsatid Charoenrittichai, Thailand, Malaysian premiere

  • A young woman is pulled in two directions by her mother and the reappearance of an absentee father.

The Bird That's Not Allowed to Chirp
, Andri Firmansyah, Indonesia, World premiere

  • A last remaining home slated for demolition evokes memories of a wife lost.

The Imminent Immanent
, Carlo Francisco Manatad, Philippines, Malaysian premiere

  • The inhabitants of a rural town go about their day, oblivious to the forces of nature to come.  Read SINdie's interview with Carlo here.


The Life We Live
, Jeldin Loh, Malaysia, World premiere

  • A woman leads a simple existence in a sinking harbour city.

The Sea Recalls
, Aekaphong Saransate, Thailand, Malaysian premiere

  • The director returns to the site of his uncle’s murder to probe the man’s past and cope with his absence. Read SINdie's interview with Aekaphong Saransate here.


To Work
, Jeremy Emang Jecky, Malaysia, World premiere

  • Mr. Elisah dreams of a better life beyond his rural upbringing, but past troubles still haunt him.

Vinegar Baths
, Amanda Nell Eu, Malaysia

  • A nurse at a maternity ward can finally eat when she roams the hospital corridors at night.



Official Selection for the 2019 Next New Wave Award:


Forget Me Not, Anwar Johari Ho
  • The transnational romance between a Malaysian and a Chinese mainlander, told in three parts.


Football, Chan Jie Min
  • Fond of playing football with friends, a young girl finds her hobby interrupted by Chinese New Year.



Langit Budak Biru, Lim Kean Hian
  • Two teenage boys grapple with bullying at their school.


Light of Memories, Sim Seow Khee
  • A mother and son converse over memorial preparations.



The Darkest Night, Toh Tze Wei
  • Learning Chinese in Malaysia has not always come easy.


Simon and Ah Bou, Vikster Chew Chin Wai
  • Two friends reminisce about their past after a devastating incident.


Nasi Mah Bali K Rumah, Hasanul Isyraf Idris


The Life We Live, Jeldin Loh


To Work, Jeremy Emang Jecky


Vinegar Baths, Amanda Nell Eu

Review: Mekong Hotel (2012)

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Writing about the inimitable Apichatpong Weerasathakul is like dancing on a god’s altar with dirty feet: irreverent. Inside the acclaimed director’s head bubbles a mind that sews image, sound and text together in ways that deliver visceral punches. To try and capture the multitudes that arise within, and transform those feelings into words on a page, is a mission both foolish and impossible. Regardless... I will try.

With a runtime of 61 minutes, Mekong Hotel is evidently shorter—and hence less expansive—than his previous feature films, but one does not walk away from the cinema feeling any less dazzled. Apichatpong’s anchor questions of life, death, spirituality, and politics are just as present in this film. Each of these themes issues forth in sketches that, spliced together, seem to read more like an outline—a film essay draft, maybe, or a commentary on the patchiness of memory. Since memory is assuredly unreliable, we as audience members often move swiftly to fill in the gaps. This cursory nature is no doubt alienating; yet, we also cannot help but be seduced by the sweet promise of transgression.



Some of the film’s greatest moments occur in the spirit of transgression. The most obvious one, of course, is the camera’s fluid gear-shifts between lucid horror and serene indifference. Mekong Hotel explores the lives of a mother-daughter duo who, cursed with a supernatural appetite for flesh, are simply trying to get by in a space that is at once cozy and suffocating. While they have made a home for themselves within the area, the feebly populated riverside commune is also so close-knit as to deny them the space for transgression—even if their sins have already been distilled as necessity.

The one time a character directly encounters the act of transgressive horror, it is cut. The director’s persona literally intervenes via voiceover, chuckling at the character’s brutal fate, and then decides in a godlike sweep of the invisible hand to summon an encore. Is an encore a redoing or a resetting? This subtler but far more powerful act of transgression serves to remind the audience that film always resides in the liminal space between believing and disbelieving, between truth and fiction. Who is to say what did or did not happen? We have only our eyes and ears.




To that end, Apichatpong begins the film by having an onscreen discussion with the film’s only musician, whose plucky tunes embroider the entirety of Mekong Hotel. Sometimes it is there to draw you into its embrace and set your vivid, thumping heart along; other times, it interjects with its own dialogue and you snap back to the awareness of what illusions lie before you. It is a setup, it is all a setup: this is why Apichatpong returns, again and again, to converse with the actor-characters at various junctures of the film.

Are we straddling supernatural dimensions? Are we watching actors rehearsing their lines? Or are we all just figments of Apichatpong’s imagination? We may never know.

One thing, however, is for sure: we have all gathered to hear stories about the stately Mekong whilst its presence haunts us tentatively from the shadows. From the river came the Laotian refugees and from whence they departed for greener pastures, kicking up a gust of jealousy in locals. A nameless visiting princess had once arrived by boat. Elsewhere along the same glorious stretch, waters have exceeded their banks, rather transgressively, and swept homes and families away.



As a water body that winds through six countries, the Mekong can be said to be both a source of diversity and conflict. Everyone wants a piece of its regality for themselves. Case in point: the Thai government’s bamboo boat project, yet another mortal attempt to overcome the body of unimaginable geographical prestige. This project is briefly discussed in the film before the camera submits to lengthier cuts of the river in its grand repose.

“A floating tree emerges. Then a second one. A third and a fourth. And so on… A river appears in a garden.” Commandeered by this singular reading, Mekong Hotel’s message becomes crystal clear. It is a poetic treatise on the quiet dominion of a river. The river gives and the river takes. A final pink-hued shot of motorboats carousing its surface as a traditional raft wends its way northwards invites us all to meditate upon the fact our presence on the life is not a god-given right but, in truth, an unworthy honour.

Mekong Hotel was screened at the Asian Film Archive's (AFA) Oldham Theatre last month as part of the AFA's 'A Fear of Monsters' screening series.


Review by Eisabess Chee

Eisabess is based in Singapore but her heart is always already in another universe, preferably fictional. Will write for films and food.

'Home is where the heart is' on Viddsee redefines incarceration

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Many films of late have done a very good job of humanising crime and criminals. We all have our reasons for doing things. The best study of this is Hirokazu Koreeda's award-winning Shoplifters. Chang Kai Xiang's Home is where the heart is a deft effort in transporting the 'criminals are humans too' trope into our local context, in which the 'criminal' in the story chooses to commit theft for all to see and get caught. Not wanting to be a burden to the family, Mdm Wong resorts to stealing items from the neighbourhood store s she could 'check herself' into a prison cell. A young lawyer named Jane Liu comes into picture and is given the task of defending Mdm Wong. 


Home is where the heart is part of Viddsee's second season of Scene City, an anthology of short films about the rich and layered narratives of city life in Singapore. This year’s 10-film anthology began with Something I Wanted To Ask, a family drama by Ng Yiqin that revolves around an abusive husband and father, and how it affects their teenage son.

Premiering August 29, the remaining Scene City films are due to be released from now until October 17.

We caught up with the director of the film, Chang Kai Xiang, to find out where the line is drawn between fact and fiction in the peculiar phenomenon of willing silver-haired criminals.



Old people getting themselves into prison to seek solace is a bit of a mini phenomenon in Japan, what inspired your story? Did you watch Shoplifters?

That mini phenomenon in Japan is basically what inspired this story and short film, I just needed to tweak it to fit in our context. To be honest, there are similar cases in Singapore, just that we are very efficient in reaching out to help (due to our landmass), thus preventing it from becoming a crime wave. But what about those people who are unfortunate enough to fall through the cracks and don't "qualify" for subsidies etc.? 

That really got me thinking and inspired me to the premise of the story: Will I tell someone about my ulterior motive and risk having to face the same problem all over again?

And yes! I love Hirokazu Koreeda's films. If you spot any similar moments in the short film, you are mostly correct. My approach is heavily influenced by his films!

What kind of research did you do for your film? Who were the people you spoke to?

My research was mainly from articles and interviews on poverty in Singapore, I've also talked to the SPF, who are very supportive to the story, but they pointed out that some of the plot points are not possible or realistic like how I imagined and assumed it to be. Oh, I forgot to mention, the main character  Ms Jane Liu, was a Prison Officer in charge in the first few drafts. We changed her to a defence counsel after talking to the very friendly and helpful folks from The Law Society of Singapore. 

The Law Society of Singapore really helped us a lot by providing valuable insights in terms of legality and their experience on working with clients. They even allowed us to use their office to film some of the scenes! You should check them out, they provide pro bono services for people in need too!


Beatrice Chien has appeared in a wide variety of roles. How was your experience working with her?

I was pretty nervous when I first met Beatrice to talk about the story, but I realise she was pretty cool, very open minded and extremely supportive to the local film and theatre scene. And I was super excited when she agrees to take on the role!

Working with experienced actors like Beatrice is such an eye opening and wonderful experience, she is able to own the character and deliver on point performances that are so much more interesting than what I have imagined in my mind. She is always receptive to impromptu ideas and is willing to share her thoughts, which I REALLY liked, because filmmaking is a collaboration.


And the clothes that you see in the short film are actually her own old clothes! She is so nice to donate her old clothes for us to age and destroy. Thank you Beatrice!

The film is succinct and effective in its storytelling. Can you take us through your treatment and editing in this film? 

The short film wasn't as succinct and effective in its first cut, we actually filmed and had an additional story thread where the defence counsel's mother (Played by Jalyn Han!) was trying to bond with her. I wanted the story to have a strong character development but I realise that the subject matter is much more important than that. Which is why you still see the first scene when the defence counsel is on the phone with her mom, reacting coldly, and also her mentor colleague debating about the meaning of being "Filial".

I would say I'm pretty lucky (or a bad writer) that taking away that storyline did not affect the story, but it actually made the short film much more clearer and focused. 


What were the greatest challenges in making this film?

The biggest challenge for me is to not make any statements or portray the characters with any social / political agenda in the short film. I mean we all have our own perception and will tend to be bias towards what we value, but that shouldn't be the focus for me as the filmmaker of HIWTHI, I want to leave it for the audience to perceive and react themselves (you can take a look at the comments section on youtube). And hopefully, manage to shine a light on the subject matter; the ceiling lights in the short film are actually the metaphor for it heh.

Another challenge for me was to get the legality process accurate and scenes authentic, which I'm grateful to receive support and help from SPF and Singapore Law Society. It's not easy to finish a story and then to discover that it will not work because of the legality; I've learned my lesson well.

What are you most satisfied with in the end product?

I think like what you mentioned in question 4, I'm very satisfied with the storytelling aspect whereby it's very focused and effective. The story serves its purpose, like how it was intended to (minus the additional storyline, sorry Jalyn...my fault!) and I'm very happy that viewers are responding to it. 

I'm really grateful for everyone who believed in the story and contributed to the short film one way or another, and I want to take this opportunity to thank the producer, Sabrina Poon, who is actually the one pulling everything together and making the short film work within time and within budget. Thanks Spoon!



Interview by Jeremy Sing

About Chang Kai Xiang

Born in 1983, Kai Xiang has been making films that embrace the human spirit since 2007. He believes that people are born and still possess good in nature especially empathy, a heavy influence in his choice for stories and characters. Central to his creative process is to explore the motive behind every choice, sin and act of kindness. A process that he feels compelled to magnify in his films. His first short film (I Never Lie – 2014)  was selected for competition and distribution at Short Shorts Film Festival in Tokyo, Japan. The positive responses gave Kai Xiang the encouragement for his next short film “Grandma in July” - 2017, which was selected to compete in Viddsee Juree 2018. In 2019, his first feature film script (殘影空間 Shadows - Directed by Glenn Chan) which was selected and developed by MM2 Entertainment, completed its principal photography in June and is slated for release in 2020.  

Kai Xiang currently works as a freelance writer/director and is developing a drama series for the online platform.



Trending: An Interview with Arden Rod Condez on 'John Denver Trending'

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With the level of cinematographic attention to the depiction of this story, it is hard to believe that John Denver Trending is Arden Rod Condez's directorial debut. This film tells a cautionary tale about the devastating effects of social media, however, its strength lays is in the way Condez has elaborated on this subject in the socio-cultural context of the Philippines. Condez's familiarity with this specific context is evident in his assured filmmaking style. Moreover, the way in which his closeups convey such emotional poignancy points to Condez's own motivation to tell this story not just for the sake of making a film, but for bringing to light an underrepresented issue. 

In John Denver Trending the titular character, an eighth grader, finds himself in the centre of a national scandal when a video of him assaulting one of his classmates goes viral. Condez creates a feeling of helplessness, especially with his use of sound - where often, voices will crowd over one another while John Denver is silently watching, evoking the sense of suffocation and voicelessness even for the viewer. Condez's ability to make his audience emotionally invested in an issue of socio-political importance is a promising sign for his filmmaking career. 


SINdie had the opportunity to ask Condez some questions, particularly about setting this film in rural Philippines, depicting the religious background, and even about his use of the camera. Read on for this enlightening interview. 

*note: certain responses may contain spoilers

SINdie: What were some of the biggest challenges in making this film, and what inspired you to keep going with this story? 

One of the biggest challenges for me was finding the right producer for this film. Ever since this project was just a concept, I had already decided that I was going to hire non-professional actors to keep to that idea of “people becoming famous because of social media”. I wanted my actors to also have that experience of becoming famous because of our film.

With this decision in mind, I knew from the start that it would be hard for me to find a financier since most producers here in the Philippines understandably want popular actors in their movies. However, I strongly believed that this film had to be with unknown actors. The challenge of making this film with them inspired me to keep looking for the right producers. Eventually, my team and I agreed to make this with first-time producers who didn’t have any preconditions on casting, storytelling, content, etc. They loved the cause that our film is pushing and, because of that they agreed to produce it. In the end, we decided to hire established actress Meryll Soriano but the rest were homegrown untapped talents. 


Another challenge I faced was finding the right lead actor for John Denver. As I’ve noticed, from 400 Blows, to Kes, to Slumdog Millionaire, most iconic coming-of-age films are led by first-time actors. So I searched for mine. It was a difficult task because my criteria was very specific: I wanted someone who has presence, someone who can act, and someone who can speak the regional language of Kinaray-a (which is the main language spoken in the film). 


I focused my search in the island of Panay (which is actually my hometown) where the language is spoken. It was quite limiting. I met over a hundred kids, and from those I shortlisted some. In the end, I opted with Jansen Magpusao - even though he did not actually audition! Jansen's picture was sent to me by a cousin, and I was intrigued by his eyes. I sent my team to look for him and have him act in front of a camera. It was an awful audition but I was intrigued by his awkwardness and vulnerability. Once he was casted, for five days, he had sessions with an acting coach. When shooting started, the boy shocked everyone with his raw yet affecting portrayal. I think the boy will also surprise the audience. One of the best decisions I made for this film was casting Jansen.

Lastly, another challenge was shooting a film where more than half of the cast were minors. We had to comply with the labour laws, which affected our scheduling and our budget. However, the urgency and the strength of the material inspired me to proceed no matter what. Someone has to tell this story and I wanted it to be me.

SINdie: Typically films about the effects of social media on young teenagers take place in a very upper middle class, urban city setting. However, I couldn't help but notice that your main character, John Denver, comes from a less wealthy social class - especially with references to internet cafés, radios. You also emphasize the great distance he has to travel to get to school, and demonstrate a communal style of living with references to characters like the village chief (which seems particular to Southeast Asia). What was the motivation behind choosing this specific setting, as opposed to an urban/city setting (e.g. Manilla)? 

A large portion of the story was based on an actual event that I heard about in the news over the radio. It was about a boy who was cyberbullied because he allegedly stole an iPad. It happened in one of the provinces in the Philippines and the boy was a farmer’s son.

One of the reasons why I was troubled by this news was because it happened in a very rural town. It made me realize that the effects of the misuse of social media can happen to everyone everywhere. Well, all because the internet, no matter how slow its speed here in the Philippines, reaches all. The online experience of somebody in Metro Manila can also be experienced by somebody in the provinces. When social media suddenly becomes a monster, then, it excuses no one.

At the same time, I also wanted to explore the difference of this kind of experience when it happens in rural areas. In places like the one in the movie, everyone knows everybody. This is not usually true in crowded cities like Manila; you can exist in Manila even without knowing who your neighbours are. In the provinces, everyone is connected. So when someone’s son becomes embroiled in a stealing scandal, it easily becomes the talk of the town. 

In Manila, stealing a 45-thousand peso priced iPad is not news. But in rural areas, it can quickly become an issue of reputation, of dignity. This is precisely the reason why at the start of the film, I emphasized one by one, through John Denver's travel from school to his house, all the archetypes that comprise a rural town: the teachers, the priest, the policemen, the market vendors, the gossiping neighbour, the rumoured witch. (Yes, we shot this in the province of Antique, my hometown, and my hometown is ridiculously infamous as the land of the witches.) I pointed out everyone that comprises a community so we will know who and what the kid will face when the issue eventually erupts.

SINdie: I also noticed a lot of references to religion. For example, the mother's friend seems to believe in demons and possessions, which is heavily contrasted against Catholicism and more institutional forms of religion. What was the reason for this? 

I could not help but touch some references to religion. This was accidental because we shot a huge part of the film at an actual Catholic school. So we saw elements everywhere that we eventually used. In fact, when I saw an old print of the Pieta inside the school, it was an epiphany for me. I realized then, that John Denver’s story is similar to the story of Jesus Christ when he was wrongly accused of treason. When you think of his ordeal, you cannot help but also think of Mary’s struggles as she also suffered alongside her son. Her journey reminded me of Marites’, John Denver’s mother.

I don’t want to sound so religious here but as a story, the Passion of the Christ eventually became an inspiration. In fact, we added the Pieta element through our production design. There are mother-child references in their house, at school, and even inside the police station.

The Philippines is highly Catholic but at the same time, it has preserved some of its pre-Hispanic, pre-Catholic practices. This is particularly true in our province. Antique is believed to be the first Malay settlement in the country and until now, it practices pre-hispanic traditions. For example, going to the shamans (maaram) not just to seek aid for illnesses but also to solve crimes and mysteries. In the movie, we cast an actual shaman and he performed his actual rituals.

I also used some components unique to the place as metaphorical elements of the story. For one, the subtle witch-hunting plot that was happening in the story that involved a woman who allegedly killed a neighbour is a metaphor to the modern witch-hunting that happens in cyberspace. This juxtaposition of the traditional and the modern hopefully will interest the audience.




SINdie: What kind of research went into constructing the story of this film? I have read elsewhere that the plot was inspired by stories you'd read in the news about young kids being cyber-bullied to the extent of suicide. Given your inclusion of the police, and also the social worker (towards the end of the film), I'm especially curious to know about any research that went into policies, laws, and social systems in place to address the problem of cyberbullying/social media bullying, or those that end up exacerbating it. 

When I heard about the story of the boy who was cyber-bullied all because he allegedly stole an iPad, it suddenly came to my mind to just observe how the story would progress online. I saw a Facebook post about it and I tried to understand the entire story based on everything that was mentioned in the comments section. Then eventually, I tried reaching out to the boy’s family. When I talked to his aunt, I found that of course, they had a different version of the story.

These two versions of the truth that I had encountered during my research eventually became the inspiration for the structure of the script. The script was the interlacing of these two versions of truth and how both truths affect the life of the boy.


During my research, I also discovered that the boy’s teacher was the one who directly sent him to the police station. Some policemen allegedly pressured him to surrender the iPad. There was also a rumour that an entrapment operation was set up for him. All because of an iPad and all because social media had been pushing the school to do something about the matter. This made me realize that the real danger of a viral video is when institutions like the police and the school are pressured by social media to come up with urgent decisions even without observing due process. 

These actions from such institutions made me realize that it is time for us to take a pause and reassess all our guidelines of handling the youth now that everything is affected by social media. Upon checking, schools and the police have their “child protection policies”. However, sometimes they are not practiced. Everything in this film is a “what not to do” when someone is accused and bullied online.  Laying down such problems hopefully would start the conversation on responsible social media use, particularly for the youth.

SINdie: In terms of cinematography, I noticed that there was some very interesting, almost documentary-like play with camera shots and angles. For example, a largely still long take would suddenly move with the subject in the frame, and often it seemed like there was a hand-held style to the shot. Was this intentional? What were some of the specific cinematographic choices you made to enhance your depiction of the story. 

Yes, the varied camera movement was intentional. I’ve always considered the camera here as a monster. In the early parts of the film John Denver just observes. Hence, most of the first half of the film is comprised of still shots. Eventually, the camera moves. Then it moves with the character. Then it becomes restless and restless until it rapidly runs after the boy, and eventually hurts him in the end.

It is also important to point out that the still shots were generally used during scenes where so many people discuss and argue about the boy’s crime right in front of him. One particular scene is at the principal’s office with the boy’s mom. Another one is at the fishing port in the scene with the mayor. For these scenes, I just want the camera to step back and let the audience see how ridiculous we’ve become all because of a viral video.



SINdie: Lastly, I'd like to ask about the ending. Did you consider any other, perhaps more optimistic, ways to end the film? Ultimately, why was this the way you chose to end your film? 






I’ve always considered this film as cautionary tale. I wanted the ending to be the way it is so that it would hopefully make the audience ask themselves: what have we become as humans in this age of social media? 

The Philippines has one of the slowest internet speeds in the world and yet we have the highest social media usage in a day. We spend almost 10 hours of our lives on social media everyday. Understandably, because a lot of our family members are working abroad, social media becomes a very thrifty way to keep us connected. 

But on the other hand, it becomes the venue for some people to irresponsibly hurt others. The film’s ending hopefully will make people realize that when we move on to the next big news story, there are still people involved in those issues who continue to suffer and face the consequences. 

I hope that this film becomes an urgent reminder.


Responses have been edited for clarity 

Review and Interview by Tanvi Rajvanshi

John Denver Trending premiered at Cinemalaya and just won Best Film, Best Editing, Best Actor, Best Original Music Score and the NETPAC Jury Award for feature length film. Congratulations!


Cinemalaya 2019 Pitstop: 'Heist School' by Julius Renomeron Jr.

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Blame it on the Thais. They started the whole cheating game with the sensational Bad Genius. Now others have been inspired. In the spirit of Ocean's Eleven, filmmaker Julius Renomeron Jr. transplants the partners in crime trope into the compounds of a high school in the Philippines. The premise is simple, a ragtag group of students execute an elaborate plan to cheat the school exams and save their grades. While the familiar exam cheating premise borders on imitation, the methods of cheating are delightfully original, employing a mix of simple distractions, key duplications and one of the oldest tricks in the playbook - ghosts. 

To salvage their friendship, Joedel and Omar decide to carry out one more exam heist as they know they cannot study to save their lives, and their teacher's assertive ways keeps the class on its toes academically. In the tradition of heist flicks, they recruit a team, inked a plan literally on a broad sheet of paper for them to divide and conquer. The film maintains a robust tempo thanks to spot-on casting, spirited acting and crisp editing. The opposite of this could have been campiness, over-indulgence and becoming too much of a genre fan-boy. But Julius manages to tell an authentic story with well-grounded characters based on his own school experiences. 



Heist School, probably a play on the word High School, is an in-competition short film screening at Cinemalaya this year. Cinemalaya celebrates its 15th year in existence this year and just like in previous years, 10 original feature films and 10 short films are in competition for top honours in the film festival. For the first time in history this year, Cinemalaya goes on the road across the Philippines, bringing its screening programme to Pampamga, Ilo Ilo, Legazpi, Naga, Bacolod, Davao and of course Manila. The awards take place on 13 August. 

SINdie stole a few minutes with Julius for a peek into his short film Heist School. Here is our interview.

Have you watched Bad Genius? Was this film inspired by that? 

It’s funny because we have always been compared to Bad Genius every time we tell the premise of our story to someone. We’ve actually been joking about making a genre film most specially a heist film like this even before the release of Bad Genius but when the opportunity came to produce Heist School for our Film Production class in the University of Santo Tomas we jumped right into writing. During that time Bad Genius had been playing in Philippine cinemas and my co-writers and I swore not to watch it until we finished writing our script so that we would have little to no influence in our story writing. When we finished writing our draft that’s when we decided to see it so that we could avoid and remove any similarities in the story and execution because we knew sooner or later we’d encounter this problem. But I think our film has a different flavour than Bad Genius since we really wanted to show a very Filipino yet universal experience in our film. But being compared to it is actually not a bad thing since it’s really well done and I love that more Asian films are exploring genre films and putting their own flavour and culture into these genres that we normally see in Hollywood movies. 


What were some of the more creative ways to cheat in exams that you have seen in school? 

I think I have to admit that at certain points in my life I have cheated my way out of really difficult exams and I would be a hypocrite not to say it but never to the extent of what we did in our film. I mean who hasn’t done it at least once? HAHA! Hand signals are one of the most common ways of cheating that I have encountered. Coughing, tapping the table, having a piece of paper with answers inside their school ID case and even swapping test papers is also a recurring technique but the one that’s been bothering me and making me laugh is the one where students actually open their mobile phones, put it between their legs and then swipe for answers. I swear that takes a lot of courage and hand gymnastics not to be caught. There are actually times where I have encountered some professors/teachers that intentionally go out of the room and pretend that their students won’t cheat but those are special cases when the exam is really tough. I think they know that their exams are hard and they want to subtly help their students. 

How did you find your cast? The two leads and the teacher were outstanding in their roles.

We auditioned our cast for their roles and we picked the ones that we think could convey emotions without any dialogue since there are parts in our film that require more facial expression than dialogue. We were surprised at how our two leads had such chemistry on and off screen that we let them invent their own secret handshake which eventually made it to our film. There were a lot of people who auditioned but we carefully chose those who looked more believable as public high school students with personality and wit and I’m glad that our cast fit the bill. 


How did you get so many actors together for the school scene, or was this in collaboration with a real school? 

One of our crew members has a sister that studies in the school that we used for our film. We really scoured Metro Manila for a school that had personality and we’re glad that we found San Jose National High School in Antipolo City. The school administrators were very nice to let us shoot our film in their premises and they even let us borrow some of the students from their theater club as extras for scenes that require a lot of student extras. The biggest challenge with shooting the film was that we chose to shoot it on a regular day of classes because we didn’t want the school to feel empty during scenes where we want people on the background. It was hard to shoot it though since we can’t control the noise and the students that pass through our cameras. There were scenes where we had to completely change the location just to move away from the noise. Our opening scene where our two leads punched each other in the face was originally planned to be shot inside a covered basketball court but during filming we weren’t informed that there were students scheduled to practice for their cheerdance competition so we opted to shoot it at the staircase. It was a complete mess but thankfully we still succeeded. 


Please share with us how you worked with your actors to get the performances that you wanted. 

We discussed with our actors how friendship was an important aspect of the film and how having that chemistry would help sell the care of the characters with each other. Bryan Bacalso (Omar) and Jemuel Satumba (Joedel) our two leads had the opportunity to bond before and during our shooting schedules so they were able to work comfortable on screen. Bryan Bacalso is actually a first time actor and we were so impressed by his audtion that he became our first pick. He delivered the character who was a struggling student but had wit to life. This is actually my first time handling paid actors. Before this we were just shooting films that involved us as the actors or relatives of ours for our short films. This put so much pressure on me because it’s the first time I have to manage and make do of the time that we have for the shoot compared to having actors that you know where you can just redo and shoot scenes that last a whole afternoon. We have developed a friendship with our actors even after we screened our film. I think that what’s nice about the whole experience of meeting and collaborating with these talented and creative people is that you develop a sense of kinship with them too and that is also one of the core themes of our short film.

Heist won Audience Choice Award for Short Feature at Cinemalaya 2019.

Interview by Jeremy Sing

Julius Renomeron Jr. is a graduate of AB Communication Arts in the University of Santo Tomas last June 2019. He is passionate with the intersections of design, technology, and filmmaking. He is a freelance graphic designer and video editor.

Cinemalaya 2019 Pitstop: 'Kontrolado ni Girly ang Buhay N’ya (Girly is in Control of His Life)' by Gilb Baldoza

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The film begins abruptly. We see the back of a thinly figure as he strolls down the corridor of a factory at work. When we finally see his face, he looks vulnerable and lost as he's told that his resume is inadequate, taunted to dance, not being taken seriously during his job interview. This is the beginning of Gilb Baldoza's Kontrolado ni Girly ang Buhay N'ya (Girly is in Control of His Life), a  harrowing look into the life of Girly, a member of the LGBTQIA+ community, trying to find a living in a third-world society where prejudice reigns.


We see Girly's life and world through his eyes; the camera, handheld and ever-roving fixates on Girly's perspective - we only see what he sees, what he hears. We are placed into Girly's shoes, his troubles and experiences are extended into ours as we watch the silver screen; his emotions and sense of helplessness felt, as he wanders trying to find a living in a world unwilling to accept him. With increasing efforts made to advocate for the LGBTQIA+ community, films like Girly is in Control of His Life are necessary endeavors to represent the community and enlighten the masses of their various struggles.

Director Gilb Baldoza has taken the time to answer a few questions about his short film. *Spoilers


SINdie: What about the subject matter attracted you to tell this story? Was there anything personal within the narrative that compelled you? 

Gilb Baldoza: This film is actually my thesis film, and during that time (Early 2018), it was the surge of the #MeToo movement and I was very much inspired by the bravery of women coming forward to fight amidst the crises. And this film is more like a manifesto; that these struggles of abuse also occurs to the members of LGBTQIA+, and we join them in strength and courage. On a personal level, and being a queer man myself, I am devoted to tell the narratives of the third-world queers; the raw and human depiction of 'Girly', as he searches for a job and hope is very much close to my heart.

How was the casting process like? I imagine with the intensity of the story, it must have been difficult finding suitable cast members. 

As a realist filmmaker, I scrutinize the casting at a higher level compared to other aspects of filmmaking -- I believe that a single miscast can ruin the whole world I had been building within the film. I remembered that it took us a month or two just to complete the casting, the most difficult would be the 'Girly' character. We posted some casting calls online and we called for leads and supporting roles, but we had only been satisfied by a few people, mainly because I was really picky as a director. With only a month left, and after already 3 audition days, and we still did not have an actor for 'Girly'. But one time, I went to a theater play, and I saw this actor on-stage. He wasn't really the most beautiful or the most talented, but it just felt like, 'He's my Girly'. I immediately called my producer and said 'We got our Girly'. I talked to the actor (Marcus) and then I showed him the script, and then he found the character very human. To which he was very eager to play. He found the necessity to realize the character of Girly, and the rest is history.


Were there any particular filmmakers or films that really influenced your work in the film? What were they and how did they influence the film? 

I see myself as an amalgamation of the Dogme 95 filmmakers and of the Southeast Asian and Asian modern filmmakers — from the Dardenne Brothers, Andrea Arnold to Apitchatpong Weerasethakul and Wong Kar Wai. In particular, for the film Girly, I believe I was heavily influenced by Dardenne Brothers’ “Rosetta” for it's character-centric narrative and humanism, and Andrea Arnold’s “Fish Tank” on it's visual poetry and vulnerable perspective.

Did you have any concerns during or before the production of the film?

Nothing dramatic. Though, as this was a thesis film, we were expected to produce our own film financially and holistically. Fortunately, Martin Mayuga, whom I met during a festival runway before, sent me a message through Facebook saying that he wanted to produce a short film of mine. I sent him my script and he produced it. I'm very thankful I met Martin at the right time.


There was a particularly graphic scene in the film where the main character gets raped, was it awkward or tough to depict the scene? 

I have, of course, discussed the scene with the cast and crew during the pre-production phase. I am very blessed to have a professional crew work with me in this film as it made the whole shoot at ease. Shooting the scene wasn't awkward or tough, but it was heavy as we were all empathizing with Girly, and feeling the heavy-handedness of the scene.


How did you arrive at the use of the handheld camera for this film? Why the 4:3 Aspect Ratio?  

Coming from UP Film Institute, I learned cinematographic techniques, how and when to use them. The use of 4:3 aspect ratio is to give a claustrophobic feeling as a representation of Girly's world full of layers of oppression -- from social inequality, homophobia, rape, sexual harassment, poverty, etc. I have used handheld, tight camera shots as my directorial signature. I believe that using the handheld effects makes the camera perspective very human, contrasting with the Hollywood style of using stable shots in order to mimic a god-like perspective over the characters. The shakiness and the instability of the perspective immerses the audience to what's happening before their very eyes as if saying that the struggles of Girly is beyond real -- it is happening right now and it could happen to you or anyone around you.


Kontrolado ni Girly ang Buhay N'ya (Girly is in Control of His Life) has recently been screened at Cinemalaya and has won Best Screenplay in the short feature film category.

The interview responses from Gilb Baldoza have been edited for clarity.

Interview by Timothy Ong

Cinemalaya 2019 Pitstop: 'Sa Gabing Tanging Liwanag ay Paniniwala' by Francis Guillermo

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This chilling psycho-horror short film tell a story about the disappearances of people and their identities. Dylan, the son of the town captain Soliman, had seen the missing people and knows where they are. But when Soliman and other townsmen began their search, Dylan knew that they might suffer the same fate. But when the search failed and Soliman made his way home and as days passed, Soliman’s team would come across bodies that seems to have no souls. Then one dark evening, Dylan knew Soliman had made it home, but it wasn’t his father. 

This short film Sa Gabing Tanging Liwanag by Francis Guillermo is also a political allegory on effect of the Marcos regime on the disappearance of people and their loss of identities. Inspired by the Philippine Mythological Folklore of Tambal, a creature who copies an individual while it leads its victim deep into the woods, the film questions and explores the mystery and fear surrounding the loss of identities and access to truths during the Martial Law.

The film competed in the Short Feature category at Cinemalaya, which celebrates its 15th year in existence this year. Just like in previous years, 10 original feature films and 10 short films were in competition for top honours in the film festival. For the first time in history this year, Cinemalaya went on the road across the Philippines, bringing its screening programme to Pampamga, Ilo Ilo, Legazpi, Naga, Bacolod, Davao and of course Manila. 


SINdie spoke with Francis for some insight into his mysterious film. Here is our interview.

What was the inspiration for the film?

The film was made under my Cinema 2 course in Far Eastern University during the final year of my Communication Degree.  We had to make a short film as one of the final requirements before graduating. But 2 years before the Cinema 2 course happened, I’ve already wrote the script during my Scriptwriting class. O

ne inspiration and origin of that script is the idea that not many young people of the current generation talks about the old fantasy/mythical creatures of the Philippine Culture. During my young years I would fancy hearing about different creatures that would run my imagination with fear and curiosity. But I’ve noticed that most of these stories are no longer being told as much as they were. 

There used to be countless films and TV episodes about these creatures but now, as the world moves forward to more technological things and different points of interests, it felt for me that these wonderful creatures are starting to fade.  



Are there contexts regarding this film that viewers from outside of Philippines may not understand immediately?

There are four contexts within the film that readers from outside of the country may or may not know. And it is sad to say that even my own countrymen might not know these contexts very well either. I’ll start off with the creature. The creature in the film is the Philippines’ version of doppelganger. It is called ‘Tambal’. It is a creature that has no definite form and lives within the forest, constantly looking for victims. The Tambal, usually taking the form of its previous victims, would gain a person’s trust and lure them deep into the woods. The Tambal creature would then copy the physical form of its victim and could do whatever it pleases with the purpose of being able to live as a human within our human world.  

The second and third is from the old Spanish Colonization Years  and the Philippine Martial Law under the Dictator Ferdinand E. Marcos. During the 1972 Martial Law, there were many reports of various disappearances within the country. While during the Spanish Colonization, these stories about creatures of the night were created by different priests in order to hide and create a terrifying explanation about the kidnappings and death of those who opposes their system. All of this Philippine Culture and History has led to the creation of this story which indirectly reflects to the intended fourth context, the current Philippine problem of Fake News. 

During my rewriting stages of the concept, the biggest concern of my country was the various killing under President Duterte’s Drug war, where most killings had no reasonable truth. In my imaginative mind, what is happening during the Drug War and how these deaths were being masked as death of “drug dealers” or “drug addicts” and the lack of the truth to the many deaths and even disappearances of people is quite similar and reflective to the story that I was going for. So I thought why not mix it all up since the current Leader of our country seems to like to keep us lost and spinning in circles in what is truly happening.

The reason why I said that even my own countrymen might not now these context is that because a lot of Filipino people are actually falling for the fake information from the killings of the present and a lot of Filipino people had seem to be forgetting about the past history of Martial Law. It is as if the current President is some sort of Tambal rewriting the past and the present.




What was the production process and challenges you faced, considering this was a final year project?

The production process was really a problematic one. But film making is crisis management so we had to do what we had to do. The film was shot in the city of Tarlac and the production had to happen within 24 hours. And as you can see, majority of the film setting happened late at night. So we had to start around four in the afternoon due to actor schedules, and we wrapped up around 10 in the morning the next day. And even with that schedule, a few parts from the script were omitted since the budget can no longer afford another day.  

Apart from the Production struggle, it was harder to convince the crew to work on such a gruesome schedule given that not everybody in my thesis group was a Cinema enthusiast. But I’m glad to have gained a lot of trust and support from these people that led to the creation of this film.

The film raises more questions than answers but tis there a point to keeping much of the film vague and opaque?

 Belief as the Light in Darkness had one question that lead to many. The question was “in a world that turned into darkness, which light would you believe in?” I want the people to watch the film and not understand. But I want them to feel it creeping in. The fear of not knowing what it is. The fear of not knowing what’s wrong. The fear of knowing nothing yet knowing something isn’t right. 
The fear of knowing that the more they chose to not understand, the more nothing is being done with it, and the more it gets worse. With the hope that maybe, with the questions, they’d stand and ask, and ask, and find a reasonable answer and solution to the truth of what is really going on. We are losing people, we are forgetting culture, and we no longer understand the truth. I want people to feel like they are lost in the woods. Victimized by what they do not know, or what they thought they did.


What has the response been so far from Cinemalaya?

I’ve been hearing and reading mixed reviews. I remember during the early cuts of the film, one of my creative consultants Director Jet Leyco asked me if I wanted the film to be narrative or if I wanted the film to be more about “pakiramdam” which roughly translate as feeling. And I told him I don’t want people to understand, I want them to feel it. 

He then responded that it is a good film, and that he liked it, but I had to accept and endure beforehand that not many people are going to like it. And he was right. A lot of people are rating my film the lowest out of the rest of the shorts, and I’m not surprised.  But from time to time I do meet people who commend the film. Regardless of feedback I appreciate every review and perspective. These reviews show me the holes I need to fill in for my future films that will all hone my cinema into the beauty I dreamt of it to be.

How would you describe the film to others? Was there something you were working towards such as genre?

I would want to describe it as a horror film but not the horror that people are accustomed to. A part of me would like to consider it a thriller, and sometimes I would even call it out as fantasy. Some colleagues even go as far as calling it art house. The exact genre that I would call it would never end in one single definite genre. I guess we can say that perhaps the film is as indefinite as the creature within it.



What was the research or inspiration for the project?

There are roughly not enough research about the Tambal. I had to work with one little photo that you can find in google when you search for Tambal Creature. The rest I had to imagine and create in my mind. What they look like, the characteristics that differ from humans, how the victims disappear, how they sound etc. and I think that’s the beauty in Cinema. It’s really limitless. 

The inspiration is something personal. There are hundreds of other creatures in Philippine Culture, but the Tambal somehow caught my interest more than the rest of the bunch. I find myself in the stage of life where I am still deciding my own voice, my own perspective of the world, my own identity. And upon recalling the scary creatures told back then, the Tambal was something that caught my attention. Because in a way, a Tambal wants to be someone of his own. I do too.

Interview by Rifyal Giffari

About Francis Guillermo

On the 21st of September of 1996, a peculiar child was born with primary complex and an urge to never remain at one point. Despite growing up as if the world ran out of air to give, this child never remained still and never saw the world stop. Until one day, he met the Cinemas. Inside where the temperature was different and the surrounding was meant to drown you in darkness, the whole world stopped for three hours as he slowly swims into a new, unidentified, and unfamiliar world. Today he lives in Quezon City, Philippines and has learned to create worlds, bend time, and create fictions to share (and even to keep to his own), within the countless corners of Cinema. Within arm’s reach of the current generation and the next generation of Filipino film makers, Francis Guillermo aims to become a prominent film maker of his own generation.

An Interview with Sean Ng on 'A Golden Mile'

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Sean Ng's short film 'A Golden Mile' (available on Viddsee, scroll down to watch it!) will likely strike a chord with many Singaporeans. The film is best viewed knowing the context within which it has been made, such that it becomes an addendum to the preservation-vs-progress argument which often arises in Singapore. 

Golden Mile Complex (GMC) is best known for its ‘seedy reputation, gaudy discos, and Thai restaurants’. In 2018, a debate about conserving Singapore’s post-independence buildings was sparked in the news and on the internet when it was announced that GMC, built in the 1960s, would be put up for en bloc (sale) where it might be demolished to make way for new buildings. Since then, there have been two unsuccessful en bloc attempts, and chances are that GMC will stay for now, especially since the Urban Redevelopment Authority has issued planning advice to developers that the main 16-storey building and facade is subject to conservation, which has dampened the chances of the building being sold. While GMC stands tall for now, other buildings with iconic facades and architecture such as Pearl Bank Apartments have since been demolished. 



Shot in one day and on location at GMC, ‘A Golden Mile’ explores both personal and collective grief. Roy (Benjamin Goh) lost his mother recently and he collects a bulky box of his old belongings from his previous apartment in GMC before meeting up with his friends for an awkward reunion after not seeing them for months. The box stays by his side throughout dinner and as he accompanies his friends to a Thai club in the upper levels of GMC. Roy keeps asking his friends, “What should I do with the box?” and debating whether to keep it. There is a sense that he needs to decide how to move forward from his loss. At the club, he meets a Thai hostess named Dow (Sunthari Chotipun), one of the Thai immigrants for whom GMC is home. At the club, tensions between Roy and his brash friend David (Lucas Lim) also rise to the surface. 

Other than portraying the uneasy push-pull between progress and loss, as well as the difficulty of finding a path forward, the film—to some extent—acts as a visual documentation of GMC as it has been shot on location. As the credits roll, there are shots of GMC’s corridors, façade, and fixtures. Visual documentation of Singapore's buildings is not new. Photographer Darren Soh has been capturing Singapore’s built landscape for more than a decade. For example, he repeatedly returns to the block of flats he lived in from age 0 to 5 to take photographs of it. His reason? “I keep going because I’m afraid, one day, they’ll just announce that it’s going to go.” He has also documented other buildings which are now gone, such as Rochor Centre and Pearl Bank Apartments, and keeps an eye out for en bloc announcements.

Amidst the outpouring of sentimentality for GMC and other Brutalist-style buildings on the figurative guillotine, GMC resident Ritz Ang was not sure if it should be preserved due to maintenance issues. He also pointed out the u-turn in attitudes towards GMC, saying, “The moment people find out that it’s going to be gone, all of a sudden it’s a heritage thing. But 10 years ago, nobody gave a shit about this place. People would tell you, ‘oh, be wary of this place’,” he said, referring to the building’s reputation as a sleazy haunt.  

Was the former public indifference towards GMC a sign of hypocrisy, or one of not appreciating what we have until it’s gone? SINdie further discussed 'A Golden Mile' with director Sean Ng below.

SINdie:Why did you and your co-writer, Kristen Ong, choose Golden Mile Complex as the setting? 
Sean Ng: As the brief we were tackling was under the theme of 'real estate', we chose Golden Mile as it is one of the few places in Singapore that we still do find authentic today, which is hard to come by these days. In contrast to the ‘cookie-cutter’ malls Singapore has to offer; the food, the people, the architecture - Golden Mile Complex holds a very special place in my view towards Singapore, for what it represents and gives. And with the idea of enbloc looming, we thought it's the right time to use Golden Mile as a setting. 



How did you approach the topic of grief—both collective and individual? 
Through this film what we were trying was to focus on the fact that memories shape us. It is a subtle thing, but we tried to parallel the human loss and grief with the similar concerns towards the tearing down of an important building. We didn't want to force the narrative and themes too much, but just provide a little place for some reflection. 

The box which Roy carries throughout the evening and David’s reaction to it suggests that some things must be given up or left behind in order to move forward. What are your thoughts on the relationship between progress and loss? 
The box and the idea of memories to me really defines who we are for most parts. I believe it's human nature to always want better, hence the constant desire for progress and growth. But I think sometimes if we kill ourselves too much for the sake of progress, we need to slow down a little. With loss being inevitable too on many fronts, I guess we have to learn to strike balances that also weigh humanistic and sentimental values. 

David is the most conventionally successful character, being a lawyer, and he is also the most antagonistic and unsympathetic. What were your thoughts when writing him and the group dynamics? 
We skewed him in a way to somehow be the very familiar voice of reason, the voice of Singapore. His opinions towards Roy’s box are very much how we see Golden Mile Complex. We made him the advocate of progress and logic - a character who overlooks sentimental values. We always hear this voice and it has become the norm, and wanted the audience to get a chance to hear ourselves. 

You composed the film’s original music with Nigel Tan. What were some considerations when composing for this film? 
This was our first collaboration, and we felt it was a good project to start with as it we both felt that we simply wanted to fill in the gaps and not make it too emotionally manipulative. The direction was to be there to guide the audience through the reality and not make things too forthcoming. 

Tell us about some of the challenges faced when making this film. 
We shot this in one day and it was quite a rush! Alongside that, we were shooting at real operating business outlets, so we had a very strict schedule to adhere to. We also shot it on a Friday, and had a lot of crowds to avoid. It was challenging but fun.

Catch 'A Golden Mile' on Viddsee below:


Written by Jacqueline Lee

ShoutOUT! 3rd Malaysian Film Festival in Singapore opens on 29 August

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Crossroads: One, Two, Jaga 

Every year, the Malaysian Film Festival in Singapore showcases some of the best and well-travelled Malaysian feature films over the year at the Old Parliament House (the Arts House). This year, it will run from 29th August to 1st September 2019. The festival is organized by DMR Productions which produces CausewayExchange (CEX), a 10-year old exchange festival between Singapore and Malaysia that provides a platform for creative industries from both Singapore and Malaysia to share their work, network and explore new possibilities. Here is the film line-up:

Paskal 

 

Naval unit Paskal is Malaysia’s special elite force. But all bets are off when one of its own stages a hijacking. Based on true events. 


Crossroads: One, Two, Jaga 


In Kuala Lumpur, an abused domestic worker Sumiati tries to escape to Indonesia, while an idealistic policeman Hassan insists on fighting corruption – at a heavy price. 


Shun Pong O 


In Nanyang fishing village, lives a girl who loves Korean culture. She then meets and falls in love with a South Korean man. He brings hope and joy to her imperfect reality, even as he faces his biggest fear. However, an incident at the village transformed him, turning him multilingual. 


Rise: Ini Kalilah 


Following the lives of everyday people, coming together for one common love – Malaysia – six interrelated tales set during the frantic days leading up to the nation’s most important election ever. Each story that unfolds shows what it means to be a true Malaysian – respect, hope, standing up for yourself, fighting for your rights, redemption, and building the future. 


Vedigundu Pasangge 


Village boy Theva is stuck in a huge twisted situation and comes into realisation that everything surrounding him is shrouded in a pool of mystery. Things take a bad turn for him thanks to his innocence and ignorance of the true colors of Boss. 


光 Guang 


Guang is the inspirational story of Wen Guang, an autistic young man who struggles to integrate in a society that discriminates against him. Even with his brother’s help, Wen Guang finds it difficult to hold a decent job. One day, his prodigious talent for music emerges. 

The festival will also feature a panel discussion titled 'Common Genes of a Genre: Malaysia and Singapore' and talks by the directors of some of the featured films.  


Common Genes of a Genre: Malaysia and Singapore
A forum discussion
31 August 2019 
10.30am – 12.00pm 
Screening Room @ The Arts House, 1 Old Parliament Ln, Singapore 
General Admission $5 (refundable)
There is buzz of shared markets, coproduction’s and creative collaborations in both Malaysia and Singapore, each teeming with filmmaking talent. Genre filmmaking, on the international stage has also seen some common interest and demand at festivals and markets. Are genre films a potential breakout opportunity for both Malaysia and Singapore? With ‘common genes’ such as shared folklore, colonial histories and market demographics, do opportunities present themselves for Malaysia and Singapore to take on genre filmmaking successfully? In chasing for the visceral and the sensational, are filmmakers then misrepresenting the cinemas of their respective cultures? 

Visit the festival page for more information.




Ho Yuhang's Shorts: A Black and White Alter-ego

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 Trespassed
 
Malaysian filmmaker Ho Yuhang hated the colour of images from digital cameras, which led him to keep his short films in black in white. Then the aesthetics of it, with the use of some lighting for accents, grew on him. Indeed, the Asian Film Archive’s showcase of Ho Yuhang’s short films under its ‘SEA of Sadness’ programme, was a study of raw emotions and a stripped-down gaze at the filmmaker’s mental notes outside his more formal genre feature-length works.

Monochrome aesthetics aside, what binds his short films is an acute sensitivity to human dialogue patterns, and the conversations we have between each other and in our heads. As I Lay Dying explores existential themes through the whimsical mind and eyes of a little boy who caught a fever in a rain. In his bed-ridden state, the boy tries to make sense of the world around him, including his visualisation of a moving ceiling, his dreams of running through the forest and seeing a lake’s reflection and his mother’s incredulous story about how he will never perish in his mother’s universe because should he die, she can always create another ‘him’ out of the same tender, loving care. In a parallel fashion, through the film’s strategically-lit monochrome mise-en-scene, we are led to make sense of the film’s tonal register as it dances between the whimsical and the minimalistic. With its sensitive touch and attention to minutiae, the film is very much an intent gaze at simple mother-child moment. But ambushed somewhere in between the childlike sensibilities of the boy, are questions about mortality that hit somewhere close to home.

The second film in the collection, Open Verdict, takes the black and white aesthetics to a different tempo. A neo-noir hybrid of a thriller and comedy, the film seems genre-embracing at first glance but on closer examination reveals more of Yuhang’s mastery of dialogue. Call it uncanny timing, but the short features a group of Hong Kong policemen who receive a tip from the Malaysian police that a fugitive on the run has reached the shores of Hong Kong. On the same timeline, a man lugs an unusually heavy suitcase into a dinghy motel, that sees the unmistakable Kara Hui (on the cusp of her screen comeback) as a housekeeper nosing over the mysterious guest with her younger colleague. Shot in frames noticeably tighter than the usual crime flick, the film is low on action and high on off-tangential and perhaps intentional conversation. The policemen from both countries spend more than half their time in discussions about race and nationality with one Malaysian cop repeatedly trying to clarify to his Hong Kong peer that he is Malaysian and not Malay. Meanwhile, a bit more action takes place at the motel where the two lady housekeepers play a cat and mouse game with the mysterious guest. Sensibly-timed editing saves the film from being too pretentious and performance was rather uneven across the cast. And watching the film, one cannot stop imagining what kind of an animal the film would have become if it was filmed with a post-Golden Horse Kara Hui.

Aku is a short film based on a painting, commissioned by National Gallery Singapore. Five award-winning Southeast Asian directors were asked to produce an omnibus called Art Through Our Eyes, in which they were asked to base a short film on a painting. Malaysian artist Latiff Mohidin’s work Aku is a portrait of Indonesian painter Chairil Anwar. In Yuhang’s film, a soldier finds himself lost in an unfamiliar field in the middle of nowhere and a stranger comes to his memory’s rescue. Made in the style of pre-WWI silent films, the film assumes the hybrid look of a 60s Cathay-Keris film set in a kampung with undertones of an Antonioni-esque surrealism. Unfortunately, it was hard to see much beyond the film’s borrowed stylistics but perhaps one needs to gain a better appreciation of Aku on canvas to see the true colours, pardon the pun, in Aku on screen.

Because the fifth film in the retrospective faced hurdles in its rating process, the screening stopped at the fourth film, which dug deep in the hearts of the audience and left a gaping wound. Trespassed which won the FT/OppenheimerFunds Emerging Voices award, is a harrowing tale of loss, grief and what ifs, anchored by the actress with the Midas touch Yeo Yann Yann. Reprising tropes of mother-child relationships and sharing of pillow space, as seen in As I Lay Dying, Trespassed seems like an updated version of the earlier short but with a darker turn. A young girl, overcome by the disappearance of her father, lapses into a semi-vegetative and possessed state. The film then follows her mother on a desperate journey of exorcism, from the church to the village bomoh. A less nuanced film than As I Lay Dying, Trespassed employs the monochrome aesthetics to a different effect - emotional rawness. Taking us on a linear narrative journey from love to loss to lunacy, the film grips you by the invested performances of the mother-daughter leads. Yeo Yann Yann has mastered the art of playing the troubled mum to perfection so much that anything less than her presence, this film may not hold its weight. The film also enthralls us with bits of genre-ambiguity on its edges, beguiling us with the mystery behind the girl’s ill state, a touch of satire in church, a touch of horror with the bomoh and a whiff of fantasy for closure. 

Review by Jeremy Sing

Ho Yuhang’s Shorts were screened under the Asian Film Archive’s SEA of Sadness programme, curated by senior programmer at the Rotterdam International Film Festival, Gertjan Zuilhof. The films selected for the programme include original work produced in Southeast Asia over the last two decades. The sadness indicated in the title of the programme does not mean only that the films are concerned with sadness as an emotion, but also that they are sensitive, personal, and made with genuine feeling, delving deep into the memories and hopes of the people in the countries they were made in.

Identity Issues dominate at the 2019 Singapore National Youth Film Awards

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The award-winning films of 2019 the National Youth Film Awards (NYFA) all had in common a search for identity, an exploration that encompassed both personal and national identity. This year, 38 nominees were shortlisted from the 446 submissions received by a judging panel that included industry stalwarts such as famed Malaysian actressturned-director Sharifah Amani, and new jury member Looi Wan Ping, Cinematographer, who also worked as Associate Producer on feature film Revenge Of The Pontianak, now showing in theatres. A total of 15 winning films were then selected across the Media Student and Open Youth categories. NYFA is jointly organised by *SCAPE and the Singapore International Film Festival (SGIFF). 

Media Student Winners 

With continued participation of students from across institutes of higher learning in Singapore, NYFA is widely acknowledged as a distinguished platform that recognises the raw talent of media students and helps launch their film aspirations. 


Li Kayue, an NTU undergraduate, was awarded Best Live Action for Foul Ball (picture above), a film that powerfully depicts the value of resilience, showcasing this year’s theme the enduring spirit of youth. 

LASALLE College of the Arts also took home huge winnings with Best Documentary going to Mei Fong Lin, for Pigeonhole, a documentary centred around the intersecting lives of two seniors citizens. LASALLE also clinched the Best Sound Design with horror film Farah, in which a tragedy that divides the family leads to terrifying consequences, and Best Art Direction with animation To Be Apart that follows the humourous exploits of a pigeon as he attempts to find a home with a flock of mynahs. 


Balance

Best Animation was awarded to Balance by NTU undergraduate Raymond Limantara Sutisna for its use of masterful animation techniques that elevated its modest storyline. 

Open Youth Winners

Through NYFA’s continuous commitment towards supporting and recognising young filmmaking talent beyond schools is demonstrated through its second run of the Open Youth category. Four short films stood out, as they reflect Singapore’s young film practitioners’ commitment towards challenging themselves on all aspects of filmmaking and consistently honing their craft. 

You Idiot

SIN-SFO

Kris Ong’s You Idiot emerged as the biggest Open Youth winner of the night, with Best Editing, Best Cinematography and Best Original Music. Best Live Action and Best Director were awarded to Leon Cheo for his film SIN-SFO, while Trespass: Stories from Singapore's Thieves Market, took home the Best Documentary and Best Sound Design awards. Returning NYFA participant Jerrold Chong scored Best Animation and Best Art Direction with ambitious sci-fi animation Automatonomy, making him NYFA’s Best Animation winner for two years running. 


Trespass: Stories from Singapore's Thieves Market

Automatonomy

Earning a Special Mention and Best Screenplay in the Open Youth category is Alvin Lee’s A Time for Us, with their all-rounded excellence in art direction, cinematography and screenplay, 

A slate of past winning films is now available for viewing on HOOQ, a video on-demand streaming service. Many of these carefully curated films were made by first-time filmmakers from Temasek Poly, Ngee Ann Poly, LASALLE, and NTU. 


SCAPE Mentorship Pilot 

As part of *SCAPE’s commitment to nurture youth talents, NYFA will be launching a mentorship pilot to offer past participants and interested youths an opportunity to learn and hone their craft with the industry’s veteran filmmakers. Experienced filmmakers such as Boris Boo, M. Raihan Halim, Juan Foo, Nicole Midori Woodford, Yahssir M., Jeremy Chua, and Andrew Ngin are among the filmmaker-mentors set to nurture and guide these youths in producing their next short film. 

Here are the results:

Open Youth Category 

SIN-SFO by Leon Cheo – Best Director and Best Live Action 
Automatonomy by Jerrold Chong – Best Animation 
Trespass: Stories from Singapore's Thieves Market by OKJ – Best Documentary and Best Sound Design 

Media Student 

Foul Ball by Kayue Li, Nanyang Technological University – Best Live Action 
Balance by Raymond Limantara Sutisna Nanyang Technological University – Best Animation 
Pigeonhole by Mei Fong Lim, LASALLE College of the Arts – Best Documentary 

Best Actor – Ayden Liow Jiaxian, "Adam" by Junxian Shoki Lin 
Best Actress – Yuslina Binte Muhamad Yusof, "A Spectacular Sight" by Rifyal Giffari

Revenge of the Pontianak: An Interview with Glen Goei and Gavin Yap

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Mina (Nur Fazura) is the pontianak
In 1957, Cathay-Keris Productions premiered a film that would establish a new staple in Southeast Asian cinema. That film was Pontianak, directed by B. Narayan Rao. As its eponymous title suggests, the film was based upon the Malay folklore of a vengeful vampire spirit born from a woman's death during or after childbirth. 

In the decades to come, Pontianak would spawn a cascade of sequels, remakes, and retellings. It has since become synonymous with cinema in the region. Even after 60 years, the spirit of the pontianak horror genre continues to live on. This year, the spirit returns to the silver screen in Glen Goei and Gavin Yaps' new feature, Revenge of the Pontianak.



Glen Goei

Gavin Yap
Goei is probably best known as one of the region's leading theatre practitioners. He has ventured into filmmaking in the past, with features such as Forever Fever (1998) and Blue Mansion (2009) under his belt. Revenge of the Pontianak not only marks his first horror film, but his return to feature filmmaking after a 10 year hiatus. His collaborator, Yap, is no stranger to filmmaking either. As a director-actor, Yap has been active in the Malaysian filmmaking scene, with dramas such as Take Me to Dinner (2014) and, recently, another horror film titled KL:24 Zombies (2017). 

Besides spawning a genre, the Pontianak films seem equally responsible for spawning an early interest in filmmaking for many directors in the region. This could not be more true for Goei and Yap. In an email interview with SINdie, Goei and Yap revealed how this project was their ode to a horror genre so dear to them and the region. Even the title itself alludes to Rao's 1957 Pontianak sequel, Dendam Pontianak, which literally translates to "revenge of the pontianak" in Malay.



Khalid (Remy Ishak)
The story revolves around Khalid (Remy Ishak) and Siti (Shenty Felizaina), who are preparing for their wedding in a village in Malaysia. The spirit of Khalid's past lover takes the form of a pontianak, Mina (Nur Fazura), who wants to exact revenge. Her arrival leads to a string of horrific and supernatural events that brings paranoia and fear to the village. Thus far, this may seem like the run-of-the-mill pontianak horror plot, but it is anything but.


Siti (Shenty Felizaina)


The pontianak
Where Goei and Yap depart from the traditional plot is the manner in which they explore the pathos of the titular character. As Yap expresses, "There’s a great sense of tragedy and sadness to the pontianak folklore that’s rarely explored." Their joint efforts to shine a new light on the pontianak character is a testament to how far the genre has come since the 1950s.

The interview with Glen Goei and Gavin Yap is appended below.

SINdie: Glen, Revenge of the Pontianak marks the first time you’re co-directing a feature. Why did you choose to co-direct, and what’s different about the creative process?


Goei: I chose to co-direct because the nature of the film is very demanding. First of all, we set the film in the 60s so art direction is a very important key component of the film since the film is a tribute to the golden era of Malay cinema in the 50s and 60s. Secondly, because a lot of the film is shot in a tropical rainforest, it meant that physically it would be demanding; and because it is a horror film, a lot of the scenes are overnight shoots. From all those angles, I felt that it would be better to have a co-director to share out the responsibilities.




Glen, as a theatre practitioner, what draws you to film as a medium? What does film offer you as opposed to theatre?

Goei: As a storyteller I want to have as many canvases to tell my stories. Theatre is one of the canvas and film being another one. So really, it is about having a different canvas to tell my stories. Film allows me to potentially reach out to a larger audience and to an audience which is beyond the shores of Singapore.

Also, Revenge of the Pontianak appears to be a departure from your more comedic films and theatrical works in the past. What motivated your venture into the horror genre?

Goei: I grew up on horror films especially the Pontianak films of the 50s and 60s because they were shown on repeat in the 70s on television. I really enjoy them and I wanted to pay tribute to that Pontianak genre and the golden age of Malay cinema. I felt that this very important folklore which is so integral in Southeast Asian culture is slowly disappearing and the younger generation have not been exposed to Pontianak films. So I wanted to make a film which would celebrate this folklore and make it accessible to the younger generation. 




Gavin, what do you think makes the Pontianak horror genre so unique, as compared to other horror sub-genres?

Yap: Probably because it’s ingrained in our own Southeast Asian culture. Most of us have either met someone who’s had an encounter or have spoken to someone who knows someone who’s seen one, etc. And so because of that, there’s a familiarity to it that kinda makes it more scary 'cause we feel close to it. I mean, when I’m driving down a dark road late at night and there are no other cars to be seen, in the back of my mind, I’m always expecting to see one, or hoping not to.

What makes Revenge of the Pontianak different from previous film adaptations of the Pontianak folklore?

Yap: With this film, we wanted to go deeper into her backstory. There’s a great sense of tragedy and sadness to the Pontianak folklore that’s rarely explored, so we really wanted to bring that out with this film. To see things from her perspective and to humanise her. 


Mina and Khalid dancing

What do you think makes horror so alluring?

Yap: Horror provides the kind of visceral experience that most other genres can’t come close to. Plus there’s something strangely fun about getting the crap scared out of you, particularly when it’s a shared experience with other horror fans in a packed cinema. It allows us to dip our toes into a darker world for a couple of hours.

Ultimately, what do you want viewers to get out of Revenge of the Pontianak?

Yap: First and foremost, I hope that they’ll be entertained and moved by the film. But I also hope that this will reintroduce the Pontianak to a new generation of movie-goers and perhaps make them re-evaluate their perception of who and what a Pontianak is.

Revenge of the Pontianak premiered in Singapore on 29 August 2019.

Written by Charlie Chua

ShoutOUT! FreedomFilmFest 2019: Harga Naik, Gaji Maintain // The Fight for Everyday Survival

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FreedomFilmFest (FFF), Malaysia's only human rights documentary film festival is back this year. With more than 30 diverse line-up of films from around the world, the festival is returning to PJ Live Arts, Jaya One in Petaling Jaya. Happening for one week, from 21 till 28 September, FFF will show the latest award-winning films, highlighting the best of local, regional and international filmmakers. 

Malaysia once dreamed of achieving developed nation status in 2020. However, one year away from 2020, Malaysia is still trapped in middle-income country status. In fact, most Malaysians face a rising cost of living while wages remain low or stagnant. This economic reality inspired FFF to develop this year's theme: “Harga Naik, Gaji Maintain” (“Soaring Prices, Stagnant Wages”). Through this year’s film selection, FFF hopes to provide insight into the root causes of inequality. The film festival goers can look forward to watching how the global community have found plenty of creative ways to respond to capitalism and other human rights issues. 


Demi Paymitra

FFF is also proud to present four Malaysian films that tackle this year’s theme in unconventional ways. The issue of urban child poverty is made concrete with Demi Paymitra, a film by Azreen Madzlan. While Albert Bansa’s Pengidup Aku, an Iban language film, looks at the struggle of a single father who must leave his young son behind in their longhouse to work in town. In Bila Kami Bersatu, Minxi Chua and Asyraf Abdul Samad document the untold and inspiring stories of women hospital cleaners from around Malaysia who unionised to secure their rights. Our fourth Malaysian film by Andrew Han examines the connection between environmental and income issues faced by fishing communities in Penang, in Doa Seorang Nelayan. 


Doa Seorang Nelayan

This year’s opening film Push, directed by award-winning filmmaker Fredrik Gertten, features Leilani Farha, the UN Special Rapporteur on Adequate Housing who investigates how global finance is fueling the housing crisis and making cities unaffordable to live in. Fredrik Gertten will be in Kuala Lumpur to present his film and will join a panel discussion on the movement for housing rights after the screening. 



Youth Perspectives 

This year’s festival will also put the spotlight on youth perspectives. There will be a showcase of nine student films from Malaysia and Singapore related to the theme. The best film will win our Student Film Award. 

Young festival-goers should not miss Everything Must Fall, directed by Rehad Desai, which documents the 2015 student-led #FeesMustFall movement in South Africa. This film demonstrates the power that comes from collective organizing that embraces intersectionality to create lasting change. 

Another relevant film to the younger generation is the winner of the prestigious South by South West Film Festival 2018 Grand Jury Award for documentary feature, People’s Republic of Desire, by Hao Wu. The documentary takes the viewer into the lucrative and exploitative world of YY.com, a NASDAQ-listed Chinese social media site focused on live video streaming. According to Variety, the film is also “provocative and unsettling as it brings us on a guided tour through the digital marketplace for something resembling human contact.” 

People’s Republic of Desire


Gender Inequality 

FFF 2019 will also feature films that center inspiring women fighting to overcome gender inequality and sexual violence. Mother, Daughter, Sister by Jeanne Hallacy tells the story of ethnic minority women in Myanmar, while A Thousand Girls Like Me by Sahra Mani documents a determined Afghan woman's fight to bring her father who raped her to justice, even as family members threaten to kill her. 


Mother, Daughter, Sister

Events 

FFF is also excited to add a thematic “Art Battle Malaysia” to our programming this year. Eight artists will have half an hour to paint their responses to the “Harga Naik, Gaji Maintain” documentaries in front of a live audience. On top of witnessing the magic of an art battle, the audience will have the chance to bid on the finished pieces! This event will take place on the opening day of the festival on 21 September from 1-2pm at The Square, on the ground floor of Jaya One. 

Along with the screenings, audiences can look forward to workshops and talks by our international guests, which include filmmakers Sean McAllister (A Northern Soul) and Ben Randall (Sisters For Sale), and Impact producer, Marion Guth (Zero Impunity). FFF2019 will also play host to a gathering of video activists from the region such as Indonesian film journalist Lexy Rambadeta, as well as activists from West Papua, Myanmar, Nepal and other countries. 

A selection of films from the FreedomFilmFest will be screened in and around the Klang Valley, Kuching, Kota Kinabalu, Ipoh, Muar, Johor Bahru and Singapore. 

Full details will be out on our website soon. For more information and updates on FFF2019, please go to: https://freedomfilm.my

Review: The Asian Three Fold Mirror: Journey (2018)

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A few months ago, we received a media invite to the witness the production of a certain new local film headlined by the fact that it is the first local horror film to feature three stories based on three modes of transport. When the invite for omnibus film, The Asian Three Fold Mirror: Journey (Journey) landed in our emails, I prayed that modes of transport would not define the film. Thankfully, this three-chapter road trip, which cuts through more than just geography, is anything but linear.


Meandering through the serene woods, there is nothing serene about the conversation that is happening between a mother and her daughter within the confines of the car cabin, as they cruise towards their destination. In The Sea, director Degena Yun heightens the idea of chamber drama through encasing two hot-headed characters in a small space. While both are making a trip to the sea to give the ashes of the father figure a final resting place, the mother cannot tolerate her daughter’s lackadaisical ways while the daughter abhors her mother’s relentless materialism. This is essentially the tale of a Chinese Tiger Mum whose claws fail to get a firm grip on her rebellious teenage ‘only-child’ daughter whose silence and blank expressions are her weapons of defiance.

The film’s emotional trajectory resembles a slow-cooker, with tensions fed by the grating voice of the mother whose words have no filter. Somehow, one gets a feeling this would build up to an entirely recognisable strain of hysterics displayed in viral social media videos of ‘Chinese women rage’. And the film does not disappoint in that regard. We get a meltdown payoff in the middle when the daughter can no longer bottle up her feelings and the two women erupt into a shouting match. Thankfully, the director is more nuanced in her approach and offers the observers a more framed look at the bickering between the two women, through cutaways and the use of glass reflection in the bedroom. In addition, Degena’s choice of inserting an abrupt private moment of the mother crying, hidden from her daughter’s view, is enlightening and enrichens the emotional equation between them, especially when the daughter sobs openly at the disposing of the ashes. In the sea’s embrace, their differences seem to suddenly drown into the overture of the waves.


Seemingly not wanting to break the aurally immersive experience left off by The Sea, the second short film by Daishi Matsunaga, Hekishu, continues to offer a poetically framed palette for the senses. If trivialised, the film can be called a ‘Lonely Planet’ take on a sub-tropical romance. After all, the film will remind anyone of Myanmar’s spell on its visitors, perhaps not of the golden pagoda kind in Rudyard Kipling’s poem ‘Mandalay’, but more of the rustic, village kind. The film has no shortage of richly-coloured cutaways of village life in Myanmar, with the dizzying array of mechandise at the markets, garishly-coloured fabrics billowing in the wind and men in their longyis scuttling in and out of the train cabins. However, the film speaks beyond just the wanderlust in all of us, exploring the psyche of villagers trapped by circumstances.


A Japanese businessman finds himself in a sticky situation with one foot in the shoes of a modern development messiah and the other in the flimsy slippers villagers tread the earth in. Not to be confused with an equally moppy-haired Japanese visitor in the tropics played by Takumi Saitoh in Eric Khoo’s Ramen Teh, this moppy-haired Japanese is involved in a major infrastructure project in Yangon that will lead to the demolition of existing villages and cause many to be homeless. While occupationally an intruder, the film portrays him more an ally, as he very much does what the Romans do, take their trains, walk their streets, and eat their food.



A chance encounter with a young girl at the textile market brings him one step deeper into the lives of these villagers whose homes will be destroyed by his project. He was shopping to make a traditional Burmese dress for his girlfriend and settled for a young petite seamstress. In rushing the job for him, they strike an accidental friendship, that through a chance encounter with her mother, leads to a dinner experience in her humble home. Something serendipitous then happens in the middle of dinner - the power goes off, the dining space becomes pitch black and then suddenly everyone starts singing ‘Happy Birthday’ as they bring out a candle in a bizarre response to a power outage situation. It’s just tradition when the lights go out, they say. But in his vantage point, it speaks volumes of a bittersweetness of being caught between many roles, that of a friendly foreign guest in a ‘Lonely Planet’ situation, a potential catch-of-a-husband to her daughter and the village-destroying industrialist lurking inside. 


Hekishu is a beautifully-photographed film that gloriously captures an off-beaten track view of Myanmar, right into the intimate confines of a home. But none of this beauty stands without the film’s deep sense of irony, a feeling that time will eventually consume it all. 


Indonesian Edwin’s short Variable No. 3 dances to a completely different beat from The Sea and Hekishu. As an oddball comedy, it eschews the heavy notions that are commonly associated with a theme like ‘journey’, such as loss, regret, fate. It is instead a walk in the park, and more specifically, a park of sexual discovery. The film follows an Indonesian couple who are tourists in a Japanese town and searching for what seems like an AirBnB abode. There is a sense of relief between them being in a foreign country, relishing in the serenity of the suburban neighbourhood (a respite from the traffic jams in Jakarta!), but there is also a sense of awkwardness between them, not least accentuated by the neck brace the husband is wearing, which restricts his movement and interaction with his wife. When they finally arrive and the abode and meet Kenji the tour guide and host, who turns out to be a fellow Indonesian, things were about to take on an even stranger turn. Kenji recommends some off-the-beaten track excursions, imposes some behavioural rules on the couple and engineers a [SPOILER ALERT] ménage à trois between him and the couple, all packaged in a sort of radical therapy for marriage. 


With tropes of reverse psychology and the playing of mind games reminiscent of Eyes Wide Shut, director Edwin finds his moments of truth in the film through an artificial construct. The characters, particularly the couple, are guarded in their interactions, which makes the rare moments of honesty akin to quenching a thirst. Obviously, sex served as a moment of catharsis for the couple, a moment of truth, but in most other moments, Edwin preseved a layer of ambiguity on their relationships and how it would evolve after Kenji’s therapy. Perhaps this is where we say in the omnibus that certain journeys are life-long and there is never a final stop.


The screening of The Asian Three Fold Mirror: Journey in Singapore on 7 September was organised by the Singapore Film Society and Japan Creative Centre. It premiered at the Tokyo International Film Festival last year and is the second omnibus after the inaugural piece was conceived in 2017.


Review by Jeremy Sing

Review: Revenge of the Pontianak (2019)

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In a village bordering a banana plantation in 1965 Malaysia, a wedding takes place between Khalid (Remy Ishak) and Siti (Shenty Felizaina). The morning after, they find their friend Rais (Tony Eusoff) dead, pinned on a tree. Disaster falls quickly upon the village, brought about by the return of Khalid’s old lover Mina (Nur Fazura) as a pontianak. 

In Revenge of the Pontianak, directors Glen Goei and Gavin Yap redefine the vicious image of the female vampire popular in Southeast Asian folklore by making her sympathetic and reasonable. Mina is out for blood, but her gait is solid and her motivations are plain. Despite her supernatural powers, Mina’s impulses belong to a spurned lover and mother. 


Scares are few in this horror film. Mina, gliding in with a red kebaya and champa flower, is too relatable to evoke fear – Goei and Yap’s landmark project to un-demonise the pontianak comes at the expense of palpitations and chills. It also risks making Mina’s cackles and spooks superfluous. 

Yet, Mina’s rationality appears in some ways irrational. Her calm, calculated approach of the village is difficult to reconcile with the “darkness” she says she has endured since dying. Her tenderness towards Nik (Nik Harraz Danish) is not accompanied by the reasonable madness of a mother who hasn’t seen her son in years. And what drove her to leave at the very end? The subtle turns in Mina’s emotional trajectory are not revealed, making it difficult to join the dots.  

Image result for revenge of the pontianak

The promise of a national allegory lurking behind the year of 1965 and a scene of the declaration of Malaysia’s independence on TV opens more possibilities for reading the film, but reading and watching at the same time also makes it taxing to imagine Mina as human. 

The rich, stylised visuals of the film paired with acting that was mainly naturalistic created some dissonance. Sometimes, the performance laboured under the dialogue. Different compositions demand on the audience different extents to which they should suspend disbelief, and I wasn’t sure how and when I should look one way or the other. 

Revenge of the Pontianak remains an innovative take on a popular folklore character. In a previous interview with SINdie, the directors shared that the film is an ode to a horror genre beloved in the region. Followers of the 1950s and 1960s Cathay-Keris and Shaw Brothers productions featuring the pontianak can relish in familiar tropes and new twists, and new audiences might be encouraged to dig into the archives for more of the tragic spirit. 

Written by Teenli Tan

Review: Normal Love - Shorts by Edwin

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Hulahoop Soundings 

‘“Normal Love”—we title this programme thus with a sense of irony, to say the least.’

So goes a sentence in the synopsis for a catalogue of Edwin’s short films, which rounded off a month of screenings under Asian Film Archive’s SEA of Sadness programme. This line, equal parts bold and bizarre, inevitably caught my fancy. As someone who regularly absorbs non-Hollywood cinema and considers herself fairly open to the occasional oddball of a film, I know that it would take a lot for fellow filmgoers to regard something as well-balanced on the tightrope of normalcy/strangeness. That they do not hesitate to call it “normal”, and then assess their judgment as ironic in one fell swoop, testifies to the successful integration of nuance in Edwin’s films.

It is with this consideration in mind that I settled myself into the now-familiar comforts of Oldham Theatre. When I emerged over an hour later, strung briskly along seven of the multi-hyphenate mastermind’s productions, it wasn’t difficult to see what the programming team had meant.

Variable No. 3 

The body of work exhibited here is fascinating. It begins on a realistic note with Variable No. 3 (2018) (though in hindsight this appraisal is made possible only by the appearance of indecipherable narratives later on) when a couple finds themselves on vacation in Tokyo. Soon, however, one begins to notice certain unconventions: not only is the Indonesian couple sexually liberated onscreen, they are also not bound to conservative Muslim-motivated portrayals. In other words, Edwin’s exploration of issues of intimacy, amongst them marriage and sexual taboos, has been carefully eviscerated from a religious context. I obsessed over this detail, which went on to prove itself a key feature in his subsequent short films.

At first, the obsession was self-reflexive. What does it say about me and the position I occupy in society that I find dissonance in watching sexually-charged depictions of Indonesian characters? What lens am I bringing with me into the cinema, consciously or otherwise, when I realise that these depictions shake me up though I identify as a social progressive? We often hear about film as a medium that holds up a mirror to ourselves; it absolutely delighted me that I should experience this so wholly and vividly here.

Later, the questions began projecting themselves outwards. One of the biggest questions I had was about the filmmaker’s distorted relationship with sex.

We often identify sex as the problem but this, Edwin proposes, is misguided. He argues that as a core facet of lived human subjectivity, sex is objective, neutral and universal. Per the programme title, it isn’t that love is the do-gooder and sex the devil in the dark; rather, sex springs from love, and what sex produces is irrevocably shaped by the love it had proceeded from.

Hulahoop Soundings

In Hulahoop Soundings (2008), Heidy suspects her boyfriend Nico has been bewitched by their colleague, Lana. Whether black magic is involved or not, the point is, the moments of sexual intimacy that arise between Lana and Nico are so much more powerful because of how intensely Nico desires her. When Heidy tries to rekindle their relationship by imitating Lana’s peculiar hula hoop antics in bed, Nico spares little more than polite disinterest. His love for Lana is all-consuming; it naturally follows that the sex should be bursting with passion.

Trip to the Wound

Likewise, the sexual encounter in Trip to the Wound (2008) is expectedly jarring. When Shila and Carlo meet on a bus one night, she plies him with stories about scars that she has collected, her enthusiasm overly palpable. However, it takes someone as daft and oblivious as Carlo to not realise that if he must trail his fingers up her legs to find her scar, then perhaps we are no longer talking only about scars in a physical sense. Since what could have been a pleasurable sexual encounter had issued from an invisible but traumatic part of Shila’s history, it becomes unavoidably bizarre.

Given these, it is easy to see why Variable No. 3 suggests a ménage à trois as the solution to a troubled marriage, particularly when both individuals in the marriage are unable to see the problems brewing beneath the surface. If a broken heart produces dysfunctional sex, and passionate lovemaking originates from fierce desire, then the only way to diagnose and cure one’s marriage troubles is to put it to a test—specifically, a sex test. Toss in a new variable. Shake things up. All truths will come to light.

It may sound like I’m at the apex of analysing Edwin’s films, but I have barely scratched the surface. The rest of his showcase—which also draws back further in time—veers into more unsteady ground. A Very Boring Conversation (2006) and A Very Slow Breakfast (2002) are two pieces that hint strongly at sexual relations that cross certain unquestioned boundaries. Meanwhile, Dajang Soembi, the Woman Who Was Married to a Dog (2004) is a silent film retelling of an Indonesian folktale with a clear Oedipal theme, Sangkuriang. What is apparent here is Edwin’s continual negotiation of his relationship with sex.

A Very Boring Conversation

A Very Slow Breakfast

Dajang Soembi, the Woman Who Was Married to a Dog

What I found most perturbing and prevailing throughout Normal Love was Edwin’s problematic portrayals of women and female sexuality. Sure, maybe they hint at his own issues with the feminine figure in his personal relationships, but I’m not interested in that. What I’m more concerned with is the aftermath of being seized by these rather vapid projections of women through his otherwise bold and innovative lens, and how that might inhibit the audience's understanding of what it means to challenge stereotypes in a conservative country.

For instance, just because a society considers it de rigeur for a woman to be cloaked in lengthy garments, doesn’t mandate that a liberal female, in contrast, must traipse around wintry foreign countries in a miniskirt and thigh-high boots. It would not do to free a woman from one stereotype only to pigeonhole her in another. Edwin’s female characters come across uncomfortably as stock characters and rarely have the opportunity to explore their interiorities, even when they are the lead character.

Male filmmakers traditionally have a history of failing to do justice to their female characters. Though my critique may come across as overwrought, it exists precisely because of the merits I recognise in Edwin’s stylistic quirks. His films are bold, experimental and deeply invigorating in a nearly saturated scene, where filmmakers often make the mistake of condensing what should be a feature-length story, or bisect a story so much it is essentially a prolonged snapshot. If we are going to talk about shattering stereotypes, let us not forget that the biggest faux pas to avoid making is a rule to be adhered to for good reason.

Review by Eisabess Chee

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