The Elephant and the Wins
Over the past weekend, a Malaysian movie won an award overseas. Roll out the kompang, beat the flag, wave the bunga manggar, or combinations thereof! But wait, it wasn’t one movie, it was two. No, I lie again (what’s wrong with me today?) It was three different movies.
All three were made on very low budgets (less than RM150,000 each) but managed to beat more expensively mounted productions from more developed countries, so this should make us feel all warm inside.
James Lee’s Before We Fall in Love Again won the Best ASEAN Feature Film award at the Bangkok International Film Festival. He had won the same award in the same festival two years ago for The Beautiful Washing Machine. Deepak Kumaran Menon’s Dancing Bells won the NETPAC (Network for the Promotion of Asian Cinema) Award at the Osian’s Cinefan Film Festival, New Delhi. And Woo Ming Jin’s The Elephant and The Sea won two separate awards at the inaugural Cinema Digital Seoul festival.
The first two movies have already received limited release in Malaysia. The third has never been seen here, which is why I want to talk about it.
The Elephant and The Sea marks a leap forward from Woo’s debut, Monday Morning Glory and also his “commercial” venture Salon. (The word is in quotes because the film did not actually make money). Many lesser people would have given up after Salon. But the California-trained Woo is, to quote a theatre performance title of some years ago, “bullish on bouncing back.”
It is set in a coastal town where a strange epidemic has just occurred, requiring quarantine. There are these two men, a young slacker and an older fisherman, each seemingly hopeless but actually in search of precisely “that thing with feathers.” The two never actually meet but experience parallel journeys.
What strikes you first is the visual beauty; aside from the small town, the landscape includes an almost surreal primordial jungle retreat. And then you notice the quiet dignity of these seemingly deadbeat characters. Gradually, the movie’s sense of humour kicks in.
Although set in a depressing locale during depressing times, there is an offbeat, frisky energy, such as the running gag of the expensive fish with the lucky lottery numbers. There is a scene where the young man needs to make up for an awful transgression to a young woman that must count as some kind of masterpiece.
There is very little dialogue, it’s kinda slow, and it might therefore fit into the cliche of the “everybody suffers, including the audience” perception of arthouse flicks. But it has a special feel to it that is devoid of both modish cynicism and cheap sentimentality, and that’s more that can be said of most flicks. You even get to see a real elephant, unlike that Gus Van Sant film that was called Elephant, so there!
Yes, they will be people who will whinge that The Elephant and The Sea, Dancing Bells and Before We Fall in Love Again are not “real Malaysian” productions because they don’t happen to be in Malay. But such people are welcome to kiss these awards.
The only festival I attended personally was the New Delhi one. There was even a panel discussion on the topic of “cooperative filmmaking”. It seems that the Malaysian model (of people helping out on each other’s shoots) is considered so inspirational that it needed to be introduced to young Indian filmmakers.
So we talked about our experiences. My quotable quote was, “If you don’t have money, you might as well have friends.” Along the way, we dished on how certain segments of our media have labelled these films as being “an insult to national sovereignty” for their choices of language, and therefore “for failing to portray the correct image of Malaysia.” As if all the ghosts movies we are now being served are a correct image of our reality!
But even while talking, I couldn’t summon up outrage. The truth is, the attacks have become amusing more than anything else. So I said, “The reason we stick together is so that we can annoy these bigots even more.”
When I got back, we got an email from the panel organiser. He said that our session had an invigorating effect and was much discussed. For this we can be glad.
Merdeka with The Simpsons
I wonder if any of our public-funded programmes for this month can come as close to articulating Merdeka as The Simpsons Movie.
Homer’s own bumbling actions get he and his family kicked out of Springfield by a vigilante mob. Swearing never to return, he is nonetheless persuaded that he will only be complete once he loves others as much as he loves himself.
Through the machinations of a ruthless politician, the town gets sealed by a giant dome. The image of townsfolk being held literally captive by “a man on a giant TV” is a brilliant parody of media control. In countries where the media is not so autonomous, it can also mean other types of control.
True enough, it is the combined strengths of these outcasts that saves the day. Like any self-respecting blockbuster, it pits ordinary mortals against overwhelming foes. The difference this time is that these mortals are yellow, bug-eyed and seemingly dysfunctional.
The portrait of grassroots resilience against occupation is stirring, but the heroes are not placed on pedestals. The Simpsons has always had a healthy irreverence for authority, recognising instinctively that veneration can create a culture of corruption. And instead of saying that evil only comes from the Other, it knows that oppressive power structures can easily be replicated anywhere, even in your own home.
These small-time heroes are not without flaws. But Springfield is capacious enough to embrace all its citizens; any spurts of anger are short-lived, because everyone realises, at one level, that they are all in this together. Everyone feels they have an equal stake in the town, which is why they can come together despite surface differences.
Despite its 2D images, the film is rich, and only a Mr. Burns type will leave the cinema without a happy grin.
Thursday, 2 August 2007
Sunday, 29 July 2007
Serialisation begins
I have broken up the text of Malaysian Politicians Say the Darndest Things into several parts for serialisation in Off The Edge magazine. I feel like Dickens, or Saharil!
Part 1 is in the August issue, now on sale for RM6. There are, as usual, other goodies in the magazine as well dong.
Saturday, 28 July 2007
What I saw in New Delhi
Just got back from the 9th Osian's CINEFAN Festival of Asian & Arab Cinema! A delirious smorgasbord. This is what I saw, and those in bold are the ones I particularly enjoyed:
1. SANSHO THE BAILIFF (Kenji Mizoguchi/Japan/1954)
2. THE WATER MAGICIAN (Kenji Mizoguchi/ Japan/ 1933) (with live benshi performance!)
3. CAIRO STATION (Youssef Chahine/ Egypt/ 1958)
4. OPERA JAWA (Garin Nugroho/ Indonesia-Austria/ 2006)
5. A LITTLE KISS (Bahman Farmanara/ Iran/ 2005)
6. THE YACOUBIAN BUILDING ( Marwan Hamed/ Egypt/ 2006)
7.HEAVENLY KINGS ( Daniel Wu/ Hong Kong/ 2006)
8. WOVEN STORIES OF THE OTHER (Sherad Anthony Sanchez/ The Philippines/ 2007)
9. CROSSING THE DUST (Shawkat Amin Korki/ Iraq-Kurdistan-France/ 2006)
10. WOOL 100% (Mai Tominaga/ Japan/ 2006)
12. DRIVING WITH MY WIFE'S LOVER ( Kim Tai-Sik / Korea/ 2006)
13. FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER ( Salinda Perera/ Sri Lanka/ 2007)
14. SHE AND HE (Elyes Baccar/ Tunisia/ 2006)
15. THE END OF THE ROAD (Afsaneh Monadi/ Iran/ 2007)
16. THE LAST DINING TABLE (Roh Gyeong-Tae/ Korea/ 2006)
17. RAAMI (Babak Shirinsefat/ Iran-Azerbaijan/ 2006)
18. FALAFEL (Michel Kammoun/ Lebanon-France/ 2006)
19. STRANGERS (Anand L Rai/ India/ 2007)
1. SANSHO THE BAILIFF (Kenji Mizoguchi/Japan/1954)
2. THE WATER MAGICIAN (Kenji Mizoguchi/ Japan/ 1933) (with live benshi performance!)
3. CAIRO STATION (Youssef Chahine/ Egypt/ 1958)
4. OPERA JAWA (Garin Nugroho/ Indonesia-Austria/ 2006)
5. A LITTLE KISS (Bahman Farmanara/ Iran/ 2005)
6. THE YACOUBIAN BUILDING ( Marwan Hamed/ Egypt/ 2006)
7.HEAVENLY KINGS ( Daniel Wu/ Hong Kong/ 2006)
8. WOVEN STORIES OF THE OTHER (Sherad Anthony Sanchez/ The Philippines/ 2007)
9. CROSSING THE DUST (Shawkat Amin Korki/ Iraq-Kurdistan-France/ 2006)
10. WOOL 100% (Mai Tominaga/ Japan/ 2006)
12. DRIVING WITH MY WIFE'S LOVER ( Kim Tai-Sik / Korea/ 2006)
13. FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER ( Salinda Perera/ Sri Lanka/ 2007)
14. SHE AND HE (Elyes Baccar/ Tunisia/ 2006)
15. THE END OF THE ROAD (Afsaneh Monadi/ Iran/ 2007)
16. THE LAST DINING TABLE (Roh Gyeong-Tae/ Korea/ 2006)
17. RAAMI (Babak Shirinsefat/ Iran-Azerbaijan/ 2006)
18. FALAFEL (Michel Kammoun/ Lebanon-France/ 2006)
19. STRANGERS (Anand L Rai/ India/ 2007)
Thursday, 26 July 2007
NST: 26 July
Ruby in the sky
You’ve heard of sky juice, of course. And if you haven’t, you probably would flunk one of those “How Malaysian Are You?” quizzes. The slang term for water seems to be unique to our shores. There is also another Malaysian original, Sky Kingdom. This is, or was, a commune of people on the East Coast who had some esoteric beliefs, not least of which was a fondness for giant teapots.
Well, there is also such a thing as a sky book. This is the kind of tome that makes ideal reading when you are in a plane. As I am such a jet-setter (but with unfortunately not the bank balance that the phrase might signify), I tend to do lots of reading thousands of feet about the ground. For the latest trip I took along a wonderful Malaysian book, As I Was Passing.
It is a compilation of columns by Sri Delima, which literally means “the glow of the ruby.” It even has a sequel, called (wait for it) As I Was Passing II. Both volumes have been recently reissued under the author’s real name, Adibah Amin, with different covers and rather large font-size. Some younger Malaysians, shame on them, would recognise Adibah solely through her hilarious turn as the priggish disciplinarian Cikgu Bedah in the film Adik Manja, her only foray into acting. If that is the case, they should check out these books at once.
I took along the original 1976 volume with me. It has been out of print for over a decade but I had purchased it at a charming second-hand bookstore, where I always feel the need to buy and to sneeze. The reissue is of course a good thing. The original is however more petite, and the fact that the author’s name isn’t explicitly mentioned somehow jibes with the self-deprecating wit contained within. The previous owner of my copy even left a name: “Khoo Mea Lee, Universiti Sains Malaysia, 1976.” Where is Khoo now?
As I Was Passing is priceless Malaysiana. It is the closest that prose has come to the magic of Lat. When you first read it, you are all aglow with the warmth of nostalgia. But there is an irony here: Many of the articles in it also seem to express nostalgia for an earlier age. One of the earliest and best pieces, “The Sweet Face at the Window” has a foreign-educated young man returning to his village to lament, “I have not changed , but everything else has.” The final paragraph of this article packs a real emotional punch, and we cotton on that Adibah is more tough-minded than a mere nostalgist.
Others, such as Kee Thuan Chye recently in The Star, have commented on Adibah’s embrace of cultural differences and how she sees plurality as a blessing rather than a threat. Her accounts of celebrating Deepavali, Christmas and Chinese New Year can attest to this. Kee says that Adibah’s benevolence and healthy curiosity are precisely what this country now needs to avoid descending further into factionalism.
What makes her writing special is that although she never seems to preach or hector, hers is an inherently moral vision. This isn’t the morality that is informed by petty spite and bitterness, but a luminous humanism born out of an acute awareness and love of her surroundings.
The fact that she was a woman in a male-dominated profession (journalism) is crucial to her persona, too. Many a piece would lacerate, oh so subtly, the male ego -- although she does seem to have a soft spot for a certain type of rogue. There are also criticisms of prudes, chauvinists and busybodies but delivered in an inimitable way, without malice, like in a modern folk-tale. Her criticisms are gentle enough that “ants would not die under her tread” -- a saying she uses more than once.
You can image some very serious readers using her column as a respite from the “hard news” of the day. But I wonder if some of her articles will then live in the reader’s memory long after the seemingly urgent news had gone with the wind.
Like Lat and a few others such as Usman Awang, her humanism is wedded to sensual appreciation.
Her descriptions of rituals, including the ones specific to her family, offer pleasure because, very often, they are about pleasure. At the risk of seeming like a perv, As I Was Passing is quite erotic.
The article on Hari Raya does not need to use theological dogma but richly describes how the day unfolded in her childhood, including how her “big brothers and boy-cousins” would stroll “through the kampung with faithful [her] in tow, softly strumming their guitars, seemingly unaware of glowing eyes behind fluttering window-curtains.”
Her accounts of dondang sayang and learning Hindi through songs are just two more examples of how much she appreciates the crucial naughtiness of life.
When she describes how addictive personal home phones are, it’s strikingly similar to how we now treat the Internet; when she predicts that latah will soon die out, you wonder why this has not been proven true at all; and when she says that the word ‘saya’ came from ‘sahaya’ (slave), you wonder why you never knew that.
Adibah is also known as a translator, and she demonstrates this in more ways than one. She translates her joy, intelligence and occasional exasperation to her readers in exquisitely fleet-footed words; she translates across communities and belief-systems in the spirit of sharing; and in the process translates back some home truths that no longer feel hackneyed or corny.
Her articles almost never mention people by name. When she would indirectly refer to a politician or poet or some other public personality, you are left to wonder who they are. The fact that her articles are not dated or footnoted also makes you want to know more about the specific circumstances that prompted certain allusions.
For example, “Dear Monster Revisited” describes a Deepavali visit to a formerly feared, but now gruffly affectionate, headmaster. He makes a reference to “the new forms of tyranny around and within us” and it ends with a description of his “sad, yet...trusting eyes.”
I wonder if some kind of socio-political trauma caused these sad eyes. After all, Malaysia in the 1970s went through many changes; not necessarily the physical ones of the subsequent decade, but certainly institutional ones that continue to have an impact today. But it would not be Sri Delima’s style to “ungkit” as to the causes; her (seemingly) more modest aim is to heal.
If you are reading her books for the first time, I envy you.
You’ve heard of sky juice, of course. And if you haven’t, you probably would flunk one of those “How Malaysian Are You?” quizzes. The slang term for water seems to be unique to our shores. There is also another Malaysian original, Sky Kingdom. This is, or was, a commune of people on the East Coast who had some esoteric beliefs, not least of which was a fondness for giant teapots.
Well, there is also such a thing as a sky book. This is the kind of tome that makes ideal reading when you are in a plane. As I am such a jet-setter (but with unfortunately not the bank balance that the phrase might signify), I tend to do lots of reading thousands of feet about the ground. For the latest trip I took along a wonderful Malaysian book, As I Was Passing.
It is a compilation of columns by Sri Delima, which literally means “the glow of the ruby.” It even has a sequel, called (wait for it) As I Was Passing II. Both volumes have been recently reissued under the author’s real name, Adibah Amin, with different covers and rather large font-size. Some younger Malaysians, shame on them, would recognise Adibah solely through her hilarious turn as the priggish disciplinarian Cikgu Bedah in the film Adik Manja, her only foray into acting. If that is the case, they should check out these books at once.
I took along the original 1976 volume with me. It has been out of print for over a decade but I had purchased it at a charming second-hand bookstore, where I always feel the need to buy and to sneeze. The reissue is of course a good thing. The original is however more petite, and the fact that the author’s name isn’t explicitly mentioned somehow jibes with the self-deprecating wit contained within. The previous owner of my copy even left a name: “Khoo Mea Lee, Universiti Sains Malaysia, 1976.” Where is Khoo now?
As I Was Passing is priceless Malaysiana. It is the closest that prose has come to the magic of Lat. When you first read it, you are all aglow with the warmth of nostalgia. But there is an irony here: Many of the articles in it also seem to express nostalgia for an earlier age. One of the earliest and best pieces, “The Sweet Face at the Window” has a foreign-educated young man returning to his village to lament, “I have not changed , but everything else has.” The final paragraph of this article packs a real emotional punch, and we cotton on that Adibah is more tough-minded than a mere nostalgist.
Others, such as Kee Thuan Chye recently in The Star, have commented on Adibah’s embrace of cultural differences and how she sees plurality as a blessing rather than a threat. Her accounts of celebrating Deepavali, Christmas and Chinese New Year can attest to this. Kee says that Adibah’s benevolence and healthy curiosity are precisely what this country now needs to avoid descending further into factionalism.
What makes her writing special is that although she never seems to preach or hector, hers is an inherently moral vision. This isn’t the morality that is informed by petty spite and bitterness, but a luminous humanism born out of an acute awareness and love of her surroundings.
The fact that she was a woman in a male-dominated profession (journalism) is crucial to her persona, too. Many a piece would lacerate, oh so subtly, the male ego -- although she does seem to have a soft spot for a certain type of rogue. There are also criticisms of prudes, chauvinists and busybodies but delivered in an inimitable way, without malice, like in a modern folk-tale. Her criticisms are gentle enough that “ants would not die under her tread” -- a saying she uses more than once.
You can image some very serious readers using her column as a respite from the “hard news” of the day. But I wonder if some of her articles will then live in the reader’s memory long after the seemingly urgent news had gone with the wind.
Like Lat and a few others such as Usman Awang, her humanism is wedded to sensual appreciation.
Her descriptions of rituals, including the ones specific to her family, offer pleasure because, very often, they are about pleasure. At the risk of seeming like a perv, As I Was Passing is quite erotic.
The article on Hari Raya does not need to use theological dogma but richly describes how the day unfolded in her childhood, including how her “big brothers and boy-cousins” would stroll “through the kampung with faithful [her] in tow, softly strumming their guitars, seemingly unaware of glowing eyes behind fluttering window-curtains.”
Her accounts of dondang sayang and learning Hindi through songs are just two more examples of how much she appreciates the crucial naughtiness of life.
When she describes how addictive personal home phones are, it’s strikingly similar to how we now treat the Internet; when she predicts that latah will soon die out, you wonder why this has not been proven true at all; and when she says that the word ‘saya’ came from ‘sahaya’ (slave), you wonder why you never knew that.
Adibah is also known as a translator, and she demonstrates this in more ways than one. She translates her joy, intelligence and occasional exasperation to her readers in exquisitely fleet-footed words; she translates across communities and belief-systems in the spirit of sharing; and in the process translates back some home truths that no longer feel hackneyed or corny.
Her articles almost never mention people by name. When she would indirectly refer to a politician or poet or some other public personality, you are left to wonder who they are. The fact that her articles are not dated or footnoted also makes you want to know more about the specific circumstances that prompted certain allusions.
For example, “Dear Monster Revisited” describes a Deepavali visit to a formerly feared, but now gruffly affectionate, headmaster. He makes a reference to “the new forms of tyranny around and within us” and it ends with a description of his “sad, yet...trusting eyes.”
I wonder if some kind of socio-political trauma caused these sad eyes. After all, Malaysia in the 1970s went through many changes; not necessarily the physical ones of the subsequent decade, but certainly institutional ones that continue to have an impact today. But it would not be Sri Delima’s style to “ungkit” as to the causes; her (seemingly) more modest aim is to heal.
If you are reading her books for the first time, I envy you.
Monday, 23 July 2007
Proofreading party
Does anyone want to help me proofread Malaysian Politicians Say the Darndest Things? The date is Thursday, August 2 in a quite place in KL. The reading should be done within one day and one place as it's not such a hefty volume. (Preferably you should not have a day-job!) Just email me ( matahari.books@gmail.com )
Thursday, 19 July 2007
NST: 19 July
Salaam to the south
Mohsen Makhmalbaf, back when he was still living in Iran, made a film called Salaam Cinema. It shows many Iranians auditioning for a film. It offered a charming glimpse at the hopes and dreams of ordinary, movie-mad Iranians. OK, I must confess: I never actually saw Salaam Cinema, but that’s not going to stop me from commenting on it.
This is a prelude to saying that I spent the last weekend quite agreeably holding auditions in Johor Bahru. Now, I blush to say that this was the first time as an adult I had ever been to JB. Well, I had no reason to go before this, did I?
So we had the auditions and were pleasantly surprised when almost 100 people turned up, despite minimal publicity. Many of them are involved in theatre productions and performed their lines with booming gusto. One had played Datok Onn and Hussein Onn in different plays and would soon, I am sure, get a crack at the third generation. Of particular interest were the young man who did uncanny impersonations of Que Haidar and Ako Mustapha, as well as the teacher from a religious school who acted out his own monologue in which he begged his step-mother to beat him. (Don’t ask).
Along the way, we chatted with the people who came. Quite a few worked in Singapore and had to wake up at 4 to cross the border; others were thinking of moving to KL; some spoke of the changes, the good and bad, their city had undergone.
The last time I had been in JB was in early childhood, and I always managed to be asleep as buses passed the city on the way to the checkpoint for Singapore trips, so I was not quite sure what to expect.
It does have some of the characteristics of a border town -- a place of flash and transience and opportunity -- that is as much a mental as physical state, beloved of certain people. Do Singaporeans see it the way we see Golok? Although I remember an entertaining chapter in Rehman Rashid’s A Malaysian Journey that described JB as somewhat dodgy, it must have cleaned up in the meantime -- or I wasn’t looking in the right places. There is even a waterfront eatery that seems to have been uprooted by tornado from Hartamas.
The movie we auditioned for is set entirely in JB. I am not sure if it will be the first, but it’s safe to say that previous JB movies, if they exist, do not number in the dozens. I certainly don’t recall seeing any, which accounts partly for my own lack of mental images.
My friend says it’s easy to differentiate JB folks form visiting Singaporeans based on how many colours they wear. And for sure there are local particularities that I might pick up on the more I go there. (We are shooting in September).
This is why it seemed particularly apt to cast, whenever possible, JB actors themselves. Aside from the fact that we will save on the accommodation budget (hah!) a local will be able to provide a certain verisimilitude, especially as this story is so specific to its locale.
But tell that to the KL-based aspiring actor who seemed quite peeved by our decision to hold auditions only in JB. He said that he was being deprived of an income and that we were being selfish! Not knowing him at all, I assumed he is the sort who thinks life owes him a living. But beyond that, there is also the sanctimoniousness of being in the centre.
I like living in the capital city, maybe because I am so used to complaining about it that I’m now too old to start complaining about a new place. In fact, I can’t really imagine living anywhere else in Malaysia. I used to think (oh, what will you think of me?) that anyone who chose to live outside KL simply has no ambition. My views have modified somewhat. But even now, if perchance I am flung into exile, I will always want to live in the largest city of whatever country I land in.
But increasingly it’s become apparent that so much of our media consciousness is KL-centric. (The fact that it’s Peninsula-centric is also obvious). It’s time I too started to listen more, which is why I took the chance to be involved in this JB movie. The writer/director grew up there.
So even though I am so KL-centred, it now gives me a twinge of sorrow that young people elsewhere, such as the ones who came for the auditions, feel the need to move to the capital. Yes, a reversal of my earlier stand; so sue me. Perhaps I have the selfish desire for KL to not become more congested, but it would also be great if most people can grow without being uprooted.
A particular concern of our educational and social policies has been the need to eliminate excessive “local” allegiances that might run counter to national cohesion. The worst-case scenario would be the mushrooming of separatist groups.
Simply put, it’s easier to rule if everyone thinks about the same things.
But the absence of community involvement, seen most blatantly since the elimination of local council elections, breeds something sad as well. If you do not take some pride in your immediate surroundings, chances are you won’t want to contribute much. And it’s precisely in the specific local communities that interesting stories can be found, and these can be fed to a wider audience, with all sorts of nourishing results.
And the stories are there, of course. Traveling around Perak two years ago for the making of Lelaki Komunis Terakhir, it was great to see how some people, mainly ethnic Chinese, went out of the way to document their own communities, either by building small museums or simply through discussions, often with no governmental support.
Johor has some of the same push, although it appears more top-down. There is even an annual Johor novel-writing competition! I don’t know of other states that have one. It was initially open only to Johor writers, but the doors have been opened to anyone who wants to write about Johor. Last year’s highest-placed entry was by Faisal Tehrani, who’s from Malacca but who would never let a small fact like that get in his way. May the contest survive for many years, and may other states follow suit.
Johor is not just the birthplace of Umno and Mawi, but Adibah Amin, Faridah Merican and Yasmin Ahmad, as well as the illustrious extended families of Ungku Aziz and Syed Muhammad Naquib al-Attas, so the nation’s discursive landscape already owes quite a bit to the state. But it’s always good to know more, and this is an admonishment I address squarely to myself first.
Mohsen Makhmalbaf, back when he was still living in Iran, made a film called Salaam Cinema. It shows many Iranians auditioning for a film. It offered a charming glimpse at the hopes and dreams of ordinary, movie-mad Iranians. OK, I must confess: I never actually saw Salaam Cinema, but that’s not going to stop me from commenting on it.
This is a prelude to saying that I spent the last weekend quite agreeably holding auditions in Johor Bahru. Now, I blush to say that this was the first time as an adult I had ever been to JB. Well, I had no reason to go before this, did I?
So we had the auditions and were pleasantly surprised when almost 100 people turned up, despite minimal publicity. Many of them are involved in theatre productions and performed their lines with booming gusto. One had played Datok Onn and Hussein Onn in different plays and would soon, I am sure, get a crack at the third generation. Of particular interest were the young man who did uncanny impersonations of Que Haidar and Ako Mustapha, as well as the teacher from a religious school who acted out his own monologue in which he begged his step-mother to beat him. (Don’t ask).
Along the way, we chatted with the people who came. Quite a few worked in Singapore and had to wake up at 4 to cross the border; others were thinking of moving to KL; some spoke of the changes, the good and bad, their city had undergone.
The last time I had been in JB was in early childhood, and I always managed to be asleep as buses passed the city on the way to the checkpoint for Singapore trips, so I was not quite sure what to expect.
It does have some of the characteristics of a border town -- a place of flash and transience and opportunity -- that is as much a mental as physical state, beloved of certain people. Do Singaporeans see it the way we see Golok? Although I remember an entertaining chapter in Rehman Rashid’s A Malaysian Journey that described JB as somewhat dodgy, it must have cleaned up in the meantime -- or I wasn’t looking in the right places. There is even a waterfront eatery that seems to have been uprooted by tornado from Hartamas.
The movie we auditioned for is set entirely in JB. I am not sure if it will be the first, but it’s safe to say that previous JB movies, if they exist, do not number in the dozens. I certainly don’t recall seeing any, which accounts partly for my own lack of mental images.
My friend says it’s easy to differentiate JB folks form visiting Singaporeans based on how many colours they wear. And for sure there are local particularities that I might pick up on the more I go there. (We are shooting in September).
This is why it seemed particularly apt to cast, whenever possible, JB actors themselves. Aside from the fact that we will save on the accommodation budget (hah!) a local will be able to provide a certain verisimilitude, especially as this story is so specific to its locale.
But tell that to the KL-based aspiring actor who seemed quite peeved by our decision to hold auditions only in JB. He said that he was being deprived of an income and that we were being selfish! Not knowing him at all, I assumed he is the sort who thinks life owes him a living. But beyond that, there is also the sanctimoniousness of being in the centre.
I like living in the capital city, maybe because I am so used to complaining about it that I’m now too old to start complaining about a new place. In fact, I can’t really imagine living anywhere else in Malaysia. I used to think (oh, what will you think of me?) that anyone who chose to live outside KL simply has no ambition. My views have modified somewhat. But even now, if perchance I am flung into exile, I will always want to live in the largest city of whatever country I land in.
But increasingly it’s become apparent that so much of our media consciousness is KL-centric. (The fact that it’s Peninsula-centric is also obvious). It’s time I too started to listen more, which is why I took the chance to be involved in this JB movie. The writer/director grew up there.
So even though I am so KL-centred, it now gives me a twinge of sorrow that young people elsewhere, such as the ones who came for the auditions, feel the need to move to the capital. Yes, a reversal of my earlier stand; so sue me. Perhaps I have the selfish desire for KL to not become more congested, but it would also be great if most people can grow without being uprooted.
A particular concern of our educational and social policies has been the need to eliminate excessive “local” allegiances that might run counter to national cohesion. The worst-case scenario would be the mushrooming of separatist groups.
Simply put, it’s easier to rule if everyone thinks about the same things.
But the absence of community involvement, seen most blatantly since the elimination of local council elections, breeds something sad as well. If you do not take some pride in your immediate surroundings, chances are you won’t want to contribute much. And it’s precisely in the specific local communities that interesting stories can be found, and these can be fed to a wider audience, with all sorts of nourishing results.
And the stories are there, of course. Traveling around Perak two years ago for the making of Lelaki Komunis Terakhir, it was great to see how some people, mainly ethnic Chinese, went out of the way to document their own communities, either by building small museums or simply through discussions, often with no governmental support.
Johor has some of the same push, although it appears more top-down. There is even an annual Johor novel-writing competition! I don’t know of other states that have one. It was initially open only to Johor writers, but the doors have been opened to anyone who wants to write about Johor. Last year’s highest-placed entry was by Faisal Tehrani, who’s from Malacca but who would never let a small fact like that get in his way. May the contest survive for many years, and may other states follow suit.
Johor is not just the birthplace of Umno and Mawi, but Adibah Amin, Faridah Merican and Yasmin Ahmad, as well as the illustrious extended families of Ungku Aziz and Syed Muhammad Naquib al-Attas, so the nation’s discursive landscape already owes quite a bit to the state. But it’s always good to know more, and this is an admonishment I address squarely to myself first.
Monday, 16 July 2007
Surat saya kepada akhbar Metro
Kepada wartawan Abie Abdullah,
Salam sejahtera saya ucapkan. Diharap Cik/Puan Abie sihat walafiat dan cekal melaksanakan tanggungjawab di akhbar Metro. Tahniah kerana Metro khabarnya merupakan akhbar terlaris di Malaysia :-)
Saya merujuk kepada artikel Cik/Puan Abie berjudul "Filem Inggeris Undang Polemik" yang disiar di Metro Ahad semalam. Saya merupakan pembaca setia Metro Ahad kerana dahagakan gosip terkini artis-artis kegemaran saya, malah tak pernah ketinggalan kolum Dunia Mawi yang tersiar setiap minggu. Setelah membaca nukilan Mawi yang terbaru (di mana beliau menafikan sekeras-kerasnya fitnah kononnya beliau pernah hisap dadah, dan saya sebagai peminat sejati beliau sudah tentu percayakan beliau dan harap isu ini bernoktah di sini) saya pun terbaca artikel yang disebut di atas.
Malangnya saya mendapati beberapa fakta yang tidaklah begitu tepat dalam artikel itu. Filem-filem yang berjudul "Seed of Darkness" dan "Possessed" disebut berkali-kali sebagai "filem bahasa Inggeris" dan justeru itu tidak layak mendapat tempat dalam pencalonan utama Festival Filem Malaysia. Semangat patriotik pembikinnya pun dipersoal; mereka dianggap warga yang tidak menyokong usaha kerajaan kerana membuat filem dalam bahasa penjajah. Tapi saya sudahpun tonton kedua-dua filem itu dan mereka sebenarnya dalam Bahasa Cina. Tidak tahulah saya Bahasa Mandarin atau Kantonis atau Hokkien atau campuran kesemuanya (saya belajar di Sekolah Kebangsaan dan tak pandai mana-mana Bahasa Tionghua) tapi saya boleh syorkan Cik/Puan Abie bahawa mereka dalam Bahasa Cina. (Kecuali mungkin 10% dalam "Possessed", termasuk dialog Sharifah Amani sewaktu rambutnya masih panjang mengurai, dalam Bahasa Inggeris).
"Di mana kedudukan bahasa Melayu hari ini?” keluh Pengarah Urusan Kuasatek Pictures, Mohd Noor Kadir, yang mengesyorkan agar Finas mulai ini hanya bantu filem-filem Bahasa Melayu/Malaysia sahaja. Malah, judul filem-filem terbitan beliau seperti "Mr. Cinderella" dan "Mr. Cinderella 2" sudah cukup membuktikan betapa gigihnya beliau memartabatkan Bahasa Kebangsaan negara ini.
Sebenarnya, daripada tiga filem yang dipersoal di artikel tersebut, hanya "The Red Kebaya" layak digelar "filem Bahasa Inggeris". Pengarahnya pun Mat Salleh dari Britain tapi saya rasa (mungkin saya silap) bukannya Mat Salleh Britain sama yang akan bertunang dengan DIVA kesayangan saya, Ning Baizura. (Oh ya! Terima kasih juga kepada Metro kerana memberi liputan yang cukup meluas tentang pertunangan Ning).
Dengan ini saya harap kesilapan berkenaan dapat dibetulkan agar kewibawaan akhbar kegemaran saya tidaklah terjejas nanti. Terima kasih dan kalau boleh, tolong kirim salam kepada Mawi :-)
salam,
amir (peminat filem).
Salam sejahtera saya ucapkan. Diharap Cik/Puan Abie sihat walafiat dan cekal melaksanakan tanggungjawab di akhbar Metro. Tahniah kerana Metro khabarnya merupakan akhbar terlaris di Malaysia :-)
Saya merujuk kepada artikel Cik/Puan Abie berjudul "Filem Inggeris Undang Polemik" yang disiar di Metro Ahad semalam. Saya merupakan pembaca setia Metro Ahad kerana dahagakan gosip terkini artis-artis kegemaran saya, malah tak pernah ketinggalan kolum Dunia Mawi yang tersiar setiap minggu. Setelah membaca nukilan Mawi yang terbaru (di mana beliau menafikan sekeras-kerasnya fitnah kononnya beliau pernah hisap dadah, dan saya sebagai peminat sejati beliau sudah tentu percayakan beliau dan harap isu ini bernoktah di sini) saya pun terbaca artikel yang disebut di atas.
Malangnya saya mendapati beberapa fakta yang tidaklah begitu tepat dalam artikel itu. Filem-filem yang berjudul "Seed of Darkness" dan "Possessed" disebut berkali-kali sebagai "filem bahasa Inggeris" dan justeru itu tidak layak mendapat tempat dalam pencalonan utama Festival Filem Malaysia. Semangat patriotik pembikinnya pun dipersoal; mereka dianggap warga yang tidak menyokong usaha kerajaan kerana membuat filem dalam bahasa penjajah. Tapi saya sudahpun tonton kedua-dua filem itu dan mereka sebenarnya dalam Bahasa Cina. Tidak tahulah saya Bahasa Mandarin atau Kantonis atau Hokkien atau campuran kesemuanya (saya belajar di Sekolah Kebangsaan dan tak pandai mana-mana Bahasa Tionghua) tapi saya boleh syorkan Cik/Puan Abie bahawa mereka dalam Bahasa Cina. (Kecuali mungkin 10% dalam "Possessed", termasuk dialog Sharifah Amani sewaktu rambutnya masih panjang mengurai, dalam Bahasa Inggeris).
"Di mana kedudukan bahasa Melayu hari ini?” keluh Pengarah Urusan Kuasatek Pictures, Mohd Noor Kadir, yang mengesyorkan agar Finas mulai ini hanya bantu filem-filem Bahasa Melayu/Malaysia sahaja. Malah, judul filem-filem terbitan beliau seperti "Mr. Cinderella" dan "Mr. Cinderella 2" sudah cukup membuktikan betapa gigihnya beliau memartabatkan Bahasa Kebangsaan negara ini.
Sebenarnya, daripada tiga filem yang dipersoal di artikel tersebut, hanya "The Red Kebaya" layak digelar "filem Bahasa Inggeris". Pengarahnya pun Mat Salleh dari Britain tapi saya rasa (mungkin saya silap) bukannya Mat Salleh Britain sama yang akan bertunang dengan DIVA kesayangan saya, Ning Baizura. (Oh ya! Terima kasih juga kepada Metro kerana memberi liputan yang cukup meluas tentang pertunangan Ning).
Dengan ini saya harap kesilapan berkenaan dapat dibetulkan agar kewibawaan akhbar kegemaran saya tidaklah terjejas nanti. Terima kasih dan kalau boleh, tolong kirim salam kepada Mawi :-)
salam,
amir (peminat filem).
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