thank you, 2005.

there's no easy way to describe in words the journey of the past year.

for sure, it began with feats after feats, glory after glory, all of which had brightened my days, and all of which had given promising signals to the year.

yet, when the year marred with series of unfortunate events that rival lemony snicket's right at the tip of the year, i couldn't help but taking a reflective retreat to spend my new year's eve this time around.

if my 2005 began with bright lights despite continuous natural disasters, then 2006 looks uncertain from here, not even a guiding light can reveal what's ahead.

wait. my guiding light is only a flickering light from my mobile. i've nothing left.

may yours be brighter, everyone :)

green branches of trees

referring to the title, that's the view i've got from the windows in my room here. sometimes i find myself staring at them for minutes that would drag into hours, while i stroke my fingers along the keyboard in my laptop or while i simply sip a cuppa and sit in my yellow chair.

i am back in my comfort zone.

and the most rejuvenating experience one can get is to have a deep sleep for hours, without any interruption or intrusion of any kind.

looking back at the past seventeen days that i describe as a whirlwind experience, all of a sudden i felt tired when i stepped my feet on the airport, and took a train home last nite. all looking familiar, yet it's not close enough to call it home.

but no matter what, this is a comfort zone when one can feel relaxed, as what i am now.

circling life

it was one rainy afternoon when i received a message from my dad, asking for a meet-up over tea.
he told me it was purely to discuss about his upcoming overseas trips, although i know that he meant something else.

something that had been longing to complete when i had visited my hometown earlier last week, i.e. a heart-to-heart talk between a father and his son.

having undergone some misery, i expected that the talk basically would revolve around consolation over the incident and how i needed to pull myself through. of course, my expectation was met, yet what was given to me was more than that.

far from being lectured, he stroke my mind with a thought on life and its destiny, that some kind of great creator has arranged the life as the way it is meant to be, yet we need not to be succumbed to its trap, leaving us beguiled on spoiled facilities.
why?
because when we fall, we've always got backups to lean ourselves to.
the God, your parents, your siblings, your beloved one, and your friends.
those are your life support systems that you have to maintain throughout your life, and you have to nurture them well so that it grows on you.

it was on one rainy afternoon where i did not hesitant in dropping a little of my precious tears.

and as if life does circle on its own, last weekend faith seemed to find me again when miraculously i spotted haruki murakami's "kafka on the shore" on a local bookshop, slightly cheaper than what was lost on that fateful bag.

and as if to echo my dad's words that the greatest loss one could ever experience is when his beloved one departs from the world for good, IU has to bid an eternal goodbye to her beloved brother, right on a christmas eve that surely will leave a mark on the rest of her life.

and now, here i am, sitting in an internet cafe, thinking that i will return to my comfort zone tomorrow, meeting my housemate who sets himself more than merely being so, and finding my room in its empty state.

i guess when we have finished circling our life and everything on it, the life will make a new start on its own.

cheers!

within a few days

Mom: "So you said that you have been stressed out for the whole past year?"
Me: "That’s pretty much it."
Mom: "It’s not being 'stressed out' anymore. You have been depressed."

And I looked at her in bewilderment, partly disbelieving her sharp intuition.

I could only nod, sigh, and hope she would say another of her trademark: spontaneous one-line notes that often hit my mind at unexpected times.
But as usual, she does not speak any further, a wise move to suggest that it is entirely up to me to make my own way.

However, the way I’ve chosen remains to be a deadlock far from satisfying, let alone fulfilling my quench over certainties and some clarity issues.

It has been a few days after I came back from my hometown, and exactly within these few days, I have felt crippled.
I could not bring my mind forward to come up with any writing ideas, and reviewing films seems like an ancient penchant of mine long to be buried under a treasure chest. The plan I had constructed prior to my departure was brutally scraped out and butchered since my bag was stolen exactly ten days ago, barely reaching the second day I stepped my feet on this mind-puzzling city.

What I did not realize was how much impact the incident affected my life, until now.

The seemingly perfect mapped-out plans did not work out at all, and I am still stranded homeless and jobless in this city. My savings were gone along with the bag, and the precious notebook which had become my faithful companion for the past few months has been missing its real owner, without having any idea about its whereabout.
Each and every single day, I had to occupy myself with some made-up activities which still translate as the unproductive kind.

I hit my own rock bottom.

I have to come up alone, and the path up is too steep to climb.

Still, mom does not talk about it any further, and prefers to concentrate on her son gaining more weight.

Mom, I need a weighty life.

there's no conclusion ...

... to my holiday, this unexpected trip here.

how does one detach from a comfort of holiday? he'll surely be holding on to the grip of the fun tightly, and when it's time to hit the reality again, one can only remember the happiness.

as spoken in the film thank god he met lizzie, which happens to be one of my favorite quotes:

"the trouble with happiness is that you don't realize it when it's there. you remember it."

and i will remember and cherish these three fulfilling days i had here.

it is far from thrift spending except for necessities such as a new flash disk, which has nothing to do with the holiday itself.
no culinary trip taken as i indulged more on my mum's cooking.
no trying out of new public transport destination as i prefer to hide inside the car.

yet this is a holiday i've longed to have, the moments when i could take my mind off the matters been hanging on for the past few months.

i could rely myself on the literary selection belongs to my sister, which mostly comprise of works by brits author.
i could be at peace with myself when i took one book, sat down on a sofa amidst heavy rain pouring outside in one cold afternoon.
i could take a walk along kayutangan area which now remains one of the few places appropriate for pedestrians use.
i could be mesmerized by the line of palm trees on ijen boulevard.

and this is it.

embrace the future.

following the follow-up, ...

after slightly less than 48 hours retreating myself to a sanctuary here, i begin to slowly enjoy the ethereal beauty of this hometown.

for a start, the weather has been accomodative enough that i do not even mind to drive in the morning, unlike three months ago when i had to park my car under shades of trees, just to avoid the unbearable heat.
but these days, the mere presence of the weather alone could bring back the memories of my childhood, when i often jogged in the morning against the wind, the chilling air, the clouds that seem to be hanging right above our head.

the grey-ish misty look from the air that i breathe, and at times, the fog that i exhale, coming out from the mouth.

add that with a plate of spicy nasi pecel, tempe, bakwan jagung, and a cup of tea to let the fluid flowing inside my digestive system to make it warm, then this is what i call a heavenly peace.

after all, a holiday is the time we're supposed to take matters off of our mind.

and i could not be more thankful to that thief who robbed my bag ;)

the follow-up

as i am sitting here in (supposedly) my ex-study table which has been neglected for quite some time due to a reason that my younger sis thinks it being not ‘girly’ enough, i.e. her table is filled with Taiwanese boyband pictures, i can’t believe what i can indulge myself in this unplanned trip.

yes, folks, after my recent "tragedy", i decided to recuperate myself by storming back to my parents’ house, to this little hometown i always have my respect on. yet, the feeling of being a washed-out could not be denied, when i took a walk on a street filled with bursting motorcars and bicycles, drizzle poured in to wet my shoes, the girl i used to have a chat with whenever i needed to make copies of my notes is still working in the same place, i wonder if she will ever quit.

no one stared, yet everyone saw how weird my shaved head matched the tiny figure i have maintained ever since i decided that size S stands for "sexy". everyone thought i must be crazy then for i have an L size for my caps.

here i am, surviving the first 24 hour of this unexpected holiday.

everyone deserves a holiday, even for one who has just committed a failure of himself.

losing few, gaining many

what have i lost today?

- the precious tool as my primary means of living and earning staple of food, my iBook
- passport
- return airplane ticket
- hundreds of dollars
- a jacket bought with the companion of rio and bowo
- haruki mirakami's kafka on the shore
- john irving's my movie business
- my small notebook containing my written ideas
- my mp3 player
- stack of name cards belong to some highly respected and reputable people

in short, a defining part of my life has gone, or rather, been taken away.

but let's check what i have gained today:

good, comforting, assuring words from friends, in both countries.

numerous supportive messages and calls that gave me a good reason to let my teardrops flowing hard.

an unexpected karaoke session.

my understanding parents.

prayers.
wishes.

twinnie, the greatest one can be.

in short, i'm still feeling truly blessed to know that i can succeed walking through this demeaning line safely.

and happily.

i'm truly the richest man in the world.

-- dedicated to the one sitting next to me not just at this exact hour fighting against the cold air, but simply for being the one, and only --

(un) surprising (un) familiarity

of all the heavily densed populated areas in such a big, crowded, hectic city,

of all the tall skyscraper buildings filled with a number of people passing by,

unknowingly, indifferently, yet pretentiously,

and of all the places to see and to inhabit,

i guess the last person on earth that you want to meet in front of your close friend and a possible landlord is your ex.

add the fact that soon you two will live side by side is, simply, mind challenging.

welcome to the city!

here i am, there i'll be

look, the title could not be more tacky, yet pardon it for being so.

after all, what can you expect from a pre-paid internet surfing with extremely slow connection in otherwise arguably the best airport in the world?

i shall not complain, for what i am experiencing right now, will happen in a very near future.

yes, here i am, the border of my comfort zone that i have been inhabiting for more than half a decade, quite an ample of time that pretty much has affected my way of thinking and behaving.

and there i'll be, the supposedly home country which feels like an alien to me.

at least at this exact tickling of sound, and i will remain hopeful for a new horizon to come.

as much as i am keeping my green passport, i have invested on taxes and stocks and bonds and emotions to other land.

and quoting my conversation with IU over mobile phones a few weeks ago:

"bukan masalah gelambir nya dari mana, marketing nya harus jalan"
"mungkin gelambir jawa rasa singapura lebih laku disana, babe! :D"

love you, all.

let's do quickie!

a quick round-up of film reviews before i ... well ... oh, here goes!



A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE (2005)



Comment:
Indeed, the film works like a lesson to learn as we trace how a state of being violent comes up and grows within unexpected circumstances. Throughout the learning process, the story will grip and hold us tight, forcing us to digest the overblown gory scenes that actually ring true to the nature of violence itself: merciless, yet forgiving and compromising towards the kind gestures. Like any medicine, the film might be painful to swallow, yet the effect is relieving.



LOVE IN THOUGHTS (2004) – German



Comment:
It could have been more engaging had the director chosen his poetic point of view from Daniel Bruhl’s character. Alas, the breathtaking cinematography is more than enough to redeem the almost unbearable pace in seeing youngster of 1920s play around with their boredom.



OLIVER TWIST (2005)



Comment:
Surprisingly easy to follow, the film marvels in its straight-narrative story telling, which makes the film may look conventional, and in pale comparison to Polanski’s other previous works. I still resist to categorize the film as having ‘a faithful adaptation’ since the meaning might vary among different audience, yet the film still barely manages to escape the standard Hallmark’s fare.



THE EDUKATORS (2004) – German



Comment:
The film’s social commentary might be the main highlight of the film, and actually, there’s nothing much to offer apart from that. However, the film has a compelling way to play around with the youth’s naughtiness that in turn, makes the film a compelling to watch as well.



PERHAPS LOVE (2005) – China/HK



Comment:
The musical scenes are amazing, if not tribute to Hollywood’s majestic beauty of the genre, so much so that even tribute to musical-tribute “Moulin Rouge” is obvious enough in one of Jacky Cheung’s numbers. Yet, it proves to be the major highlight of the film, since only Cheung who seems to be at utmost ease in conveying his role. Life imitates art, I suppose, as how the story goes, and as what is seen on the big screen.

on jiffest.

apparently, quite a number of people asked me over emails and YM about what i should recommend to watch during jiffest.

all i can say is, up to you, since it's your call. i know it's not a satisfying answer, but then, i didn't watch that many films as listed on jiffest's schedule, but from what i saw, here goes:

- 2046
any killer combination of christopher doyle's lush cinematography and WKW's deft direction in depicting stylish '60s is always worth watching on a big screen. watch out how zhang ziyi rises above all other regular staples of WKW.

- 5x2
think of a love story with memento style. of course it's nothing new, the story of break-up, make-up, infidelity has been told many times, yet what saddens me is, despite the unusual way of telling the story makes the film compelling to watch, the film falls short compared to other more intriguing francois ozon's works. after his swimming pool, i expect something more, not a somber work like this.

- Beautiful Boxer
i've been quite familar with the director's (ekachai uekrongtam) works on theater, particularly autumn tom yam which still gives me a pleasant memory to date. yet, being brought up on stage, it may be difficult for him to translate a supposedly touching screenplay to a silver screen, as what we finally see on the big screen is mere glamorized treatment of a true story.

- Buongiorno, Notte
for some, the film might change their perception towards terrorists. for me, it is interesting to see opressed italians featured in a film, as opposed to the miscommon perception of all-italians-carefree. and the heavy atmosphere of cold 70s gives the film a chilling look, that by the end of the film, we will long for more.

- Since Otar Left
hold your patience, i know the pace is moderately slow. but one particular scene involving a grandmother searching for her granddaughter in which the camera zooms in very closely (and intimately) to reveal every single line of the grandma's expression, is worth the admission alone.

- Downfall
like it or not, hitler is a human being after all, with all his ups and downs, his stuttered hands, his tender care towards the people and things that he adores, and he is simply a man trying to regain his dignity.

- Far Side of the Moon



refer to my blog entries on SIFFest earlier this year, the film highlighted the fest's journey, and it received a warm applause from the typical cold audience here. it didn't take a genius to find out why, for the genius on this film himself has proved his ability to transform his one-man play into a world of dreams and illusions, while he is trying to cope with the harshness of the real world. oh, he does all that while he juggles playing both main characters, directing, and writing the script!

- Kontroll
watch at your own risk! saw the film at BKIFF this year, i was blown away with the film's fast-paced editing and loud rock music on the background. yet, as i thought it over, the film's many plotholes are hard to escape from our notion.

- Millions
if you miss it this time, then you'll miss the experience of being transported to the world of child-like innocence that, admit it, has been long gone from our emotional minds. the most touching film of the year, simply said.

- The Motorcycle Diaries
i remember watching this film with my friend, zefri, and we ended up praising the film while commenting on one particular scene where the film goes black-and-white, and montages of pictures are shown on the screen. both of us disliked, not to the extent of 'hate' though, the scene, yet we couldn't think of any better ways to resolve the problem. it's there, we don't like it, yet it doesn't disrupt the film in general.

- The Return
one of the best foreign language films ever nominated in Academy Awards, the film marvels on its no-holds-barred view on adolescence. the bleak look supports the story well, and the film's shocking ending is not prolonged to become sappy. in other words: a satisfying experience.

- The Saddest Music in The World
if you are into playful, absurd black comedy, then you're in for a treat. what drew me to the film was seeing isabella rossellini as a legless diva, and seeing how my favorite author, kazuo ishiguro, pens a film and having it translated on the big screen. seems that kazuo was very much in the mood of the unconsoled rather than when we were orphans, thus explains the absurdity. i'll just put the film as something to watch at your own risk.

- The Sea Inside
javier bardem is one reliable actor who dares to venture into many territories of acting skills, and alejandro almenabar is one terrific director whose sensitive penchant over dramatic stories is applaudable. together, they make the sweeping look of the main character's dream looks breathtakingly gorgeous on the screen, and if you are not moved by this, you may have your heart checked, it may be stopped.

- Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter ... and Spring Again
i don't care if you accuse me for spoiling the story, but the title can be taken literally, and at the same time, it also refers to the circle of life on one human being. see? that ain't much to spoil!
and if you're already used to watching any kim ki duk's films, you may understand that not many words are spoken among the characters, and perhaps kim is one of the rare directors who understands the narrative quality of still pictures. thus, we all are in for a treat.

- The Weather Underground
best seen by historians, students of political science, and many aspiring protestors, all of whom might be inspired from this oscar-nominated documentary.

- Whisky



how boredom, oppressed feelings and static routine of life can be hilarious and funny, that's beyond our common understanding. thus, making the film a pleasant to watch.

- Yasmin
i've got a sense that the film may provoke a certain reaction (i won't tell what it is) among many religious-based organizations. but i plea, watch the film with open-mindedness, and do not get over-reacted towards the film's many counter-attack scenes. that's all.

there, i've said my piece, and i applaud jiffest for having such a fabulous premise to look forward to.

have a film-fest season, everyone!

i know,

... you're not going to be there.

and while i'll be surrounded, you may be even grounded.

to what you've become,

to what you've chosen to become.



you're not gonna witness my failure and my triumph anymore,

because what will be relied are mere words made-up of defiant existence,

and denying your truest sense, instead preferring to get covered up in hideous masks.



you're not gonna miss my stoic presence,

yet i'm gonna miss your antics.



life's about a choice,

allow me to make one, and welcome me with your widest open arms,

for every return, you are more than pleased.



and i'm not gonna be here to tread through the line of static days.

i can see the horizon, though.

but i won't stay longer to witness it.



after all,

i've done my share.

and i dwell on the memories.



i'll cherish the time when half-bbq chicken was our staple,
i'll cherish the time when bruises on hips seemed to be an okay thing to experience,
i'll cherish the time when dreams were sweet enough to hold,


i miss you, my sources of strength.

taxes.

what have taxes got to do with life, actually?

as i walked along the shady boulevard of bussorah/kampong glam area after spending some time with the lady of broadcasting here, i began to think that taxes are not merely sacrificing our paychecks regularly.

we invest our emotions.

when we agree to partake in the development process of a country, we expect something in return for our contribution. if what we expect has not come up yet, we tend to wait a little longer, and along the waiting period, we involve our thoughts to some other concerns that, like it or not, have begun shaping our lives to behave exactly like anybody else we often loathe in the first place.

the latter is more likely to happen if you are not a citizen.

a foreign worker and/or inhabitant like me, who has sucked out all of the land's enjoyment and now left with some dreariest parts, keeps on demanding more and more when we start contributing these little amount of money in. eventually, we demand our own lives, the way we want it.

we may gruntle, we may complain, yet we've got to compromise and start accepting the way things work in the foreign land.

whoever thinks that tax-ing gives you so much headache?

long time no curhat ...

you couldn't be more right saying that my life has been on a roller-coaster ride, eventhough i haven't spilled any unnecessary spoilers here.

ever since i came back from the post-iaf holiday, my life has been quite interesting. not that i want to boast, but i truly feel what i have gained has placed certain marks on my memory that i hope i'll be able to cherish 'em in my life.
and who says it's all about the pleasant parts?

in fact, couple of times i did cry, silently though, or perhaps in front of some people('s ears), i did not mind sobbing a little. talk about the spice of life in love!

but the most important thing lies on the fact that i did not feel hesitant anymore in saying:

"hi, i'm nauval, i'm a freelance writer, and i'm interested in doing a story about you/your work/your performance"

and the jovial excitement flows right through my mind!

it was indeed quite an experience, although not all of my writings were published. some of them got rejected, some of them were still on pending status, some of them are still on the way, some of them were already out there, some of them will be talked about and getting some brainstorming process.

that's why, my financial issue has been under red-alert notice.

due to the constraint, i had to limit my spending on cinema goings, and indulge myself more on dvds i borrowed from esplanade library. quite an amusing though, since i managed to get my hands on the great powell & pressburger, or to dig some classic hitchcock, wyler, wilder, and foreign cults as well.

but, despite all these constraints, i could still pull myself off in constantly writing film reviews, writing in this blog for sure, creating some ideas for articles, and along the way, i brought my friends to wherever i went to for covering stories, or simply to enjoy free art performances on esplanade or anywhere else. or simply indulging in good talks over meals with them.

and for the first time, i did what i've never thought i'll do in my life: taking a good care of my savings.
i decided to make an investment out of my retirement fund (cpf), thus i could be in peace over the secured sense that the fund will still be intact, at least for the next three years down the road.

sounds good?

it couldn't be more true as i started packing my stuff, particularly books, and have them shipped to my friends' places. i started selling some of the stuff i will not bring with me later, and talked about spring cleaning, it's already on the way. some of them have been completed, including breaking my piggy banks to pieces, and deposited all the coins to my saving account in the bank.

you wanna know how much i've saved on those piggy banks?
let's just say i could manage to travel singapore-jakarta on a return ticket, in style ;)

sounds too good to be true?

i can't be more thankful for all these opportunities that have come to me recently. new faces, new days, new ideas, new experience.

yet, one thing still prevails.

the frightening part of stepping my feet to my homeland.

after all these years, i've decided to give my home country a chance again, and it has not been easy to move from one country to another.

yet, i feel that somehow, it has not been easy to talk over about this to some people back home, as most of them have never experienced living in a foreign country for more than half-a-decade.

the conformity we have created at our own will unknowingly, the emotional baggage we have carried throughout, and the bleak of the future, they look terrifying, even to think about it.

i could keep telling myself to embrace many new opportunities to come, yet at the same time, i couldn't deny myself over the fact that this home land is not a home. it's a completely new land.

when i reach there, i will not be seen as the guy who returns home.

i will be seen merely as a kampung boy who can easily get lost over the crowded traffic jam, who are enchanted with the bright, dazzling lights of a big city, who at times can be 'kampungan' because he does not know how to behave properly.

the fact that he gets an arts degree from some university whose penchant in good films are worth looking at, may not be seen.

and sometimes, i feel that i've to face this alone.

i still have my permanent resident (PR) status here until 4 years later, i still keep my savings, my mobile numbers, ...

i have nothing to lose.

i'm just afraid, and i've to fight my fear alone.

a question past midnight, and its answer.

why does one prefer to live in a foreign land?

because he can be at ease with himself there.

thus he feels home.

And The Band Played On ...

it is very predictable indeed to pick up the film on this day.

there was a time when aaron spelling could not be more tuneful in depicting the trashy lives of americans, yet he made a move that put every heads turning to him in suspicious looks when he decided to bring up a story on how aids surfaced to prominence for the first time.

the film is called and the band played on.

it tells a story on the outbreak of aids in late 1970s to early 1980s when everyone was busy pleasing themselves and the police department of the world (aka the usa government on the brink of never ending cold war) was busy spending money for military services. at lease these activities would have gone on forever had thousands of hundreds of victims not died in suffer.



despite boasting the ensemble cast comprised of A-list hollywood stars, led by thoughtful look of matthew modine with strong supports by nuanced performances from richard gere, nathalie baye, ian mc kellen, swoosie kurtz in her utmost non-irritating presence, lily tomlin in her feistiest persona, steve martin in his subtle manner, alan alda in his rare antagonistic turn, etc., the film could not escape from the look of made-for-tv films, and imagining of seeing the film on a big screen would be unthinkable. not to mention some small melodramatic scenes such as modine's standing in the rain that might look cliche and cheesy.

yet, what made me drawn to the film, long after i took the dvd out of my dvd player, is its sincerity in telling the story as is, without any judgment nor any over-the-top dramatization. the truth could not be stranger than fiction here, where scientific data could give a chilling effect as the story progresses, and the bleak look of the film is maintained well, so as not to give any false hope to its viewers.



and the false hope is something that has been alarming.

the film was made in 1993, in which it told the story circa 1981-1985, and seeing the film in the early years of a new century, i could not be more shocked to see its relevance to date. way back more than two decades ago, people reacted to then-unknown virus in some uncivilized way, and sadly, some people prefer to keep the dated thought.

the effort put by dr. francis and the team to make people aware of the deadly illness could not be continued by keeping the narrow-minded perception. that aids spreads in many unthinkable ways is scary, and wearing red ribbons while keeping prejudice mind certainly will not make the illness to be treated better.



now, you may think i sound emotional in this entry.
and perhaps this is such a rare time i forgive the film's face-value quality while digging more on the impact the film has created by linking it to the present happenings within our surroundings.
not to mention that i happen to know some people infected with the virus.

but if i still got scared in getting myself tested for HIV, which eventually i did and the result was negative, isn't that another indication how we have not been able to cope with the hype, and not even the disease yet, well?

thus, one can't say happy aids day.

on ffi 2005.

i, nauval, wholeheartedly and dutifully accept the fact that i have not watched the following films shortlisted for official selection to compete in festival film indonesia (ffi) 2205:

- gie
- brownies
- ketika (does watching 1 disc out of 2 discs count?)
- virgin

because it requires tremendous efforts to see indonesian films on a big screen here, and financial constraint forbids me to travel back to indonesia on regular basis.

thus, watching 3 films out of the 7 selected ones will be deemed not qualified to put any comments or judgment towards the festival.

i hereby refrain myself from giving any opinion on the result of the festival ...

yet let me praise joko anwar for getting his film selected as an opening film for asian festival of first films recently held in singapore. the gesture of appreciation is given to joko for his hilarious debut which shows his penchant towards film, and the film was made with a clear and concise concept on how the film would look like on a big screen. not to mention to generate good, healthy laughter among the film's intended audience.

for cornelia agatha and sauzan, good luck. may one of you walk with the coveted prize.

for rudi sudjarwo and his 'tentang dia', next time do not ever do deus-ex-machina concept again, ok? ending a story by forcing one of the main characters to disappear in such a banal manner is hardly any logical, at least not to the mind of modern audience. we are convinced that this may work in any novels by graham greene, yet your film does not stand alongside the merits of them.

oh, have i said too much?

for the rest of you, do check the mecca of indonesian film reviews in sinema indonesia. the guys there have surely done a commendable job, and i tip my hat off to all of them.

i wonder if they ever drop by here, though. i doubt so, since we differ greatly in examining films.

the reason why i do not leave any comments on the blog is as simple as:

i don't have an account in multiply.

admit it,

you're scared.

yes, i am.

i've never been this afraid in my whole life.


you're scared, aren't you?

yes, in fact, i've been scared recently.

of what?

of questioning if it's normal or not.

about what?



that i am much more terrified to live on my own in my home country than here, in a foreign land.


and i've to face it alone.


i'm scared.

Pride and Prejudice

I assume that those who happen to drop by this blog and reading this have already been familiar with the novel, having read it as a compulsory reading if sometime during their pre-college or college days they choose literature as the subject, or by the very least, be already familiar to the story, thanks to the hype surrounding Colin Firth’s wet suit or Aishwarya Rai’s song-and-dance numbers in polished English. Whatever your resource is, I can assure you that the version of Pride and Prejudice being examined here does not change anything at all from the core of the story, thus leaving me not having to describe anything that happens between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett.

In fact, there’s nothing wrong at all with this exquisite film. At the time of rising trend in turning classical literary works into some self-proclaimed modern re-imagining adaptation, often indicated by changing the setting of time and place (remember the less-than-great “Great Expectations”, anyone?), Joe Wright decides to stick to the truest nature of the book by keeping the background of the story intact. Such a relief indeed to see a period drama with girls wearing corsets hidden under layers of their enchanting dress while parading themselves in majestic castles, and not since Merchant-Ivory team that a director can treat a classic work into something precious and beautiful as this.



The perseverance to keep the spirit of the book thus leads us to witness a fine acting ensemble, led by Keira Knightley in her spitfire performance as rebellious Elizabeth Bennett, an unlikely heroine at the time of women’s reservation. Keira’s determination indeed works like a magnet that captive audience to long more of her presence, and not even a scene where she fails to lit up the screen with her ethereal beauty alongside her bravura acts. In accordance to the film’s release at the end of the year during Oscar campaign season, I strongly believe she can pull off the same effect like what Winona Ryder did on 1994 with her “Little Women”, i.e. to emerge as an underdog, and slowly build the way up to scoring a nod for Best Actress in a film based on a beloved classic novel.

Her other compatriot is the hilarious Brenda Blethyn playing as her mother, a busy-bee woman whose mind is occupied in finding good men for all of her daughters. She might be over-the-top, yet her antics give the film necessary laughter whenever she appears on the screen. Talk about being an effective scene stealer here.



And now comes the part that personally I dislike most: bashing a good film.

So the acting is superb, the screenwriting manages to stay faithful and keep the spirit of the book well, the direction is deft, the score is enticing enough, and what could possibly ruin the whole 135 minute of the film?

Believe it or not, it is the ending.

Here in Singapore, we are very unfortunate to be given with the US version, which contains additional scenes, and I have to warn you that these additional scenes deem unnecessary, and to some extent, these scenes linger on to my mind, way long after I watch this film more than a week ago.

Of course, I respect my readers’ preference not to have any spoilers, yet I do strongly suggest that if you manage to watch the UK version, it is slightly shorter and the scene the director picks to end the film is, indeed, a bang.

Whereas for the US version, what is meant to be sexy on the first place, turns out to become, sadly, an out-of-place laughing stock.

Anyway, I guess this is the first time for me to say:
Leave the theatre before the final scene appears, and you’ve got a beautiful film to treasure.

Prime

Before we begin, let’s talk about, or rather, let’s walk down the memory lane of good ol’ days. The same activity that I did when I watched the film, and soon enough you will be able to see why.

I remember Uma Thurman on her pre-Kill Bill days.



She stormed to cinematic world with her classic, fragile beauty as shown on her luminous face, and at first Hollywood seemed clueless not knowing what to do with her otherworldly grace. Surely “Dangerous Liaisons” showcased her acting, and “Pulp Fiction” cemented her cult status, not to mention scoring an Oscar nod for that, but it was not until “The Truth About Cats and Dogs” she can be at her complete ease with her physical quality and make use of that in such a comical way. As further enhanced in “Beautiful Girls” where she still stands tall among an ensemble of fellow young actors, Uma has come full circle in accepting herself and her beauty, and play along with it nicely to equip her with amicable comic timing in every comedy she has done so far.

I remember Meryl Streep on her days in late ‘80s/early ‘90s.



Already touted as a great actress by then, as proved by her 2 Oscars and 6 other nominations as of the year 1990, she surprised filmgoers and critics by taking comic roles successively in “She-Devil”, “Defending Your Life”, and the most hilarious of them all, “Death Becomes Her”. A challenge that she conquered brilliantly, indeed. Who can forget her maniacal expression when her face turned backwards in “Death”? Her sarcasm in “She-Devil” brought down Roseanne’s wits, and she easily matched Albert Brook’s style in “Defending”. Thus, the status of a great living actress is not too much, for she has proved her skill both in dramatic and comic roles equally wonderful.

Now, a film featuring the two actresses baring their souls to the core, when they have to show their range of acting skills, in a comedic film, what can we expect?

As simple as: class-act performances!



In Prime, Uma and Meryl bring out their aforementioned comic skills to their scenes together that prove to be nail-biting and riveting. Look out for them having to chew the uncomfortable awkwardness after finding out that as a shrink (Meryl) and her patient (Uma), now they find themselves as supposedly nemesis to each other after the patient dates the shrink’s son (Bryan Greenberg). Worse, eventually the couple falls in love despite their age difference, not to mention having an overprotective mother who insists on the same-religion marriage.

Thankfully, the awaited solution proves to be satisfying, and I have a good suspicion on how the director and the writer, Ben Younger, can go away easily with this. But no matter what it is, the jovial mood he has on making the film is apparent enough, and such a wise decision indeed to have many scenes featuring Uma being goofy and Meryl turning mad filling up the screen together, sparking good and loud laughter.

After all, it is not everyday we get a mother talk about her son’s penis to his date.

Chicken Little

Oh. My. God.

So we all know that Chicken Little is Disney’s latest bait to test the water on what will happen after Pixar leaves them for good after “Cars” is released next year. A sad move, but such a move is necessary, and you will know why after you finish reading this piece.

Assuming that you watch this film during the holiday season, when you will take your kids or nieces or nephews or basically any people under the age of 12, I plea to you all to pick any other films to watch, because you don’t want to see your kids getting harmed by the film. Why? Because, oh God, do you all really want to know why?

Here’s a spoiler.

The film will be listed in my annual top films of the year as …

THE GAY-EST FILM OF THE YEAR!

Everything in this film screams “Gay” out loud in pride! Do you want some proof?

Let’s start by the commonly perceived Disney’s convention in omitting the mother-character in almost every single (animated) film released by the studio. You’ve got Bambi’s mother killed within the first 40-minute of, well, “Bambi”; and whoever knows about Ariel’s mother? Then of course, Belle has no parents, and Nemo’s mother dies when he is still being an infant. I was convinced that Disney finally getting sober when “The Incredibles” was out, for finally Disney managed to break the boundaries … which sadly, did not last that long.



Moving on, having your son imitating Chicken Little singing “I am the Champion” (a narcissist version of “We are the Champion”) under a spotlight made from a torchlight put on his bed will cause him being vain and God only knows what sort of effect will be derived by having the late Freddie Mercury as an idol.

And soon enough, Runt the Litter will be cemented and clamored as a gay icon, thanks to his “Streisand collection” (and his persistence to keep it), sadistically singing Spice Girls’ song during karaoke session, and talk about being a good buddy to a girl in distress over her not being popular and less self-confident about her look? This speaks loud.

Not that I don’t have a good laugh throughout the film, but I could not help pitying Disney over its waning magic in providing the audience with narrative storytelling that compels us to our seat and looking at the big screen with awe. The story that revolves son-father relationship has been told too many times, which could work differently if it is presented in a different angle. Yet, the plain manner certainly did not help elevating the film to be a distinctively feel-good flick, especially knowing that a similar theme has previously been explored in depth in “Finding Nemo”, released in only 2 years ago.



Patching the plot holes with mindless pop tunes certainly would not do any good to the film, even worse, making the film becoming the most uninspiring Disney film in years, scoring-wise. Notice how recently Disney’s film seldom made to the Original Score nomination in Academy Awards? That’s another issue altogether, yet I can’t help thinking so after seeing the mess of the film in its musicality.

This concerns me most, especially for parents/uncles/aunts out there, if you happen to see your kids/nieces/nephews belting out pop tunes instead of show tunes, wouldn’t you worry that the girls’ will be popstar-wannabe and the boys’ will be non-culturally polished gays?

Whatever it is, my final say goes to Pixar: Run for your life, the (Disney’s) sky is falling!

Kiki's Delivery Service

I remember when I was a kid, I made sure that I got up early in the morning on Sundays, so as not to miss my favorite cartoon series. From Unyil, to Dash Yonkuro, to everlasting Doraemon, and the short-lived Asari-Chan, although this came out on Saturdays during the time when I had just started studying here.
Somehow there was this inexplicable nature of seeing a cartoon on Sunday morning, it could be the feeling of a holiday that results in a jolly feeling during and after watching the cartoons, knowing that my 1-2 hour sitting in front of a television was not a waste, and I found myself recharged with energy to do any activities afterwards.

I could not be more glad to revisit the worth taking experience again earlier this morning, when I decided to watch Kiki’s Delivery Service, one of Hayao Miyazaki’s stellar works that made him a living legend.



Such a praise never seems overrated though, for Miyazaki has been known for his heartfelt storyline without being weepy, and Kiki is no exception on this department. But if you look for otherworldly fantasy with larger-than-life characters, you are bound to disappoint.

This is what I was surprised at. Having been familiar with his works such as “Spirited Away” or “Princess Mononoke”, I expected some monsters to eat Kiki alive or turned her parents into pigs. Yet, Kiki’s greatest enemy, if only there’s any literally, is a group of crows who still act and behave like, appropriately, crows themselves. The only exception perhaps Jiji, her talking cat, but then, aren’t all the commonly-perceived witches equipped with one?

There you go, even without defying convention by twisting Kiki into some complicated or complex characterization, we still get hooked following the story of Kiki, a young witch who at the tender age of 13, must start living independently to sharpen her skill as a witch. The journey never fails to amaze us as Kiki, the witch, turns out to be an ordinary girl who starts getting a grip of her life while seeking for her truest identity.



Feminists who complain how recent films seem to deter from portraying good female characters might find solace on the film, as such a rarity to find any films, be them animated or not, to have a strong character of woman carry the whole film throughout. It is definitely another Miyazaki’s element which has been persistently reserved in most of his works, and knowing that the film was made in 1989, anti-Hollywood film critics may quick to point out that the film is ahead of its time.

Children will love having Kiki as their sister or friend, or simply daydreaming to be one, to be able flying around with a broom and a talking animal as their faithful companion, thus starting to get the film’s merchandise, and thankfully, it was given a lesser treatment in business-minded Disney, despite handling the film’s international distribution.



For me, I simply have a good time watching Kiki’s journey to be able to know what she wants to do with her life, how to live on her own terms, and be responsible for it. Too much? I don’t complain on having my Sunday ruined, right?! ;)

Love and Death

Watching any Woody Allen’s films set in anywhere but New York, a city filled with its sophisticatedly advanced and highly educated people according to him, is always interesting, in particular to his early works pre-Annie Hall. The much younger Woody Allen had already known by then to where he should be headed with his wits and penchants for twisted philosophical views, and satisfying audience based on box-office takings certainly has never been his main priority.

An auteur, they say. The directors who insist on translating their visions to the big screen as concise as possible, thus high risks are nothing new on their menu. They may face constant downhill or uphill, and this should not bother them, for they will keep on making films despite critics’ wariness, for these madly creative conductors hang on to their beliefs that when they die, both existing and newly found fans will dig up their works, all of them, calling their less-successful works as “underrated”, “hidden gem”, “underappreciated”, etc.

Perhaps then, Woody Allen is one of the few remaining auteurs still alive and kicking his creative gears in producing films every one or two years. So much anticipation is reserved for his upcoming “Match Point”, an oasis of his recent string flops, yet his failures are things I find them hard to decipher, especially after seeing his earlier works, including Love and Death.



You don’t have to wait until the end credit rolls to find the film as ‘a Woody Allen film’. His admiration towards Ingmar Bergman is obvious enough on the presence of Death, a direct in-joke of the same character in the higher maestro’s classic “The Seventh Seal”, the split faces of Diane Keaton and the actress playing Ivan’s wife, and to those who nose on trivia, the mention of “The Magic Flute” as the greatest opera Mozart ever made during a pre-opera show scene also works double as it can be referred to other Bergman’s earlier work.

More importantly, what constitutes as a Woody Allen film is the director’s wits, a result of years doing stand-up comedy. Intelligent without being pretentious, Allen’s jokes are often punching you hard in minds, and the film’s laugh-out-loud-by-minute proves his excellence in delivering not just a comedy, but a mind-blowing film filled with originality in turning history to a hilarious result unthinkable at the time. Of course, you may think twice on being a pacifist during war season then.

Woody Allen’s deft comic timing is equaled by his muse of 1970s, Diane Keaton, who started developing her own comical sense, and she carries her deadpanned role easily, and watching her devilishly naïve in doing her wrongdoings gives the film a sense of pleasure to watch. After all, it is unlikely to find any other actresses can easily utter philosophical quotes in such a zany act to remain thoughtful.

And being one of great directors who has been widely known to bring out the best from his actors certainly will only cement the towering Woody Allen’s legendary reputation.

Me and You and Everyone We Know

Why is it that certain films prompt you to sit, watch, think, and cry while watching them closely?
Because of its sappy characters, overblown plot or mediocre musical scores that go overly used in the background of the film?

Sometimes, a film gets us big time because of its compelling storytelling that rings true to our basic necessity as a human being. The film on the spotlight here, Me and You and Everyone We Know, teaches us, or rather, reminds me on the necessity to communicate and interact with other people in this complicated world where self-recognition is on top of everyone’s priority list.



Ever since the film starts with the images of neatly arranged pictures on the wall of our main character, Christine, and she starts imagining things by making up dialogues of what the people in the pictures might say to each other, we are hooked with the situation she traps herself in. Loneliness that turns herself longing for companion, that also turns herself to sacrifice her artistic ambition to become a cab-driver for elder people, who give her ears to share her thoughts, who, in some twisted fate, introduce her to people she will embark on some relationships … There you go, you have an idea why the film is aptly given such a title that seems to be a tagline for overrated Friendster.

Yet, perhaps it is not too much to derive a hypothesis that the film works like the website where everyone is connected to another, and at some points in their life, they are communicating to each other. Film-wise, the idea is far from original, perhaps one may quick to note Jafar Panahi’s The Circle as one of fine examples.

What makes Miranda July’s stunning debut poignant lies on the film’s acute and accurate depiction on people’s primary need on not being alone, knowing that their existence recognized in one way or another, be it through a bitter divorce process, being an object of sexual desires of a pervert, or doing sexual chats with an underage kid, unknowingly. July excels in her approach that reels on tenderness of human beings, and treating them equally as fellow inhabitants of one deserted city, without putting any judgment on them. Not even while she makes fun of artsy people with their pretentiousness, the joke is delivered subtly, as if July treats the film carefully like a baby on her early stage.



Indeed, the affectionate feeling is felt as her labor of love, and a work delivered with a lot of hearts results in a film that screams out words like “original”, “beautiful”, or “a breakout”, or “simply a gem”.

She deserves all the accolades, and I deserve the film to be inhibited within myself, just like one of the main characters, Richard, says to Christine while she complains about how painful it is everytime she tries new shoes, and Richard consoles her without even touching her feet, yet carefully examining the pain, looking at her the way a shoe-store keeper treats a customer, and innocently tells her:

“You think you deserve the pain, but you don’t”.



My favorite film of the year.

let me sing ...

-- the final scene of barbra streisand standing under the spotlight in funny girl belting out the words as follows,

"oh my man i love him so
he'll never know

all my life is just a spare
but i don't care

when he takes me in his arms
the world is bright
alright

what's the difference if i say
i'll go away

when i know i'll come back
on my knee someday

for whatever my man is
i am his
forever
more ..."

feels like life itself, achingly true --

(barbra streisand - my man - ost. funny girl - 1968)

to be away.

i have not been living with family ever since i was 15.

at that time, the whole family decided to move, while i stubbornly insisted that i was gonna continue my study in this hometown where i was born, where i grew up, where i laid my first kiss on.

my dad, being a very moderate man and having the same experience when he had been a teenager to live independently, agreed on my proposal, while my mother tried to hold my decision back whenever possible.

i stayed in a rented room for 2,5 years, the time when i was at my utmost ecstatic life of being a teenager. friends, i had a few, but those few precious friends were the ones who stood by me for every foolish turn i made.

no, don't get me wrong, drugs and drinks were not my cup of tea, but i was heavily involved in several organizations and extracurricular activities, although the acts still left me far cry from being the popular guy, no thanks to my average look and steering myself away from any sports events.

i was having enormous fun, until my dad was transferred back by his company to take over the office in my hometown.

it was painful process to adjust living together again with one parent, in which eventually my mum and my sis moved back, happily together under one roof situated in a land of a city they love most.

while me, i was the rebellious one who always seeked for opportunity to live as far away from the comfort of home as possible.

when the chance came true six years ago, i couldn't be happier, and i was more than ready to set my suitcases and pack my stuff, marched to a foreign land, which along the process has been my comfort zone.

there's no reason for me not treating this rich land as a comfort zone, for it has everything i longed to have. the films, the books, the arts scene, the convenience, everything i consider as a staple of my survival.

my relationship with my parents and sisters have become somewhat static, with a few minutes phone call in a week or two, yet we remain close at heart, we say prayers to one another unknowingly.

whenever i miss home, i could board a plane to go there, although recently, there has not been much to do at home.

apparently, my resistance of staying at home affects much on my sustainability in doing nothing, but sitting comfortably while looking through my past photos.

no, i've got to get out, i've gotta do more than this, and that leads me to sneak out.
whenever i go back to my home country, seldom i go back to my hometown.

but tonight, for one rare time, i miss them greatly, to the extent of, aptly, being unbearable.

i miss my dad's tender, firm, comforting words, who still insisted on driving me around whenever i'm home, and the one who insists on following my heart, to do any works with the force inhibited by all our senses, not merely brains, because it only makes us stressed out. being a great man himself, i trust him completely.

i miss my mum's punchlines, her jokes, her easy-on-life views which make her a great mum any inspiring writers should look upon when they write films or plays with an unusual mom character on them.

i miss my elder sis' nagging on how she should look best, and i've to say that she has such an amazing array of books, as later i do inspection on them myself, i've got to admit she has a sensible literary selection.

i miss my younger sis' bravery in bracing herself out to the streets, the youngest in our family who seems destined knowing what to do to make herself happy, and i felt bad being a big brother who seldom spent much time with her. i know she's lonely not knowing much about her only brother since i have not lived with her on a daily basis ever since she turned 6, but the time with her is always a jolly one.

and i miss them all.

i haven't loved them enough.

and it feels like i've always needed them around,
yet i feel ashamed to admit that,
for the sake of my shield that goes by the name of:
pretentious independence.

i miss them.

don't we?

sometimes,
what we wish is to have a day or two,
strolling along the alleys of a supermarket,
a trolley full of meats, ingredients, vegetables, unhealthy canned foods,
sweetened fruits, buttered snacks or crunchy peanuts with the look that says,
"didn't i tell you not to pick up those junk?",
you're pretending not to hear,
you're continuing what you hear.

the trolley passes each and every alley slowly,
while they two look at the shelves,
and each other.

talking over what's good for dinner,
any left over for breakfast is deemed good,
but let's not waste too much darling,
we're not feeding the cats after all.

the trolley seems to be heavier,
while we're not getting anything.

it's because you're holding my hand.

alrite, but where's the champagne?
oh no! white wine please ...
uh huh, creamy mushroom soup, sweet sour fried chicken and a bourdeaux?!
green tea will do just fine!

oh but what's the occasion?
a meaningful look in a wide smile of warmth.

if this is an occasion,
then let it be for spending this time
together
in a supermarket
and later for cooking what we've bought
have a dinner for two, just you and me
whatever we cook, whatever we eat
it's for us.

don't we wish for the kind of small things
that matter most
sometimes?

a simple life.

there used to be a time when living a simple life means:
- going to bed before 10 pm, lights all out, occasionally do bedtime reading for a while, but definitely not later than 11 pm,
- waking up early in the morning when roosters start shouting their infamous alarm out,
- having a good breakfast in a big portion,
- going to school/work/market/etc. which are within walking distance, or taking less than 20 minutes to reach by car/motorcycle/bike etc.,
- coming back home latest by 7 pm to have dinner together,
- talking about what has happened on a day while glued on the TV set showing a feel-good sitcoms,
- settling down on who's gonna do the dishes, and who's gonna use the bicycle on the following weekend,
- and uttering prayers before hitting the bed.

nowadays, an effort to live a simple life based on modern standard means:
- going to bed before 10 pm is laughable, after all, juggling between workloads and CSI is not easy,
- waking up early to have breakfast at 7 am?! i thought breakfast is served at 12 pm, the earliest!,
- oh no! i'm late! now i'm stuck in a traffic jam, which means i'll reach the office in ... two hours?!
- there's no way i could go home early, i've got to stay back to do the overdue works, and while waiting for the traffic jam to cease, i'd better hit the gym to shed away these calories,
- i can't believe they're showing fear factor at dinner time! and what's up w/ these so-called reality shows? nothing on TV is real!,
- i'll just sleep on weekend, don't bother to knock. well, unless you can put me on the guest list for the new pub in town,
- look, i'm tired, i've got a meeting tomorrow, so ... i ... zzzz ... zzzz ... zzz ..

looking at how i've managed to survive both lives, i can't help making comparison among these two. if you think that the former is tad boring, think again.

you wake up in the morning, you go to the office and do your work without thinking because you are trained like a machine, while the only think that you're looking forward to is the salary slip, and its paycut for taxes, bills, and rents.
no worries about that, there are ways to sneak out and have fun, although for that matter, living in 5 or 6 days of routine has to be endured without any complaints.
complaining does not change anything though, you'll still end up being a slave of life.
after all the complaints, the life to meet up the standard has to be fulfilled.

wait.
what standard, and whose standard?
has there been any rules on living the way like most people do?

for sure, government along with their phone companies, electric companies, and big giants of supermarket chains only care of you when you pay the taxes, fines, bills, dues, and shopping fee on time, on the right amount, preferrably as excessive as possible. the way to obtain the means is considered less important, anything can be disguised and covered under the mask of generosity.

and living a modern life proves to be no feat of excitement.
and living a traditional life deems impossible to lead among the rushes of surroundings.

choose the life you want to be. be warned that this piece of advice is given by an undetermined guy not knowing what he needs to do with his lack-of-clear-direction life. what matters to him most is how he makes use of his current, remaining pieces of breathing existence.

we choose our lives.

Ungu Violet

Knowing that the film is submitted to some international film festivals, I joked with my friend about how they might translate the film into English. Will it be “Purple Violet” or perhaps “Violet, Violet”? Such a redundancy, in fact, since there’s no character by the name of Violet in the film, unlike “Eliana, Eliana”, aptly titled as the story revolves around the girl by the name of Eliana.

Considering the fact that I’ve been living away from Indonesia most of the time, I have to settle seeing the film as distributed by a Malaysian film distributor, and that means I have to compromise my patience not to bitch about the “suitable” Malay subtitle shown throughout the film. By any means, English subtitle is a must for a film like this to avoid any confusion in matching the dialogues and the written words, and I believe any Malaysian films imported to Indonesia (like there’s any, though), should be having English subtitle as well, so as to not getting bitched about by audience well-conversed in the similar two languages.

Now, you might be wondering that this is not my habit of spending two paragraphs talking about anything but the film itself. Not that the film itself is a trash material. In fact, the film has some standout scenes that work well to present good quality on being a melodrama movie. Particularly, those scenes belong to most of the time Dian Sastro and Rima Melati act together. The former girl has injected much of herself in the character, an assumption made from the fact that Dian is indeed a model, and one of the brands in which she is the spokesperson of is featured in the dialogues, thus seeing her comfortably bringing out her character is a pleasant to watch. The latter actress is a senior actress who has mastered her dramatic skill never deters along with the passage of time, and on her final scene with Dian where they talk over the phone yet they do not reveal many words, is indeed heartbreaking. Rima successfully shows us a master class of conveying a convincing act without uttering, or worse, screaming words, but rather, inhibit them, and projecting the intended meaning to the outer facial expression.



Sadly, the same cannot be said to the leading actor, Rizky Hanggono. In his leading role debut here along with two more established performers, Rizky seems trying hard to catch up while maintaining his supposedly cool looks, which unfortunately translates as blank, incompetent looks on the screen. If he thinks that his words help him carrying the role, he could not be more wrong, as his words were kept to minimum in this visually generous (yet less gorgeous) film.

Emphasizing more on Rizky, I partly blame his failure to the director, Rako Prijanto (am I having a Freudian slip to type wrongly, that the directorial credit belongs to Rudi Sudjarwo? It feels like Rudi’s film all over the place, though).
Rako should have known the limitations on Rizky’s ability in donning his lack of dramatic acting skills, and the fact that Rizky was given lesser dialogues, quantity and quality wise, is perfectly acceptable. Yet, during Rizky’s scene with blink-and-you-miss presence of the always reliable Niniek L. Karim, when the camera zooms in on his non-expressive look and forcing him to shift within seconds to project extremely different feelings from laughing silly to drastically becomes sobbing uncontrollably, Rizky simply fails to nail it down. The effect was laughable throughout, and worse when the scene was shown for more than three seconds, immediately registering to this writer’s memory as the one scene that brings the whole movie down.



Not even the lush cinematography seems to be rip-offs from any Christopher Doyle’s shots found in any Wong Kar Wai’s films matter to me most. Not even I mind lack of variety on background music scores created by Piyu from Padi. Not even I bother about the repetitive deus-ex-machina concept overtly used in most dramatic Indonesian films and TV series to bring the story to the end.

Not everyone can do what Diane Lane does in Unfaithful or Juliet Stevenson in Truly, Madly, Deeply.

confession of a boredom.

i may be what you define as a boring human being.

oh god! that even rhymes, unintentionally.

for the past 26-going-on-27 years of my life, i will state that:

i don't drink.

i don't do drugs.

i don't smoke.

i don't do one-night-stand.

i don't do orgy.

i don't do flirting.

i don't go to saunas or public bathrooms.

i don't apply for jobs recently.

i don't watch asian horror films.

i don't enjoy "frasier".

i don't read "harry potter".

i don't dwell on sex.

i don't sleep around when i'm single.

i don't possess a to-die-for looks and bods.

i don't have both sexual and non-sexual infidelities.

am i dead?

no, i'm pretty much alive, because i know i've chosen this life to be comfortable with.

and before i go on, kindly apply the words "... have never done ..." on every "don't" as well, it works both ways.

i am welcome with every single pre-conceived notion everyone already stores at the back of their mind whenever they approach me, talk to me, be it for a small talk or initiating a conversation. some of them are surprised, but other may accept it from the face-value, god only knows if it is a pretentious act of courtesy or simply doing some nods rather than just sitting still in front of me, which of course, is an uncomfortable gesture to do.

i may lie.

i may say harsh words.

i may give confusion headache.

yet, this is me, who thinks that boring is good.

who thinks that good film review writing should be based on the late pauline kael's extremely approachable manner, or extremely serious a la the writers of 'sight and sound' magazine.

who thinks that it is okay to spend an evening at home, watching 1948's black-and-white version of "hamlet", directed by laurence olivier, as borrowed from esplanade library.

who thinks that blaming myself is the right way when other people within my surroundings start hurting me, because i think that i do not give enough of myself to them.

who thinks that sex can still be substituted with self-service act of decency.

who thinks that long-distance relationship is scary, yet comforting.

because i believe on its longevity.

because i can see that the door is opening on the intended side.



now, who wants to be with me?

riding on a train.

most of the time, i take the train heading to pasir ris.
to the east direction.

from buona vista station where i usually hop on, i usually face the opposite way of what other people are facing.
i show my butt to the exit door.

why?
because i know that i'm going to alight at city hall station,
in which the exit door is the opposite of all the exit doors in all other stations.

because i am headed differently.

if i could do the same with my life ...

to forge ahead.

once my thoughtful friend told me,

"what is lebaran for?
it simply serves as a reminder,
that we do not need such a big day
to remind us that to forgive one's mistake is a habitual activity one must do on daily basis.
yet, there are days when the act of forgive itself is given a special treatment, put it under the spotlight,
to brighten the people who seek for a chance to be, well, known.

the same like valentine's day perhaps,
do you love your beloved partner or companion on the day itself?
i'm not going for that, definitely.
yet this is the day when what we usually do seems to be special."

i say on a different occasion,

"the artificial spirit has long gone.
no more excitement on getting new clothes,
no more hassle of being stuck on an endless traffic jam.

yet it feels more peaceful to be contented with myself, physically.
over insecurities i've been carrying with me, psychologically.

but when i sit down, chanting "allahu akbar wa lilla ilham" while looking at children next to me, holding tight a new piece of 1000 rupiah note, i can smell the scent of recently bought sarung he's wearing, i can see the bright spark of his eyes, knowing that soon he's gotta move around one big circle to say "maaf lahir batin" to his grandpa, grandma, aunties, uncles, mom, dad, and finally his fellow cousin.

let him enjoy this then, let him eat while he's asleep, let him roll in celebration."


whatever and whichever your hari raya may be, here's to forgive and forget the hatred, the slap and the bitchings, while to accept the serenity living with other human beings innocently, naively, wholeheartedly.

whoever says that lebaran is an easy festive season?

Waking Ned Devine

There are times when we wish to see a film in cinemas instead of getting even with small size of our television screen.

We may quick to list these films worth going to cinemas for, which obviously will be filled mostly with big-blockbuster films, those with overused CGI effects, or panoramic cinematography, or crisp clear of clinging swords in any martial arts flicks.
However, I heartily propose a film entitled Waking Ned Devine as a film worth every single of our hard-earned dough.

Why do I bother bringing in the film about a lottery winner who dies before collecting his winning, and turning his neighbors in plotting a scheme to outlive the money? Spare for a few minutes of gorgeous view of beaches in (supposedly) Ireland that makes us wish to live there, for most of its 90-minute duration we only see British and Irish’s finest aged thespians, without any girls in scantily clad bikini running around.
But more than that, we will see at least two old folks don their birthday suit, while riding on a motorbike nevertheless.



That only counts for a few scenes from many other hilarious ones you find yourselves laughing out loud throughout this heartwarming flick.

Now imagine, if you are laughing together inside a darkened hall with strangers whom you have nothing in common except the share of laughter towards the same object seen at the same time, and leaving the cinema feeling good, knowing the last one and half hour is spent jolly well.



Movie magic certainly does come very rarely, only in a film like this.

talk about love.

ada dari kita yang bertindak sebagai pencinta,
sementara ada dari kita yang bertingkah laku seperti pemberi,
meskipun ada dari kita yang bertindak tanduk bak pencemburu,
walaupun ada dari kita yang berpikir selayaknya pengkhotbah,
selalu ada dari kita yang berkhasiat sebagai pelacur,
kadang juga ada dari kita yang berkhianat seperti penadah,
atau bahkan ada dari kita yang beringas macam penari,
dan ada dari kita yang bertaburan kemilau bintang senyawa langit malam.

masalah cinta, dicintai, mencintai,
satu, dua, tiga obyek percintaan,
tiada, absen, hadirnya rasa bergelembung,
setuju, ragu-ragu, tidak setuju terhadap selingkuh,
apakah itu kissing, making out, channeling affectionate feeling,

towards the next person, the other person, the ourselves,
satu, dua, tiga, jadilah threesome
satu-dua, satu-tiga, dua-tiga,
jangan harap ada satu satu-dua-tiga,

cinta, bosan, statis,
siklus hidup adalah ceria, biasa, ajal,

kenapa cinta harus diujungi dengan duka kalau ia berawal dari suka?

mumblings.

jujur aja, sekarang ini saya lagi miskin yang berasa kaya.

gimana ngga miskin kalo ngga ada pemasukan. duit dari mana? ada sedikit sisa tabungan dan hasil kerja terakhir yang pas buat bayar kebutuhan pokok seperti uang rumah, utang komputer, listrik, air, telpon, dan makan a la kadarnya di hawker centres.
tapi jangan ajak saya pergi makan di restoran sekelas burger king pun, atau mengobrak-abrik cd di gramophone, atau nonton film di akhir pekan, dan juga pergi ke beberapa festival film yang sedang berlangsung. untung saja festival film perancis kali ini tidak memutar "hidden" nya michael haneke, karena kalau saja mereka berani memutar film ini, saya pun berani berhutang mati-matian, kalau perlu ngantri mati-matian di depan counter sistic.

tapi di tengah banyaknya waktu luang saya, ada perasaan bergetar setiap kali saya pergi ke esplanade library, dan melihat tumpukan buku tentang film yang berjejer rapi menjulang tinggi di depan saya yang kecil ini, baik secara fisik ataupun mental. seolah-olah mereka berkata, "come, read me this time", walaupun tetap untuk urusan screenplay, saya masih ingin menuntaskan semua buku dari syd field sebelum pindah ke pengarang lain. seperti layaknya juga beberapa buku pauline kael, pahlawan kritikus film yang saya hormati karena selalu jujur dalam menulis review tentang film-film yang pantas dia review.

film.

mungkin anda bingung kenapa semua tulisan saya tentang film. jangan khawatir, meminjam penggalan lirik dari seurieus yang terlalu sering digunakan, nauval juga manusia, punya rasa, punya hati. hanya saja, rasa dan hati saya tidak bisa memungkiri bahwa dia suka menonton film, suka menulis tentang film, bahkan tidak malu-malu mengakui bahwa satu-satunya mata kuliah dulu yang rajin saya datangi baik lecture maupun tutorial nya adalah mata kuliah american film.
menariknya, mata kuliah ini adalah mata kuliah pilihan (minor), yang berarti bukan termasuk mata kuliah wajib dari dua jurusan (majors) yang saya ambil waktu kuliah di nus dulu.

dan inilah kecanduan saya yang mulai harus diatasi.

hari-hari saya diisi dengan nonton film lewat dvd yang dipinjam dari esplanade library (sekali lagi, jangan suruh saya pinjam di tempat peminjaman dvd umum seperti videoezy, karena alasan finansial), dan setelah film itu selesai masa putarnya, maka saya akan duduk dan berpikir di depan monitor komputer untuk kemudian mencari informasi tentang film ini, dan memutuskan apakah si film layak untuk dianalisa lebih lanjut.

gila?

sayangnya, obat penyembuh kegilaan ini tidak ada. kalaupun ada, bentuknya hanya berbeda sedikit, yaitu saya tetap menulis, tapi tentang sesuatu yang lain. sekarang ini saya lagi getol menulis tentang acara-acara di singapore yang berkaitan dengan lebaran, karena mau ngga mau, artikel inilah yang bisa saya tawarkan ke media massa.

tapi saya tetap percaya kalau dalam waktu dekat, saya harus menulis tentang film, dan tulisan-tulisan itu harus dipublikasikan ke masyarakat luas. saya tidak mau pernah berpikir apakah pembaca umum mau mengerti, atau bahkan hanya sekedar untuk membaca, karena itulah kepuasan saya pribadi.

jaman ini banyak kompromi, susah sekali mencari kesenangan diri.

Shadowlands.

Dear readers,

By now you have noticed how my writings on film appreciation have differed to some other kind which I myself do not possess any control on the change. Of course the notification only applies if you are that faithful in reading this blog consistently, in which the idea itself frightens me out. If you are on the opposite side, I extend my gratitude and welcome you, indeed.

The change itself pretty much is easily identified on how I have recently often dwelled on absorbing the whole impact of the film. In other words, it is what I feel afterwards, what my heart says after the credit title finishes rolling, and I can sit in front of this monitor to pour out every single initial sensory reaction to the films I have just seen.

By any means, this kind of writing would usually put aside technical matters or basically the elements that make the film works, for example, some technical flaws on cinematography, or inadequate music scores, or the one that I talk about most is actors’ performances. Not that I see myself capable in delivering in-depth discussion about that, yet I always find the tryout in touching those mentioned factors appealing, and to some extent, intriguing, as well as challenging my mind to think those through.

However, tonight I have decided to return to the so-called root, as one film has awakened, or rather tickled my curiosity in examining the ‘outer’ look seen on a screen. The film is Shadowlands.



In a nutshell, the film tells the story of that famous author, C.S. Lewis, and his marriage to an American woman, a poet, named Joy Gresham. The characters did exist in real life before, therefore it is aptly called that the film is based on a true story. This will lead to general understanding among smart audience that no matter how the film is mirrored after events ever existed before, certain aspects of exaggeration in the name of dramatic purpose is needed to make a film worth watching. Therefore, is it necessary to put the words “This is a true story” on the very first scene of the film?

Having already seen that on a screen, as audience we are led to believe by the director (none other than Sir Richard Attenborough of Gandhi fame) that he guarantees what we will see for the next 127 minutes are exactly what the couple did on their lifetime or the ways they behaved towards each other is guaranteed real to a maximum effect.

The result could not be more disappointing than seeing the screenplay full of worth-quoting wisdoms has become something of half-baked done. Surely the main actors, Anthony Hopkins and Debra Winger, have delivered their excellence, yet the problem of their convincing portrayal of ill-fated couple lies on our perceptive towards them. In other words, their convincing portrayal fails to convince us in thorough comprehension of their love story.

In particular, Winger on her Oscar-nominated role here was given a character with many possible deeper exploration in seeing her gracious falling from a strong-willed, independent woman, to become a woman who has to compromise her unfortunate condition while doing her best to provide affection to her partner in life. Yet, the falling on her character is badly translated as the falling of her screen presence, in which after a good knockout for the first hour in the film as a leading role, she is reduced to become some supporting player. Worse, I begin to think that the last hour of the film, we see Winger’s role has become a damsel in distress, only to be puffed with lavish look of 1950s gorgeous costume and panoramic view.
Luckily, being a consummate thespian on her own, Winger carried her duty amazingly well, although it is a pity to see the butchering.

Hopkins himself might not see his presence reduced to a mere filler of the screen unlike his compatriot. How can it be when his face occupied most of the film? Yet, his inhibition of character leaves us bedazzled in wonder and confusion, as often we find the character’s change is something forced to happen. As a famous writer himself, C.S. Lewis might visit his sentimental feeling in order to emphatize with his own suffering, yet as a noble man with dignity, a weeping scene that lasts for more than ten seconds would only make audience thinking that the old man is a meek, weepy senior citizens who should be back in his emotional reclusion. Talk about the backlash of intended depiction.

Dear readers,

I sincerely hope by now you do realize that whenever a resourceful literary works is adapted into a big or small screen, it is no easy feat to capture the truest essence of the works being adapted. Worth-quoting wisdoms, mottos, or any symbolic words are not able to hold on their own unless they are transformed as a coherent screenplay which allows us, the audience, to see the development of characters convincingly, thus we are convinced that whatever we witness in the screen is a journey worth taken, and remembered.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

some films catch you off guard, where you are taken to completely a new world while you are still maintaining a good contact with the film you are watching. this does not mean your concentration deters away from the film, but rather, the film strikes you hard and you can't help wandering for a good minute or two, because unexpectedly, you feel the film completely with all your senses.

and hedwig transports me to the heartfelt experience.



not being merely contented with my own emotional involvement, the jolly feeling also comes in noticing how this film has set a certain barrier on making a good rock-opera film.
there's a struggling and to some extent painful journey the main character goes through in his life before coming to his own terms as a singer, a musician, or greater, an artist. this journey then is translated on the words and tunes, to be sung out, played, or greater, appreciated. perhaps the latter might come later towards the end of this artist's life, because a biopic does not befriend young rising stars after all.

but the main thing a rock-opera film should possess apart from continuous rock songs filling in throughout the scenes is the honesty, and consistency.

alright, that's already two elements, but they can't be more inseparable from one another.

hedwig excels in frankly telling us the journey of his life through the lyrics in all the original songs being sung out in the film, making us feeling like witnessing directly his presence in front of our eyes. if such an honesty comes out with catchy tunes enable us to sing along, that's purely a bonus in store. yet, a greater effect of these unpretentiousness results in a certain constancy maintaining the rock-and-roll atmosphere, as perhaps initially intended by the filmmakers themselves. never a scene slips out of tunes leaving us unhooked, and never a moment shies away out of focus from putting the spotlight on hedwig and his angry inch.



to have a film that is brutally honest and lyrical at the same time, one can only be thankful and be more than ready to have its own heart wrenched over this meaningful film.

simplicity.

as simple as seeing your name blinking and popping up above the duck,

but i'm beginning to doubt my doubts

as simple as channeling my mind to you on hearing looney tunes,

and i'm losing faith in my faithlessness

as simple as reeling over endless words craved on our notes,

all the grey above is clearing, becoming blue skies

as simple as feeling the rages soon to be overcome with memories,

i'm beginning to feel again

as simple as having the faith to believe in trusting each other,

and i'm losing what's left of my thoughtlessness

as simple as living the boredom and the madness as a means of affection,

the sun has begun to come out in my life

as simple as stepping the feet on to harsh reality of material world,

when you look in my eyes

as simple as ending the lust of lush life completely,

... you give me something more, it's like i've never loved before ...

as simple as settling hearts and souls to one another,

as simple as being here and there,

as simple as loving the love itself,


then be it.



-- italic words are excerpts of "when you look in my eyes" by jay graydon --

American Splendor.

pardon me for being terribly late in encountering this film, but i've already got enough punishment on my own, for disbelieving that it'd take me this long to witness and indulge looking at a comic literally translated on a big screen, it was initially transferred to the medium although i only managed to grab its dvd, to an extremely pleasant result.

"one visually arresting film", and such a compliment does justice to describe a story of harvey pekar and his life from zero to become a hero while maintaining his zero-support job. it is not everyday we get to see a famous comic writer who keeps his daily job as a file clerk, but that's the whole point of his life as he said, "you've got to keep on working and something might bound at the end."

now, if you feel that my penchant towards this film is due to the identification of myself towards the character, i can't agree more that i have certain weakness towards films portraying born-loser characters who take a great deal amount in his life before achieving anything he desires in life. and if you are that quick to notice that these kind of characters are often portrayed by paul giamatti (who knocks me off my feet for his showcase of terrifying acting skill here) as what he does in "sideways", well, pretty much he's got a perfect figure for that.



but the point does not lie on merely having these often-picked-on characters on screen. what makes "american splendor", be it as comics, film, and play at a mediocre result intriguing should be credited to its daring ability to present the real life truthfully, and nothing can be more appealing to our emotion than things that we encounter in daily life. surely it gets dramatized as chances are you won't have haunting jazz scores while we see a doctor or being hospitalized to get a treatment, yet above these background, we get to witness how our social life starts getting diminished when we get older, or how scary it is to be lonely whenever our loved ones go away. as blatant and harsh things could be in real life, harvey pekar demonstrates an impossible feat: to be true to one's own self at times when compromising fame is much preferred.

how shari springer berman and robert pulcini captures the essence of the compelling point above while maintaining the comical spirit of harvey's original works is purely a film magic.

how paul giamatti and hope davis give a cringe on my skin over their nail-biting portrayals as harvey and joyce brabner show us their faith in these real-life characters, thay the two actors do not only imitate, that they inject their own skillfuly crafted acting to inherit the characters inside out.



how i love the film is obvious.

Tim Burton's Corpse Bride

Tim Burton does musical! And he does it on an animation film!

I can’t help scratching my head and gushing shyly, and enjoying the rollicking fun of looking at semi-gothic characters parading themselves in a musical number from Danny Elfman that seem to serve as sort-of tribute to old-school musical genre. At least, some scores evoke such a thought if you often see musical films of MGM era. And the blast of these tunes perfectly enhance the atmosphere of the world that can only happen in Tim Burton’s own fantasy world.



Imagine a world of living full of gloomy looking people and London turns itself to be a gray city, looking dull and boring. On the other hand at the same time, the underground world way below the graveyards are full of weird looking characters, often not in complete set of body parts, yet they look vibrant and much more alive than the living, as they are presented in bright, dazzling colors. Not to mention that these puppets dance more than their counterparts.

Such a scene might recall for Burton’s previous outing in The Nightmare Before Christmas, and Edward Scissorhands. Yet, what might seem as a totally naïve and innocent Burton on this two works do not show on Corpse Bride, as the latter gives us a much more mature storyline which might be confusing for children who get a chance to see the film, considering its PG rating. I would put Corpse Bride here as part of a testament on how Burton has quite tamed himself recently, with the works like the heartwarming Big Fish, the family-friendly Charlie and Chocolate Factory, and now putting an ensemble of string puppets in a fairy tale that dwells on adult relationship, Burton has tamed himself in maturity that simply swells.



Now, apart from the destined Best Animated Feature clout at the next year’s Academy Awards, shall it go for a higher cast? It deserves so.