Last Friday something happened in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. There wasn’t much fanfare, but Garin Nuqroho was in town. As part of his visit, the National Arts Academy organised a screening of his latest feature as well as a dialogue session with him.
The 41-year old Garin is the most garlanded Indonesian film-maker of his generation. His features, all of which have lovely titles, have won awards around the globe, from Berlin to Tokyo. Their names are Cinta Dalam Sepotong Roti (Love in a Slice of Bread), Surat Untuk Bidadari (Letter for an Angel), Bulan Tertusuk llalang (And the Moon Dances), Daun Di Atas Bantal (Leaf on a Pillow) and Puisi Tak Terkuburkan (Unconcealed Poetry). He is also a noted maker of documentary and shorts, and lectures in a Jakarta arts college. Having seen many of his works, I of course could not pass up the chance to meet him.
The National Arts Academy is now temporarily housed high up above in the Empire Tower at Jalan Tun Razak. But about a hundred people managed to find their way to this incongruous location to meet a man whose movies we have seen, most likely in bootleg videos, rare TV screenings or foreign festivals. (None of his films have been theatrically screened in Malaysia). Among those present were film-makers Teck Tan, Adman Salleh, Hassan Muthalib, theatre luminaries Nam Ron and Zakaria Ariffin, as well as new independents such as Ho Yuhang and Desmond Ng.
The session began with a screening of Puisi Tak Terkuburkan. This is a stylised feature, shot on video and transferred to film, about the Suharto-sanctioned massacre of suspected communists in Indonesia in 1965. It is set entirely in an Aceh prison (with one room for men and another for women) where the inhabitants await their death sentences, and the story is interspersed with poetry recitals by Ibrahim Kadir, who was a real-life survivor of that death camp. It begins in black and white and gradually turns to colour, with plenty of long takes.
I found it even more effective than Kandahar in its expressionistic delineation of a national tragedy. There is enough laughter, tears and music in its 83 minutes than most other emaciated features with much longer durations. The language is a mixture of Bahasa Indonesia and Achinese, thankfully with illuminating English subtitles. There isn’t much didacticism in explaining who these prisoners were and how they got there. This somehow made the film move beyond the specifics of the situation into a more universal and time-tested realm where the oppressor meets the oppressed, without ever losing its local power. It could have been anywhere and anytime, but it’s also undoubtedly about the blood that flowed in Aceh in 1965.
The language is powerful because it’s poetic without being effete. ”The moon and the stars screamed as the bullets tore through them, “Ibrahim says of a woman slain while holding on to her baby. Later, a female prisoner who had been entrusted to buy sacks and rope to cover the heads and tie the hands of people about to be hanged says to the guard, “I will buy no more of these. These sacks are to keep rice. These ropes are to restrain buffaloes.”
The film was shot only in six days because the action is confined to a single set. (It would have been unsafe to actually shoot in Aceh in 2000, so a set was built in Jakarta). Garin revealed how appalled people were when they heard his intention to make a film with such an explosive subject. “Are you trying to commit suicide?” he was asked. Local funding was not possible, but financial assistance came from Rotterdam’s Hubert Bals Fund. The film screened in Indonesia in the more democratic post-Suharto era.
I asked if his latest features show that he would like to find a synthesis between documentary and fiction. Garin replied, “A neo-realist approach can be appropriate based on the subject-matter. It also keeps costs down as I don’t have to pay professional actors or use fancy equipment!” I do however quibble with his use of the term “neo-realist” as I found the acting quite theatrical and the mise-en-scene aesthetically formal. Nevertheless, it’s a powerful and exceptional work that demands additional screenings in Malaysia.
With the exception of Daun Di Atas Bantal (which benefitted from the star power of Christine Hakim), none of Garin’s films made money in Indonesia. Local audiences reportedly find them difficult or esoteric. So his films rely on the international art-house circuit to break even. And in his own country, the college circuit, too: Puisi Tak Terkuburkan opened on only one Jakarta screen but then travelled for months in universities.
“I have always known I would be in a minority,” he says. “But any film industry needs its minority as well as mainstream works. In a forest, there will be a few trees that are vital for the survival of the whole eco-system, alongside those that are just planted for short-term profit. I also see myself as a bridge between the traditional generation and the digital one. There are many other stories I would like to tell. Indonesia is full of stories. No doubt I will be accused of contemplating suicide more times in the future!”
Meeting Garin Nugroro was an inspirational experience for many of us. His confidence and generosity of spirit could only have come from a man deeply immersed in the society whose stories he feels compelled to bring to the world. Nam Ron is braver than most but even he said later, “If only I had his courage!”
Garin had many sparkling anecdotes. (Although it’s always funny to a Malaysian when an Indonesian uses the word butuh, which is harmless in Indonesian but shockingly rude in Malay). He explains why his films always use live-sound recording rather than dubbed dialogue because old movies always have the actors using chuckles and grunts to cover the movements of their mouths on-screen: For example, “I would like to go there, heh heh heh.” Sadly, with very few exceptions, the profit motive has ensured that we in Malaysia persist in dubbing our dialogue.
By sheer coincidence, I bumped into Garin the next day and a whole group of us went to a stall outside Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka. I rattled off my unsolicited opinions on the new crop of Indonesian films I have seen. He was critical of them but was also generous to the individuals. “When I saw Kuldesak I was appalled,” he says. “Everything was just stolen from Wong Kar-Wai and Tarantino with no regard for local context. But the new films by the same people are better because they are doing stories closer to them. So they will be all right. They will find their way.” I hope the same thing is happening here as well.
I recently discovered that my new short is showing in the same competitive category as his own short in the Singapore International Film Festival. Now I know what those Oscar-baiting actors mean when they say, “It’s an honour to even be nominated!”
THE END.
First Published: 02.04.2002 on Kakiseni