Jul–Sep 2012 Cinémathèque Quarterly

Cinémathèque
Quarterly
Jul–Sep
2012
“Some among us wanted
not only revolution in art but
also art in revolution…”
– Nagisa Oshima
Contents
4
Editor’s Note
6
8
12
16
World Cinema Series
Rong Raem Narok / Country Hotel by Rattana Pestonji
Shura / Demons by Toshio Matsumoto
Sanatorium pod klepsydra / The Hourglass Sanatorium by Wojciech Has
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Japanese Film Festival 2012
24
Singapore Short Cuts
26
34
Writings on Cinema
Nagisa Oshima’s Letter to Cinemaya
The Great North Korean Picture Show by Lynn Lee
44
Interview Ang Sookoon
58
Word on the Ground The Salvage Detectives by Dodo Dayao
64
Write to Us
65
Credits
66
About Us
67
Ticketing Information
68
Getting to the Museum
Shura / Demons (1971) by Toshio Matsumoto
Image © 1971 Matsumoto Productions
Editor's Note
Plans are good, even necessary. But happenstance played a role in bringing
this issue’s essays together. For a start, we’re still chasing prints.
We’d like to show The Flower Girl (1972), that iconic North Korean
revolutionary genre film set in the 1930s when the Korean peninsula was
under Japanese rule (1910-1945). We still haven’t got the print. Instead,
documentary filmmaker Lynn Lee writes about making a film in that notoriously
secretive country and in particular, about its thriving film industry. Until
December 2011 when he passed away, the nation had looked to the “dear
leader” Kim Jong-il for direction, mentorship and inspiration. The diary essay
describes the journey undertaken by Lee and James Leong and invites readers
to watch the film to decide for themselves what they should make of it.
Few filmmakers have been able to examine the cultural and historical
reverberations of Japan’s presence in Asia as astutely as Nagisa Oshima.
Even as he sought to banish the forced harmony of the Japanese family home
in his films, he also wrote essays and made television documentaries on the
impact of Japan’s occupation in Korea, Vietnam and elsewhere in Asia (see,
for example, The Forgotten Imperial Army [1963] and his collected writings
Cinema, Censorship, and the State [1992]). Here we re-publish something he
wrote for the inaugural issue of the respected film journal Cinemaya in 1988.
His letter to Editor-in-Chief Aruna Vasudev is a startlingly reflective and
prescient piece on writers and the purpose of film criticism.
For our interview this issue, we speak to artist Ang Sookoon, who works
in various mediums, including drawing, video, installation and printmaking.
Sookoon tells us why childhood and children form the focus of her video and
artwork and why she likes to take apart cartoons and fairytales.
Mad worlds (both internal and external) typify this quarter. We start off
our World Cinema Series on July 10th with iconic Thai filmmaker Ratanna
Pestonji’s Rong Raem Narok / Country Hotel (1957). More like a play than
4
a film, Pestonji did away with elaborate sets and instead chose to tell a story
in a hotel. Characters come in, they watch each other, they plot, they lie and
obfuscate. The results are both hilarious and surreal.
The internal contradictions of a mind at odds with itself may yield something far
darker though and in the hands of Toshio Matsumoto, the results are downright
claustrophobic. On August 14th we invite you to watch his Shura / Demons
(1971). Forget about Toshiro Mifune’s stoic and quietly self-assured wandering
samurai (a constant feature in Akira Kurosawa’s films). Katsuo Nakamura’s
Gengobei is cruel and unrelenting.
The Series ends on September 11th with Polish filmmaker Wojciech Has’
Sanatorium pod klepsydra / The Hourglass Sanatorium (1973). We all
know how Christopher Nolan’s Inception (2010) brought the realm of the
subconscious literally and visually alive. In Has’ surrealist film, made 39 years
ago, memory and history meld to make for a convoluted reality that is
somehow, far more ominous.
This quarter, Singapore Short Cuts returns for its 9th instalment (4–5 &
11–12 August) and we also bring you the Japanese Film Festival (1–8 July
2012), which will feature works by Shohei Imamura and highlights from
Nikkatsu directors Seijun Suzuki, Tatsumi Kumashiro and others.
Continuing the theme of archives and chasing prints, this issue’s Word on the
Ground by Dodo Dayao reminds us (as Jasmine Nadua Trice’s essay on the
Philippines and archiving did in Issue #3) of the good work being done by the
cine-activists at SOFIA (Society of Filipino Archivists of Film). But Dodo’s piece
is a love note that recalls the ritual pleasure in chasing, finding and watching
those hard-to-come-by films. With the sudden passing of iconic Filipino
filmmaker Mario O’Hara on June 26th 2012, the chase for any prints of his
films will begin.
Vinita Ramani Mohan
Editor
Cinémathèque Quarterly
5
6
Sanatorium pod klepsydra / The Hourglass Sanatorium (1973) by Wojciech Has
Image courtesy of Kadr Film Studio, source: KinoRP Project
World
Cinema
Series
10 July, 14 August, 11 September / 7.30 pm
Gallery Theatre, Basement
$9 / $7.40 Concession
Prices inclusive of SISTIC fee
A programme of the National Museum Cinémathèque
World Cinema Series is a monthly screening of works by the boldest and
most inventive auteurs across the world, from renowned classics to neglected
masterpieces. Witness the wonders, possibilities, textures as well as the
revelatory moments that have contributed to the rich history of cinema. Take a
leap of faith and discover the art of cinema that continues to affect and inspire
us on the big screen – as it was meant to be seen – with the World Cinema
Series, shown every second Tuesday of the month at the National Museum
of Singapore.
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World Cinema Series
Tuesday, 10 July, 7.30 pm
Rong Raem Narok / Country Hotel
Director Rattana Pestonji
1957 / Thailand / 138 min / 35 mm / PG
In Thai with English Subtitles
Image courtesy of the Thai Film Archive
8
World Cinema Series
Country Hotel is an early experiment, which harnessed the possibilities of
black and white 35 mm film stock and on-set sound recording, back in the day
when most Thai films were shot on colour 16 mm film stock with audio dubs.
Due to the high costs of this new format, Rattana Pestonji had to economise
on all other aspects of the production, resulting in the use of a single film set
of a hotel resembling a western outpost. Rather than a limitation, this enclosed
space becomes a frame in which Rattana conjures an outrageous narrative
filled with absurdist humour and a light-hearted brand of surrealism.
Noi, an arm wrestling champion, runs the mysterious Paradise Hotel together
with his uncle. The hotel boasts of a well-stocked bar with only one room
occupied by Chana, a nondescript young man on unknown business.
Curiously, the hotel bar is a magnet for an array of musicians who appear
unannounced to rehearse or perform an impromptu number. These perpetual
musical disturbances serve as interludes, giving rise to a string of ridiculous
situations that irritates Chana, who just wants some peace and quiet. In comes
Riam, a brawly young woman who claims to be 65 years old, a divorcee with
12 children, and an opium trader. She insists on staying in Chana’s room.
A dispute arises between them, sparks and bullets begin to fly, and the
hotel occupants begin to experience what Chana refers to as ‘Hotel Hell’.
The madness doesn’t end there. Chana turns out to be an accountant awaiting
the delivery of a huge payroll. A fraternity of thugs arrive on the side-lines,
causing further havoc in their bid to intercept the handover.
In Country Hotel, facets of various genres, including western, film noir and
the musical coalesce to create a continually witty and bizarre mood filled with
danger, drama and comedy. To this day, the film and its iconic hotel setting
trigger memories of the Golden Age of Thai Cinema.
9
World Cinema Series
Image courtesy of the Thai Film Archive
10
World Cinema Series
Rattana Pestonji
Born to a family of Indian Zoroastrians in Bangkok, Rattana Pestonji
was a passionate practitioner and advocate of cinema who pushed
for continuous innovations in his country’s industry. Since an early
age, Rattana engaged with both art and technology. His interest in
photography went hand in hand with his talent in working the mechanics of cameras, which led him to pursue an engineering degree.
While working as a film salesman and a photographer upon graduation,
Rattana started experimenting with cinematography. He officially made
his entrance into cinema when he became a cameraman for Prince
Bhanu Yugala’s film Phanthaay Norasingh (1949). Soon after, he
formed his own film studio, Hanuman Films, and directed his first feature
Dear Dolly (1951). Rattana was one of the first directors to introduce
35 mm film and on-location sound recording into production practices.
He made a number of iconic films, working as cinematographer to SantiWeena (1954), which won best cinematography among other awards
at the Asia Pacific Film Festival, and directed films such as Sawan Mued
/ Dark Heaven (1958), Prae Dum / Black Silk (1961), and Nahmtann
Mai Waan / Sugar is Not Sweet (1965). Rattana also co-founded and
headed the Thai Film Producers Association which became a vehicle
for his advocacy for the cinema industry. He passed away in 1970 while
giving a speech at a meeting of film producers and government officials.
His legacy in Thai film history is undisputed, with many critics regarding
him as the father of contemporary cinema in Thailand, and current
auteurs such as Wisit Sasanatieng and Pen-Ek Ratanaruang citing
his influence on their works.
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World Cinema Series
Tuesday, 14 August, 7.30 pm
Shura / Demons
Director Toshio Matsumoto
1971 / Japan / 134 min / 16 mm / Rating TBC
In Japanese with English Subtitles
Co-organised with the Japan Foundation and Japan Creative Centre
Image © 1971 Matsumoto Production
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World Cinema Series
As the dully tinted setting sun retreats from the frame in the opening scene
of Shura, all colour is obfuscated, and together with it, all hope disintegrates
into the cold foreboding air. Herein is the tale of Gengobei Satsuma, an exiled
samurai torn between his personal desire for vengeance and his obligation to
avenge the death of a clan member who was forced to commit ritual suicide.
Whichever way he turns, putrid corpses and blackened blood lies on his path.
Far removed from the action oriented and fetishised sword fighting of the
Chanbara, and sharing little concern with the historical periodisation of the
Jidai-geki, Shura situates itself within a sparse theatrical space to convey a
state of looming madness waiting to manifest when human emotions are so
far stretched that they pass into a form of possession. The film takes us into the
claustrophobic mind of a battered Gengobei, where his inner demon, govern
by jealousy and shame, emerges as an insidious jester, committing his hands to
hideous deeds.
Shura is based on Kamikakete sango taisetsu, a kabuki play by Nanboku
Tsuruya. Under the hand of Toshio Matsumoto, the film is a synthesis of
kabuki and noh theatre, as well as modern cinematic techniques. It conveys
the actions prevalent in Kabuki theatre, but infuses the form with a visceral
and visual immediacy. Similarly, it echoes the bare theatrical space of a Noh
play, but instead of having its characters don masks, which convey various
emotional states, it focuses on its characters facial convulsions which straddle
the line between humanity and inhumanity. The film literally and figuratively gets
darker as it progresses, pushing the atmospheric dread of film noir to its limits.
Matsumoto’s radical editing and narrative techniques are utilised sparingly and
expertly to convey the isolated and stuttering thought processes of Gengobei.
This is done with such convincing efficiency that we become trapped within his
mind, making Shura a morbid and grim portrait of an amoral universe.
13
World Cinema Series
Image © 1971 Matsumoto Production
14
World Cinema Series
Toshio Matsumoto
Toshio Matsumoto is probably best known as the director of Bara no
soretsu / Funeral Parade of Roses (1969), a feature film produced by
the legendary Art Theatre Guild which reinterpreted the tale of Oedipus,
situating it in the milieu of the transgendered community and the student
movements of 1960s Japan, and went on to inspire Stanley Kubrick’s
A Clockwork Orange (1971). As a self-taught artist with a love for early
cinema, Matsumoto first made documentary shorts such as Senkan
(1956) and Haru o yobu kora / Children Calling Spring (1959).
Conscious of the limitations of the documentary genre, Matsumoto
went on to develop an extensive video art practice which became a
formal outlet for his avant-garde experimentations. He explored politics,
folklore, spirituality and technology with a multidisciplinary approach.
These include titles such as Space Projection Ako (1970), which was
created for the Textiles Pavilion within the Japan Expo ’70, and Mona
Lisa (1973) which explores art production in the age of Duchamp. His
other feature films include Shura / Demons (1971), War at the Age of
Sixteen (1973) and Dogura Magura (1988). Currently, he is the dean
of Arts at the Kyoto University of Art and Design, and president of the
Japan Society of Image Arts and Sciences.
15
World Cinema Series
Tuesday, 11 September, 7.30 pm
Sanatorium pod klepsydra / The Hourglass
Sanatorium
Director Wojciech Has
1973 / Poland / 120 min / Digital / Rating TBC
In Polish with English Subtitles
Film still courtesy of Kadr Film Studio, source: KinoRP Project
16
World Cinema Series
Based on a collection of short stories, Sanatorium Under the Sign of the
Hourglass, by the Polish author Bruno Schulz, The Hourglass Sanatorium
is a phantasmagorical trip into the subconscious of Josef, a young man who
travels on a ghostly train to a peculiar gothic hospital to visit his dying father.
The sanatorium is like a rusty and crumbling graveyard in the depths of one’s
unconscious. Filled with skulls, clocks, taxidermies, wax mannequins and
secret doorways, it is a fantastical visualisation of what the mind might look
like if it were envisioned as a derelict museum where memories are embalmed,
entombed and laid to rest.
Entering the dusty sanatorium, a doctor announces that Josef’s father is dead,
yet alive within the sanatorium. Soon the unreality of the sanatorium works its
magic. With Josef’s entrance, its machinery is awakened, the linearity of time
is skewed, and the sanatorium comes alive as a sensorium of his memories.
Josef gains a chance to revisit and contemplate his childhood, fantasies,
and unresolved moments of his life as he traverses fluidly through different
memories which are never wholly personal but intrinsically connected with
collective history. The pre-holocaust Jewish community and the tragedy which
unfolded appear as a looming presence throughout the narrative.
With each historical event too immense in scale and its effects too far-reaching,
Josef never fully comprehends the significance of each memory which he
encounters, but arrives and leaves amidst the action. His experience constitutes
a mere fragment. Perhaps the most consistent and universal form in the film is,
paradoxically, the uncanny experience of time itself which ceaselessly bends
and folds. Josef gives in to a Proustian sense of time, and finds himself within
a nonsensical world akin to Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland without its
anthromorphism. The Hourglass Sanatorium is an important surrealist classic
which won the Special Jury Award at Cannes in 1973. It is presented in a newly
restored digital copy by KADR Film Studio.
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World Cinema Series
Film still courtesy of Kadr Film Studio, source: KinoRP ProjectProject
Film still courtesy of Kadr Film Studio, source: KinoRP ProjectProject
18
World Cinema Series
Wojciech Has
Born in Kraków, Poland, in 1925, Wojciech lived through the Second
World War studying in a Business and Commerce college before
attending classes at the Kraków Academy of Fine Arts. He started off
making documentary films at the Warsaw Documentary Film Studio
and later at the National Film Studio in Łódź. His first feature film was
Petla / The Noose (1958), an intoxicative portrait of the last day of a
drunkard. He taught at the National Film School in Łódź, of which he
served as a dean of the film directing department from 1989 to 1990,
and was appointed as provost from 1990 to 1996. Wojciech steadily
developed a distinct cinematic direction that was informed by his
enthusiasm for French surrealism, including the works and writings of
artists such as André Breton and Louis Aragon. Consciously steering
away from the dominant school of Social Realism and an engagement
with politics, Wojciech focused his works on the oneiric qualities of
cinema, constantly situating the subconscious and dreams indifferently
within the diegesis. Often, the worlds that he created, with their uncanny
juxtapositions of symbolic objects and manipulation of time, seem to take
precedence to character development and narrative. He is most famous
for the surrealistic period pieces, Rekopis znaleziony w Saragossie /
The Saragossa Manuscript (1964), a film championed by directors as
wide-ranging as Martin Scorsese and Luis Bunuel, and Sanatorium pod
klepsydra / The Hourglass Sanatorium (1973).
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Nishi Ginza Station (1958) by Shohei Imamura
Image © Nikkatsu
Japanese
Film Festival
2012
1-8 July / Various Timings
Gallery Theatre, Basement
Free Admission
Organised in partnership with the Japan Foundation, Japan Creative Centre,
Singapore Film Society, Japanese Association of Singapore, National Museum
of Singapore and Luna Films, this year's festival promises yet another exciting
line-up for cinephiles here. In celebration of 100 years of Nikkatsu Studio, the
festival features a focus on the filmic output of this influential film corporation
which has carved a niche in the booming postwar Japanese film industry. This
focus includes a substantial body of work by IMAMURA Shohei, and highlights
from notable Nikkatsu directors such as SUZUKI Seijun, KUMASHIRO Tatsumi,
MASUDA Toshio and KAWASHIMA Yuzo. The festival also features a selection
of contemporary feature films making waves in the international film circuit,
and two Tsunami documentaries which explore the undercurrents beyond the
headlines, and the people who continue to be affected by the tsunami and
earthquake of last March.
For the details and latest ratings, please visit
www.sfs.org.sg/japanesefilmfestival
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Red Handkerchief (1964) by Toshio Masuda
Image © Nikkatsu
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Ying & Summer (2011) by Gladys Ng
9th Singapore
Short Cuts
4 & 5 August, 11 & 12 August / 2 pm
Gallery Theatre, Basement
Free Admission with Registration
A Programme of the National Museum Cinémathèque
Co-presented with The Substation Moving Images
Celebrating its 9th edition this year, Singapore Short Cuts continues to be
one of the most popular and widely anticipated showcase of local short films in
Singapore. This year’s programme features a diverse selection of some of the
most innovative and outstanding recent Singapore short films, ranging from
documentaries to animation and experimental work.
Ticketing Information
Free tickets to the 9th Singapore Short Cuts can be collected at the National
Museum’s Stamford Visitor Services Counter a week before each screening
date. Tickets are available on a first come, first served basis, and limited to four
tickets per person. Any remaining tickets will be given out at the door on the
screening day.
4 August screening / Tickets for collection from 28 July
5 August screening / Tickets for collection from 29 July
11 August screening / Tickets for collection from 4 August
12 August screening / Tickets for collection from 5 August
Valid identity pass showing proof of age is required for all screenings.
For the details and latest ratings, please visit www.nationalmuseum.sg.
25
Nagisa Oshima with Eiko Matsuda and Tatsuya Fuji (from left to right)
on the set of Ai no korîda / In the Realm of the Senses (1976)
Image from British Film Institute
Writings on Cinema
Nagisa Oshima’s
Letter To Cinemaya
Filmmakers are often also polymaths and public
intellectuals. Even as Nagisa Oshima vehemently
erased the forced harmony composed of verdure,
tatami mats and polite conversation from his films,
he also observed and wrote film criticism, diary notes
and letters. Here we reprint a letter written by Oshima
to Aruna Vasudev, Editor-in-Chief of Cinemaya
magazine, 24 years after it was first published.
We asked Oshima-san to write something for the
Director’s Column in this inaugural issue. We wanted his
thoughts on cinema in whatever manner he wished to
express them. He chose to write it in the form of a letter
which we reproduce below in its English translation.
– Editor, Cinemaya
28
Letter to Cinemaya
Dear Aruna,
It was indeed a great pleasure to see you in Tokyo this
April after our meeting in Hawaii last December. You so
diligently spent your time watching Japanese films besides
attending all the functions of the Indian Film Festival.
What was your impression after seeing the films, and will
this impression be reflected in the magazine you plan to
publish? How marvellous that you are bringing out a new
cinema magazine.
At the end of April one of the TV companies in Tokyo
sponsored an open discussion entitled “Cinema Is
Our Dream.” It was held in a small theatre in Shibuya
and lasted five hours from 1am to 6am. Nearly twenty
producers, directors, script writers, actors and critics
were present as panellists and many questions were
raised and opinions voiced by the audience. I was there,
too. One of the points I brought up was the following:
In the last ten years many promising new directors have
appeared on the Japanese cinema scene. But strangely
enough, no critics have emerged who measure up to
them. Why is this so?
Around the time I started out as a young director, critics
whose sensibilities matched ours had also begun serious
writing. Before I made my first film, A Town of Love and
Hope (At to Kibono Machi) in 1959, I had worked as an
assistant director in Shochiku’s Ofuna Movie Studio for
five years. During those years, I also wrote and published
scripts in and for the studio, and contributed critical
articles in two cinema magazines outside the studio.
In this way, my colleagues and I were trying to declare our
intention of creating something completely different from
what was being made at that time both in terms of finished
29
Writings on Cinema
products (scripts) and of theories (criticism). Naturally, all
scripts and the real intentions behind them emerge in the
process of making or moulding the film. As for my scripts,
no clear characteristics were readily understood other
than that they were simply difficult to interpret. In criticism,
however, my unique characteristic was the denial of all
the traditions of Japanese cinema and a keen interest in
avant-garde films abroad. The foreign films that interested
us were the early European avant-garde, the documentary
films made in the US and Europe and, of the post-war
period, the neo-realism of the films from Italy. The early
films of the Polish directors Wajda and Kawalerowicz
also stimulated us a great deal.
For us, it was meaningful to learn from these works in
order to destroy the stereotypes and the stagnation of
Japanese films. Of course, we were not a political party or
a group with well-defined programmes. Perhaps what we
formed was simply a school of people who shared certain
vague thoughts, but what we did want was a revolution
in art. The reason why I say a revolution in art instead of
a revolution in film was that we regarded film-making not
as an isolated effort but as an integral part of the whole
world of literature, painting and music, and that we felt
a revolution had to take place in all these areas. Some
among us wanted not only revolution in art but also
art in revolution, although I was consistently opposed
to considering art as a means to accomplish
something else.
When our own works, full of these ideas, finally appeared,
it was only natural that they become the target of censure
and misunderstanding. Critics of my generation protected
us against these attacks and counter-attacked on our
behalf. At the same time they did not spare us either.
30
Letter to Cinemaya
Nagisa Oshima (bottom right) with Takeshi Kitano (top left) on the set of Gohatto / Taboo (1999)
Image from British Film Institute
Their relentless criticism encouraged and stimulated our
work. While directing my own film, I had to simultaneously
continue my work as a critic. That is how I became an
author of so many books – which you were surprised to
learn about.
Our struggle continued until the late ‘60s, early ‘70s. This
period was called the Age of Rebellion by the youth. Then
some of my colleagues restarted the magazine Cinema
Critique. They hoped that a serious and aggressive group
of young critic would emerge. But their expectation was
betrayed.
What was the nature of the rebellion by the young at that
time? Surely their rebelliousness was aimed at liberating
and overthrowing the old forms of authority? In this regard
it was not different from what we had tried from the ‘50s
onwards.
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Writings on Cinema
And what was the result? Although the ancient regime
in Japan was not destroyed, the significance of the old
authority had definitely been reduced. The Japanese
people, especially of the younger generation, no longer
pay special regard to traditional authority. In this sense,
a kind of liberation has taken place but only to a certain
degree and within the context of an essentially traditional
society to which one still conforms. Yet, most Japanese
appear to be satisfied with this state of affairs. The
young who aspire to work in films approve of the basic
framework of Japanese society and the Japanese film
world. They either wish to do what they like within this
framework, or not to think about it seriously. Many young
people claim to be film critics but what they are actually
doing is merely showing their affection for films and trying
to protect the world of film which is very weak in Japan
today. Under these conditions I do not expect impressive
productions or criticism to appear.
The force which produced the earlier Japanese films was
Japanese society. Until the end of the Second World War
this society was, by and large, homogenous and displayed
the same characteristics. Since then, this homogeneity
has almost completely disappeared, a process that has
been propelled by economic prosperity. Since my life
and my films have been more or less in favour of this
process, I should be content. Japanese society has been
dismembered, but I still do not feel in harmony with it. This
sense of incongruity is what makes me continue working
and producing films. But it is not easy to find a figure to
reflect my sense of incongruity.
Dear Aruna, did you meet anybody interesting while in
Tokyo? Or did you see any character in Japanese films
that moved you? During our conversations in Honolulu
and Tokyo, you suggested that I should produce my next
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Letter to Cinemaya
film in Japan. I have begun writing a script in which one of
the heroes is Japanese, but the background is not Japan.
When the film is completed you will, hopefully, understand
what I am thinking about at present.
I have always been confident of my ability to assess the
situation around me, but I honestly do not understand
what I myself want to do unless and until I produce a film.
Perhaps I produce a film in order to know what I do want.
As I told you in Tokyo, I would like to make a film on the
Buddha in India someday. But I still do not know why.
So until we meet again, I hope you will be in good spirits.
Sincerely,
Nagisa Oshima
Translated from the original Japanese by Masako Noda
This letter was originally published in the inaugural issue of
Cinemaya (Fall 1988), the official quarterly journal of the Network
for the Promotion of Asian Cinema (NETPAC). It was also featured
in Asian Film Journeys – Selections from Cinemaya (Wisdom Tree:
2010) co-edited by Aruna Vasudev, Rashmi Doraiswamy and Latika
Padgoankar. We’re very grateful to Editor-in-Chief of Cinemaya
Aruna Vasudev for this reprint. Thanks also to Philip Cheah.
33
A scene from The Hunter, a period film about the fall of the Korean army.
Image courtesy of Lianain Films
Writings on Cinema
The Great North
Korean Picture
Show
Lynn Lee
Keen to make a dispassionate and searching
documentary film about North Korea’s film industry,
intrepid documentary filmmakers Lynn Lee and
James Leong instead found the ghost of the recently
deceased Kim Jong-il inflecting the aspirations of the
nation’s young aspiring actors. So they watched and
listened. Here’s what they found.
People have expectations when you tell them you’re
making a documentary in North Korea.
They ask if you’re going undercover, if it’s about gulags,
defectors, mass starvation.
I almost feel bad about disappointing them. Those are
after all, compelling issues. Who hasn’t read awful things
about that totalitarian regime? Seen images of North
Korean children with hungry eyes and distended bellies?
Heard stories of life in brutal labour camps? Accounts
from defectors about why they decided to leave? What
36
The Great Korean Picture Show
little we know of North Korea is not nice. Its leaders often
come across as bizarre and sinister.
How can anyone live in a place like that?
But in 2008, we visited Pyongyang and realised
something we should have known without being told.
Things are always far more complex than they seem.
We met North Koreans who appeared genuinely proud
about being North Koreans. People who felt they owed
everything to their leaders. Some had even lived outside
the country. And yet they proclaimed that their system
was the best in the world.
Were these people nuts? Putting on an act? Trying to
impress impressionable foreigners? Back then, it was
hard to tell. We had been invited to Pyongyang to attend
a film festival. We knew that what little we saw was
probably not representative of the whole country. But it
was illuminating.
***
Kim Jong Il loved movies. It is rumoured that he owned the
world’s biggest library of western films. There are even
rumblings that the Dear Leader once kidnapped a South
Korean director and his actress wife because he wanted
them to make films for him. But Kim was apparently more
than just an eccentric fan. Festival organisers informed us
that he was in fact, nothing less than a genius - the man
responsible for building, from scratch, his country’s own
version of Hollywood. They said he vetted scripts and paid
regular visits to film sets; dispensed advice to actors and
actresses and even oversaw post-production. At North
Korea’s only film school, the primary textbook is Kim’s The
Art of the Cinema. There’s even a museum in Pyongyang
dedicated to the Dear Leader’s cinematic achievements.
37
Writings on Cinema
It might all seem a little bizarre and over-the-top, but
Kim understood the power of film, and used it to his
advantage. In North Korea, movies aren’t just made
to entertain the masses. They are tools of the state’s
propaganda machine. They help shape a people’s psyche.
But who are North Korea’s film workers? Where do they
come from? What are they like? The ones in attendance
at the festival were exceedingly warm and surprisingly
normal. Perhaps they had been told to be nice to us
foreigners. But even so, they seemed unusually open
and a lot more exposed to the outside world than we
ever expected of a North Korean. Some had even travelled
overseas. Many were eager to discuss foreign films – they
told us it was part of their job to watch movies from other
countries in order to learn from them.
At the festival’s official banquet, we found ourselves
seated next to perhaps North Korea’s biggest movie
star - actress Hong Yong Hui. Plucked from obscurity in
1972, she was just a teenager when she took the lead
role in what is still the country’s most famous movie,
The Flower Girl.
All through dinner, a long line of people stood by our
table, eagerly waiting their turn to shake hands with Hong.
Some of them were fans from China. The Flower Girl had
also been a hit in their country.
In between posing for photos, Hong made small talk with
us. She said she felt privileged to have been given a part
in such an important film. She told us about the time the
Dear Leader visited the set and taught her how to walk in
straw shoes. We were intrigued. When she asked us what
kind of documentary we were planning to make next, it
felt like the most natural thing to say: “A film about North
Korean cinema.”
38
The Great Korean Picture Show
Making propaganda. Director Pyo Hang on the set of the North Korean period film, The Hunter.
Image courtesy of Lianain Films
She smiled. Told us it was a great idea. And we left it at
that. We didn’t realise that that conversation would open
the door to a whole new adventure. Because the next day,
our guide came to tell us that someone higher up had
overheard us.
“Are you ready to pitch your idea?”
***
It would be a whole year before we returned to Pyongyang
with our gear and official permission to film. When we left
after our first visit, we half-suspected we might never hear
back from the North Koreans again. But they surprised
us. We had attached a long list of suggested venues and
potential interviewees to our pitch, fully expecting to be
rebuffed. The two fixers assigned to help us never said
no to any of our requests though, and in the three trips
that followed, actually gave us much more than we ever
expected.
39
Writings on Cinema
Stars in training: students at the elite Pyongyang University of Cinematic and Dramatic Arts.
Image courtesy of Lianain Films
40
The Great Korean Picture Show
But there were conditions. We had to have our fixers with
us wherever we went. We had to agree to stop shooting
whenever they told us to. We had to allow censors to
vet our footage at the end of each day. We learnt during
our shoots that we were not allowed to film cyclists, or
soldiers on the streets, or frame only part of any portrait
of the country’s leaders. And of course, we saw only as
much as our fixers were allowed to show.
These rules were not easy to swallow. We thought
hard about them. Stressed over whether to say yes and
possibly be accused of collaborating with the North
Koreans. Or say no and have the door close on us.
In the end, we decided to go for it. We also learnt that the
more we tried to respect their rules, the wider the door
opened. The film school was off-limits during our first two
trips. But on our third, we were granted access.
We realised also that it was possible to negotiate for
censored material to be released – footage showing
power outages, a whole scene in the film museum, shots
of the students clowning around, these were initially
deemed “unacceptable”. But in the end, after many a
heated debate, they were allowed. The only footage we
couldn’t have were images of people cycling. Why?
We’re still trying to work that one out.
Some people have suggested that our subjects
were merely putting on an act. That everything we
witnessed was staged for the benefit of our cameras.
One commissioning editor even asked if we were making
propaganda for the North Koreans (she never saw any
of our footage). In their minds, it was unfathomable
that anyone could love that country. They had to be
pretending. Or brainwashed. Or both.
41
Writings on Cinema
All we can say is we opened a door, walked in and
observed.
Our central characters were, in all likelihood, instructed to
be on their best behavior, to say the right things, to project
the right image. They were probably picked because they
came from the right families and had the right credentials.
But we hope that by being patient, by stepping back,
and by being as unintrusive as possible, we were able to
capture moments when they let their guard down, when
they were their genuine, unadulterated selves.
Did we succeed? What is the truth? What is real? The
audience will just have to watch, and decide.
Lynn Lee is a filmmaker based in Singapore. She has co-directed
three independent feature-length documentaries – Passabe (2005),
Aki Ra's Boys (2007) and Homeless FC (2007). The Great North
Korean Picture Show is currently in post-production.
42
The Great Korean Picture Show
Filmmakers James Leong and Lynn Lee (front row left and centre) with director Pyo Hang
and actors. The filmmakers were granted rare access into North Korea's film industry.
Image courtesy of Lianain Films
43
44
45
Snow City (2010) by Tan Pin Pin
Image
courtesy
of Tan
Pin Pin
1–9
(2009)
by Ang
Sookoon
Interview
Ang Sookoon
Sookoon Ang’s work spans sculpture, installations, video,
short films and drawings. The artist, who was formally trained
in fine art, speaks with the Cinémathèque Quarterly about the
myriad stylistic forms and textures her films adopt, and how
she sees these works primarily functioning as vehicles of visual
narratives. Sookoon's artwork explores separation from a loved
one, childhood discovery and waiting and anticipation. She
speaks to the Quarterly about what inspires her and how she
navigates between installation and visual art.
Your films seem to span a broad range of subjects and themes
(mum, swimming, mosquitoes, and intricacies of sewing). Do you
consider any themes or subjects of particular interest, which you
have constantly explored in your work?
Yes, I use film as a much more personal medium than art (painting,
installations, etc). The themes in my film seem diverse, but actually they
largely reflect my personal life. With Mosquito (2009) I tried to capture
Mosquito (2009)
46
how my boyfriend and I have been living apart for so much of the year.
Sewing Room (2005) is about the creative process. It doesn’t matter
which craft you practice, whether it’s writing, making art or editing, when
you’re in the studio there’s this calming sensation. To me this is a magical
part of the production process. There’s also something monotonous
about it, but there’s something opening up in your mind-space. Sewing
Room is about that monotony and magic that goes on in the mind and
the canvas, or page, you’re working on. Mama at the Swimming Pool
(2007) is about my mum, of course. I find her super adorable!
What inspired the short film, Sewing Room?
My mother had a garment factory when we were growing up. So I was
always very fascinated by this industry. I sew all of my own stuff and I find
it very therapeutic. To me, it’s the same as doing my other art. In drawing,
you keep repeating lines by hatching or etching. Sewing is the same and
it has a calming effect. That is what the film tries to address.
Tell us about the diorama in Sewing Room with the scissors,
chair and the fabric.
That diorama is part of a series of miniature rooms that I made. I made
the waiting room, television room and the sewing room, which you see
in the film. It is a metaphysical room that tries to convey this sense of
waiting and anticipation.
Sewing Room (2005)
47
Interview
Björk actually refers to each album she’s made as a ‘world’, a
‘space’ you enter into and inhabit. She described her album
Vespertine as an album that evokes an elegant lady in waiting,
all dressed in white. It feels like you’re mentioning something
similar.
That’s really interesting; I have to look that up. Actually the writer
Jeanette Winterson says in her book Art Objects(1997) that our real life
is elsewhere and art finds it. It’s not about ignoring our physical world.
It’s just that the imaginative world, the metaphysical world that is within
us is very real too and we have to find it, reconnect with it. I imagine
that’s what Björk is talking about too. There’s this universe within us
that is worth exploring too.
Xiao Fu (2009) contains a gentle humour in the way the
language is carefully formal and 'adult' in expression. But the
narrator expresses elements of a child's experience (best soda
flavour, recommended reads, peeing in class). Could you tell
us more about this facet of the film?
I wanted to tell a story from a child’s point-of-view. I wanted to retain
that naiveté, but without the childishness that’s commonly imposed
on anything representing children. I wanted to portray the soulfulness
of children who are speaking from this position of newly formed
experiences. I couldn’t do it accurately because I’m an adult! I thought
I should try to study children more but I feel rather awkward speaking
to children. I don’t know what to talk to them about. I also imagine they
see me as an adult and don’t communicate with me the way they would
communicate to each other. So I could only voice it as an adult recalling
childhood experiences, which resulted in this bizarre short film, which
has child actors and a more mature narrative voice.
There’s a short interview with you on the Sindie cinema blog
online in which you reveal this other layer in the film Xiao Fu.
“Vincent”, the boy to whom all the postcards are addressed is in
fact your current boyfriend. So there’s this ‘nostalgia’ for a time
that never happened.
48
Ang Sookoon
Xiao Fu (2009)
I’m sure a lot of people feel that the person they love is like their
best friend as well. So I imagined what life would have been like had
we known each other as children. It’s not just about the romantic
relationship. It’s about the adventures and life experiences, the fun in
the relationship. So how would I have communicated with Vincent as a
child and how would he have responded? So Xiao Fu is also a film about
an alter ego or another life in which I am writing to Vincent, my penpal, about life in Singapore and he in turn tells me about life in France
through postcards.
For your films, what determines your decision on the format to
use, on whether to present in black and white or colour?
The black and white shorts are mostly shot on digital or analog video.
I really dislike the harsh colours that come out in video, so when I do
video, I prefer to shoot in black and white. The films shot in colour are
often animation and they’re shot in Super 8 or 16mm because I can
achieve softer colours with film, especially for animated illustrations.
There are probably ways to work in video that would remove this harsh
contrast of colours, but I don’t know how because I’ve not been formally
trained as a filmmaker, or editor.
49
Interview
Mama at the Swimming Pool (2007)
What is it about these formats that you’ve enjoyed and liked
aesthetically as a video artist? What has been limiting about
them?
I like the challenge of working with these new mediums. I was forced to
be pretty disciplined because with video I could have done a shot over
and over again because it’s cheap and I can review it repeatedly. But
with Super 8 and 16mm, it’s more expensive, and I couldn’t look at it,
or see what I’ve done. So I planned my shots carefully. And that kind of
challenge brought out something new in me.
You shot Mama at the Swimming Pool and Xiao Fu on 16mm
and that gives both films an immediate look of something
plucked from the family archive. It’s almost as though the
mediums (even Bolex) are a mnemonic device.
Again, my using Super 8 and 16mm is for purely technical and aesthetic
reasons. I wanted to move from video and experiment with film. Super
8 and Bolex were the cheapest forms available to me. I can’t afford
35mm film! The medium tends to evoke this feeling of nostalgia, but
it’s not necessarily what I want. Mama is a simple record of a day in my
mum’s life and she’s still alive, so no nostalgia there. A high-definition
video camera would work just as well. But the effect works for Xiao
Fu because, even though it was filmed recently, it’s kind of about my
recollections of childhood experiences.
50
Ang Sookoon
Then there’s Birthday Cake (2011) which is like remembering
childhood when you’re old and mad.
I think part of what evokes that feeling in Birthday Cake is also the
soundtrack, which is all from Sesame Street. It’s almost like a chant,
the numbers 1-9 being repeated. I layered it so that it becomes a kind
of mad chant. It gives it this crazy feeling, like you’re high. Sesame
Street was made in the 1970s so I think there are a lot of psychedelic
influences in it too! It just felt very appropriate for Birthday Cake.
The stylistic presentation of your films employs many textures
and forms. Are you moving towards favouring any particular
stylistic representation in your filmic work?
I have lots of idols in filmmaking whom I try to emulate with my confined
technical skills. The Brothers Quay are a huge influence. To me, it’s
obvious that I’m a shameless Brothers Quay wannabe. I copy a lot of
what they do, in my own way. I also really appreciate Julie Taymor’s work,
as well as Wes Anderson. All these directors put great attention into the
visual aspect of storytelling. I’m not so good at putting things into words
and I tend to rely on visual language to compensate for that. So this
aspect of motion picture storytelling appeals to me. That’s why I guess
I put a lot of effort into texture and form.
Birthday Cake (2011)
51
Interview
You mention the Brothers Quay. There is also a hint of Georges
Méliès in the mood of your video art outtakes – perhaps a more
languid Méliès!
There is definitely a resemblance! It was the earliest experiments with
cinema and you could only do so many camera tricks to make it magical.
There were no computers, no digital effects. That’s how he did it. I have
limited skills and I don’t work with a crew, so I try to employ the same
sorts of tricks. Making the magic work depends on how the films are
edited. So it’s really the most primitive cinema tricks.
What sort of freedom does the experimental short form give you
to explore your ideas and how does it restrain you?
The short film and experimental film format has given me a lot of freedom.
It’s very accessible. It’s the medium I go to when I can’t afford to make
my sculptural installation art because that sort of work costs a lot. With
short films, all I need is any camera that takes video, a computer, and of
course, an idea that needn’t to be too concrete because I don’t use a
crew. I film more or less intuitively. It’s mostly during editing that I try to
make the material more concise and give it a narrative. Short film does
not restrain me. My own inclinations do. I have so far steered away from
working with a crew because if I can, I try not to work with people.
I’m that dog that just wants to quietly gnaw its bone in its own corner!
This limits me from going for more ambitious film projects.
Would you consider venturing into making a narrative feature
film, with a somewhat more ‘conventional’ script?
Of course! I don’t want to be that dog happy with a bone forever!
I want a bigger kill, which means I need to work in a pack. First things
first, I need to either develop a feature length script myself or collaborate
with someone. I imagine if I come up with the script myself, it’d be one
of those films with very little dialogue like Un Chien Andalou /
An Andalusian Dog (Luis Buñuel, 1929) or Le Ballon Rouge / The Red
Balloon (Albert Lamorisse, 1956). But it would be fun to work with
someone else and to have their input so the work isn’t always just from
my point of view. It would make it more interesting for me.
52
Ang Sookoon
You trained at NAFA here in Singapore before heading abroad.
Were there a community of practitioners around you back then
who wanted to work with both video and installation art, to
experiment with the form?
I was a painting major at NAFA. At that time, it was a much more
traditional academic arts school. So we weren’t introduced to
anything other than oil painting, very traditional approaches to charcoal
drawing and sculptural works. So I was often the only one interested
in experimenting with new mediums to explore my work and ideas.
In that sense, I couldn’t get any help from the school. But I had friends
studying in Temasek Polytechnic, which is where I met Victric Thng
(Singapore filmmaker) and others, and it was through them that
I learned about filmmaking and found that ambition to make and
edit my own films.
Visual and installation art:
What prompted you to explore the 1 – 9 (2009) numbers series?
Why do certain numbers connote what they do for you?
David Tammet and Sesame Street are the reasons behind my number
series. As you can tell, Sesame Street is a huge influence on my work!
As a child, I enjoyed the way Sesame Street taught numbers with
1970s psychedelic cartoon clips and Muppet skits. I can’t remember
how I came across reading about David Tammet. He is a savant who
is able to make incredible math calculations without calculating. He
feels the answer intuitively like 2 is a motion and 5 is a clap of thunder
and that’s how he gets the answers. I thought wow! What a gift! I am
really impressed and envious because I’m a math retard. I have number
dyslexia and often misread numbers. So I wanted to do my own number
imagery too. I wanted to emulate Tammet with his number imagery. So
for example with “1”, I think of the Aimee Mann’s cover of that song,
“One is the Loneliest Number” – so it’s in a dark place. And “8”, it’s
two circles and looks really fertile to me. So I thought of it as a symbol
of Mother Nature and it has two sperm whales flowing through it in a
nurturing seascape.
53
Interview
1–9 (2009)
There’s this condition called synesthesia where numbers or
letters are coloured, or certain words actually evoke a visual
image or a symbol. So what prompted you to go for blacks,
whites and greys instead of bursts of colour?
I love working with pen and paper. I wanted to make images of
landscapes and I somehow feel like I dream in black and white.
Someone once told me if you dream in black and white you’re a
pessimist! That’s how I saw the numbers – in monotone.
Your Love is Like a Chunk of Gold (2010), which was part of an
exhibition at the Singapore Art Museum (The Singapore Show:
Futureproof), has crystalline growth on various loaves of bread.
Another rendition of this, The Best Vitality Cannot Excel Decay
(2011) was recently exhibited at Chan Hampe Galleries. Tell us
about the genesis of this work.
Like most people, I find crystals very beautiful, which is the reason
I wanted to work with them. I wanted to show something oxymoronic.
Bread is familiar, it’s comfort food, and the crystal growth makes it
strange and repulsive. I am inspired by Gothic romance novels, in
which uncanny things happen in the domestic realm. So instead of
mould growing on the bread, I decided I’d have crystal growing on it.
It changes the bread into this geological object and it evokes this sci-fi
feeling, like it’s from another planet!
54
Ang Sookoon
You mention Gothic influences and incongruity. Where does
that come from and what else influences your work?
The Gothic element comes from my fears. I have many. I have nightmares and anxiety dreams all the time. The storybook-like illustrations
and drawings I think is a way to represent or exorcise these fears like in
fairytales. Because of my insecurities and fears, I developed an affinity
for dark visuals. In my drawings, an obvious influence is Edward Gorey,
the American illustrator, except that he drew a lot of characters and
figures and I dislike the human form in my own work so I don’t draw it.
I’m also an admirer of Japanese illustrator, Tadanori Yokoo and the great
painter, Joseph Turner. But writing also influences my work because
of the images that are conjured in my mind. I like Tim Robbins, Emily
Dickinson, Dylan Thomas and Jeanette Winterson. Winterson’s Art
Objects is fantastic on art. Coco Chanel said, “If you think you’re
original you have a bad memory”. I know I’m not original! All these
things influence me.
Moving images, drawing, ink on paper, installation art using
organic and chemical elements, stoneware – what other
mediums would you want to work with, going forward?
I don’t know. I look forward to knowing! All the time, I fear I will dry up
and have no inspiration. It’s one of the things that trigger my anxiety
dreams. That’s the discipline. I keep going back to the studio, I keep
reading, I keep looking out for what will make it work with little or no
recognition or a boss who imposes deadlines. It’s all about looking
for a poetic meaning in life.
Ang Sookoon works with various mediums, including video, installation, drawing and
printmaking. Her work has been shown in Germany, Switzerland, France, China, Singapore,
UK, USA, and Australia. She majored in sculpture in School of Visual Arts, New York and
has participated in the Rijksakademie Artist Research Residency in Amsterdam. Her work
addresses both the physical and metaphysical world— the space in which we physically
dwell and the interior space within us that is our spiritual, emotional and imaginative world,
and how these two both reflect and have an effect on each other.
55
Interview
Your Love is Like a Chunk of Gold - Chrysanthemum (2009)
56
Ang Sookoon
Your Love is Like a Chunk of Gold - Broccoli (2009)
57
From left to right, Gina Pareno, director Jun Raquiza and Marianne De La Rive
on the set of Krimen / Crime (1974).
58
Word on the Ground
The Salvage Detectives
Dodo Dayao
Rumor has it that there’s a lost Martin Scorsese film out there, a crime
film shot on the cheap from before Mean Streets (1973), that exists
in the form of a grimy bootleg VHS. Lost films are the yeti footprints of
film geeks, our ghost stories, our fuzzy UFO photographs, our obscure
objects of desire. And there certainly is a touch of the arcane, an esoteric
pedigree, if you will, to the notion of an under the radar film by a highprofile filmmaker that few have seen, tenuously held together by the
duct tape of failing memory, its potentially vital cultural data hostage to
the processes of decay. Exotica like this are the vitamin of film geeks.
But Scorsese hasn’t gone on record to confirm or deny the film nor
has anyone bothered picking up its trail. It’s not as if the world is in
desperate need of any more Scorsese films, anyway. We have too
much as it is, if you ask me. And it’s not as if we’re talking about
Citizen Kane (1941) either.
But what if we were? Or something of similar exaltation? The few
people who’ve seen Gerry De Leon’s own lost film Ang Daigdig Ng
Mga Api / The World of the Oppressed (1965), for instance, have
unanimously proclaimed its magnificence. It had me with that title, sure,
but I wouldn’t be surprised if it lives up to its name and turns out to be our
Citizen Kane after all. Except that we might never know. Just as we might
never know, too, if Manuel Conde’s Juan Tamad Goes to Congress /
Lazy John Goes to Congress (1960) deserves the legend it’s long been
freighted with. Or if Ishmael Bernal’s Scotch on the Rocks To Forget,
Black Coffee To Remember (1976) is anywhere near as tantalising as
its title. No prints have survived. No copies are known to exist. Not even
59
Word on the Ground
on tape. The number of films we’ve apparently lost out of disregard and
indifference is the sort of punch in the gut that can make even the most
stalwart of us buckle at the knees. And folded into the context of our
film history, the stakes are raised and our lost films become more than
mere collector’s esoterica, gaining instead the sheen of a minor tragedy.
If anyone from SOFIA could have their way, it would gain a throb of
emergency, too.
Founded by the late film critic Hammy Sotto and a handful of like-minded
colleagues in 1993, SOFIA is the Society of Filipino Archivists for Film,
a non-profit task force of volunteers whose station is to salvage whatever
lost films of ours they can. It’s not yet too late but time is running out.
Entire strains of history are literally and inexorably turning to vinegar.
There are piles of films past the point of rescue, and there are piles
more getting there even as you read this. SOFIA is not exactly bereft of
trophies, counting among their triumphs the rediscovery and restoration
of films like Carlos Vander Tolosa’s Giliw Ko / My Love (1939), Octavio
Silos’ Tunay Na Ina / The Real Mother (1939), Gerry De Leon’s Noli Me
Tangere / Touch Me Not (1961) and Sanda Wong (1951), Lamberto
V. Avellana’s Kundiman Ng Lahi / Song of the Race (1959) and Lino
Brocka’s White Slavery (1985). And while it isn’t exactly a lost film,
a print of Conde’s Genghis Khan (1950) has been found in Vienna.
But this, their members will be the first to tell you, barely scratches the
surface. The work that needs to be done is regularly curtailed as SOFIA
is continually beset by troubles that swing from the usual lack of funding
to the lack of support. Help has begun to pour in from all sides, though.
Foreign organisations have lent a hand in restoring some films, including
Bernal’s iconic Manila By Night (a.k.a. City After Dark) (1985). Even
studio heads and some branches of government are weighing in.
Perhaps more significantly, with the newly-established National Film
Archive, what should’ve long been in existence, is finally operational.
The President himself signed off on an administrative order that not only
effectively institutionalised it but centralised all archiving endeavors in
one fell swoop. History has made wariness in the face of victories
60
Watching the Wheels
like this come easy, almost unnecessarily, but built-in and extraneous
cynicism aside, the situation does remain precarious. There’s little
that’s actionable about the fallout from decades of neglect, after all.
But ‘never say never’ remains the default mantra of SOFIA, now more
than ever. De Leon's Daigdig Ng Mga Api may be their elusive, nearimpossible Holy Grail. But so were, at some point, his The Moises Padilla
Story (1961) and Brocka’s debut Wanted Perfect Mother (1970), both
long thought forever lost in any format. If these films can resurface, as
they have, all bets are reasonably off and suddenly anything is possible.
Some time ago, after years of basking curiously in its longstanding myth,
I at last saw Mario O’Hara’s previously long-lost noir Bagong Hari /
The New King (1986) for the first time, as part of SOFIA’s temporarily
defunct Overlooked Films Underrated Filmmakers series of screenings.
Cobbled from grungy U-Matic elements, its condition was far from
pristine but this was probably the best the film has looked in years. More
to the point, though, it surged with energy, felt thrillingly alive. It was
dense, ballsy, vigorous. O’Hara was there and so were the film’s stars
Dan Alvaro and Robert Arevalo and Perla Bautista. This was the first of
the screenings I attended, and regret missing Jun Raquiza’s Krimen /
Crime (1974) and Danny Zialcita’s Masquerade (1967); regret missing
nearly every screening, really. This was how it was each time, I’ve been
told: an unsung film is retrieved from the fringes, a relatively fervid
audience comes to watch, its director and stars rekindle glory days
and meet new generations of admirers. It’s a shame that the logistical
demands of the screenings have taken their toll on the limited manpower
at SOFIA’s disposal, and forced the team to put the screenings on hold.
There are assurances, however, that plans for an even more extravagant
revival are being drawn up. But, despite its brief two-year run, the
screenings were incredibly encouraging, and it makes sense that a
generous amount of SOFIA’s energies were poured into them.
We are largely a culture that has routinely trivialised, neglected, ignored
and vilified our own cinema, elevating our revulsion to a class schism
even, while kissing the ground American cinema treads. This flippant,
61
Word on the Ground
often disgruntled, apathy has more or less had a bearing on the current
state of Philippine cinema. But, in its own modest way, the screenings
embodied the almost violent tidal shift in attitude and enthusiasm. It
was tough not to feel even the tiniest glimmer of hope. The mash-up
archaeologist / detective / mercenaries of SOFIA have not shirked from
their first mission, no. The lost films need to be found and restored and
seen and discussed. But auxiliary efforts such as these screenings are,
in and of themselves, restorations, too, of the very things that bought
SOFIA, and those of us who champion their efforts, here in the first place:
cinema and all the jubilant obsession, keening passion and relentless
love we have for it.
*Thanks to Ramon Nocon for the stills and additional information.
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Watching the Wheels
Dodo Dayao writes, films, paints and programs. He was one of the programmers of the
4th .MOV festival and also one of the editors and writers of the book Philippine New Wave:
This is Not a Film Movement (2010). He has made a number of short films and video
installations including Zero (2010), Memories of Places I've Never Been (2010) and
Entropy Machine (2011). He is constantly writing and constantly needing sleep. You can
find him lurking at Piling Piling Pelikula (pelikula.blogspot.com).
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Write to us
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overviews of a director’s work;
photo essays celebrating or studying images in a film;
explorations of one particular film or groups of films;
analysis of moments within a film;
situating a film within its historical/political context;
stories or narrative non-fiction pieces inspired by films.
We are not looking for academic treatises, nor are we interested in lightly
journalistic film reviews. We’re keen on writing that is sharp, intelligent and
knowledgeable, though not without humour. Each piece should be between
1,500 to 2,500 words long.
For submissions and letters to the editor, email:
[email protected]
or write to:
The Cinémathèque Quarterly
National Museum of Singapore
93 Stamford Road
Singapore 178897
64
Credits
Editor Vinita Ramani Mohan
Editorial Adviser Ben Slater
Programme Text Zhang Wenjie, Warren Sin, Low Zu Boon
Graphic Design LSD Corporation
Cover Image Shura / Demons (1971) by Toshio Matsumoto, Image © 1971 Matsumoto
Productions p26–33 Nagisa Oshima’s Letter to Cinemaya © NETPAC, 1988 p34–43 The Great
Korean Picture Show © Lynn Lee, 2012 p44–57 Interview: Ang Sookoon © National Museum of
Singapore Cinémathèque, 2012 p58–63 The Salvage Detectives © Dodo Dayao, 2012
The Cinémathèque Quarterly July–September 2012 is published by the National Museum
of Singapore
ISSN: 2251-2993
All information is correct at the time of print. Every reasonable care has been taken to ensure the
accuracy of information within, hence, neither the publisher, editor nor writers may be held liable
for errors and/or omissions however caused. Every effort has been made to identify copyright
holders. We deeply regret that if, despite our concerted efforts, any copyright holders have been
overlooked or omitted. Any reproduction, retransmission, republication, or other use of all or part
of this publication is expressly prohibited, unless prior written permission has been granted by the
National Museum of Singapore or the appropriate copyright owner. The Museum reserves the right
to make changes and modifications to the programme without prior notice. The views and opinions
expressed by the writers in this publication and the speakers and facilitators in the programme
do not necessarily reflect the views of the editor or the official policy and position of the National
Museum of Singapore.
65
About Us
About the National Museum of Singapore Cinémathèque
The National Museum Cinémathèque focuses on the presentation of film in its
historical, cultural and aesthetic contexts, with a strong emphasis on local and
regional cinema. Housed in the 247-seat Gallery Theatre, the National Museum
Cinémathèque offers new perspectives on film through a year-round series of
screenings, thematic showcases, and retrospectives that feature both essential
and undiscovered works from the history of cinema.
Besides the presentation of film, the National Museum Cinémathèque is
also active in film preservation, especially the heritage of Asian cinema, and
has worked with regional film archives to restore and subtitle important film
classics. With an imaginative and diverse programme that includes Singapore
Short Cuts, World Cinema Series, and Under the Banyan Tree, the National
Museum Cinémathèque aims to create a vital and vibrant film culture in
Singapore.
About the National Museum of Singapore
With a history dating back to its inception in 1887, the National Museum of
Singapore is the nation’s oldest museum with a young soul. Designed to be
the people’s museum, the National Museum is a custodian of the 11 National
Treasures, and its Singapore History and Living Galleries adopt cutting-edge
and varied ways of presenting history and culture to redefine conventional
museum experience. A cultural and architectural landmark in Singapore,
the museum hosts vibrant festivals and events all year round – the dynamic
Night Festival, visually arresting art installations, exciting performances and
film screenings – in addition to presenting lauded exhibitions and precious
artefacts. The programming is supported by a wide range of facilities and
services including F&B, retail and a Resource Centre. The National Museum of
Singapore re-opened in December 2006 after a three-year redevelopment.
66
Ticketing Information
www.sistic.com.sg / (65) 6348 5555
SISTIC counters islandwide or National Museum Stamford Visitor Services:
10am–7.30pm
Concessions
Concession rates for most programmes are available to students (full-time,
with valid student pass), seniors (aged 60 years and above, with valid identity
pass showing proof of age), NSF (with valid 11B pass), National Museum
Volunteers, National Museum Members, NHB Staff and MICA Staff. Passes
have to be presented when purchasing tickets.
General Enquiries
(65) 6332 3659 / (65) 6332 5642
Film Classification Guide
G (General) Suitable for all ages.
PG (Parental Guidance) Suitable for all,
but parents should guide their young.
PG13 (Parental Guidance 13) Suitable for persons aged 13 and above,
but parental guidance is advised for children below 13.
NC16 (No Children Under 16) Suitable for persons aged 16 and above.
M18 (Mature 18) Suitable for persons aged 18 years and above.
R21 (Restricted 21) Suitable for adults aged 21 and above.
For further details and the latest film ratings, please visit
www.nationalmuseum.sg
67
Getting to the Museum
MRT
B
Train
Bras Basah MRT Station (5-minute walk)
Dhoby Ghaut MRT Station (5-minute walk)
City Hall MRT Station (10-minute walk)
Bus
YMCA Bus-stop (08041)
SBS: 7, 14, 14e, 16, 36, 64, 65, 111, 124, 128, 139, 162, 162M, 174, 174e, 175
SMRT: 77, 106, 167, 171, 190, 700, 700A, NR6, NR7
SMU Bus-stop (04121)
SBS: 7, 14, 14e, 16, 36, 111, 124, 128, 131, 162, 162M, 166, 174, 174e, 175
SMRT: 77, 106, 167, 171, 190, 700, 700A, 857, NR7
Taxi
Pick-up and drop-off points are at the Fort Canning entrance or the Stamford entrance.
P
Car
Limited parking facility is available at the National Museum. Other parking facilities are available at
YMCA, Park Mall, Singapore Management University and Fort Canning Park.
68
August
4–5 & 11–12 August
2 pm (Page 24)
9th SINGAPORE SHORT
CUTS
14 August
7.30 pm (Page 12)
WORLD CINEMA SERIES
Shura / Demons
Toshio Matsumoto
July
1–8 July
Various Timings (Page 20)
JAPANESE FILM FESTIVAL
2012
10 July
7.30 pm (Page 8)
WORLD CINEMA SERIES
Rong Raem Narok /
Country Hotel
Rattana Pestonji
7.30 pm (Page 16)
WORLD CINEMA SERIES
Sanatorium pod klepsydra /
The Hourglass Sanatorium
Wojciech Has
11 September
September
National Museum of Singapore
93 Stamford Road
Singapore 178897
www.nationalmuseum.sg