The Child (L'enfant)

With each new film they make, starting from The Promise (followed by Rosetta, The Son and now, The Child), Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne has steadily created a contextual and ever expanding cinematic universe which serves as an unforced placebo mirroring our real one. In the process, the brothers have demonstrated an uncanny ability to articulate their unobtrusive takes on modern socio-politics. They adeptly presents tough ethical conundrums which deeply confound man. Without judgement, they will unleash upon unsuspecting viewers, incisively drawn characters who's uncontrived behavioral and emotional manifestations will eventually point towards their films' intended themes. It is through the Dardennes' intuitive understanding of the protagonists and the situations they face which will in turn bring out their humanity. In sum, they never fail to deliver poignantly dramatic soliloquies of equal exquisite restraint and empathic power.

A Dardenne brothers' film promises no clear answers, but challenges its perceptive viewers to ruminate over what they have just seen. In the end, each and every viewer are free to draw their own conclusions. It is this real breath of freedom which leads some, like me, to conclude that a Dardenne brothers picture may present strife and confusion, dread and heartaches, but they are necessary fuel for our collective journey towards each film's redemptive denouement. The ending will always pack a cathartic dose of sobering epiphanies.

Their latest feature, The Child (L'enfant), is no exception. Typical of a Dardenne brothers' film, we are plunged straight into its universe without the benefit of immediate clarity. We see a young woman, Sonia (Déborah François), as she cradles her newly born son. She quickly realises her boyfriend, Bruno (Jérémie Renier), who has been uncontactable since their baby's birth, has temporarily sublet their apartment to a couple of strangers. The woman, with baby in tow, soon finds the father, but he is in the midst of petty thieving activities and dividing loots with his younger apprentices. Sonia does not seem to mind her boyfriend's prior absence and present nonchalance. She is just glad to have found her boyfriend and quickly forgives/forgets about the past inconveniences. Shortly after, the couple held each other with the baby in their blissful embrace. Bruno and Sonia appear to live off his occasional loots and her unemployment benefits. Despite Sonia's gentle nudge, Bruno does not intend to find decent work as he does not believe in it. We soon see the couple having fun in the sun and indulging in some spontaneous shopping. They do not seem entirely worried by their questionable ability to look after the new born child, the father more so than the mother. It is at this pivotal juncture that Bruno did something so startlingly unimaginable that the relationship between the couple starts to splinter. The rest of the movie shall see Bruno attempting his best to salvage his misdeeds and regain Sonia's trust.

The Dardenne brothers may have sought to end The Child on a redemptive note. But its protagonist, Bruno, calls to question on whether a redemptive resolution is ever going to be possible. Given the irrevocable emotional claims he has staked from his girlfriend and his son, and compounded by his expected moral responsibilities as a father, boyfriend or even a decent human being, Bruno's actions at the film's pivotal point will hence confound or horrify the most casual of observers. However, the Dardennes' do not make easy movies, for we too can see throughout that Bruno is not evil by design. His decision criterias are random. He seems incapable of discerning whether his behavior is good or bad. Bruno merely senses what is supposed to be right or wrong when the others react or respond clearly/ strongly to his behaviour, and he will in turn react accordingly to this response. This in itself makes The Child abysmally frightening and helplessly saddening. Frightening for we are shown a specimen of a man who is capable of the most unimaginable evil without grasping its horrors, the most astonishing goodness without understanding its virtues. Saddening because he knows not what he does and hence may never be able to learn and change for the better.

The effects of having someone like Bruno may be clearly seen throughout the movie, but the possible causal factors bear closer scrutinies. One of the movie's later scenes include a subtle moment of Bruno visiting his mother for some late night assistance. In an ordinary movie, this moment may merely be a plot device to push the story forward, but in the hands of the Dardennes, they may serve a veiled, deeper purpose. We glimpse into the relationship Bruno has with his mother; informal, distant and bolstered by undesirable father figures. His mother may love him, but she seems more afraid of her current live-in boyfriend then showing more concern about her son's welfare. Though never explicitly presented, one can assume Bruno may have lived through his childhood years under such a harsh environment. If so, the unfortunately nurtured product of such conditions may hence be someone like Bruno, cowardly, restless, unintentionally callous with an inability to discern good from bad, right from wrong, but all is not lost.

Throughout, Bruno also exhibits desirable traits. He cannot feel for himself but he can feel for others. His guilt is often a reciprocal product of this trait. He also appears to be capable of loving his girlfriend and evoking genuine compassion for others, even though he may not completely understand such notions. He does not resort to unnecessary violence when dealing with people (from his girlfriend, his son to his young apprentices). He also seems incapable of lying to his loved ones. Case in point, he confessed his deeds to his girlfriend without any attempts to fabricate lies. There is hence something pure and innocent about this Bruno. He is like an unformed child, without guile or agenda, making one wonder the Dardennes' apt or cryptic intent in naming this film.

It is more of a curse than it is a blessing to be someone like Bruno, for society will protect a child but not a man who acts like one. Children are embraced and deemed cute if they possess milder shades of Bruno's traits, for they are still within the willing control of adult supervision. But if these traits are transplanted onto a man of Bruno's age, it becomes a completely different ball game. Without a leash, Bruno is a hazard to himself as well as those around him.

As a viewer, I am prone to pity or condemn someone like Bruno instinctively. However, I also realised I can so easily forget my comparatively more blessed upbringing and ignore those who lacks this privilege. Unconsciously, I may hence look upon someone like Bruno with confounding disgust, condescending sympathies or just feel a plain superior need to point out his flaws. In fact, this whole commentary piece may be more presumptuous than I'd care to admit. However, this enlightening film sets the record straight. We should not sympathise, condemn or condescend, and instead should just observe, empathise and understand one important question; who are we to judge someone/ something we barely comprehend? All we can do perhaps, is to reflect on our own experiences in relations to the movie, and hopefully draw from it, valuable life lessons.

Few modern film makers are as uniquely conceived as the Dardenne brothers, for they understand the relentless dichotomy governing humanity and society, that our everyday existence is plagued by tug of wars between life/ death, good/ evil, order/ chaos, and faith/ helplessness etc. But they also possess the will to steer lost souls towards the light of one powerful notion, the constant of change. They believe in an evolving humanity capable of defeating our fears, so that our hopes will rise from the ashes of our battled beings, to keep us going. Returning full circle to whether The Child ended redemptively, I will hence consider a leap of faith. Given his reactionary behaviours and wavering instincts, what Bruno needs, may indeed be a positive role model (or emotional anchor) to guide him onto brighter paths. It is too late for his parents to do him any good, but a lover like Sonia may be his best bet towards redeeming himself.

Dardenne brothers' films are priceless, for they delve compassionately in the belief of our will and ability to constantly better ourselves as human beings. Through their films, I have learnt many lessons which I normally would have taken a lifetime to accrue. In those precious hours of watching The Promise through to The Child (and beyond), I shall find myself gaining insights from the value of repentance to the redemptive powers of forgiveness and everything else in between. Such sublime wisdoms will cushion my walk as I trudge on this daunting existence. And I think to myself, if I succeed in becoming a better person, I will forever be indebted to generous film makers like the Dardenne brothers and their movies. If I fail, to paraphrase the quote-worthy Roger Ebert, "...that shall be the degree to which I have room to grow."

_______________
Special Note:
The Child is showing now at Picturehouse (The Cathay).
Do check out the press ads for showtimes.

C.R.A.Z.Y.

Opening with the heartbeats of an unborn child, Canadian sleeper hit C.R.A.Z.Y. stylishly courses through the veins of time; for within its 2 hours' duration, 20 years in the life of this child and his loved ones will flash before our eyes. We will experience vividly, many things. We will come to understand the times and places which find them. We will be exposed to the pride and prejudice which bind them. We will learn to empathise with the pains and disappointments which haunt them. And we will be moved by the love and humanity which guide them.

As they explore and endure through life's ebbs and flows, C.R.A.Z.Y. sensitively chronicles the evolution of a Quebeckan family, slightly dysfunctional but glowingly loving. As if touched by Midas, director Jean-Marc Valle, has created one of the most insightful, warm and spiritually redemptive films of the year. But let's get back to the beginning...

Fourth in a line of five sons from the Beaulieu family, the child is named Zac. This movie is told through his eyes. Born on Christmas 1960, Zac finds himself forever attending Midnight Masses on his birthdays. And he never gets the presents he wants, reasons for which we will soon know. The boy hence seethes with Bah Humbug repression. But that is not the only repressed aspects of the poor boy.

There are hints of something special about this kid. He survives a miraculous drop from his father's arms on the day of his birth. He spots an isolated lock of blond hair. He shares an almost psychic link with his mother. He alone can soothe his baby brother's cries. Word has it he can heal all sorts of bleeding. And he loves to push the pram-a-lot. Okay, that came out awkwardly.

It is obvious early on that Zac is gay, even before he knows what gay means. His parents, Patsy Cline loving Gervais and Christ worshipping Laurianne, senses this too. But his mother's mild compassion is overshadowed by his father's staunch disapproval.

Gervais, a working class family man, does not stop nurturing his effete son's challenged heterosexuality. Ignoring the boy's choice of a mock toy pram as his birthday gift, Gervais buys the boy a sports game set instead. Eavesdropping on his parent's conversation, Zac learns that his daddy don't like no fairies. Late at night, the boy prays hard to Jesus. He don't want to be no fairy either, for his father doesn't. The boy loves his father and is eager to win his love and acceptance. So much so he will bend his desires and pretend to be something he isn't.

The boy makes such sacrifices because he worships his father. He craves for his affection. Gervais has a tough personality typical of blue collared father figures. He also exudes a grunge heroic cool blended with an appealingly rugged handsomeness, traits envied by kids Zac's age. The short-lived pit stops for fries, shared between father and son, illustrate the bond which intoxicates the yearning child. It is depicted with such a jubilant nostalgia, the afterglow of those stolen moments linger long after the story moved on. And it did move on.

Not only did he have to fight a losing battle in denial of his identity confusion, Zac needs to jostle for the affection of his father with four other siblings. They all seem more advantaged in snagging daddy's love. The youngest boy by default, will be adored. The eldest and middle children excel in academic and athletic pursuits respectively. The second child, problematic delinquent Raymond, confounds Zac the most. Not only are they arch nemesis, Zac senses his father takes uncommon pride in Raymond's antics. However mischievious, Raymond still exhibits clearly masculine traits. Zac hence, is the odd one out; nervy, asthmatic and too sensitive for his own good. He wets his bed too. With each passing day, the distance between father and son widens.

With odds stacked firmly against him, the poor thing cannot do much else. He glides on wings, capable of soaring flights of fancy. He seeks solace from his embracing mother. Via their psychic connections, they place their shared Catholic faiths in the hands of the lord. Together, mother and son hope and pray; that he will no longer wet his bed, that he will not become a fairy, that his father will love him again, that he is indeed special as his mother claims. Alas, special equals different, a trait not welcomed in Zac's suburban universe, where conformity is valued. Quoting Michael Apted's wise observation, "Give me a boy at seven and I will show you the man." There is no turning back. The journey ahead for Zac will be long and arduous...

This film is evenly spread out into three acts, showcasing Zac and the Beaulieu's ups and downs, when the boy turns 7, 15 and 21 respectively. Notice I have devoted much of this piece so far on the first act alone. I will not focus on the second and third act, suffice to say they are more or less the same, only more contextually layered, more intricately woven and increasingly maturing.

Allow me to draw from an obscure analogy made in Kevin Smith's Dogma, which I think applies to C.R.A.Z.Y. succinctly. Love, faith, identity, pain, loss, despair, memory, sacrifice, contentment and the works. All these concepts form the backbone of natural human/ familial growth. They are also like glasses of water. When you're young, the glasses are full, and it's easy to fill up. But the older you get, the bigger the glasses get, and the same amount of water doesn't fill those glasses anymore. Still, periodically, the glasses have to be refilled. It may take more effort, but it is almost always worth it. And if they are not refilled, the glasses will dry up. Those unquenched concepts will invariably shrivel and die.

Dear readers, you are hence encouraged to savour an ever thickening cinematic brew concocted by Vallee. For not only are its contents more complex, the "glasses" will just get bigger. Watch the protagonist and his family grow, and I guarantee your collective hearts will ache, flutter and then glow. Just remember to refill your own respective glasses when you come out of this movie.

Final Words:

C.R.A.Z.Y. exhibits a delirious visual flair reminiscent of Fernando Meirelles's City of God. On the aural front, it is an apt comparison with the best of Cameron Crowe's sentient song fests. In fact, I can go CRAZY with a whole other essay just focusing on the allegorical musicality and dramatic relevance of the movie's song selection. Dramatically, this film has deeply drawn, non-caricaturing characters. Together, they are capable of shoring up tidal waves of emotional resonance, humour and grace. The reconciliatory catharsis emanated by film's end is hence earned. I have not experienced such warmth and comfort since Peter Sollett's familial masterpiece, Raising Victor Vargas.

Thematically, C.R.A.Z.Y. serves as an admirable cousin to Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain, not as the purveyor of gay rights, but as another film which sheds sympathetic light on people living their lives in secrets and lies. It depicts how devastatingly numbing these burdens can become. It shows such perpetuated disguises will only hurt more people in the end. It knows how liberating it will be if one opts to open up, however painful the days and months ahead. This film argues that though happiness is not guaranteed, a humbling sense of closure will eventually be reached. With truth, comes ecstasy, and peace will follow.

Goodness permeates every inch of this movie. If this is not the sign for perfection, I will like to know what is.

Takeshi Kitano's Takeshis'

Deconstructing Takeshis' beats








Imagine if you will, the whole of Takeshis’ functioning as a Dali inspired Rubik's cube. Imagine it sprinkled with Gondry’s spotless minds. Season it more with some Malkovich Malkovich Malkovich. Then douse it intoxicatingly with a feverish loop of Brazil's ending. If you can do that and enjoy such an idea as much as I do, I would strongly encourage you to take the plunge. Do be warned though that this elliptically blessed and narratively challenged movie demands a lot of patience from its audience. It is also more conducive a film for the nurturing of sensibilities than the manufacturing of sense. But it is worth it. Because it is gratifyingly refreshing to see a film this insistent on checking your heart at the door while lightly frying your brain with fava beans and chianti, which will in turn be served to you in increasing portions. By film's end, you may indeed have tasted something oddly delicious, but you just can't figure out why? Bon appetit!

The idiosyncrasies of Takeshis’ may actually explain the critical backslash the film suffered. My humble view is that most critics want people or themselves to know they understand films more thoroughly than everyone else. They believe they have the authority to rave or rant about any movies, however they see fit. Hence, if they do not or cannot understand pictures like Takeshis’, their instant reaction is that such a film sucks and so does the director. But Kitano famously stated in a press conference, that he does not intend for this movie to be analysed or explained. He just hoped the audience would let go and feel the film, to come out of the cinema not knowing what to say or what to think. I would think such a notion frees the audience to interpret a movie whichever ways he or she sees fit. Hence, the intuitive filmmaker has passed the torch. He has made a movie. It is now up to each and every viewer to make his or her own conclusion. And now that I hold the key to Pandora's box, I shall have some fun and pitch in my interpretations on what Takeshis' mean and how Kitano intends it to be.

Since this film within a film within a film also feels like a dream within a dream within a dream, Kitano may be positing that the mysterious phenomenon of sound and images, past, present and future could already have been created by

i) one's unreliable memory of reality (our waking senses),
ii) the comparatively more "honest" world of our subconscious or
iii) the most truthful artifice of them all, cinema.

He further posits that once created, this phenomenon may start to assume an elusive immortality, unhibited by space and time.

Even when we go to sleep, wake up or when the cinema's curtains draw to a close, the flickering output of what we have just experienced may only diminish on a conscious level. It can never be entirely extinguished. For alter-consciously, it may start to hover in an ethereal realm, existing in a splintering free-radical format. As it hibernates indefinitely, it may persistently emit unstable frequencies which will gestate within a floating bubble. Many of these bubbles may find themselves bouncing off one another in the fluidity of this realm's warped up space and time, awaiting to burst and be re-born....

Yes. This hidden energy can be harnessed. Its resurrection from dormancy may yet materialise anytime, anywhere, via random "contacts" with hyper-sensitive human receptors, for example
- lucid dreamers fueled by futile hopes and addictive neurosis,
- self-absorbed film makers in need of an ego/reality check, or
- just an lucky/unlucky chap in the right/wrong place, the right/wrong time...

Consider now these seemingly disparate audio/visual motion pastiches in Takeshis; a song and dance soccer match along an Okinawan sea shore, the last gasping breaths of a fallen WWII Japanese soldier, an aging tranvestite belting out ditties tinged with faux melancholia. (And don't get me started on the African bloke, the torrential bullet vomits and those incessantly tapping feet.....) Can these happenings be the dazed and confused day dreams of a convenience store clerk? Does he look like someone famous? Would he hope to be the maestro of a infinitesimally operatic bullet ballet? Could he at least have been one of its participants?

Now consider the aforementioned "bubbles" of energy a few paragraphs back. Could they have coagulated and somehow seeped into the playful mind(s) of a venerable pop cultural icon? Could this same artiste have decided his inspirational overload should not be kept suspended? Did he see a need to pop the bubbles? Would he believe that the unleashing of those secret frequencies within might do humanity less harm than good?

Goodness, could there even be a possibility that all which transpired in those 2 hours were mere figments of a dying man's (the WWII soldier) dimming imagination? His past, present and projected future lives flashing before his eyes but none was, is or will ever make sense to that poor guy (or anyone for that matter)? That as the "bubbles" bounce free-associatively back and forth, the dying soldier can in the blink of an eye be seated in a droll lonesome apartment? That in another blink, he may become an idol of millions, gleefully receiving vacuous compliments and a shower of fancy gifts?

Then, as the universe unfolds upon itself, we may revert back to where it all began, the part where the helpless uniformed prey of WWII was stuck within point blank range at his predatorial enemy's gunsight. As the two of them stare into each other's eyes, what could be on their minds? Could they too be wondering what the hell they are doing, in a dilapidated sound stage, without a director to keep their actorly excesses in check? And would they have guessed that the missing helmer is actually in the next door studio (neither within earshot nor eye sight), simultaneously shooting/ acting in another movie, in a wholly different genre altogether (a modern day Yakusa action flick)? And would anyone care to know that it might in fact have been a disorganised production manager's fault for failing to deconflict the booking of valuable studio space and the director's time between the two (or more) movies? And worst, could the reels for both (or more) films have been mixed up due to the day's chaotic confusion? Could the actor/director, who in the midst of doubling as editor for his uncompleted works, have trouble finish cutting his film? Could the toll of the multiple roles both in front and behind the camera cause the director to crack or blossom, depending on the viewer's perspective?

At this juncture, let it be known I am fully aware that I am painting myself into a corner, that I don't make much sense and that I am running out of things to say. Yes, like the movie, I have contorted this piece into a fibonacci circle. But if you asked me, this is only the beginning. The possibilities, the variations, the permutations of this Rubik’s cube are, for lack of a better word, endless. With all said and done, I can hence only offer my shortest of advise to folks who stumble into this puzzling work. Have fun.

19th SIFF - ADAM'S APPLES

The Gospel according to the Gibbs...Take that!









Group shot: Behold, the five misfits of religion.

While having proven he is capable of making painful heartwrenchers (Brothers, Open Hearts), Anders Thomas Jensen has also exhibited an acute flair for helming some of the most entertaining black comedies dotting the landscapes of modern cinema (Flickering Lights, Green Butchers). Adam's Apples however, resides in the pivot of this spectrum. It represents the culmination of all which make a Jensen picture so fascinating, whatever its genre trappings.

Serving the rest of his sentence at a remote Christian halfway house, neo-Nazi Adam (Ulrich Thomsen) begrudgingly meets his supervisor Ivan (Mads Mikkelsen), a priest who seems eccentric from the start go. As part of the induction interview, Ivan tasks Adam to set a goal within the time frame of his remaining days. The skin head jokingly suggested baking a pie, using the fruits from Ivan's beloved apple tree. Though it is apparent Adam is merely ridiculing Ivan's authority, the clueless priest (intentionally or otherwise) assigns Adam the duty of caring for the tree and eventually baking that pie when the fruits ripen.

There are other misfits in this sparsely populated church. Gunnar (Nicolas Bro), an obese kleptomaniac who cannot stop eating; Khalid (Ali Kazim), an easily agitated Arab who cannot stop cursing; Sarah (Paprika Steen), a slightly dim pregnant woman who cannot stop crying. All three seek refuge in this quirky sanctuary, reconciling with their respective histories while doing basically nothing else. Throw a few more archetypes into the mix, from a repulsively heartless doctor to skinhead thugs, from dying anti-Semites to a "lively immobile" boy (don't ask) and you will have encountered all the intersecting worms writhing within Adam's Apples. No matter, for the eventual taste of those strange fruits may yet lead these worms towards some form of redemption. Or not.

Apples moves along breezily enough. It generates laughs aplenty when introducing these myriad weirdos. But when misfortunes start befalling the apple tree (constituting some of the film's best comedic/dramatic set pieces), evangelical Ivan starts floating a notion to Adam that the devil is testing the bald sinner's resolve to get the pie made. But the goodness-averse Hitler worshipper does not suffer fools from a Christian zealot, least of all, a warped case like Ivan.

Ivan tolerates hostilities by completely deflecting them with nauseous zests or obnoxious good humour. It is soon learnt he also survived a series of unfortunate events in his life, any of which could have easily broken the strongest men. But in Adam's eyes, Ivan merely deny those troubles with grand delusions or is hiding behind his religious piety (The devil is testing him too, or so Ivan claims when confronted by Adam at one point). Adam thinks Ivan a coward, and despises the man with seething vehemence.

The latter half of this film hence shifts its focus onto an excruciating tug of war between Ivan and Adam. The silly priest seeks to rehabilitate the skinhead with religion and his self-styled good nature (sic). The skinhead seeks to break down the priest's hypocritical defences by whatever means necessary – with blatant insubordination, hardcore physical violence and increasingly cruel taunts which toggle between the threshold of good and the near unbearable edges of dare I say, evil.

From this point on, Apples assumes a dramatic heft further bolstered by moral/religious conundrums tormenting the film's protagonists. Will the priest break down and burn the crucifix? Will the skinhead cave in and memorise the bible by heart? All I can say is that the evolutionary journey for these two men will prove to be an enlightening one.

Beneathe its reckless violence, liberal slapstick and sardonic humour, Adam's Apples deftly straddles between political incorrectness and a thoughtful meditation on faith and morality. It illustrates the blurring lines of good and evil while pushing the limits of bad tastes to masochistic extremes. It is to Andersen's credit that he can keep Apples' disparate moods in check. In retrospect, the contextual build-up to articulate this film's eventual position on God and humanity completely takes my breath away. Lastly, allow me to exclaim at the intuitive choice to end this movie with that song. The congruence of its lyrics to this movie is so uncanny it simply knocks me off my feet!

This is one of the SIFF's best films.
Watch it if you can.

19th SIFF - I DID NOT KILL GANDHI

Looking to the skies, staring at the sea...








Recently widowed, retired Professor Uttam Chaudhary cannot remember things, dressing up to go to a school he no longer teaches and calling out to loved ones who're no longer here. It does not take long for his daughter and son to realise their father is suffering from the degenerative Alzheimer’s disease.

As his memories begin to fade and play tricks on him, Uttam suddenly believes an outlandish notion that he was accused and subsequently incarcerated for the murder of Mahatma Gandhi. Could this sudden belief have arisen due to the demented man's scouring of old news articles? Could this have been Uttam's random act of retaliation towards his desperately weakening condition? Could there have been a deeper well of reasons, tracing all the way back to an indelibly traumatic childhood? If only there were simple answers...

I went into this movie fully aware of the odds stacked against it. This is an Indian film. It has melodramatic excesses choking its every narrative turn. The score cues its audiences at every opportunity it gets. The actors chew up the screenplay and deliver OTT performances. There is a lot of screaming, wailing and choreographed fainting. These contortionistic faces populating the movie may hence distress some Western audiences. In fact, the insensitive, politically incorrect viewer in me was half expecting the angsty cast to burst suddenly into a song and dance revue. That, however, they did not do, for very valid reasons.

The film festival booklet's synopsis has wisely alerted us all that this movie will not sing and dance. And as the film plays on, I can sense my glib defences wearing down, for I gradually realised the good intentions of "I did not kill Gandhi". Gandhi should not sing, for it laments, it cries and it heaves its weary sighs. I find myself agreeably accepting its genre boundaries, for it earns my deep respect. This film attempts to illustrate the genuine pains a debilitating disease like Alzheimer's can inflict on its sufferers, and their equally suffering loved ones.

Chronicling a man sliding down the spirals of Alzheimer's, Gandhi also gave a voice to his helpless family (in particular the sensitive filial daughter, whose plight in this movie is so tragic that I can hear those songs coming on already. But I jest unwisely...), as we see how the man's descent can so destructively drag all those around him down the same emotional abyss.

Funny how people will rejoice at the sight of babies uttering their first words. They will eagerly anticipate words and sentences that are almost certain to follow. Conversely, people despair when their Alzheimer's afflicted loved ones "momentarily" returns, when a sudden clarity reappears on his or her previously blank face. Thing is, we must gradually learn to accept that these hopeful glimpses are false and hurtful, for the sentences will inevitably reduce to words, and further evaporate to indecipherable babbles. Their lucidity will diminish. Their minds will be gone, never to come back. They will become grown up babies, who will never again utter any more rejoicing first words.

No songs written, no movies made, no words in any known language can accurately articulate the pain and hurt Alzheimer's can inflict on the damned souls. Somewhere in this movie, it was wisely observed that the loneliest man is the one who has lost himself. In attempting to depict the heartaches encircling those imprisoned by Dementia/Alzheimer's, "I did not kill Gandhi" barely scratches the surface. But it's a decent start. It touches base with the many trials and tribulations crippling the sufferers and their lucidly helpless caregivers. Yes, the destructive power of this dreadful disease does not affect the sufferer alone. It sweeps across the familial landscape and forces its inhabitants to shape up or disintergrate spectacularly. Lives will be changed, relationships will be shifted, and the strength of kinships will be rigorously tested. It is most unfortunate that such a tragic disease subjects its participants to cruel challenges. But in the process, blood bonds will be thickened, one's familial faith will be renewed and the ties that binds a family will imperceptibly bloom and strengthen.

If I am to follow the unabashed example of this courageous film, I hope for all to heed its call. Cherish your loved ones. You never know when they'll be gone. It is never too late to give them that big sloppy kiss or a huge constricting squeeze. Just make sure they do not freak out.

Wong Kar Wai's 2046 - None of them came back...

Note: This commentary may discuss major plot points in 2046 and is meant for post viewing reading only.


I am suspending with a description of this film's synopsis. It is not really essential to know what 2046 is all about. It is more enriching to appreciate what thoughts and feelings it solicited from viewers who connected with it, or otherwise. In addition, I have difficulty articulating my love for films I truly love (like this one), which is the reason why I dare not write about 2046, until now. I have a gnawing premonition that I will fail miserably at my present attempt too. But still I shall try, for if I do not say something now in support of the film I love so deeply, there may never be another opportunity again. Below typed out, my humble thoughts and feelings:

To me, Wong Kar Wai has sent out a most courageous of invitations. With a lucid vision, this cinematic train veered off its beaten tracks and strived to connect with "willing" passengers. Riding on the back of his experiences in making films and living life, Wong Kar Wai unleashed upon an unsuspecting public this meticulously conceived masterpiece. One which not only pieced together the kaleidoscopic jigsaws of his body of work, it ironically splintered from them too. For from those past colorfully "hollowed" Wong Kar Wai "bubbles", 2046 produced a coagulated pool of suds worthy of the most lavishly sentimental soap operas.

This stylistic decision to overload our senses as well as our hearts was intended to rally all kindred spirits together. To open up, dig deep into ourselves and prepare us all to bask in the collective experience of one schizophrenic "train man." Who then is this "train man"? In my humble opinion, this "man" can be anything or anyone. Filtered by the prism of cinema, he can be Tony or his Japanese alter-ego. He can be Faye, Zhang, Carina, Gong or that all elusive Su Li Zhen. This "man" can be an amalgam of the myriad characters in 2046, fictional or otherwise, in parts or in sum. He can also be infected by the experiences of Wong Kar Wai himself, or mnemonic remnants of his past films. By extension, he can be you, me or even life itself. Confused by what I am talking about? Allow me to clarify further by leaping straight to the film’s end.

So what about the ending of 2046?

The split-second smile on Tony's face when last we saw him sauntering down a flight of stairs (after he rejected Zhang Ziyi's plea to stay with her for a little while longer) was indicative of his awareness of Zhang's futile attempts at resurrecting a love which has long passed its time. He smiled because he had been through such turmoils of the heart. He had survived it. He is fairly certain Zhang would learn the things he did, and move on. Life is about moving on from one hurdle to another. Zhang needed to cross hers on her own, as did (would) Tony, his.

But what followed after Tony's smile was most quietly distressing; The film repeated the opening monologue about a train from which people take in search of the mythic 2046, and never came back (from which Tony claimed at film's beginning, he was the only one who did). At this point, let us sidetrack a little and talk about "the train".

I think the train symbolizes a vessel from which intense and unforgettable emotions dwell. They would take the form of memories distilled by time and smothered by nostalgia. It is a balmy place to stay in. People scrambled to board the vessel, and would refuse to leave, for 2046 lures its preys. It feeds them an addictive wave of utopian pasts, the tempting offers of infinite euphoria. Things which reality dares not promise. But the human mind is not made for this counterfeit universe. Sooner of later, the mirage of 2046 will dissipate. With near clinical certainty, hidden demons will be revealed, barely stitched wounds will open, and the very pain that cripples its addicts will manifest itself. The addicts can no longer do much, but sink deeper in search of the illusionary comfort of 2046. This train may appear benign to the unsuspecting, but it has the propensity to take its passengers straight to purgatorial torment.

As illustrated in this film (and encompassing all the past films populated by the Tony character), the man has enough memories to fill many train coaches. That he chose to come back from 2046 may be seen as a brave choice, for he appears to have wised up to the futility of wallowing in the past, however sweet it might have been. The harder choice is to come back into the present. To live it and in the process, gaining more memories to be stuffed back into the trains of 2046 (if one chooses)...

However, if Tony's claims of returning from 2046 were true, the film should rightfully have ended as he walked down the stairs (from Zhang’s apartment) But no, this viewer posits he never really left "the train". For next we saw Tony's smile faded into a cryptic stare into nothingness, as he sat slumped at the back of the taxicab. The longer one stays inside 2046, the more one realizes that life is full of hardships and forces one to be lonely till the day we depart from our mortal shells. All these emotional cues of a “train addict” can be encapsulated in Tony’s final cryptic stare. And the closest approximation of the train to a real life vessel might in fact have been, the taxicab. Many intense memories of love and hurt were stowed in the back seats of taxi cabs in Wong Kar Wai movies. The “train to 2046” may all along have been a placebo describing the state of mind of a train man, a middle-aged man or any man at crossroads in his life, seeking for solace, escape or the resolve to carry on.

The implication of such an interpretation is manifold. Not only is the film’s lifeviews veered towards the pessimistic, it implies that we are all prisoners of our own devices, trapped as much by harsh realities as our futile hopes of reliving dashed dreams in our pasts. But there is an upside, for upon gaining the understanding and acceptance of our myriad complex human conditions, how we choose to spend our time here on earth (whether inside or outside of memories stashed vessels), is entirely up to us. Hence, in the closing frames of 2046, via Tony’s cryptic expression, we can choose to see before us, slumped ever so lonely in that backseat of a taxicab, a sadder man, a non-the-wiser man, a hopeless man or ultimately, a more enlightened man. Life goes on, what paths will he take? What paths shall we take?

I picked up profoundly sobering truths rising from the clouds of 2046's smokey universe. Evoking a calm of looking with patient eyes, 2046 is as close as it gets to understanding the helpless spiral of this mortal coil. There is no desire to change lives, one self or this whole f***ed up world. Because with age, experience, quiet observation and revelatory introspection, a melancholic acceptance is reached. To see, to understand, to accept and most importantly, to control the despair of knowing too much. This is epiphany neither in the sights we see nor the sounds we hear. This is epiphany in having entered a specific state of mind.

2046 is the first and only Wong Kar Wai film which I truly loved. It is hence inevitable Wong Kar Wai disappointed many of his "fans". With 2046, Wong Kar Wai has shown the fortitude to venture into a whole new heedless direction. It has scant regard for critical consensus or fanatic demands to remain "Wong Kar Wai". 2046 appeals overwhelmingly to my sensibilities. In fact, this is the only film in recent memory which almost approaches the stature of Tokyo Story (for me), in its imperceptibly intuitive illustration of a Zen-associated, Yasujiro Ozu-influenced precept, "Mono no aware" - Sensitivity to things.

Side Note:
The most intriguing part of the ending was the way the opening monologue of the train to 2046 was repeated in the final taxi cab sequence. Only this time round, there was no mention of the very last line, the one which Tony indicated he came back from 2046. A final support for my interpretation that none of them came back....food for thought.

2046 is an enigma. Any attempts at dissecting it will only unravel more mysteries for our further deciphering. It inspires both the heart and mind to collaborate and hopefully, give birth to new insights about the power of cinema and its invaluable lessons on life and humanity. If these are not the hallmarks of a great film, I will like to know what is.

My Top 10 films of 2005

Being titles commercially released in Singaporean theatres in the year of 2005.

(Note: I am gathering the stuff I wrote elsewhere and re-posting them here. This piece originally appeared in www.sgfilm.com)

10) The Isle
Sometimes, people inflict pain upon themselves (and others) so that they can at least feel something. Otherwise, however heavenly the landscapes we find ourselves existing in, we are merely tainted portraits of that purgatorial world, insignificant prisoners trapped in a hellishly alienating time and place.

The ambiguous navigational possibilities of the above are hence astoundingly realised in the sparse yet affecting paintings of The Isle. On the outset, this is a boy meets girl meets fish hooks and fans story (Don't ask). But as I find myself gradually sucked into its vortex, I begin to understand its swirling emotions stemmed from a desperately human need for some form of connection.

Despite having chocked up some of the vilest movies I have the misfortune of watching, I am willing to momentarily forgive the much despised Kim Ki Duk for making this most merciful of love poems to the lost and the wounded. Their pain and forgone hopes were so evocatively rendered, it made the ultimate redemption bestowed upon them all the more resonating.

In the end, the two protagonists have sailed into a near mythic realm. A place where only a rare fortunate few can ever hope to glimpse or experience. That of finding your one true soul mate, of sharing the joys and sorrows not as an individual but as an intertwined coupling inseparable by the mere confines of reality. Together, they co-exist in a sublimal state of bliss which transcends even their respective mortality. In awe, I gasped. Let the fanning begin....

9) Finding Neverland

Finding Neverland is about a man and a child. Begging the pardon of Freddie Highmore fans, Johnny Depp is both the man and the child. Portraying Sir James Matthew Barrie, the man is a kid who's grown up too fast due to a deeply wounded past. But when irreversibly stuck in the body, mind and social responsibilities of his present adulthood, the inner child remained.

This obstinate reluctance to relinquish either "persona" affords the man a rare gift of insight few possess. He is privy to a charmed fantastical world of make-believe which is accessible only to children or the purest at heart. In addition, he intuitively understands the inevitable demands on children to eventually lose that sense of wonder, as they come of age and enter adulthood.

Unfortunately, this ability is as much his gift as it is a curse. Societal expectations do not sanction a man for overstaying in his counterfeit worlds, and the man is unwilling to accept the constricting demands of the real ones. For instance, James is found to be incapable of loving his wife completely. And the wife knows that, for she can never fully access into his private sanctuaries. She can never have any parts in his Neverland. She knows that James does not intentionally hurt her. She is just from a different world, while the man she loves can only visit, without permanently staying.

It is in this instant that one may start to realise Finding Neverland, (as it will often do throughout the film) subtly shifts its focus onto the characters in James' world(s). James' wife, in her intuitive decision on the path of their imprisoning marriage, sheds intriguing light on her sense and sensibility. She considers carefully between her love for James and the keys to recognising her lifelong happiness. By choosing to leave James, the woman has not only released her husband from a lifelong marital obligation, she has in fact set herself free.

James may have failed in his marriage, but the man has a lot of love to give. He uses his gift well, for his empathy for the people around him fuels his desire to reach into the hearts of adults and children alike. Through his work and actions, he inspires them to never give up, to explore the wondrous possibilities life offers. To believe.

In Freddie Highmore's Peter Davies, James has thus found a deeply personal subject to share in his life view. For in that child, he sees himself. He sees fit to show the boy to cherish his sense of wonder, and not let his bottled pains accelerate his loss of innocence. He sees fit to rehabilitate the wounded child before its too late.

Finding Neverland has many good things going for it. But I am moved most by the surrogate coupling of James and Peter. I hope anyone going into this film will discover its dramatic richness and humanistic warmth, for by film's end, I have seen a movie brimming with wisdom, optimism, entrancing imagination and heartfelt generosity. I am thankful for the opportunity.

8) Be with me
We may come in all shapes and sizes. Our issues may be weighty or fluffy in the eyes of others. But when we are in the midst of it, we can never see as clearly. We may feel just as intensely about our feelings as anyone else. Its only when a juxtaposition of the various shades of "connection" is presented in this movie, does a grateful audience like me get to glimpse into the good intention of Eric Khoo: for us to gain valuable perspectives that we are all boats against currents, searching for our respective anchors, that we seek to connect with someone out there with varying degrees of success, that we chase for something as simple yet as slyly elusive as happiness. To hope for the best and expect the worst. To learn to manage the despair of knowing too much.

Many great films are pointing towards this life affirming direction. I personally think Eric Khoo has taken a giant leap forward with Be With Me. Bless him and may his smile never fade.

7) Perhaps Love
If we are to pigeon-hole Perhaps Love, we can easily say that it is a Moulin Rouge meets Phantom of the Opera. That it is back-projected with an aura of Comrades, almost a love story and sprinkled with a tinge of angelic dust from Wings of Desire. This movie is one trippy soap opera alright.

Although Perhaps Love can enthrall our senses like the best of those stirring epics, its enlightening sensibility is also profoundly introspective and deeply intimate. Like I said before, love may imprison you, it can also set you free. It all depends on the eye of the beholder. On how you view the breadth and scope of love, on which paths you shall choose, on what lives you shall lead.

That the smiles on all the characters did not fade by film's end, signal all is well and good. For a new chapter shall likely open and those people shall fill the pages with words upon lyrical words. They shall still be challenged with hopes and fears. They may still contend with love and hate. But love shall no longer be the sole dictator of their joys and sorrows, for they are finally masters of their own fate. Amen!

6) Howl's Moving Castle
Guess whatever I say will never do justice to the beauty and artistry of this masterpiece. It may not even entice those agenda laden critics who snubbed their noses at this transcendent work to reconsider giving it a second chance. But this movie, voted by a pack of ill-intending wolves as the Top 5 worst movies of the year, deserves the concentrated devotion from its select group of fans.

There is a message in this movie, that people will find no real purpose in living without having first found the fuel for this arduous journey, love. This transporting theme elevates the film to levels echoed in last year's Kungfu Hustle. Our true human potential can only be realised when we know what is our purpose in life, what is the reason for our existence in this wretched world. Perhap Love is the purpose. Perhaps love is the reason. But somehow, beneathe this pure elemental optimism lies a nagging sense of doubt which crawls under my skin.

Much like the Matrix Revolutions, this film is subversive and depressing in that events seem machinised by higher powers. Higher powers who somehow know the outcome of the story (or can exert influence on whatever outcome they desire), but is hoping the tenacity and free-will of their pawns will challenge the status quo. They are waiting for the pawns to deliver them that pleasing surprise. It is like a willful child who attempts to torch garden ants with magnifying glasses on a cloudy day. To the ants, the child is all powerful. But the child is neither benevolent nor malicious. The child just wanna see what happens. But damn, that freaking weather...

As in most films which celebrate the quirks of humanity, we always deliver. But therein lies the sad revelation. The collective struggles of these pawns may be packed with love, integrity, humour and pathos, but there is an undignified slant to this struggle. For somehow, these pursuits are reduced to the mere viewing pleasures of more powerful forces. The tables have turned and we are now the garden ants, at the mercy of inconsiderate juvenile and the unpredictability of weather.

The "pragmatic" ending of Howl's Moving Castle hence acknowledge this sad fact. True love can be attained, soul mates can be found. But that does not mean eternal bliss is within reach. For not only do people have to contend with external struggles for the rest of their lives, they have to wrestle within themselves. The girl may have regain her youth and beauty, but the grey colours in her hair remained. This I think is more a matter of choice. We are never be truly happy in this reality, as our insignificance does not afford us the privilege of lasting happiness. What we can do, is know to manage our lives and learn the most important thing which will allow us to be at peace with ourselves, acceptance. Acceptance of the good things or bad things which this world shall bring. Acceptance of who we are. Acceptance of what we are willing and able to do for the sake of something as ephemeral as happiness.

5) Guess Who
I love all the stolen moments in this movie. Moments when the characters are not dictated by the confines of genre and start behaving like real people.

I love the moment the girl talks to her father, trying unsuccessfully to convince him in accepting Ashton as the man of her future. How those few exchanges of dialogue reveals the girl to expect too much from her father and how the father knows that. In a few glimpses, we too see how much the man cares for her daughter. He need not show us this much, for this is after all just a comedy. It needs no such embellishment. But that's what this movie does. Showing us a little bit more than what is required, not to prove it can, but to show it should.

I love the moment when Ashton sneaks out of Bernie Mac's house to meet his girlfrend (Bernie's daughter) outside. The couple runs off to the girl's secret hiding place. The street on which they run along light up their jubilant excitement. Youthful bliss hangs around the air. Their conversations atop a fort is illuminated by the stars above and the suburban lights below them. Everything points to the girl cherishing her family, loving Ashton. Ashton also loves the girl and in turn envying the bond she shares with her family. Together, they spark off a re-assuring feel that a great couple they will make, whatever the obstacles thrown their way.

Most of all, I am in awe of the scene at the train station near the movie's end. It answered the doubts I have over the weird undercurrents so subtly evoked by Ashton Kutcher. A decent man who's upbringing and wounded past made him a little apprehensive of opening up to the ones he love. Though not completely a broken man, he's definitely one weighed down by relationship fears and misgivings. But his past need not dictate what he can and will become - a dutiful husband, an adequate son-in-law and a loving father. The film, up to that point, did not prepare me for the "right" person to open Ashton's eyes. The sudden intuition from the observant but grossly under-rated Bernie Mac hence counts as one of my favourite cinematic moments of the year. And to top it all off, those verisimilitunal stolen minutes are capped by an stately aerial shot of a passing train, working as the perfect pillow shot (unintentionally perhaps, but nonetheless oh so divine) to calm my gasping joys.

I don't dare to presume to name Guess Who as a better film than some of the other films in this list (and the lists of others). But it certainly is one of which, in its most mysterious ways, connected with me most. And my heart glows when such a connection is forged, for it's mine and mine alone.

4) Be with you
In the beginning, Be with you vividly captures the grief and survivor guilt imprisoning those who's left behind. The immense gulf of solitude and despair marooning those when their beloved goes through the inevitably traumatic phases of death. Thing is, when someone you love dies, a piece of you dies with them. This movie got this element so right, I hence heaved a deep and heartfelt sigh.

Sensing the collective pain shared by the father and his son (and by extension, its empathetic audiences), the film posited a wish fulfilling scenario. What if they are given a second chance? What if the one they've lost comes back, one last time? What will they do differently this time from their last?

The focus of this meandering movie yet again shifts, this time to the returning dead (or is it the undead). What can she do to ensure her husband and their son are cared for, in her impending absence? How can she prepare them for the pain and loss ahead? What must she do to ensure the future of those she leaves behind will not be tainted by the trauma of the painful past and a potentially more aching present? How is she to inspire the bereaved to move on and live, for her, and most importantly, for themselves?

When a film deals with life, death and the maelstrom of emotions swirling around these irreversible phenomenons, I am always intrigued. For the protagonists face the same questions and dilemmas which anyone of us will have to contend with at some points in our lives.

Undoubtedly, this is an expertly woven tearjerker, but its underlying themes are open and sincere. I identify with the pain of the father and his son. When the rain stopped, so did my heart (as I'm sure, theirs too). I questioned in silence, why must fate be so cruelly twisted? Why must it deal such a huge blow on the man and his child not once but twice? And then, the stunning epilogue slotted all the missing pieces into place....

As it turns out, fate or destiny do not play tricks on the living (or the dead), for the most unexpected of people made a choice sometime prior to this chain of events. In retrospect, our comprehension of what we have seen so far are turned on our heads. The implication of the film's revealing twist near the story's end affirmed one thing, the transcendent power of love and sacrifice. Even when we already know how our story ends, even if we know its not gonna be a happy end, we may still not change or tweak it one bit. Instead, we may still choose to head down that same thorny path, over and over again. Because sometimes, the bitter of the journey shall be eclipsed by the sweet. The end point/ destination is only dead if one thinks it so. It can also be the beginning of a new crossroad, signalling the start of a new journey for yourself, your loved ones and your beloved offsprings. As the couple kissed in the middle of that sunflower field (a second time round), the epiphany of this movie awashes over me.

Be with you is the most heedlessly idealistic film of the year. That it held steadfast to its beliefs from beginning to end and probably all over again (don't ask) puts to shame all who's afraid to love, to give, to receive, and most importantly, to live.

3) WKW's The Hand
The world of The Hand can just as easily be supplanted into the universe of 2046. It could be one of the many pulp fiction woven by the Tony Leung character, as he put his pen on paper, scribing the stories locked in his cryptic heart. It could further shade and layer 2046's illustrative themes on nostalgia, regrets, love in its varied manifestations or the weary awareness, disappointment and ultimate acceptance of life. That is the enchantment of WKW's recent works.

Like a seemingly familiar jazz piece performed by a masterful artist, The Hand randomly alternates between the colourful hues of a lilting melody and unflinchingly punctuates the depths of its austere musical bridges. It's dramatic richness and emotional complexity as a motion picture hence requires the investment of receptive minds and wide open hearts. It practically demands our attention.

It's an alluring yet deeply saddening world, the WKW universe. Dotting its vast melancholic landscapes, are insightful portraits of people with hopes dashed, unrequited yearnings prolonged and hearts slit wide open. They bleed naked emotions that are laced with pain, honesty and in some cases, self sacrifice. Its as close to a state of "Mu" as modern cinema now dares to approximate. One overused word comes to mind, sublime.

2) Million Dollar Baby
Midway through this movie, it's late at night. Light poured in and out of a moving car. Inside this car, a young woman (Maggie) rode with an older man (Frankie). For the both of them, the day which went by was long, the respective burdens on their hearts, heavy. After what looked like a string of filler conversations (but it didn't really feel that way), the woman said to the man, "I got nobody but you, Frankie," The man's response was, though not beaming, reciprocally re-assuring. A surrogate daughter, vulnerable and hungry for intimacy, sought out a father estranged from his own. They found each other. They took comfort in each other's company. They stopped the car, made their way into a roadside diner and shared a lemon meringue pie. The woman didn't eat. She watched the man enjoying the pie, for she has already tasted the sweet. She just wanted to share this sweetness with her new old man, to savour the moment. Together, the two just sat there in that nondescript diner, soaking in an unspoken contentment. Imperceptibly, a family is born.

1) Pride & Prejudice

Two words, "Keira Knightley". The whole film rests on this precocious woman's tiny shoulders. Her impish charm, her grit and wit, her stunning piety and ultimately, her benign grace. All these disparate traits burst out of her open emotive face. She does not just illustrate the concepts of Pride & Prejudice throughout this film. She exemplifies them. She transcends them.

As the entire cast interacts with this woman, the two titled concepts are explored with clarity and are elevated with humanistic perspectives. Via Knightley's Lizzie Bennett, we see Pride & Prejudice placed saliently into its period, its place, we understand the timely roles they play in the story's twists of fate.

Pride. Prejudice. As mere mortals, we may unilaterally view these two terms negatively, but through this film's cinematic prism, we see refracted reasons for their being. We see how each and everyone do the things they do. Its never a black and white affair. Some may hold on to their pride, as what (or who) they are defending may be bigger than themselves. Others may be prone to prejudice against those they despise of, but that may be because they do not fully understand the objects of their biases. The shades of grey just gets murkier.

Precisely because of the complexities involved, I become gushingly heartened by the knowing decency of Lizzie (and to an extent, Mcfadden's Darcy). I am heartened by how these two destined lovers acknowledge their respective frailties. I am heartened by their will to fight for their happiness amidst the societal constraints binding their existence. Most of which, I am heartened by self-sacrifices the protagonists make while navigating the tricky depths of pride and prejudices. Every step of the way, their paths to finding true happiness are obstructed.

Throughout the movie, I am intoxicated by the push-pull delirium of their romantic dance. Despite external conditions and their internal struggles keeping the lovebirds apart, their gradual realisation of each other's goodness intensify their passion for each other. When the sun finally rises near the movie's end, my arrested heart leapt not because a set of lovers get to live happily everafter. I gasped because deserved happiness is earned by two pure hearted people. Blissfully sweet is the love affair between Darcy and his Missus. May the sun shine on all that's good and decent.

Terence Malick's The New World - Beyond badlands, beyond the thin red days of heaven...

...lies my thoughts, still raw and completely random.

This may come off as an unconventional piece. It may not be a review for your reading at ease. But I did not set out to make your life difficult, for the below words came from a very dumbstruck film nerd. Hence requesting hereby, for your very kind indulgence, to hopefully empathise with the epiphany of my experience.






Mother, hear me.

Why do we seek to connect with one another? What are the secrets linking people from nature? Is there a common ground between the living and the dead? Shall I live by choice or resign to fate? Why do we enter our lovers or let them writhe within us? Why does my hair stand when I am kissed by strangers?

What is art? Can it tell truths most ecstatic, or lift us up higher? Is it the key to unlock our hidden desires? In what size, shape or colour is its physical being? Can I sense it or is it just a feeling? Entering a darkened room, clueless at what is to transpire. Will art appear before me? Sitting next to someone, basking in their gasps of wonder, is art's spectre haunting me? There are lulls, in the day, late at night, before thunder rolls, after lightning strikes. Is art whispering to me during those briefest of moments? Is it urging me to feel, to love, or just to enjoy the silence?

Is art about all consuming passion? Does it bring about calm and pure redemption? Or must I obsessively rhyme with every single sentence? Does time or its passage, afford me comprehension? Why am I entranced by birds in flight? Why do I marvel at shadows and light? Why do I well up when mourners grief? Why do I sigh for that last falling leave? Explain my joys when I hear loud laughter. Assure me she's happy as her smiles grow fainter. Witness my wonder touching the palms of toddlers. Share in my rapture when tiny hands grab big fingers. Indeed, unknown are the depths of the simplest of pleasures.

I can't figure it out, and I know not if I should. But still I ask the heavens, what the hell are life's roots? Is this mortal coil a grand illusion? Is it beset with obstacles and blinded by delusions? What is the fuel for our very existence? Is life a journey, to learn and to experience? Will I be free if I believe myself to be? Will I be strong, when my time comes for me?

I don't know where I am, what I have become and who I can be? But I know. This is not the end. So help me. Open my heart wide, and expand my mind further. Allow me the time to get them all together. Be my patient guide and impart me your wisdom. Aid me in my journey through my innermost sanctum. So thank you and goodnite, dear beloved mother. Embrace I shall, my before, my now and my sweet hereafter....

(Special note to readers: Hope my indulgence have not dampened your day. Let not your ships sail so quickly away. Ignore me if you want, for my uncooked pigs' swill. But please find some time for Malick's The New World.)