I’m transformed!

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I’m transformed by Michael Bay’s Transformers

It’s amazing how those special effects work on my sensory organs on the big screen. One hour into the movie, I feel like Automas Prime is looming over my head outside my own backyard. Two hours later, I feel my heart aching for Bumble Bee and its lost limb. One hour after the movie, I find hallucinating along the road, wondering if the coming car will transform into a depticon.

I’m never really a Transformers fan, although I pretty much grew up with it and thought the idea of vehicles or airplanes morphing into robots – which can think, talk, and function better than human beings – really cool.

And it is ironic that in this information age when human beings have become (almost totally) reliant on machines, we still think we are one step up above the inanimate robots. So much so, we have persisted to model the inanimate against the animate – now the Japanese are a different class here with their partiality towards humanising the robots, but I think the reader will get my point here.

What makes us – the humans – which (and not who, because living things are still things afterall) seem to rule the only ‘livable planet’ (again livable according to our standards) in the universe so far, so steadfast and staunch in believing the trusting our superiority – intellectual or moral – to other animate and non-animate things when we’ve never really been in control of the situation or even our own bodies?

Ironically, in Transformers, our best defence has to come from the benovelent Automas Prime who has this to say to the resident villian Megatron and fellow autobots (an indirect quote here, not word for word)

The humans may be weak and primitive, but I also see signs of courage these sentient beings (screen flash to show Sam the teenage human hero)

As with most remakes that kept to the spirit of the original comic, the face of human courage and empathy in Transformers is mostly that of youth (of course you have a few brave commandoes making their ‘guest performances’ but they are not the ones communicating with the robots). The message remains quite consistent despite the overwhelming special effects: Humans, especially grown ups, have somewhat lost their touch to connect not just with beings different from their own, but also with their own humanity.

Addendum after the movie experience:

Looking up Michael Bay on wikipedia, I realise this guy hasn’t had good reviews for his past movies. He’s been nominated for Worst Director twice for Pearl Harbor and Armageddon and was not spared the criticism for his design on the robots in Transformers.

I’ll say, give the guy a break for his great delivery in Transformers! Afterall, he has successfully converted quite a number of adults into fans for big screen remake of “presumably kids’ stuff” (again the adult prejudice sets in).

I’ll be waiting for MegaTron to make a comeback in Transformers 2 – let’s hope Steven Spielberg gets to raise enough capital to produce a sequel.

Addendum after addendum

Ah well, so I’ve just confirmed one of the main grouses Transformers fans have against the movie is that Bumble Bee has turned into a Chevrolet when he’s supposed to be a Volkswagen Beetle. But I don’t really see how a Hollywood blockbuster will ever pass up a US carmaker over a German one. Of course, this is just my own conjecture.

Water opens in Singapore

If you haven’t watched it already, please catch this before it closes in Singapore.

Deepa Mehta’s last instalment of her ‘elemental trilogy’ – as with the earlier releases, Fire and Earth – interrogates the legitimacy of norms and traditions in patriarchal Indian society.

At the foreground, Water narrates the plight of Indian widows who were ostracised by the mainstream society and manipulated for the pleasures of social elites. Set against the backdrop of the rise of Ghandian idealism, however, Water is arguably also a narrative of the nation’s struggle for independence and freedom from the oppression of its colonial masters.

Therein lies the spirit of the trilogy, Deepa Mehta’s attempt to elucidate for her audience, how we have to ‘stand up to the system’ in order to open doors to avenues that may otherwise not be apparent in life^. So when Shakuntula, the devout Hindhu finds within herself the courage to question the basis for discriminating widows, she finally realises it is but a self-serving measure of convenience to protect the interests of a patriarchal family unit. And it is only upon such (belated) epiphany that Shakuntula decides to make a difference for young Chuyia, an eight-year-old widow on the brink of being forced into prostitution.

The widows in Water are far from the only ones who are entrapped by their blind obeisance to hegemonic norms. Patriarchal notions of gender performance remain operative – often unchallenged through adopting the guise of traditions – in our daily lives. The beauty of Deepa Mehta’s trilogy lies precisely in the director’s ability to deal with universal issues through specific cultural contexts, hence providing a reprieve for her audience to reflect and rationalise their life situations.

^See Business Times review December 22 for full quote.

More info on mistreatment of widows in ‘traditional societies’ available here.

The Way Home (2002): A Korean classic

About three weeks ago on Channel U Friday Late Night Korean Movie Special

Caught the 2002 acclaimed Korean movie, The Way Home, a story revolving around the relationship of a 7 year old city boy, Sang Wo, and his deaf and mute 78-year-old poor grandmother residing in the fast disappearing countryside.

The plot is at best a reinvention of a classic ritual: the gradual reform of a city brat touched by the loving kindliness of his old grandmother.

Yet, it is exactly the simplicity of the plot and message that sets this low budget production from the rest of the pack. In fact, I would argue the simplicity has but served to veil the film maker’s critique of city living. Time and again, the difference between city and country living is played up in the movie – how Sang Woo, hailing from Korean capital city is obviously blessed with and used to more material comforts than other kids living in the country neighbourhood. The contrast between the character attributes of a city boy against his countryside compatriots forces the audience to take a step back and reassess the traditional divide between ‘haves’ and have-nots’. At one end is the selfish, wilful and ungracious city boy obviously spoilt by the ills of capitalism. At the other is the generosity of country folk, willing to forgive, forget and share love and joy with the others.

We then question whether the material comforts of city living have served to numb our sensibility not only towards others but also to our inner needs.

The movie concludes on a note that seals this message: the brat finally learns to appreciate and reciprocate the kindness of his grandmother and neighbourly others. While this is no doubt a replay of a classic ending, the audience is no less touched by this self-discovery, perhaps more so as a result of the no frills approach in the story-telling and strong performance from the cast.

Seung-Ho Yu is perfectly convincing in his virgin reprisal of a silver screen role. As the wilful-turned-filial grandson, Sang Woo, Seung-Ho Yu is both exasperating and endearing. Plucked from total anonymity from the remote South Korean neighbourhood that sets the background of the movie, Eul-Boon Kim is delightful as the sweet and dedicated grandmother.

Some deem The Way Home as a surprise box office hit what with its total lack of commercialism. However, methinks this is totally unsurprising given how the movie has reached out with a universal theme that obviously tugs at the heartstrings of its audience. Ain’t it a given therefore The Way Home has become the first South Korean movie earmarked for a Hollywood remake.

References and further reading:

Interview with director, Lee Jeong Hyang.

More film reviews on Channel 4 and Blog Critics.

Not quite the sumptuous banquet

Another Zhang Ziyi, oops! it should be Ziyi Zhang’s vehicle is now screening in major cinemas across the island. Methinks The Banquet is clearly in the same league as Chen Kaige’s The Promise, and not far off from Zhang Yimou’s Hero. My verdict, watch this movie if:

1. You are a sucker for martial arts sequences.

2. You’ve enjoyed Hero and all those Made for Hollywood Chinese martial arts productions.

3. You are a big fan of Zhang Ziyi, oops! it should be Ziyi Zhang.

And no, this is no where close to Lee Ang, oops! Ang Lee’s Croaching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

It’s a crazy stone in a crazy world

Catching up on the movie moments in Singapore, the screening of Crazy Stone at GV Plaza Singapura a month ago

via Youtube.

Yet another much-raved-over indie production from Asia, amazing in its box-office success in its home country, mainland China, given the relatively unknown (and dare I say, unattractive – no I don’t mean it in a bad way ;)) cast and its small production budget.

Revolving around a frenzy over the exhibition of treasured piece of jade – the thwarted thieving attempts of a bunch of bungling local ruffians and their Hong Kong veteran counterpart despite the made-shift security set-up in an old temple site – Crazy Stone ain’t exactly original in its storyline. Fact is most of its antics were reinvented from infamous movie moments, for instance, the toilet diving scene in Trainspotting and a hard-to-miss parody of Tom Cruise’s professional hangman stunt in Mission Impossible.

Yet the packed series of events set in a rather frantic pace and the stark, gritty reflection of fast industrialising landscape of Chongqing, China, were excellent portrayals of the trials and tribunes of working class Chinese lined with black humour.

Majority of the film’s footage is shot in the drudges of the fast urbanising city – the common living quarters where the law enforcers and law breakers co-existed, tryng to eke out a decent living against a sweeping tide of capitalism across the country. Oblivious of the conflict in their self interests, the local heros and ruffians crossed paths on several occasions within these cramped quarters, sharing private moments of their daily lives in the common space of a public bathhouse, the grime of the public toilets and a dilapidated local hotel.

Such dreary living environment of the working class is juxtaposed against the backdrop of emerging skyscrapers, amongst which housed the office of the resident villian -the new rich and real estate developer who instigated the thieving attempts to safeguard his construction of yet another skyscraper.

This grim outlook of a widening class divide in a transitionary mega economy is cleverly side-stepped in a frenetic comic sequence that leaves little room for further reflection. The movie arguably sealed its point in the concluding scene where the lone ruffian who escaped criminalisation for his attempted theft of the jade piece, was depicted as desperately trying to run away on the highway from a patrolling policeman for stealing a loaf of bread.

Is it any wonder why this fast-paced black comedy would attract censure from conservative factions whilst winning critical acclaim and scoring box office success in its home country?

PS: Whitebait, methinks this is a must-see if you are interested in the changing landscape of mainland China.

Have you forgotten the Smell of Rain?

Catching up on lost time in Singapore at the screening of Smell of Rain at The Art House

via Youtube.

Do you recognise the smell of rain? This smell that seems to announce each impending storm. Some associate this scent with the arrival of Spring.

But for Xiaoqi, the protaganist of Smell of Rain, a local film production, this familiar scent is a constant reminder of a painful childhood – a single mother who yearned for and yet was unlucky in love, a mother who chose to foresake her child perhaps in a desperate attempt to dismiss a lifelong rejection in love.

Smell of Rain is the story of a 20something young man’s struggle against a childhood that is denied of parental love and to rediscover the courage to embrace love again in his adult life. His obsession with the castaways of his neighbours – old electronic equipment, books or soft toys now thoughtlessly dumped in the stairway or lift lobby, demonstrates his resistance against the disposable culture of a consumerist society. Love, as with the use value of material goods, has its expiry date. Human relationships are but disposables in modern living. The forgotten child of yesteryear is now still a forgotten being in modern Singapore. His life revolves round the neighbourhood of working class Singaporeans, the upgraded HDB flats along Kallang River, just off Geylang, the infamous yet rarely spoken off Red Light District.

Just as the Red Lights of Geylang are an unspoken and oft-neglected fact of life, the main characters of the film, Xiaoqi and his two other friends – Kong Long, a wiser, older bummer and Li-Er, a tortured teenage daughter of an abusive father – are the forgotten souls in modern Singapore.

Yet, these three young individuals who seemed to have been left behind by the rat race of modern Singapore found love and courage from their precious friendship to strike a new beginning in life.

Smell of Rain is a fruit of labour of a first-time, self-financed film director, Gloria Chee. This unconventionally quiet local production may not leave a lasting impression against the backdrop of a highly commercialised film industry. Yet the film has no less, in allowing more space for thoughts through a slower pace in its film sequences, provided room for a rare but much needed reflection.

Take a moment today to recall the smell of rain.