Beyond national allegory: The QCinema Asian Short Film Program
Beyond national allegory: The QCinema Asian Short Film Program
The six films in the 2021 QCinema Asian Short Film Program create portraits of both the personal and the political, challenging us to rethink Southeast Asian cinema beyond national allegory.
Spoilers ahead.
Sometime in mid-October 2021, I was approached by the festival director Ed Lejano to write some notes on the Asian Shorts Program of QCinema 2021. It began with a simple question:
Why do you think each film resonates?
Over the next few weeks, it was a process of reckoning with how I perceived Southeast Asian cinema as a whole and how I articulated that through my film criticism. Prior to this period, I believed that the personal will always find itself situated in a larger sociocultural and sociopolitical context that, intentionally or unintentionally, informs not only the narrative, but also the filmmaking process as a whole.
But at the same time, there was a trap in viewing each film that is ‘foreign’ (not from our home country nor, peculiarly, from the US or UK) as wholly representative of the nation and the politics from which it is birthed. In 1986, Fredric Jameson referred to all third-world literature as necessary national allegories, but we know not every film is or even strives to be. His work has been criticized time and time again most notably by postcolonial literature professor Thomas Palakeel, who posited that these ‘inadequate representations of literary life’ were born from the assumptions that everything was positioned in reference to the West.
How do we go about understanding Southeast Asian cinema in the context it is situated without reducing it to nationalist or regionalist representations?
It is apparent to me that all six of the films in the QCinema Asian Shorts Program were selected with an awareness of the existence of these tensions; curated in an effort to provide a plethora of portraits, glimpses into the lives within Southeast Asia without makes cultural windows through which foreigners, outsiders like me, may peer and crawl into.
In each film, we see not only characters that are navigating the shifting personal, cultural and political identities and ideologies of their given circumstances, but also the gaze of young and talented filmmakers. In their sublimation of reality and the freedoms that come with imagination, they imbibe their work with their hopes and aspirations in an increasingly fractured world.
To view foreign cinema of any kind is to understand that two contradictions are constantly at play: the tension between the fallacy of composition and the fallacy of division. What follows isn’t so much a review, but a string of observations. I have written, or attempted to write, personal insights and stray impressions combined with efforts towards contextualizing the films and articulating the complex themes which they explore.
I wrote this in the hopes of answering why it resonates.
I hope these bring you closer to an answer.
The trailer for Dear to Me (2021).
Dear to Me (2021; dir. Monica Vanesa Tedja — Germany, Indonesia)
Starring Jourdy Pranata, Jerome Kurnia, Willem Bevers, Wani Siregar, Abbe Rahman
The fall of the Suharto regime in 1998 led to an unprecedented cultural boom in Indonesia. Particularly, queer cinema experienced a renaissance of sorts: moving beyond years of caricature towards a period of expansive and humane exploration into gender and sexuality. It gave rise to films like Kuldesak (1999) and Arisan! (2003) to Madame X (2010) and Memories of my Body (2018). However, the same freedoms that enabled this diversification on screen also empowered the religious conservatives within the country that would curtail these nearly two decades later. Til now, suffering is used to validate existence, victimhood being the default state of queer identity.
Dear to Me finds itself taking on these tensions between queerness and religion. In it, queer romance is facilitated by myth; opposed by religion but offered salvation by superstition. From the Songs of Solomon to the Psalms, deers have been used as an image in Christianity to praise the lover and as reminders to maintain surefootedness despite adversity. In the film, the deer carries these meanings: the promise of comfort to the uncertain lover amidst a disapproving world.
Visual choices throughout the film reflect the perspective of Tim (Jourdy Pranata): both in reality and memory. Its use of the 4:3 aspect ratio lends a more intimate focus on the character, paralleling the nature of his work as a photographer by allowing us to occupy his vantage point. But it conveys not only Tim’s subjective reality, but also his relationship with those around him. While he is intertwined with his lover James (Jerome Kurnia) through close ups, Tim is separated from his family through the frame, visually expressing the distance between their relationship. Only in the film’s penultimate scene, wherein his parents are praying for his sexual conversion, are they united.
In its most beautiful moments, the dreamscape becomes not an escape, but an alternate reality through which Tim is able to live his life. These deeply-rooted contradictions wherein desire and love are not only personal but also political are what make Dear to Me a simple yet poetic journey in a country where, historically, such freedoms are tied together.
Notes: Dear to Me (2021) won Best Short and Animated Film at the First Steps Award 2021 and received a Junior Jury Award —Special Mention in the Open Doors Section at the Locarno International Film Festival 2021.
Trailer for Sunrise in My Mind (2020).
Sunrise in My Mind (2020; dir. Danech San — Cambodia)
Starring Chhem Madeza, Yorn Vicheka, Neng Bopha, Chin Chanra
At the beginning of Sunrise in My Mind, one of the workers at the beauty salon watches a scene from Jivit Dara Pheapyun (1990). In it, the actress argues with the director about the expressions of love in reality and fiction. The director argues that ‘high class love’ does not give into physical impulses, only ‘expressions of feelings’ meet these standards. She rebutts that our bodies are vessels by which we show our love, leading to a debate about the differences between intimacy.
It is this first scene that establishes the ideologies of the film. There are gendered differences between how men and women speak of intimacy. The women in the salon refuse to talk about their desires, consciously curbing their interests. On the other hand, the delivery men openly talk about sex; their conversations bordering on planned harassment of their female customers.
Throughout the film, we follow Pich (Madeza Chhem) who is stuck in a salon waiting for Luy (Vicheka Yorn), her crush, a man perpetually traveling given his occupation as a delivery boy. In the evenings, they spend time with one another as Luy pays for his hair to be washed. Financial transactions are the only way by which they interact with one another, creating an opportunity for women to negotiate intimacy; economics simultaneously separating their worlds while making their romance possible.
The changes in their relationship are reflected in the camera movement, aspect ratios, and framing. When Luy arrives, it pans from him to Pich, closing the invisible gap between them. As Pich begins to lather Luy’s hair with shampoo, the screen becomes smaller, evoking the same aquarium in which the two fish dance. What results is a dreamscape, a third space, where the two are allowed to touch and give in to their mutual attraction. When the film returns to the present, as the two share a meal, we are left to wonder if what we are witnessing is reality or fantasy.
But then again, does that matter at all?
Notes: Sunrise in My Mind (2020) has competed and been screened in several international film festivals including the Wide Angle Competition at the Busan International Film Festival 2020 and the Berlin Critics’ Week 2021.
Trailer for New Abnormal (2021).
New Abnormal (2021; dir. Sorayos Prapapan — Thailand, South Korea, Singapore)
Starring Kant Kantapiti, Nattapong Pipattanasub, Patiparn Amornthipparat, Wachara Ganha, Pisuth Penkul, Tawan Konkaew, Donnaya Sutthiwan
Peaceful expressions have historically been criminalized by the Thai government. The pandemic has only exacerbated these forms of oppression: with the emergency degree meant to manage the pandemic being used instead to silence pro-democracy protesters demanding accountability. While the government invests in submarines (worth $683 million) instead of vaccines and COVID tests or welfare, citizens suffer through cycles of lockdowns.
To express political frustration, critics turn to comedy and filmmakers turn to short films, which escape censorship. In all his films, filmmaker Sorayos Prapapan ties humor and absurdism with larger commentary on social realities in Thailand: from bureaucracy in Auntie Maam has never had a passport (2014) to the government’s approach (or lack thereof) of the pandemic in New Abnormal.
The film is littered with references to Thai culture and current events: from the online deliveries that have benefitted customers at the expense of drivers to the fed-up healthcare workers who crackdown on the homeless to the hilarious polar bear mascot, a possible reference to Pattaya City — the country’s nightlife hub, known for its sex industry, which has yet to bounce back. The choice of static camera shots create bystanders out of the audience members and the physical distance between the subjects emphasized in every frame, particularly the closeness that is afforded by privilege.
In the final moments of New Abnormal, an unemployed night musician sings about Hamtaro: a Japanese cartoon used by Thai protesters to mock the government in 2020, drawing the biggest anti-government protest since the 2014 military coup. As the man is carried away and as violence ensues, we are reminded that though we are in on the joke, there is a price to laughter.
Notes: New Abnormal (2021) has been nominated for numerous awards including the Venice Horizon Award at the Venice Film Festival, the Silver Screen Award at the Singapore International Film Festival, and the Grand Jury Prize for Live Action Short Film at the AFI Fest.
Trailer for Live in Cloud-Cuckoo Land (2020).
Live in Cloud-Cuckoo Land (2020; dir. Vũ Minh Nghĩa & Phạm Hoàng Minh Thy — Vietnam)
Starring Giang Le Binh, Huong Phung, Vy Vu Chau Khanh, Trung Tran
From the herd of water buffaloes that hinder traffic to the dragons that make up concrete statues and are embroidered into garments, Live in Cloud-Cuckoo Land is packed with national symbols of Vietnam, each stemming from a myth tied to its birth as a nation. The final image references a mural depicted midway through the short: one of a woman in a red dress riding a white horse away from a sprawling, five-clawed red dragon; possibly referencing the folklore around the White Horse Temple, a heart of Hanoi and the oldest site in the area.
Though the film predominantly uses static camera shots, it pans, dollies, and trucks at distinct scenes. The first is in the beginning, as the protagonists sing and lip sync a Thai translation of the Neapolitan song “O sole mio” (which, incidentally, bookends the narrative). The second is during the soccer match wherein the street busker’s microphone and speakers are stolen. Then finally, when the protagonist is transformed into a white horse amidst a herd of water buffalo. Throughout, the camera’s focus shifts slightly as a way of introducing the complex backdrop of Vietnam, careful to bring back the attention towards the lives.
For someone to “live in cloud-cuckoo land,” one must accept that impossibility is around the corner and that understanding is not necessary. Franz Kafka embodies this in The Metamorphosis, when Gregor Samsa awakes to find himself transformed into a giant cockroach. The transformation is never explained, nor attempted to be understood, simply accepted by both the person and those around them. As the borders of reality and myth are extended, the spaces through which both protagonists operate are finally united.
Notes: Live in Cloud-Cuckoo Land (2020) was nominated for Best Short Film at the Fribourg International Film Festival 2021 and the Orizzonti Award for Best Short Film at the Venice International Film Festival 2020.
Trailer for How to Die Young in Manila (2020).
How to Die Young in Manila (2020; dir. Petersen Vargas — Philippines)
Starring Elijah Canlas, Kokoy De Santos, Miguel Almendras, Shu Calleja, Kych Minemoto
In the final moments of How to Die Young in Manila, we see Kokoy De Santos kneeling, clad only in white underwear and slippers, penetrated by two arrows — one on his side, the other straight at his heart. This image is a direct reference to the image of Saint Sebastian — a Christian saint and martyr tied to a tree post and shot with arrows, only to survive. It is a reference that admittedly escaped me, even after repeated viewings, despite how crucial it is to the narrative.
Time and time again, religious imagery has been adopted by the LGBTQIA+ community — with Sebastian’s naked torso and visible musculature an embodiment of erotic interest, while the arrows serve as a reminder of the pain that is inseparable from queer pleasure. But past these ironies, Sebastian has been the patron saint for those victimized by the plague: from the bubonic plague, the plague of cholera, and later the AIDS crisis.
Throughout the film, our nameless protagonist (Elijah Canlas) traverses the Binondo area in the hopes of meeting up with an anonymous hookup. Blooded bodies of street hustlers litter the streets, only left to be ignored by passersby and the city-at-large. We will never know if he is oblivious to the symbol or if he recognizes it but chooses to ignore it — his desire overpowering the promise of damnation. All we know is, he moves away from the doppelganger, simultaneously on the verge of death and a warning of what is to come, choosing to move towards the boy he was seeking, only to stop a few feet away.
Notes: How to Die Young in Manila (2020) has competed and been screened in several international film festivals, and was nominated for the Silver Screen Award at the Singapore International Film Festival 2020 and the Bill Douglas Award for International Short Film at the Glasgow Short Film Festival 2021.
Trailer for Filipiñana (2020).
Filipiñana (2020; dir. Rafael Manuel — Philippines, United Kingdom)
Starring Jorybell Agoto, Micha Musa, Sunshine Teodoro, Elle Velasco
It is no secret that golf is a rich man’s sport. Golf is a symbol of exclusivity and wealth, the golf course a place for networking among the elites. But many of the golf courses in the Philippines are created and maintained by taxpayer money. In fact, in Menchu Aquino Sarmiento’s commentary about public and socialized housing, she writes: “..over half of the golf courses within Metro Manila are government-owned: Camp Aguinaldo, Club Intramuros, Veterans, Villamor, the Philippine Navy and the Army Golf Clubs.”
Filmed at Alabang Country Club, the premier family country club in the Philippines, the setting in Filipiñana is coded with these characteristics of corruption, classism, and colonialism that plague Filipino history. Golf courses thrive on artifice and unsustainability: destroying forests to plant imported Bermuda grass and imitations of forests and deserts. The burden of maintaining the ordered beauty — in the evenly spaced golfers, carts, and even golf ball divers — that defines this pristine country club weighs heavily throughout the short film.
Filipiñana examines these elite spaces from the perspective of an outsider. Ilocos-native Isabel (Jorybell Agoto) works as a tee-girl — one among many women — at an unnamed golf course. Despite the pre-established social order, Isabel constantly breaks unspoken rules and gives into her curiosities, much to the chagrin of her fellow workers. Unable to afford the same vices of the rich and affluent, she merely observes the space as she smokes cigarettes and hums the tune of the classic Si Filemon, Si Filemon — a Cebuano song with an upbeat melody that captures her plight as she details how a fisherman earns next to nothing from his hard day’s work
Filipiñana lets the absences speak for themselves. Here, the silence screams.
Notes: Filipiñana (2020) has competed and been screened in several international film festivals, accumulating multiple nominations and winning several awards, most notably the Silver Bear Jury Prize (Short Film) at the Berlin International Film Festival 2020.
These notes were initially written for the QCinema International Film Festival catalogue and were published elsewhere thanks to the permission of Sir Ed Lejano.
Jason Tan Liwag is an openly gay scientist, actor, and writer.
As a film critic, he is an alumnus of the IFFR Young Critics Programme 2021, the FEFF Film Campus 2021, the Yamagata Film Criticism Workshop 2021, and the CINELAB Workshop 2020 and has served as a jury member for film festivals locally and internationally. He is also the president of Cine Crítico Filipino and an alumnus of the Ricky Lee Screenwriting Workshop.
He is a contributor for CNN Philippines Life, Rappler, and MUBI Notebook, among others publications. In 2020, he was declared one of Attitude Magazine’s 101 LGBTQ Trailblazers Changing the World Today.
