Cinevue

In 1948 a young actor, P. Ramlee, made his debut in the film CINTA (LOVE). He would later go on to be a major writer, director, and composer, and is still revered today as the father of modern Malaysian cinema, celebrated for his versatility and popularity. Ramlee’s films, such as RAGGEDY BACHELORS (1955), BETWEEN TWO CLASSES (1960), and MY MOTHER-IN-LAW (1961) began a shift away from the Indian-influenced stylized acting and melodrama that was previously popular, and more toward often comedic tales which more accurately reflected the daily lives of Malay audiences. However, Ramlee, as a director of Malay descent, was an exception at the time—most of directors at this time were Indian, Chinese, or Filipino expatriates.

From the mid-50s onward, Malay filmmakers took over from the Indian and Filipino directors. The late 50s and early 60s, however, witnessed a long period of decline for the film industry, as production costs rose and audiences began abandoning Malaysian films in favor of television and other Asian cinemas, especially films from Indonesia and Hong Kong. In 1975 the government stepped in to try and reverse this decline by setting up the National Film Development Corporation (FINAS) and introducing tax incentives to encourage film production. As a result, the industry began to recover in the 1980s, producing box office successes and generating a class of new filmmakers who began making their voices heard internationally, such as U-Wei Hajisaari (THE ARSONIST), Teck Tan (SPINNING TOP), and others. These filmmakers have made a point of representing ethnicities other than the Malay majority, often creating considerable controversy.

In the past decade an independent film sector, often working in the digital medium, has emerged and found recognition at international festivals. Beyond being simply a “new wave,” these filmmakers are redefining Malaysian cinema itself. Many of the newer Malaysian filmmakers, such as Amir Muhammad (THE BIG DURIAN, THE LAST COMMUNIST), James Lee (THE BEAUTIFUL WASHING MACHINE, TILL WE MEET AGAIN), Ho Yuhang (SANCTUARY, RAIN DOGS), and Yasmin Ahmad (SEPET), have created incisive and compelling works that have posed direct challenges to the hegemonic representation of the Malay majority in their cinema. They have represented for the first time in Malaysian cinema some of the other ethnic groups living in this multicultural, multilingual nation—the largest being Chinese and Indians. Many of these filmmakers, having to contend with a conservative film funding and censor board, must work without government funding or other support, or without distribution in their own country. Many rely on European finding, such as Rotterdam’s Hubert Bals Fund, in order to make their films.

However, even with these difficulties, vital new voices are emerging, making Malaysian cinema one of the currently more fascinating cinemas to watch. Two Malaysian films screening at this year’s festival, Deepak Kumaron Menon’s DANCING BELLS (Chalanggai) and Woo Ming Jin’s THE ELEPHANT AND THE SEA, are fine examples of these new voices.

Menon’s CHALLANGAI (DANCING BELLS) is set in Brickfields, home to the Tamil Indian community of Kuala Lumpur. The film focuses on a family living in an area about to be demolished for development. Uma (Dhaarshini Sankran) dreams of becoming a dancer, after watching a group practicing in a clearing in the woods near her home, the challangai of the film’s title shaking around the dancing girls’ ankles. Uma longs to be one of them, to escape these circumstances. Her brother Siva (Ramesh Kumar) is a dissolute high school dropout, working at the local car wash, who eventually drifts into petty crime; he is often filled with resentment and anger at the family’s life. Their mother Muniammah (Kalpana Sundraju) struggles to care for them both, selling flowers at a street stand. Muniammah is often sick, much of it due to the stress of raising her children alone, and the precariousness of their living situation due to the land development.

Their struggles are due in large part to the abandonment by her husband Raja (Shangkara) some years before. He reappears periodically to offer his kids a bit of money. Uma is usually happy to see him, but Siva and Muniammah angrily rebuff him. The taciturn Siva often bottles up his resentment, and seems to have no ambition. His one goal is to save up to buy a motorcycle. However, when he gets into trouble by damaging a car entrusted to him by a rich customer (played by director Amir Muhammad), he resorts to drastic measures in order to raise money for the repairs.

Menon paints a vivid portrait of this community that is rarely seen on Malaysian screens; “Just another common Malaysian Indian story,” is the film’s tagline. Menon describes his film as “a cry that would hopefully create a sense of history, self-discovery, and an inspiration to all Malaysians.” This description is quite significant, since Menon wishes with this film to call attention to a minority that is often invisible, despite being in the heart of the nation’s capital. Menon’s film, while rooted in a very specific community, also expresses the universal longing for a home, security, and a place in the world. Menon’s film beautifully captures this, and despite the often somber events depicted (especially in a scene late in the film where Siva visits a friend’s funeral), CHALLANGAI (DANCING BELLS) ends on a note of hope and optimism.

Woo Ming Jin’s THE ELEPHANT AND THE SEA follows the parallel trajectories of Ding (Berg Lee), a taciturn young man with a perpetual hangdog expression, and Ng Au (Chung Kok Keong), an older man who has recently lost his wife. Ding and his brother have a nice little scam going: they litter the road with nail-studded scraps of wood to cause flat tires that they can charge drivers to fix. Ng Au’s wife has died from a mysterious disease spreading around the village that is possibly connected to the fish that wash up on the shore. The film’s use of long takes, sparse dialog and its general sense of desolation, depression, and anomie will be quite familiar to those conversant with recent Asian art cinema, including that of Tsai Ming-liang and Hou Hsaio-hsien, as well as Woo’s Malyasian compatriots (and frequent artistic collaborators) Ho Yuhang, James Lee and Tan Chui Mui (who appears in this film as a fish store shopgirl). However, Woo’s visual and narrative surprises, and a wry sense of humor (note the running gag involving Ding’s encounters with a pair of Indians) add intriguing elements to the mix that make this a uniquely affecting work. Chan Hai Liang’s cinematography also creates a beautiful sense of mood: a lush forest, a desolate beach, and other settings nicely highlight the isolation and despair of his main characters. However, we aren’t led to sympathize entirely with these two men. Their selfishness and casual cruelty also come through, especially in their relations with women.

Both Woo Ming Jin and Deepak Kumaron Menon are great examples of an exciting cinematic vanguard that uses the materials of its medium to illuminate artistic visions and to present a fuller portrait of its society—a more varied and complete presentation than perhaps has been available in the country’s history. Malaysian cinema is still very much a work in progress, and this in itself is what makes this nation’s cinema one of the most exciting in the world to watch.

Christopher Bourne is a critic and writer on film based in New York City who has extensively covered Asian cinemas. His work has appeared in Senses of Cinema and Offscreen, among other film journals.