Midlengths: Mekong Hotel

Apichatpong "Joe" Weerasethakul’s films can drain the energy out of viewers, so maybe it was fitting for him to make a vampire film. He presents this “story” in his usual dreamy style, but he still serves up a few bloody entrails in the hour-long Mekong Hotel, which screens as part of the Metrograph’s series Midlengths, consisting of short features or long shorts, around the sixty-minute mark.

Tong and Phon meet repeatedly on the balcony of their hotel overlooking the Mekong River. They feel like they have met before and maybe they have. Frankly, it might seem to be an inappropriate time for romance, because of the expected flooding and the waves of displaced people who will soon rush into the city as a result. Also, Phon is sharing a room with her mother, who happens to be a vampire, who feeds on men in the hotel. However, she did not eat the guts of Tong’s poor dog. That was another Thai “Pob” ghost.

It all unfolds to the sounds of Chai Bhatana’s acoustic guitar melodies, which Weerasethakul requests from his old friend during the prologue. Presumably, that is why the film is sometimes described as a “docu-hybrid.” Regardless, Bhatana’s music (largely inspired by Spanish classical guitar) bring a lot to the film. In fact, for some of us, they just might be the film.

Weerasethakul employs his familiar long-held, static shots, but the narrative is especially sketchy this time around—not surprisingly, since it was essentially cobbled together from notes for a project that never came to fruition. Waste not, want not. Regardless, despite the supernatural elements, this is not a film for horror fans. Indeed, it could be the most peaceful, lulling film about ghosts and vampires stalking victims during a catastrophic flood that you will ever see.

The Year of the Everlasting Storm, from Jafar Panahi and Others

Good news Jafar Panahi’s pet iguana Iggy is still living happily in his Tehran flat. We last saw Iggy in Panahi’s This is Not a Film, the banned Iranian filmmaker’s secretly produced film documenting his life under house arrest. Since then, Panahi’s digital minimalist approach to filmmaking became a model for filmmakers stuck inside during Covid lock-downs, so he was naturally recruited as an executive producer and a contributor to the quarantine-themed anthology, The Year of the Everlasting Storm, which opens today in New York.

To a large extent, Panahi’s “Life” effectively functions as a sequel to This is Not a Film, since it shares the same setting and straight-forward documentary approach. Arguably, it is the lightest-weight of Panahi’s films, but the appealing personalities of the Panahi family make it a pleasant viewing experience. More than anything, it is about the family’s efforts to keep in touch during the CCP pandemic. He also rather remarkably ends it on an upbeat note, which radically distinguishes it from the rest of the anthology’s constituent films.

In contrast, Singaporean filmmaker Anthony Chen’s “The Break Away” dramatizes the tensions and frictions that develop when families are confined with each other. Zhou Dongyu and Zhang Yu portray parents locked-down in Tongzhou, China, who are quickly beset by financial pressures and regular couples’ issues. By now, it represents a familiar looking pandemic drama, but it is well played and executed.

Malik Vittal’s “Little Measures” is essentially an extended news report documenting a family separated during the Covid era, for non-Covid reasons, dressed up with some hip graphics. It is well-intentioned, but not very substantial.

For better or worse, Laura Poitras’s “Terror Contagion” certainly sticks out from the rest of the film, like a sore-thumb. The helmer of Citizenfour spent a good deal of her lockdown trying to dig up dirt on the Israeli spyware firm NSO, with her colleagues in the muckraking collective, Forensic Architecture.

They claim to trace NSO’s fingerprints over all sorts of hacking and surveillance, but strictly speaking, they do not present any proof. Perhaps most notably, they claim NSO is complicit in the Saudi assassination of Jamal Khashoggi. If that is true, think about the implications: Saudi government elements working in concert with an Israeli company. Maybe there’s hope for peace in the Middle East after all.

Yet, Poitras and her colleagues make some points a lot of viewers might not want to hear. They discovered NSO has repurposed their software and pitched it to local governments for the purpose of contact tracing. The truth is the pandemic’s potential to erode civil liberties is truly terrifying. Perversely, the ACLU just endorsed vaccine mandates, as “a justifiable intrusion on autonomy and bodily integrity.” At this point, how likely are they to object if state and local government starts contracting NSO’s contact-tracing services? Hopefully, Poitras and company would, which makes “Terror Contagion” valuable just for raising such issues. They just should have made a real case, instead of assuming viewers would take their word for it.

A.W. A Portrait of Apichatpong Weerasethakul, on the Criterion Channel

The tentatively titled Memoria will be Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s first film shot outside Thailand, but the rain forests of Colombia do not look so very different from the settings of his previous films, particularly Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall Past Lives. Weerasethakul openly wonders if he might lose his mojo in a foreign land, but he is convinced he needs the challenge of working outside his comfort zone. He is on a long location-scouting trip, but he has the company of actor-turned-filmmaker Connor Jesssup, who gives the auteur a casual documentary treatment befitting his impressionistic style in A. W. A Portrait of Apichatpong Weerasethakul, which premieres tomorrow on the Criterion Channel (on Filmstruck).

Weerasethakul adopted the sensible nickname of “Joe” for expediency’s sake, but Weerasethakul still makes us thankful for the copy-and-paste function. He is one of a growing number of internationally renown filmmakers who is more widely watched abroad than in his native country, but Thai movie buffs really ought to give Cemetery of Splendor a try, because it his best work yet.

Jessup, best known as an actor in Falling Skies is a passionate admirer of Weerasethakul’s aesthetic, so he set out to profile his role model, but his subject often turns the camera back on him, because that is what natural-born filmmakers do. It is fitting though, because the short doc has a languid rhythm and intimate vibe very similar to Weerasethakul’s films. Jessup bows to convention by incorporating a number of clips from his subject’s film, including the Palme D’Or-winning Boonmee and Cemetery. However, even ardent fans might not recognize the extracts from the prolific Weerasethakul’s experimental shorts and art installation films, because it is hard to keep up with that kind of work.

If you dig Weerasethakul than you will be charmed by A.W., whereas those who are unfamiliar or standoffish towards his films might start to glean some appreciation from Jessup’s Portrait. The relatively economical running time of forty-seven minutes is also a point in its favor. It is nice to have this film for those who will be studying Weerasethakul in the future (as they surely will be), but it will not eclipse Corman’s World or the weirdly under-screened Rohmer in Paris on the honor roll of compulsively watchable documentaries about film directors. Recommended for Joe Weerasethakul fans, A. W. A Portrait of Apichatpong Weerasethakul starts streaming tomorrow (3/19) on the Criterion Channel/Filmstruck.

First Look ’18: Railway Sleepers

If you ever book a ticket on Thailand’s rail system, make sure you have forty or fifty baht in your pocket. That is because there are no shortage of hawkers selling tasty sounding street food like fried peanuts, fermented pork, and pork dumplings for a mere ten baht. Of course, most western tourists are up in first class, where you can enjoy some fine dining during overnights. Sompot “Boat” Chidgasornpongse documents the breadth and diversity of Thai society, as reflected by the passengers of each and every line of the Thai railroad in Railway Sleepers (trailer here) which screens during this year’s First Look at the Museum of the Moving Image.

There is something soothing (or lulling) about rail travel, as the frequently dozing passengers remind us. It is not called Railway Sleepers for nothing. Chidgasornpongse is mostly content to observe, offering commentary sparingly and obliquely, as when the aisles are suddenly patrolled by heavily armed soldiers rather than fried peanut vendors.

We clearly see passengers who are rich and poor, old and young, and Buddhist and Muslim. Unfortunately, we just see them and rarely listen to them converse, which is a shame, because they probably have a lot of interesting things to say. In fact, that is why J.P. Sniadeki’s thematically similar The Iron Ministry was such a rich and engaging viewing experience. It essentially immersed viewers in the man-on-the-street opinions and concerns of a wide cross-section of Chinese society. In contrast, Sleepers is really about how the passengers relate to the train itself.

Still, Chidgasornpongse has a keen eye for imagery and the involvement of his former mentor-boss Apichatpong “Joe” Weerasethakul is sure to spur interest on the festival circuit. It does stimulate train-based nostalgia. If you went to school in the Midwest, you maybe miss the sound of distant train whistles when you’re turning in around 3:00 in the morning. Yet, it just doesn’t stimulate on a social-intellectual level the way Iron Ministry does (but, it should be granted that is a really good documentary).

Those who are admirers of the Sensory Ethnology Lab’s documentaries (which indeed includes Ministry, as well as Sniadecki’s Yumen and People’s Park) should definitely appreciate Railway Sleepers, but even Joe Weerasethakul fans might catch their heads nodding. Best saved for an elite slow cinema-vérité audience, Railway Sleepers screens this Sunday (1/14), as part of First Look 2018, at MoMI.

NYFF ’15: Cemetery of Splendour

Believe it or not, the Thai government might have picked the absolute worst place for its new military clinic. It only just opened, but its future is already in doubt thanks to the ominous excavation going on around it. In fact, the land in question holds secrets that date back centuries. Still, as one patient observes in a rare moment of lucidity, it is a nice place to sleep. Sleep they will in Apichatpong “Joe” Weerasethakul’s Cemetery of Splendour (trailer here), which screens during the 53^rd New York Film Festival.

This is no ordinary satellite clinic. The patients here all suffer from a severe form of narcolepsy, presumably resulting from shellshock, frequently manifesting in a near catatonic state. They are here to sleep and Jenjira has joined her old friend (and onetime care-giver) Nurse Tet to volunteer. Along with Keng the psychic, she will mostly just sit by their bedsides, tending to their needs should they happen to wake. Despite his unconscious state, she feels increasingly “synchronized” with the still vital looking Itt. When he suddenly rouses, he confirms their connection.

While there are mildly erotic overtones, their relationship is essentially one of surrogate mother and son. After all, Jenjira is quite happily married to the shy but affable American Richard Widner. She devoutly prays for all three of them, leaving offerings at the shrine of two legendary Laotian princesses. They so appreciate her efforts, they come alive to visit Jenjira, warning her the hospital is built atop the burial ground of ancient Thai kings. This is not Poltergeist, but that sort of mixed land use is usually problematic. However, Weerasethakul maintain an ambiguous perspective on potential spirit interference with the living, albeit extremely sleepy patients.

Without question, Cemetery is one of Weerasethakul’s most accessible films to date. Unlike his over-hyped Palme d’Or winner Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, it is fully stocked with richly developed characters and engaging situations. This time around, his forays into natural realism are—dare we say it—quite charming. Yet, there is still that seductive otherworldly vibe and the arresting use of the surrounding landscape.

The cast, led by Weerasethakul regular Jenjira Pongpas Widner, also contributes remarkably subtle and finely calibrated performances. Pongpas is wonderfully warm and earthy as her namesake. She develops some fascinatingly ambiguous chemistry with Banlop Lomnoi’s Itt, whose hesitancy and gentleness is strangely poignant. As Nurse Tet, Petcharat Chaiburi nicely balances strength and sensitivity, while Sujittraporn Wongsrikeaw and Bhattaratorn Senkraigul add grace and a spirit of enjoyment as the goddess princesses.

Sort of like the scene of the catfish ravishing the princess in Boonmee, Cemetery has a roughly analogous centerpiece in which attention is lavished on Jenjira’s badly swollen leg. While that was about all Boonmee had going for it, Cemetery needs no such provocative indulgences. In fact, it is an unnecessary distraction from the film’s full-bodied characterizations and redolent sense of place. Despite that misstep and a noticeable third act slackening, Cemetery is a deeply humanistic and surprisingly satisfying excursion into the mystical mysteries hidden in everyday plain sight. Highly recommended for those who appreciate the obliquely fantastical, Cemetery of Splendour screens this Wednesday (9/30) at Alice Tully Hall and Thursday (10/1) at the Beale Theater, as a Main Slate selection of this year’s NYFF.

Blissfully Thai: Blissfully Yours

Min might as well be an untouchable. The Burmese illegal immigrant is literally uncomfortable in his own flaking skin. Yet, he will share a brief moment of respite in Apichatpong “Joe” Weerasethakul’s Blissfully Yours, the concluding film of the Blissfully Thai film series at the Asia Society.

Despite the rash spreading across his body, Min’s kinda-sorta girlfriend Roong and an older woman named Orn smother him with attention. They take him to a doctor, but forbid him to talk, lest his accent give him away. Weary of her sweatshop job, Roong calls in sick, preferring an intimate picnic with Min. After some veiled bickering with her husband, Orn also heads into the woods for an assignation with another man. What unfolds is rather simple, yet shrouded in mystery.

Blissfully is fondly remembered for its idiosyncratic opening credits, coming forty-three minutes into the film, accompanied by vocalist Nadia’s groovy Thai version of “Summer Samba”—there’s your price of admission right there. However, Weerasethakul’s deliberate pacing and intentional ambiguity are very definitely in evidence throughout. Frankly, everything he establishes in the long pre-credit not-precisely prologue most filmmaker could get across in at least a quarter of the time. Of course, he probably could too, he simply chooses not to.

Yet, unlike the cerebral and bizarrely fantastical Uncle Boonmee, Blissfully is a considerably more accessible and direct film. Basically, it is about young lovers and the complications of life, in all its naturalistic glory. As Roong, Kanokporn Tongaram is perfectly cast, looking realistically real and down-trodden, yet still cute and endearing. While Min Oo is dutifully reserved as his namesake, Jenjira Jansuda is downright diva-esque as Orn.

Though it is often buried deep, Weerasethakul’s major works share a common mythology. Characters will often reappear in supporting roles, as is the case with Tongaram’s Roong in Boonmee. Motifs also frequently repeat, like the eroticization of nature. However, Blissfully is a much more engaging film on an emotional level, making it a far less demanding introduction to Weerasethakul’s filmography than the overrated Boonmee.

Weerasethakul’s control of the mood is masterful throughout, conveying a sense of amorous languor that obviously cannot last. Indeed, “Summer Samba” perfectly befits its preemptively nostalgic vibe. Strange and patient, Blissfully ultimately pulls in viewers receptive to its poetic inscrutability. It screens tomorrow (6/17), concluding the Asia Society’s Blissfully Thai film series.

Of Magic Fish and Glowing-Eyed Monkeys: Uncle Boonmee

An old commie hunter, Uncle Boonmee is haunted by spirits. However, his ghosts are largely benevolent, seeking to comfort Boonmee during his final days. Rife with magical realism but deliberately toying with narrative structure, Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s Cannes Palme D’Or winning Uncle Boonmee Who can Recall Past Lives (trailer here), opens this Wednesday in New York at Film Forum.

Boonmee is slowly dying from a humiliating kidney dysfunction. He is faithfully attended by his Laotian servant Jai and the ghost of his deceased wife Huay, among others. Even his long lost son Boonsong pays his final respects, despite having transformed into a red glowing-eyed monkey spirit, lurking the dark heart of the jungle with his beastly cohorts.

It has been an eventful life, but it is nothing compared to Boonmee’s visions of his previous incarnations, particularly an episode in which a mystical catfish ravishes a self-esteem-challenged princess. Consistently obscure throughout Recall, Weerasethakul never explicitly spells out Boonmee’s role in this Leda-like tale, but since the lagoon is described as the place where Boonmee’s lives began, it seems safe to assume there is some fishy DNA in his karma.

Though Boonmee ruefully suggests his current bad karma stems from his past anti-Communist military activities, perhaps he should ask the Cambodians about what he helped spare his countrymen (“you did it for your country,” his sister-in-law Jen reminds him). Regardless, Weerasethakul’s somewhat veiled commentary is so deeply buried under multiple layers of symbolic meanings and narrative gamesmanship, it is doubtful Recall will inspire many viewers to spontaneously erupt in a rendition of “The Internationale.” Instead, those so inclined will probably break the film down into the parts they can deal with, whether that might be the animatronic catfish or Buddhist reincarnation themes.

Of course, there is something problematic about a film’s whole, if it is less than its constituent parts. Between its double-secret allegories, nonlinear forms, and deliberate stylistic shifts, Recall is so busy displaying a self-conscious artiness, the rain forest gets lost for the trees. In fact, Recall along with the experimental companion short Letter to Uncle Boonmee were conceived as part of Weerasethakul’s multi-media, multi-platform project Primitive. Indeed, there are times when the static nature of Recall and particularly the narrative-free Letter seem more closely akin to installation videos than stand-alone films.

Though the late reappearance of characters from Weerasethakul’s past films might be enriching for those in the know, bringing things full circle, it further limits the film’s ability to connect with average well-meaning audiences. Still, Thanapat Saisaymar manages to express something fundamentally and universally human as the dying Boonmee, while Jenjira Pongpas also adds a bit of grace to the proceedings as Jen.

Obviously, Recall is a film for hardcore art-house and festival audiences. It boasts some fine performances, but it thoroughly confuses the distinction between avant-garde provocation and portentous pretention. A film that does not live up to its festival acclaim, Recall opens this Wednesday (3/2) at New York’s Film Forum.

NYFF ’10: Uncle Boonmee

An old commie hunter, Uncle Boonmee is haunted by spirits. However, his ghosts are largely benevolent, seeking to comfort Boonmee during his final days. Rife with magical realism but deliberately toying with narrative structure, Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s Cannes Palme D’Or winning Uncle Boonmee Who can Recall Past Lives (trailer here), screens this weekend at the 48th New York Film Festival.

Boonmee is slowly dying from a humiliating kidney dysfunction. He is faithfully attended by his Laotian servant Jai and the ghost of his deceased wife Huay, among others. Even his long lost son Boonsong pays his final respects, despite having transformed into a red glowing-eyed monkey spirit, lurking the dark heart of the jungle with his beastly cohorts.

It has been an eventful life, but it is nothing compared to Boonmee’s visions of his previous incarnations, particularly an episode in which a mystical catfish ravishes a self-esteem-challenged princess. Consistently obscure throughout Recall, Weerasethakul never explicitly spells out Boonmee role in this Leda-like tale, but since the lagoon is described as the place where Boonmee’s lives began, it seems safe to assume there is some fishy DNA in his karma.

Though Boonmee ruefully suggests his current bad karma stems from his past anti-Communist military activities, perhaps he should ask the Cambodians about what he helped spare his countrymen (“you did it for your country,” his sister-in-law Jen reminds him). Regardless, Weerasethakul’s somewhat veiled commentary is so deeply buried under multiple layers of symbolic meanings and narrative gamesmanship, it is doubtful Recall will inspire many viewers to spontaneously erupt in a rendition of “The Internationale.” Instead, those so inclined will probably break the film down into the parts they can deal with, whether they be the animatronic catfish or Buddhist reincarnation themes.

Of course, there is something problematic about a film’s whole if it is less than its constituent parts. Between its double-secret allegories, nonlinear forms, and deliberate stylistic shifts, Recall is so busy displaying a self-conscious artiness, the rain forest gets lost for the trees. In fact, Recall along with the experimental companion short Letter to Uncle Boonmee were conceived as part of Weerasethakul’s multi-media, multi-platform project Primitive. There are indeed times when the static quality of Recall and particularly the narrative-free Letter seem more closely akin to installation videos than stand-alone films. Though the late reappearance of characters from Weerasethakul’s past films might be enriching for those in the know, bringing things full circle, in practice it is a limiting strategy. Yet, Thanapat Saisaymar still manages to express something fundamentally human as the dying Boonmee, while Jenjira Pongpas also adds a bit of grace to the proceedings as Jen.

Obviously, Recall is a film for festival audiences, but its Cannes laurels have earned theatrical distribution via Strand Releasing. It will be a tough sell. Recall boasts some fine performances, but it thoroughly blurs the line between avant-garde provocation and pretentiousness. A likely sell-out anyway, it screens this coming Saturday (9/25) and Sunday (9/26) at Alice Tully Hall as part of the 2010 NYFF.

ContemporAsian Shorts

Some short films are relatively long and complex, compared to others that are mere comedic sketches. However, some shorts can feel longer than they really are, especially for those unaccustomed to experimental filmmaking. Such might be the case for some patrons sampling the short film program screening this week as part of MoMA’s ongoing ContemporAsian series.

Almost perversely, MoMA has programmed this short film program in increasing order of accessibility, starting with the most demanding selection, Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s narrative-free Letter to Uncle Boonmee. For hardcore cineastes, this might be the biggest draw, serving as an impressionistic prelude to his Palme d’Or winning narrative feature Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall Past Lives, which screens at the upcoming New York Film Festival. Consisting of long artful tracking shots of Weerasethakul’s provincial quarters, it might baffle more literal minded audiences. After all, the house is not Boonmee’s. It does not even look similar, according to Weerasethakul’s voice-over, but it is still a house in a hardscrabble “peasant” community, so it evidently brings the filmmaker’s uncle to mind.

At least, Tsai Ming-liang’s Madam Butterfly has an identifiable narrative structure, but the great Taiwanese auteur’s deliberate pacing and intimate close-ups may tire viewers acclimated to Michael Bay-style filmmaking. A radical recasting of the Puccini story, we watch as a woman deals with the abandonment of her lover in a Kuala Lumpur bus station. However, for those with grown-up sensibilities, Pearlly Chua’s largely improvised performance is quite affecting.

It is quite a statement to say Jia Zhangke’s contribution has one of the stronger narrative drives of the program, but there it is. His eloquent Cry Me a River is sort of a fifteen minute crystallization of The Big Chill, without the now clichéd reliance on classic rock to set the mood. Four former classmates have returned to Suzhou to celebrate their former professor’s birthday, but they are really there to reconnect with old flames.

Though inspired by Fei Mu’s Spring in a Small Town, even viewers familiar with the pre-PRC classic (banned after 1949 for being insufficiently political) might not automatically recognize it as such. However, both involve former lovers coming together after a long separation to come to terms with their regrets. It is one of his more elegant films, again distinguished by a moving performance by his frequent muse, the lovely Zhao Tao.

Unfortunately, many of those who walked out during the first two films Friday night would probably have enjoyed Hong Sang-soo’s Lost in the Mountains had they stayed. Like River, Lost also involves former students visiting their ex-professor, but Misook was amorously involved with the married man. Returning on a spur of the moment visit, she is appalled to discover her best friend Jin-young has taken up with the old lecher. Not thinking clearly, she proceeds to drag another former lover in to the awkward reunion.

Often very witty in a truthful, cutting way, Lost is a film general audiences can easily relate to. In addition to being cute, Yumi Jung is convincingly over-wrought but also quite funny as Misook. Indeed, it is a fine comedic-dramatic ensemble piece, nicely turned by its four principals.

All four directors are important filmmakers and each selection is a noteworthy film. However, the program order should have been reversed. While Lost is a thoroughly satisfying film and River has a strange quiet power of its own, Letter is a tough sell to all except true film fest diehards. Well worth checking out and sticking with, the ContemporAsian shorts screen at MoMA through Thursday (9/16).