Myanmar Diaries, on OVID.tv

Most young filmmakers are desperate for their first directing credit, but for the journalists and documentarians who constitute the The Myanmar Film Collective, identifying themselves would have lead to imprisonment, torture, and death. Laudably, the non-Burmese who also contributed to this documentary, also declined credit, as an expression of solidarity. Their brave underground films shame the international media, who have largely under-reported the human rights abuses following the February 1 coup. Here’s a “trigger warning:” reality is brutal in The Myanmar Film Collective’s Myanmar Diaries, which premieres Friday on OVID.tv.

One thing is crystal clear from all the constituent parts of Myanmar Diaries—the military regime has turned the nation into a true police state. No other words describe the conditions the Burmese people live under. Several of the most visceral and shocking segments were shot on smart phones or handheld devices. Frankly, most or all of them should have gone viral worldwide, but most viewers will likely see them here for the first time.

The audience will witness protestors shot down, mothers dragged out of their homes while their scared children cry and wail, as well as a defiant man live-streaming his attempt to hold back the warrant-less police trying to break down his door in the dead of night. On the other hand, we also see the resistance, who clearly represent the vast majority of the people. By far, the most memorable is the outraged auntie, who defiantly gives the “anti-riot” cops a verbal dressing down sufficient to shame them all back to the stone age.

Perhaps less consistent are the impressionistic interludes that express the fear, paranoia, isolation, and loneliness of ordinary Myanmar citizens. You could argue without irony that the entire film counts as a “horror” movie of sorts, but the most successful interlude uses the visual vocabulary of horror movies to represent people’s current fear.

HRWFF ’22: Midwives

It isn't just the genocide of Muslim Uyghurs that Iran and other Mid East regimes deliberately overlook to cozy up to Xi’s China. They also ignore the genocidal crimes committed against Rohingya Muslims by the Myanmar military junta, whom the CCP has embraced. Life is nearly impossible for the Rohingya in their own country, even for Nyo Nyo. She has an apprenticeship with the Buddhist Hla, but their relationship is often quite strained, as Snow Hnin Ei Hlaing documents in Midwives, which screens as part of the 2022 Human Rights Watch Film Festival.

Rakhine state in Myanmar (a.k.a. Burma) is a powder keg. Racist mobs (sadly including some Buddhist monks) regularly march through the district condemning Muslims and those who protect them. Arguably, Hla and her husband are running a grave risk by employing Nyo Nyo, but they to can be cruel and dismissive towards her. Yet, she plays an essential role translating for Rohingya women, who can only seek treatment at Hla’s clinic, due to ethnic-based travel restrictions.

Listening to the virulence of the propaganda spewing on television broadcasts and during street demonstrations is bracingly eye-opening. If this were regularly reported on American nightly news broadcasts, Myanmar would be sanctioned back to the stone age. It also should lead viewers to reserve judgement on Hla, even though her behavior is sometimes troubling. On the other hand, it is easy to respect Nyo Nyo, who becomes increasingly enterprising as the film progresses. In defiance of Muslim teachings regarding interest-charging, she starts a neighborhood saving-and-loan coop to empower her fellow Rohingya women. Capitalism and freedom always go and grow together.

Mostly Hnin Ei Hlaing maintains a micro focus on the two midwives, but macro events regularly intrude on their lives. The film starts before the military coup, when things were already bad, but continues afterward, with everyone fearing for the worst. Yet, the doc makes great efforts to find cause for optimism, no matter how modest.

Kew Gardens ’17: Voices from Kaw Thoo Lei (short)

Burma’s Mainland China-aligned military junta loved to rename things, starting with the nation itself. Similarly, the region known as Kaw Thoo Lei by its ethnic Karen population became the Karen state. In this case, you might credit the government with some degree of honesty, since Kaw Thoo Lei means “peaceful land.” Tragically, state-sponsored terrorism and ethnic cleansing have made the region anything but peaceful. Survivors of the genocidal crimes tell their stories in Martha Gorzycki’s experimental short documentary, Voices from Kaw Thoo Lei (trailer here), which screens during the first ever Kew Gardens Festival of Cinema.

Gorzycki insists we focus on their testimony, so she strips away distractions that come from talking head interviews. We will only hear audio of the speakers, superimposed over eerie animated images generated from over ten thousand black-and-white photos. They are mostly impressionistic rather than representational, but they express a deeper truth about the state of human rights in Burma.

As you would expect, the stories are chilling and heartbreaking. At regular intervals, the Burmese military would descend on Kaw Thaw Lei like locusts, burning all the huts and food stores in sight. Women were raped and orphaned children were left to fend for themselves in the rain forest.

You cannot accuse Gorzycki of using cheap tactics to gin up sympathy. There are no manipulative images of bloody corpses or crying children. Yet, we understand in no uncertain terms such suffering frequently resulted from the government-sponsored rampages.

Voices is one of several recent avant-garde-ish short documentaries that use unconventional means to chronicle crimes against humanity. Some enterprising festival ought to program it together with Alexandre Liebert’s Scars of Cambodia and Alisi Telengut’s Nutag – Homeland. They are all challenging films, not because they are hard to watch, but rather because they are hard to face. Very highly recommended, Vocies from Kaw Thoo Lei screens this afternoon (8/10) at the Queens Museum, as part of the inaugural Kew Gardens Festival of Cinema.

Golden Kingdom: Young Novices Home Alone

Coming is age is hard enough without separatist violence. However, one resourceful young novice Buddhist monk will also experience spiritual discoveries and existential peril in American filmmaker Brian Perkins’ Golden Kingdom (trailer here), a Burmese language narrative, shot on location at a working provincial monastery, which is now available on VOD from Kino Lorber.

Ko Yin Witazara is not the biggest of the four novices, but nobody objects when the abbot puts him “in charge” while he visits the nearest city on business. Initially, the four boys enjoy their freedom from supervision, but they largely keep to the same routine, because what else would they do in a rural monastery? Unfortunately, the good vibes are short lived. Soon they start hearing mortar fire from the hills and more alarming noises from the surrounding brush. Things get desperate when the neighboring farmer stops delivering rice. For the sake of his novice brothers, Witazara will venture out in search of food, encountering insurgents and perhaps the spirits that feed off their violence.

Eventually, Kingdom takes a mystical turn, but Perkins never over-sells the supernatural elements. Frankly, the first act could well appeal to admirers of Into Great Silence. Yet, at its heart, his narrative is always about Witazara assuming responsibility. Shine Htet Zaw is a striking natural, giving one of the deepest, least affected performance you could ever hope to see from a youthful thesp. As Witazara, he carries the film squarely on his shoulders. The young lead also forges some easy camaraderie with Ko Yin Saw Ri, Ko Yin Than Maung, and Ko Yin Maung Sein, who as Ko Yin Wezananda, Ko Yin Thiridena, and Ko Yin Awadadema, respectively, always come across as convincing novices, because they are.

Bella Halben’s arresting cinematography is perfectly suited to the stillness of the monastery and the archetypal magical realism. Both the look and the ambient sounds of nature really transport viewers to Burma (that’s what the Burmese still call it, so that’s good enough for us), not unlike Scorsese’s upcoming Silence. Throughout it all, Shine Htet Zaw emerges as modest but commanding young star. Highly recommended for those who appreciate its coming-of-age and Buddhist themes, Golden Kingdom is now available on VOD platforms, including iTunes.

TIFF ’16: Ta’ang

They are the migrants the global hand-wringers prefer to ignore. They are peaceful, family-oriented, and have no desire to impose their faith on others. Their religion? Theravada Buddhism, why do you ask? Caught in the crossfire of civil unrest approaching full-scale civil war, at least ten thousand ethnic Ta’ang Burmese have fled into southwest China, but the UN has yet to scold the People’s Republic for not offering them a proper welcome. Instead, it falls once again on auteurist documentarian Wang Bing to prick the world’s conscience as best he can with Ta’ang (clip here), which screened during this year’s Toronto International Film Festival.

At a mere two hours and twenty-eight minutes, Ta’ang is downright svelte by Wang’s standards. Although he maintains his characteristically severe observational aesthetic, Ta’ang is also one of his most accessible films. At its core, it is about families struggling to stay together—something most everyone should be able to identify with on some level. Wang shot extensively at the Maidihe and Chachang refugee camps, but he spends even more time literally on the road with the displaced Ta’ang Burmese (they don’t call it Myanmar). Aside from one nasty busybody bullying an old woman in the opening scene, there are no officials of any kind to be found in the film. Nor are any soldiers seen, but the sounds of war are often audible in the background.

At least from what we gather through Wang’s lens, the Ta’ang are not waiting around for handouts from anyone. They really just want to get on with their lives and seem inclined to try anywhere. With their western t-shirts, they are clearly functionally assimilated with the modern, globalized world. Indeed, it is the cell phone, an obvious product of the modern age that keeps them connected with far-flung family members.

It is heart-breaking to see the Ta’ang children forced to grow up and accept adult responsibilities as their families head higher into the mountains or deeper into China in search of a more stable existence. Some refugees get all the breaks. It is no secret why. Buddhism just doesn’t have the same politically correct protections as faiths more inclined towards umbrage-taking.

Regardless, Ta’ang has Wang’s stamp all over it. There is the same patient pacing that allows moments to unfold in their own uncompressed time. Arguably, his sense of visual composition is even keener and sharper than ever, judging from his arresting fireside sequences that have the chiaroscuro glow of old masters. Two and half hours still represents a very real time commitment, but Ta’ang directly engages viewers on an emotional level, much like Three Sisters (as opposed to the ambitious but punishing ‘Til Madness Do Us Part). Highly recommended for anyone who really cares about refugee issues, Ta’ang is sure to have a long festival life following its screenings at this year’s TIFF.

Margaret Mead Fest ’13: Miss Nikki and the Tiger Girls

What chance does “Girl Power” have in a country where “people power” has yet to take hold? Myanmar’s first girl group will find out.  As the military government slowly and ever so reluctantly releases its hold on the country, the music of Me N Ma Girls might perfectly underscore the changing times.  The growing pains of the girl group and their nation are captured in Juliet Lamont’s Miss Nikki and the Tiger Girls (trailer here), which screens during the 2013 Margaret Mead Film Festival at the American Museum of Natural History.

Australian expat Nicole “Nikki” May came to Burma with her oil-and-gas man significant other seeking adventure.  The former dancer’s plan to form a group loosely modeled on the Spice Girls would take on wider cultural significance than she originally realized. It is hard to imagine the climate in which the group now known as Me N Ma Girls was assembled.  Colored wigs were outlawed by the government and the only songs that could be legally performed were adapted western imports.  Essentially, creativity was forbidden.  The mere act of performance was considered closely akin to working in a go-go bar.  Yet, somehow the five young women got the gist of May’s vision.

You might think a country without freedom of speech would not have to worry about scum-sucking agent-producers, but you would be wrong.  His name is Peter Thein and after dropping the fab five for not being “pretty enough” (huh?) he threatened to sue the women if they continued to use the name “Tiger Girls.”  They are so better off without him.

Lamont nicely establishes the personalities of each of the former Tiger Girls: Wai Hnin, Kimmy, Ah Moon, Htike Htike, and Cha Cha.  They include devout Buddhists and Christians, as well as one representative of the northern Chin minority. One even happens to be the daughter of a retired senior officer.  Arguably, they are a microcosm of Burmese society and they become more outspoken in their music following the release of Aung San Suu Kyi.

By documentary standards, MN & TG is practically a movie musical.  Lamont often incorporates music video style interludes that are rather catchy and shrewdly convey the individual struggles of each woman featured.  Indeed, the film starkly defines the very real stakes for the group.  This is not Fame in Myanmar, with five plucky kids following their dreams.  For most of Me N Ma Girls, it is about providing for families on the brink of ruin.

There is a lot of serious drama in MN & TG, but there is also some optimism and a lot of upbeat pop music.  May certainly learns more than she bargained for, but her notion Burma could use the energy and idealism of a group like Me N Ma Girls has been vindicated by time.  It is a fascinating story Lamont documents with unflinching honesty.  To see what the band has since produced, check out the aptly titled “Girl Strong” on youtube or itunes. For a vivid sense of where they came from, seek out Lamont’s Miss Nikki and the Tiger Girls.  Highly recommended, it screens Thursday (10/17) as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival at the AMNH.

They Call It Myanmar: Burma from the Inside

Even the Buddhist monks got fed up with Burma’s oppressive military regime.  A deeply devout nation, the Burmese people were shocked when the army fired on the monks' peaceful demonstrations.  Yet, the junta still rules.  Physics professor, novelist, and independent filmmaker Robert H. Lieberman explores the tragic dynamics of the Southeast Asian country from a layman’s point of view in They Call It Myanmar: Lifting the Curtain (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Perhaps because of the wide variety of professional hats Lieberman wears, he was recruited to participate in a State Department sponsored filmmaker mentoring program.  Having gained entrée into the “second most isolated country on the planet,” Lieberman recognized what an unusual opportunity he had.  Over the next two years, Lieberman furtively filmed the people and their customs, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that might shed light on the nation’s political and social realities.  He even scored an on-camera sit-down interview with the recently released Aung San Suu Kyi, which should always be good for bragging rights around the Cornell faculty lounge.

Culled from hours of footage, Call mixes sort of National Geographic-style appreciations of Burma/Myanmar’s stunning temples, their distinctive application of thanaka facial paste (for cooling and cosmetic purposes), and the like, with legitimate muckraking, all via handheld camcorder.  Indeed, at not insignificant personal risk, Lieberman conveys a real sense of the fear and paranoia fostered by the military police state.  Yet, perhaps even more shocking are the truly Sisyphean hand-to-mouth living conditions endured by the overwhelming majority of Burmese, vividly documented in Call.

For obvious reasons, Lieberman scrupulously maintains the anonymity of his interview subjects.  Their commentary is consistently illuminating and more often than not depressing, suggesting the regime’s pervasive oppression has even affected the populace’s psychological ability to think as a political free agent.  Still, for true profundity, it is hard to top Suu Kyi’s parting words: “politicians who think they’ve gone beyond being politicians are very dangerous.”  Someone should carve that in marble where the current and future occupants of the Oval Office will see it every day.

There is nothing more frustrating than an ostensibly independent filmmaker producing a puff piece in a notorious closed society.  To his credit, Lieberman chose to take the tougher path.  The result is a solid boots-on-the-ground overview of contemporary Burma, periodically spiked with moments of shocking outrage.  Interested viewers who find it a good general introduction can then fill in the details with more specific case studies, like HBO2’s Burma Soldier and Luc Besson’s Suu Kyi biopic The Lady.  Recommended for general audiences, They Call It Myanmar opens this Friday (9/21) in New York at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center.

LAFF ’12: Return to Burma

Coca-Cola may have just announced its imminent return to Burma, but China maintains a chokehold on its client state’s closed economy.  Such is the situation an expatriate construction worker finds on his homecoming.  Regardless of potential political liberalizations, economic opportunities remain few and far between in Midi Z’s Return to Burma (trailer here), which screens during the 2012 Los Angeles Film Festival.

After years of working and saving in Taipei, Wang Xing-hong is returning home.  He had planned to travel with his co-worker Rong, but instead he will carry his countryman’s ashes.  Transferring from bus to bus he hears the saccharine radio jingles proclaiming the promise of progress through new elections.  Yet, he arrives home to the same depressed provincial town, except now maybe even more so.

Traveling between Taiwan and Burma is an expensive and complicated proposition.  Clearly, Wang would prefer to stay and put down roots.  Simultaneously, his sporadically employed younger brother is about to leave for Malaysia in search of work.  The fact the neighboring country offers greater opportunity than the more richly resource-endowed Burma is a testament to decades of government mismanagement and plunder.  Yet, that is the state of things.

The pseudo-characters of Return are a lot like New Yorkers compulsively discussing comparative rents and maintenance fees at a dinner party.  Viewers will leave knowing the market wage for just about every form of manual labor in the country as well as the start-up cost for numerous small service proprietorships.  The lesson is clear—do not relocate to Burma.  By the way, Midi Z and his colleagues obviously call it Burma and not Myanmar, unlike the military junta and the legacy media.

Shot surreptitiously on the streets of Yangon and Mandalay, with non-professional actors kind of-sort of playing themselves, Return is the first domestically produced Burmese feature (evidently ever).  It was also more or less illegal.  Perhaps not surprisingly, it is closely akin stylistically to the Digital Generation school of independent Chinese filmmakers.  Deliberate and observational rather than action-driven or chatty, the film is really all about conveying the experience of Burma’s underclass—and that includes everyone except the top military and government officials.

It is probably a small miracle the Burma-born Taiwan-based Midi Z and his crew-members were not imprisoned during the Return shoot.  They earn considerable kudos for vividly capturing the atmosphere of Burma.  There are times when you can practically smell the humid night air.  Still, the languid pace and hardscrabble living conditions have a rather claustrophobic effect.  It is a worthy but wearying look inside the isolated society.  Recommended for dedicated Burma watchers (but not necessarily casual connoisseurs of Asian cinema), Return to Burma screens this Friday (6/22) and Saturday (6/23) as an International Showcase selection of the 2012 LA Film Fest.

The Lady: Burma’s Beacon of Hope

Nobel Peace Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi’s recent parliamentary election sounds like a breakthrough for a free and democratic Burma. However, it is important to remember past promises of liberalization have evaporated into fresh repression time and time again. Suu Kyi has witnessed those periodic crackdowns from a distinctly personal vantage point, becoming the international face of the Burmese opposition, at tremendous personal cost. Her courageous activism and sacrifices are stirringly dramatized in Luc Besson’s The Lady (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York.

Suu Kyi’s father, General Aung San, was the hero of Burma’s drive for independence. A committed nationalist, he was assassinated by allies-turned-rivals when Suu Kyi was just a child. As the daughter of the revered General, Suu Kyi would be seen as a natural leader for the developing Burmese democracy movement.

In the late 1970’s and early 1980’s, Suu Kyi lived a quiet but pleasant life as an Oxford academic with her husband, Dr. Michael Aris, a specialist in Himalayan culture. Returning to comfort her ailing mother, Suu Kyi agreed to lend her prestige to the opposition on the eve of the 8.8.88 uprising. It began a period of activism defined by her fifteen non-consecutive years spent under solitary house arrest.

The Lady directly conveys the lonely reality of her imprisonment, as well as the heartbreaking tragedy. Denying her husband and sons entry visas, the military government forced Suu Kyi to choose between her family and her country. As a result, she would never have the chance to tend to Dr. Aris during his fatal bout with cancer.

Though obviously partly intended as an advocacy film on behalf of Suu Kyi’s democratic coalition, The Lady is most effective as a thinking person’s romance. It is clear Aris and Suu Kyi’s relationship was one of the world’s great love stories. Indeed, it was a perceived weakness the military regime unsuccessfully sought to exploit.

Former Miss Malaysia and legendary HK action star Michelle Yeoh delivers a career performance as Suu Kyi. Still one of the greatest movie-star beauties of all time, she radiates warmth and dignity throughout the film. Yet, she is not engaging in an overrated Meryl Streep like screen caricature (that she took home the Oscar while Yeoh was not even nominated was an injustice of cosmic proportions). This is a passionate, flesh-and-blood woman, who suffers acutely in the absence of her beloved husband and sons.

Likewise, David Thewliss transforms himself into the earnest Tibetologist, developing some achingly touching chemistry with Yeoh. Despite her vastly more elegant appearance, viewers really will believe they are a devoted couple. He is also devastatingly convincing when portraying Aris’s declining health. Benedict Wong (recognizable from the original State of Play) also provides a nice assist as Karma Phuntsho, Aris’s former student and close spiritual advisor.

Granted, The Lady is not exactly perfect. Rebecca Frayn’s screenplay only does a so-so job of establishing the political and historical context of Suu Kyi’s struggle and Besson’s depiction of the ruling military elite occasional veers towards the cartoony. However, anyone can understand Yeoh and Thewliss’s performances and even the most jaded will find themselves getting choked-up (in spite of themselves) during the third act.

According to reports, it has been banned by the Chinese Communist authorities, so what more fitting endorsement could one ask for? An unequivocally pro-democracy film and a truly heartfelt love story, The Lady is sincerely recommended for the on-screen work of Yeoh and the real life work of Suu Kyi when it opens this Wednesday (4/11) in New York at the AMC Loews Lincoln Square and the Regal Union Square.

They Call It Myanmar: Burma from the Inside

Even the Buddhist monks are fed up with Burma’s oppressive military regime. A deeply devout nation, the Burmese people were shocked when the army fired on their peaceful demonstrations. Yet, the junta still rules. Physics professor, novelist, and independent filmmaker Robert H. Lieberman explores the tragic dynamics of the Southeast Asian country from a layman’s point of view in They Call It Myanmar: Lifting the Curtain (trailer here), which screens for two nights only this coming Monday and Tuesday in New York.

Perhaps because of the wide variety of professional hats Lieberman wears, he was recruited to participate in a State Department sponsored filmmaker mentoring program. Having gained entrée into the “second most isolated country on the planet,” Lieberman recognized what an unusual opportunity he had. Over the next two years, Lieberman furtively filmed the people and their customs, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that might shed light on the nation’s political and social realities. He even scored an on-camera sit-down interview with the recently released Aung San Suu Kyi, which should always be good for bragging rights around the Cornell faculty lounge.

Culled from hours of footage, Call mixes sort of National Geographic-style appreciations of Burma/Myanmar’s stunning temples and their distinctive application of thanaka facial paste for cooling and cosmetic purposes via handheld camcorder, with legitimate muckraking. Indeed, at not insignificant personal risk, Lieberman conveys a real sense of the fear and paranoia fostered by the military police state. Yet, perhaps even more shocking are the truly Sisyphean hand-to-mouth living conditions endured by the overwhelming majority of Burmese, vividly documented in Call.

For obvious reasons, Lieberman scrupulously maintains the anonymity of his interview subjects. Their commentary is consistently illuminating and more often than not depressing, suggesting the regime’s pervasive oppression has even affected the populace’s psychological ability to think as a political free agent. Still, for true profundity, it is hard to top Suu Kyi’s parting words: “politicians who think they’ve gone beyond being politicians are very dangerous.” Someone should carve that in marble where the current and future occupants of the Oval Office will see it every day.

There is nothing more frustrating than an ostensibly independent filmmaker producing a puff piece in a notorious closed society (as was the case with Justine Shapiro’s whitewashed Our Summer in Tehran, for instance). To his credit, Lieberman chose to take the tougher path. The result is a solid boots-on-the-ground overview of contemporary Burma, periodically spiked with moments of shocking outrage. Interested viewers who find it a good general introduction can then fill in the details with more specific case studies, like HBO2’s Burma Soldier and Luc Besson’s upcoming Suu Kyi biopic The Lady. Recommended for general audiences, They Call It Myanmar screens Monday and Tuesday (2/27 & 2/28) at New York’s Landmark Sunshine, with similar two-evening Landmark engagements to follow in Philadelphia, DC, and Boston.

DCIFF ’11: This Prison Where I Live

For comedians, Burma is a tough room to play. The hecklers can be torture. Just ask beloved Burmese comedian Maung Thura, popularly known as Zarganar, except you can’t. British documentarian Rex Bloomstein shot a considerable amount of footage of the multi-talented performer during his last period of relative liberty. Shortly thereafter, Zarganar was sentenced to fifty-nine years in prison (later reduced to a mere thirty-five). Appalled by the severity of the term, Bloomstein returned to Burma to try to capture a sense of what Zarganar means to his countrymen in This Prison Where I Live (trailer here), which screens during the inaugural Dialogue of Cultures Film Festival in New York.

Relatively funny and wildly charismatic, Zarganar’s humor falls squarely in the tradition of Yakov Smirnoff’s Soviet jokes, not surprisingly, given the similarity of their circumstances. Zarganar is not the only Burmese comedy act to run afoul of the powers-that-be, but he is arguably the most prominent (no disrespect to the Moustache Brothers). To mangle Thoreau’s words to Emerson, how can you be an engaged comedian in Burma and not be in jail or under house arrest these days?

Though he had a wealth of Zarganar material, Bloomstein lacked the resources to release it for public consumption in a meaningful way. Then an unlikely German Zarganar supporter entered the picture. As executive producer Michael Mittermeier explains, he felt an affinity with Zarganar, because nobody expects German or Burmese stand-ups to be funny. Based on the footage of Mittermeier’s act, there is good reason for this. Imagine Carrot Top without the props. He is also shockingly divisive, performing a bit that openly likens the American efforts to topple Saddam Hussein’s oppressive regime to the Holocaust early in the film. Not exactly the shrewdest way to broaden the Zarganar campaign.

At least Mittermeier opposes rape and torture in Burma (though evidently not in Iraq), yet as the bankroller, we are stuck with far too much of him rhapsodizing over Bloomstein’s footage of Zarganar. However, Bloomstein’s interview sequences with the film’s real subject are a different matter entirely. Clearly, the filmmaker established a genuine rapport with Zarganar, laughing and joking together like old friends, despite the gravely serious themes of their conversations.

Unfortunately, Bloomstein and Mittermeier were determined to have a present day third act, so we watch as they try to steal exterior shots of the provincial prison where Zarganar is being held. Why they placed so much importance on this is difficult to understand. After all, the video to get is from inside the prison. Not surprisingly, all they have to show for their efforts are some blurry shots, but in the process they got their local fixers into a major fix.

Let’s focus here people. The real story is the desperate situation Zarganar faces, not how sad it all makes Mittermeier feel. Reportedly, the Burmese comic’s health has deteriorated, with his captors providing little or no treatment. Admirably humble, he is also a heroic figure, worth spending time with in any film. Though it is hard to not recommend any film embracing his cause, one just wishes Prison was considerably better than it is. Recommended with reservations nonetheless as we await Michelle Yeoh as Aung San Suu Kyi in The Lady, it screens this Friday (10/21) in New York at the Quad Cinema as a selection of the 2011 DCIFF.

Burma Soldier: Myo Myint’s Story

Myo Myint Cho understands the regime in Burma better than anyone. Enlisting at age seventeen, he served in the army until a mortar robbed him of a leg and most of a hand. Later, he would spend fifteen years as a reluctant “guest” of the state, but lived to tell his story in Burma Soldier (trailer here), co-directed by the battery of Nic Dunlop, Ricki Stern, and Anne Sundberg, which premieres on HBO2 this Wednesday.

Only the military junta and The New York Times refer Burma as “Myanmar.” With Western audiences in mind, the filmmakers provide some brief but helpful context to explain how life got so bad in the resource rich country. In 1962, General Ne Win overthrew the civilian government. His ruling Burma Socialist Programme Party (BSPP) nationalized the economy and began wholesale plundering. That will do it every time.

Soldiers are not well paid in Burma and the work is dangerous, considering Burma has been wracked by civil strife for over sixty years, which the BSPP exacerbated with the racial policies favoring ethnic Burmese. Still, there are not a lot of other options for unemployed young men. For years, Myo Myint served loyally under arms. However, when his injury led to a discharge, the former soldier had time to consider his life and the government for whom he sacrificed so much.

Nobody would blame Myo Myint for wanting to see some generals’ heads roll. However, he became an ardent advocate not just of democracy, but of peace and tolerance for all Burma’s constituent nationalities. Throughout the film, he comes across as a gentle humanist, despite the horrors he witnessed and endured. Indeed, he is quite a shrewd choice on the part of the filmmakers to represent the Burmese democracy movement.

Assembling news footage and clandestine video from variety of sources, the filmmakers convey a vivid, often graphic, sense of just how the regime handles dissent. It is not pretty, but it is instructive. However, some of Dunlop’s still photography also included in the film is aesthetically quite striking.

Though the regime has dropped the BSPP label, its nature has not changed. China also remains an erstwhile ally, making it highly unlikely the current administration will rouse itself to action without considerable prodding from the American people. As a result, Soldier’s upcoming broadcast is quite timely and necessary. Reportedly, filmmaker-sanctioned piracy has already made the banned film a veritable blockbuster in Burma. With Colin Farrell lending some celebrity cachet as narrator, it deserves a sizeable American audience as well. It debuts this Wednesday (5/18) on HBO2.

AAIFF ’09: No Joke Burma (Short)

Comedy is a tough business. When an act goes over, comedians say they “killed,” but when it falls flat, they say they “died out there.” Such expressions are uncomfortably fitting in Burma, where two members of Moustache Brothers comedy troupe served five years in prison for poking fun at the SPDC military regime while performing at the home of Nobel Prize-winning opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi. Li-Anne Huang introduces viewers to these principled men of mirth in her short documentary film No Joke Burma, which screens at the upcoming Asian American International Film Festival.

You sort of have to be there to appreciate the Moustache Brothers’ humor. In this case, “there” is their home, where the Moustaches remain under house arrest. Proving their pettiness, the (mis)ruling military tyrants have actually altered the city drainage system in order to flood the Moustaches’ house whenever it rains. Yet the Moustaches persist, using humor to keep their morale up.

Huang captures the spirit that made the Moustache Brothers the unlikely faces of Burma’s oppressed artistic community. Incidentally, they do indeed refer to their country as Burma, not Myanmar. Though they have been known to tease western tourists, they also seem favorably disposed to America, particularly Lu Maw, who shows a fascination with American slang.

As a “Meet the Moustaches” style short, No Joke is timely and illuminating. Given her access, one hopes Huang recorded more footage for a future feature-length documentary. Despite international condemnation of Suu Kyi’s house arrest, Americans are tragically ignorant of the nature of the SPDC, which came to power after quashing the popular 8888 Uprising against the Burma Socialist Programme Party. While its running time clocks in just under fifteen minutes, No Joke is still a good, informative start. It screens as part of AAIFF’s “Life on the Edge” program of shorts this coming Saturday (7/25).