Margaret Mead ’14: Jalanan

It is like an Indonesian Once, except these real life buskers have a far more difficult time scraping out a subsistence living on the streets of Jakarta. They have considerable talent, but Indonesia is a tough room to play. Music, culture, and local regulations all collide in Daniel Ziv’s documentary, Jalanan (trailer here), which screens during the American Museum of Natural History’s 2014 Margaret Mead Film Festival.

Jalanan means “streetside”—and that is exactly where Ziv’s three primary buskers play. It is also more or less where Boni Putera and his family live. For ten years, they have squatted beneath an underpass, jury-rigging a rather impressive system of plumbing. As street living goes, it is relatively comfortable, but there are drawbacks, especially when the canal floods.

Even though she does not wear a headscarf, Titi Juwariyah often incorporates her Islamic faith into her lyrics. Of course, they usually garner respectable tips from more devout commuters. Frankly, through her experiences, viewers get a very personal sense of what it is like being a Muslim woman in the Southeast Asian country, especially with respects to parental rights (which will be denied to her) and educational opportunities (which were cut short for her at an early age).

As the most political of the buskers, it is not surprising Bambang “Ho” Mulyono serves some jail time, but he is picked rather randomly as part of the cops’ general campaign against fun and reason. He is not the only one temporarily imprisoned on dubious pretenses, but at least he eventually wriggles loose. In fact, he might have the most optimistic arc of the trio.

There is a lot of messy life happening in Jalanan, including significant good things and unresolved bad things, but the greatest surprise of the film is probably the quality of their music. Yes, they are street buskers, but they should in no way be confused with the “smile, it won’t mess up your hair” dude who sometimes warbles on the 6 train. Frankly, they are considerably better than your average hipster coffeehouse singer-songwriters. Their tunes are distinctive and their lyrics often have heavy meaning.

Whenever a documentary closely observes the trials and tribulations of those living in extreme poverty, the appearance of exploitation is always an issue. However, Ziv has apparently put some of his money where his lens was, starting and donating to a permanent housing fund for his subjects. He certainly pulls viewers into their lives, emphasizing the specificities of Indonesian life. In fact, the general hopefulness of Jalanan distinguishes it from many well-meaning but downbeat (and often condescending) documentary guilt trips focused on the developing world. Combining cultural insights with some catchy music, Jalanan is recommended socially conscious and busker-conscious audiences when it screens this Friday (10/24) at the AMNH, as part of this year’s Margaret Mead Film Festival.

Hola Mexico: Born Without

Mexico does not look like a particularly congenial environment for buskers, but Jose Flores is still able to support a wife and now seven children from tips earned during his performances. Years ago, Flores caught the eye of future director Eva Norvind, but initially it was not so much his music that fascinated her, but the very sight of the diminutive street performer born without arms. Eventually she would profile Flores in the documentary Born Without (Nacido Sin), with her daughter Nailea completing the post-production process after her death (trailer here). It screened last night as part of the Hola Mexico Film Festival, following successful festival appearances in Europe and Mexico.

Playing a harmonica strapped around his neck and accompanying himself on güiro with his foot, Flores sounds like a good busker (if not extraordinary like Satan and Adam in their prime). However, Norvind was more interested in Flores’ life than his music. He is indeed married to the devoted Graciela, who is expecting their seventh child as the film opens. We see him barnstorming around Mexico with her help, to play outside carnivals and festivals in search of lucrative audiences. It seems a strange twilight existence he and his fellow buskers lead, but at least the Flores have a respectable home and family to return to.

In addition to music, Flores has also appeared in films, amassing a singularly unusual filmography. His screen credits include Alejandro Jodorowsky’s tripped out The Holy Mountain, Nicholas Echevarria’s only slightly less trippy Cabeza de Vaca, and Didn’t Do It For Love, Monika Treut’s documentary about director Norvind’s S&M career. Of particular interest to cineastes are interview segments with Jodorowsky, sounding either very cool and broad-minded, or totally cold and self-centered, it is hard to tell which.

Clearly, Norvind found Flores to be an admirable subject. However, Without reveals certain problematic aspects of Flores’ life late in the film—essentially as a third act surprise—that definitely make you stop and say: “huh, how about that?” It puts a twist on the audience’s feelings for Flores, but it makes for a more interesting film.

Without is not all noble inspiration, all the time, but rather a surprisingly nuanced profile of a unique individual. The film’s soundtrack is just okay—Latin music lovers need not pine for its theatrical release solely for the score and performances. However, Flores’ story is definitely memorable and one certainly hopes for the best for him after watching Without.