Jul–Sep 2012

Cinémathèque Quarterly

“Some among us wanted not only revolution in art but

also art in revolution…” – Nagisa Oshima

Contents

Editor’s Note

World Cinema SeriesRong Raem Narok / Country Hotel by Rattana PestonjiShura / Demons by Toshio MatsumotoSanatorium pod klepsydra / The Hourglass Sanatorium by Wojciech Has

Japanese Film Festival 2012

Singapore Short Cuts

Writings on CinemaNagisa Oshima’s Letter to CinemayaThe Great North Korean Picture Show by Lynn Lee

Interview Ang Sookoon

Word on the Ground The Salvage Detectives by Dodo Dayao

Write to Us

Credits

About Us

Ticketing Information

Getting to the Museum

4

68

1216

20

24

2634

44

58

64

65

66

67

68

Shu

ra /

Dem

ons

(197

1) b

y To

shio

Mat

sum

oto

Imag

e ©

197

1 M

atsu

mot

o P

rodu

ctio

ns

4

Editor's Note

Plans are good, even necessary. But happenstance played a role in bringing this issue’s essays together. For a start, we’re still chasing prints.

We’d like to show The Flower Girl (1972), that iconic North Korean revolutionary genre film set in the 1930s when the Korean peninsula was under Japanese rule (1910-1945). We still haven’t got the print. Instead, documentary filmmaker Lynn Lee writes about making a film in that notoriously secretive country and in particular, about its thriving film industry. Until December 2011 when he passed away, the nation had looked to the “dear leader” Kim Jong-il for direction, mentorship and inspiration. The diary essay describes the journey undertaken by Lee and James Leong and invites readers to watch the film to decide for themselves what they should make of it.

Few filmmakers have been able to examine the cultural and historical reverberations of Japan’s presence in Asia as astutely as Nagisa Oshima. Even as he sought to banish the forced harmony of the Japanese family home in his films, he also wrote essays and made television documentaries on the impact of Japan’s occupation in Korea, Vietnam and elsewhere in Asia (see, for example, The Forgotten Imperial Army [1963] and his collected writings Cinema, Censorship, and the State [1992]). Here we re-publish something he wrote for the inaugural issue of the respected film journal Cinemaya in 1988. His letter to Editor-in-Chief Aruna Vasudev is a startlingly reflective and prescient piece on writers and the purpose of film criticism.

For our interview this issue, we speak to artist Ang Sookoon, who works in various mediums, including drawing, video, installation and printmaking. Sookoon tells us why childhood and children form the focus of her video and artwork and why she likes to take apart cartoons and fairytales.

Mad worlds (both internal and external) typify this quarter. We start off our World Cinema Series on July 10th with iconic Thai filmmaker Ratanna Pestonji’s Rong Raem Narok / Country Hotel (1957). More like a play than

5

a film, Pestonji did away with elaborate sets and instead chose to tell a story in a hotel. Characters come in, they watch each other, they plot, they lie and obfuscate. The results are both hilarious and surreal.

The internal contradictions of a mind at odds with itself may yield something far darker though and in the hands of Toshio Matsumoto, the results are downright claustrophobic. On August 14th we invite you to watch his Shura / Demons (1971). Forget about Toshiro Mifune’s stoic and quietly self-assured wandering samurai (a constant feature in Akira Kurosawa’s films). Katsuo Nakamura’s Gengobei is cruel and unrelenting.

The Series ends on September 11th with Polish filmmaker Wojciech Has’ Sanatorium pod klepsydra / The Hourglass Sanatorium (1973). We all know how Christopher Nolan’s Inception (2010) brought the realm of the subconscious literally and visually alive. In Has’ surrealist film, made 39 years ago, memory and history meld to make for a convoluted reality that is somehow, far more ominous.

This quarter, Singapore Short Cuts returns for its 9th instalment (4–5 & 11–12 August) and we also bring you the Japanese Film Festival (1–8 July 2012), which will feature works by Shohei Imamura and highlights from Nikkatsu directors Seijun Suzuki, Tatsumi Kumashiro and others.

Continuing the theme of archives and chasing prints, this issue’s Word on the Ground by Dodo Dayao reminds us (as Jasmine Nadua Trice’s essay on the Philippines and archiving did in Issue #3) of the good work being done by the cine-activists at SOFIA (Society of Filipino Archivists of Film). But Dodo’s piece is a love note that recalls the ritual pleasure in chasing, finding and watching those hard-to-come-by films. With the sudden passing of iconic Filipino filmmaker Mario O’Hara on June 26th 2012, the chase for any prints of his films will begin.

Vinita Ramani MohanEditorCinémathèque Quarterly

6

San

ator

ium

pod

kle

psyd

ra /

The

Hou

rgla

ss S

anat

oriu

m (1

973)

by

Woj

ciec

h H

as

Imag

e co

urte

sy o

f Kad

r Film

Stu

dio,

sou

rce:

Kin

oRP

Pro

ject

7

10 July, 14 August, 11 September / 7.30 pm

Gallery Theatre, Basement$9 / $7.40 ConcessionPrices inclusive of SISTIC fee A programme of the National Museum Cinémathèque

World Cinema Series is a monthly screening of works by the boldest and most inventive auteurs across the world, from renowned classics to neglected masterpieces. Witness the wonders, possibilities, textures as well as the revelatory moments that have contributed to the rich history of cinema. Take a leap of faith and discover the art of cinema that continues to affect and inspire us on the big screen – as it was meant to be seen – with the World Cinema Series, shown every second Tuesday of the month at the National Museum of Singapore.

WorldCinemaSeries

8

World Cinema Series

Tuesday, 10 July, 7.30 pm

Rong Raem Narok / Country Hotel

Director Rattana Pestonji1957 / Thailand / 138 min / 35 mm / PGIn Thai with English Subtitles

Image courtesy of the Thai Film Archive

9

World Cinema Series

Country Hotel is an early experiment, which harnessed the possibilities of black and white 35 mm film stock and on-set sound recording, back in the day when most Thai films were shot on colour 16 mm film stock with audio dubs. Due to the high costs of this new format, Rattana Pestonji had to economise on all other aspects of the production, resulting in the use of a single film set of a hotel resembling a western outpost. Rather than a limitation, this enclosed space becomes a frame in which Rattana conjures an outrageous narrative filled with absurdist humour and a light-hearted brand of surrealism. Noi, an arm wrestling champion, runs the mysterious Paradise Hotel together with his uncle. The hotel boasts of a well-stocked bar with only one room occupied by Chana, a nondescript young man on unknown business. Curiously, the hotel bar is a magnet for an array of musicians who appear unannounced to rehearse or perform an impromptu number. These perpetual musical disturbances serve as interludes, giving rise to a string of ridiculous situations that irritates Chana, who just wants some peace and quiet. In comes Riam, a brawly young woman who claims to be 65 years old, a divorcee with 12 children, and an opium trader. She insists on staying in Chana’s room. A dispute arises between them, sparks and bullets begin to fly, and the hotel occupants begin to experience what Chana refers to as ‘Hotel Hell’. The madness doesn’t end there. Chana turns out to be an accountant awaiting the delivery of a huge payroll. A fraternity of thugs arrive on the side-lines, causing further havoc in their bid to intercept the handover.

In Country Hotel, facets of various genres, including western, film noir and the musical coalesce to create a continually witty and bizarre mood filled with danger, drama and comedy. To this day, the film and its iconic hotel setting trigger memories of the Golden Age of Thai Cinema.

10

World Cinema Series

Image courtesy of the Thai Film Archive

11

Rattana Pestonji Born to a family of Indian Zoroastrians in Bangkok, Rattana Pestonji was a passionate practitioner and advocate of cinema who pushed for continuous innovations in his country’s industry. Since an early age, Rattana engaged with both art and technology. His interest in photography went hand in hand with his talent in working the me-chanics of cameras, which led him to pursue an engineering degree. While working as a film salesman and a photographer upon graduation, Rattana started experimenting with cinematography. He officially made his entrance into cinema when he became a cameraman for Prince Bhanu Yugala’s film Phanthaay Norasingh (1949). Soon after, he formed his own film studio, Hanuman Films, and directed his first feature Dear Dolly (1951). Rattana was one of the first directors to introduce 35 mm film and on-location sound recording into production practices. He made a number of iconic films, working as cinematographer to Santi-Weena (1954), which won best cinematography among other awards at the Asia Pacific Film Festival, and directed films such as Sawan Mued / Dark Heaven (1958), Prae Dum / Black Silk (1961), and Nahmtann Mai Waan / Sugar is Not Sweet (1965). Rattana also co-founded and headed the Thai Film Producers Association which became a vehicle for his advocacy for the cinema industry. He passed away in 1970 while giving a speech at a meeting of film producers and government officials. His legacy in Thai film history is undisputed, with many critics regarding him as the father of contemporary cinema in Thailand, and current auteurs such as Wisit Sasanatieng and Pen-Ek Ratanaruang citing his influence on their works.

World Cinema Series

12

Tuesday, 14 August, 7.30 pm

Shura / Demons

Director Toshio Matsumoto1971 / Japan / 134 min / 16 mm / Rating TBCIn Japanese with English Subtitles

Co-organised with the Japan Foundation and Japan Creative Centre

World Cinema Series

Image © 1971 Matsumoto Production

13

As the dully tinted setting sun retreats from the frame in the opening scene of Shura, all colour is obfuscated, and together with it, all hope disintegrates into the cold foreboding air. Herein is the tale of Gengobei Satsuma, an exiled samurai torn between his personal desire for vengeance and his obligation to avenge the death of a clan member who was forced to commit ritual suicide. Whichever way he turns, putrid corpses and blackened blood lies on his path.

Far removed from the action oriented and fetishised sword fighting of the Chanbara, and sharing little concern with the historical periodisation of the Jidai-geki, Shura situates itself within a sparse theatrical space to convey a state of looming madness waiting to manifest when human emotions are so far stretched that they pass into a form of possession. The film takes us into the claustrophobic mind of a battered Gengobei, where his inner demon, govern by jealousy and shame, emerges as an insidious jester, committing his hands to hideous deeds.

Shura is based on Kamikakete sango taisetsu, a kabuki play by Nanboku Tsuruya. Under the hand of Toshio Matsumoto, the film is a synthesis of kabuki and noh theatre, as well as modern cinematic techniques. It conveys the actions prevalent in Kabuki theatre, but infuses the form with a visceral and visual immediacy. Similarly, it echoes the bare theatrical space of a Noh play, but instead of having its characters don masks, which convey various emotional states, it focuses on its characters facial convulsions which straddle the line between humanity and inhumanity. The film literally and figuratively gets darker as it progresses, pushing the atmospheric dread of film noir to its limits. Matsumoto’s radical editing and narrative techniques are utilised sparingly and expertly to convey the isolated and stuttering thought processes of Gengobei. This is done with such convincing efficiency that we become trapped within his mind, making Shura a morbid and grim portrait of an amoral universe.

World Cinema Series

14

World Cinema Series

Image © 1971 Matsumoto Production

15

Toshio Matsumoto Toshio Matsumoto is probably best known as the director of Bara no soretsu / Funeral Parade of Roses (1969), a feature film produced by the legendary Art Theatre Guild which reinterpreted the tale of Oedipus, situating it in the milieu of the transgendered community and the student movements of 1960s Japan, and went on to inspire Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange (1971). As a self-taught artist with a love for early cinema, Matsumoto first made documentary shorts such as Senkan (1956) and Haru o yobu kora / Children Calling Spring (1959). Conscious of the limitations of the documentary genre, Matsumoto went on to develop an extensive video art practice which became a formal outlet for his avant-garde experimentations. He explored politics, folklore, spirituality and technology with a multidisciplinary approach. These include titles such as Space Projection Ako (1970), which was created for the Textiles Pavilion within the Japan Expo ’70, and Mona Lisa (1973) which explores art production in the age of Duchamp. His other feature films include Shura / Demons (1971), War at the Age of Sixteen (1973) and Dogura Magura (1988). Currently, he is the dean of Arts at the Kyoto University of Art and Design, and president of the Japan Society of Image Arts and Sciences.

World Cinema Series

16

Tuesday, 11 September, 7.30 pm

Sanatorium pod klepsydra / The Hourglass Sanatorium

Director Wojciech Has1973 / Poland / 120 min / Digital / Rating TBC In Polish with English Subtitles

Film still courtesy of Kadr Film Studio, source: KinoRP Project

World Cinema Series

17

Based on a collection of short stories, Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass, by the Polish author Bruno Schulz, The Hourglass Sanatorium is a phantasmagorical trip into the subconscious of Josef, a young man who travels on a ghostly train to a peculiar gothic hospital to visit his dying father. The sanatorium is like a rusty and crumbling graveyard in the depths of one’s unconscious. Filled with skulls, clocks, taxidermies, wax mannequins and secret doorways, it is a fantastical visualisation of what the mind might look like if it were envisioned as a derelict museum where memories are embalmed, entombed and laid to rest.

Entering the dusty sanatorium, a doctor announces that Josef’s father is dead, yet alive within the sanatorium. Soon the unreality of the sanatorium works its magic. With Josef’s entrance, its machinery is awakened, the linearity of time is skewed, and the sanatorium comes alive as a sensorium of his memories. Josef gains a chance to revisit and contemplate his childhood, fantasies, and unresolved moments of his life as he traverses fluidly through different memories which are never wholly personal but intrinsically connected with collective history. The pre-holocaust Jewish community and the tragedy which unfolded appear as a looming presence throughout the narrative.

With each historical event too immense in scale and its effects too far-reaching, Josef never fully comprehends the significance of each memory which he encounters, but arrives and leaves amidst the action. His experience constitutes a mere fragment. Perhaps the most consistent and universal form in the film is, paradoxically, the uncanny experience of time itself which ceaselessly bends and folds. Josef gives in to a Proustian sense of time, and finds himself within a nonsensical world akin to Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland without its anthromorphism. The Hourglass Sanatorium is an important surrealist classic which won the Special Jury Award at Cannes in 1973. It is presented in a newly restored digital copy by KADR Film Studio.

World Cinema Series

18

Film still courtesy of Kadr Film Studio, source: KinoRP ProjectProject

Film still courtesy of Kadr Film Studio, source: KinoRP ProjectProject

World Cinema Series

19

Wojciech Has Born in Kraków, Poland, in 1925, Wojciech lived through the Second World War studying in a Business and Commerce college before attending classes at the Kraków Academy of Fine Arts. He started off making documentary films at the Warsaw Documentary Film Studio and later at the National Film Studio in Łódź. His first feature film was Petla / The Noose (1958), an intoxicative portrait of the last day of a drunkard. He taught at the National Film School in Łódź, of which he served as a dean of the film directing department from 1989 to 1990, and was appointed as provost from 1990 to 1996. Wojciech steadily developed a distinct cinematic direction that was informed by his enthusiasm for French surrealism, including the works and writings of artists such as André Breton and Louis Aragon. Consciously steering away from the dominant school of Social Realism and an engagement with politics, Wojciech focused his works on the oneiric qualities of cinema, constantly situating the subconscious and dreams indifferently within the diegesis. Often, the worlds that he created, with their uncanny juxtapositions of symbolic objects and manipulation of time, seem to take precedence to character development and narrative. He is most famous for the surrealistic period pieces, Rekopis znaleziony w Saragossie / The Saragossa Manuscript (1964), a film championed by directors as wide-ranging as Martin Scorsese and Luis Bunuel, and Sanatorium pod klepsydra / The Hourglass Sanatorium (1973).

World Cinema Series

20

Nis

hi G

inza

Sta

tion

(195

8) b

y S

hohe

i Im

amur

aIm

age

© N

ikka

tsu

21

Japanese Film Festival

2012

1-8 July / Various Timings

Gallery Theatre, BasementFree Admission

Organised in partnership with the Japan Foundation, Japan Creative Centre, Singapore Film Society, Japanese Association of Singapore, National Museum of Singapore and Luna Films, this year's festival promises yet another exciting line-up for cinephiles here. In celebration of 100 years of Nikkatsu Studio, the festival features a focus on the filmic output of this influential film corporation which has carved a niche in the booming postwar Japanese film industry. This focus includes a substantial body of work by IMAMURA Shohei, and highlights from notable Nikkatsu directors such as SUZUKI Seijun, KUMASHIRO Tatsumi, MASUDA Toshio and KAWASHIMA Yuzo. The festival also features a selection of contemporary feature films making waves in the international film circuit, and two Tsunami documentaries which explore the undercurrents beyond the headlines, and the people who continue to be affected by the tsunami and earthquake of last March.

For the details and latest ratings, please visit www.sfs.org.sg/japanesefilmfestival

22

23

Red

Han

dker

chie

f (19

64) b

y To

shio

Mas

uda

Imag

e ©

Nik

kats

u

24

Ying

& S

umm

er (2

011)

by

Gla

dys

Ng

25

9th Singapore Short Cuts

4 & 5 August, 11 & 12 August / 2 pm

Gallery Theatre, BasementFree Admission with RegistrationA Programme of the National Museum CinémathèqueCo-presented with The Substation Moving Images

Celebrating its 9th edition this year, Singapore Short Cuts continues to be one of the most popular and widely anticipated showcase of local short films in Singapore. This year’s programme features a diverse selection of some of the most innovative and outstanding recent Singapore short films, ranging from documentaries to animation and experimental work.

Ticketing InformationFree tickets to the 9th Singapore Short Cuts can be collected at the National Museum’s Stamford Visitor Services Counter a week before each screening date. Tickets are available on a first come, first served basis, and limited to four tickets per person. Any remaining tickets will be given out at the door on the screening day.

4 August screening / Tickets for collection from 28 July5 August screening / Tickets for collection from 29 July11 August screening / Tickets for collection from 4 August12 August screening / Tickets for collection from 5 August

Valid identity pass showing proof of age is required for all screenings.For the details and latest ratings, please visit www.nationalmuseum.sg.

Nag

isa

Osh

ima

with

Eik

o M

atsu

da a

nd T

atsu

ya F

uji (

from

left

to ri

ght)

on

the

set o

f Ai n

o ko

rîda

/ In

the

Rea

lm o

f the

Sen

ses

(197

6)Im

age

from

Brit

ish

Film

Inst

itute

28

Writings on Cinema

Filmmakers are often also polymaths and public intellectuals. Even as Nagisa Oshima vehemently erased the forced harmony composed of verdure, tatami mats and polite conversation from his films, he also observed and wrote film criticism, diary notes and letters. Here we reprint a letter written by Oshima to Aruna Vasudev, Editor-in-Chief of Cinemaya magazine, 24 years after it was first published.

We asked Oshima-san to write something for the Director’s Column in this inaugural issue. We wanted his thoughts on cinema in whatever manner he wished to express them. He chose to write it in the form of a letter which we reproduce below in its English translation. – Editor, Cinemaya

Nagisa Oshima’s Letter To Cinemaya

29

Letter to Cinemaya

Dear Aruna,

It was indeed a great pleasure to see you in Tokyo this April after our meeting in Hawaii last December. You so diligently spent your time watching Japanese films besides attending all the functions of the Indian Film Festival. What was your impression after seeing the films, and will this impression be reflected in the magazine you plan to publish? How marvellous that you are bringing out a new cinema magazine.

At the end of April one of the TV companies in Tokyo sponsored an open discussion entitled “Cinema Is Our Dream.” It was held in a small theatre in Shibuya and lasted five hours from 1am to 6am. Nearly twenty producers, directors, script writers, actors and critics were present as panellists and many questions were raised and opinions voiced by the audience. I was there, too. One of the points I brought up was the following: In the last ten years many promising new directors have appeared on the Japanese cinema scene. But strangely enough, no critics have emerged who measure up to them. Why is this so?

Around the time I started out as a young director, critics whose sensibilities matched ours had also begun serious writing. Before I made my first film, A Town of Love and Hope (At to Kibono Machi) in 1959, I had worked as an assistant director in Shochiku’s Ofuna Movie Studio for five years. During those years, I also wrote and published scripts in and for the studio, and contributed critical articles in two cinema magazines outside the studio.

In this way, my colleagues and I were trying to declare our intention of creating something completely different from what was being made at that time both in terms of finished

30

products (scripts) and of theories (criticism). Naturally, all scripts and the real intentions behind them emerge in the process of making or moulding the film. As for my scripts, no clear characteristics were readily understood other than that they were simply difficult to interpret. In criticism, however, my unique characteristic was the denial of all the traditions of Japanese cinema and a keen interest in avant-garde films abroad. The foreign films that interested us were the early European avant-garde, the documentary films made in the US and Europe and, of the post-war period, the neo-realism of the films from Italy. The early films of the Polish directors Wajda and Kawalerowicz also stimulated us a great deal.

For us, it was meaningful to learn from these works in order to destroy the stereotypes and the stagnation of Japanese films. Of course, we were not a political party or a group with well-defined programmes. Perhaps what we formed was simply a school of people who shared certain vague thoughts, but what we did want was a revolution in art. The reason why I say a revolution in art instead of a revolution in film was that we regarded film-making not as an isolated effort but as an integral part of the whole world of literature, painting and music, and that we felt a revolution had to take place in all these areas. Some among us wanted not only revolution in art but also art in revolution, although I was consistently opposed to considering art as a means to accomplish something else.

When our own works, full of these ideas, finally appeared, it was only natural that they become the target of censure and misunderstanding. Critics of my generation protected us against these attacks and counter-attacked on our behalf. At the same time they did not spare us either.

Writings on Cinema

31

Their relentless criticism encouraged and stimulated our work. While directing my own film, I had to simultaneously continue my work as a critic. That is how I became an author of so many books – which you were surprised to learn about.

Our struggle continued until the late ‘60s, early ‘70s. This period was called the Age of Rebellion by the youth. Then some of my colleagues restarted the magazine Cinema Critique. They hoped that a serious and aggressive group of young critic would emerge. But their expectation was betrayed.

What was the nature of the rebellion by the young at that time? Surely their rebelliousness was aimed at liberating and overthrowing the old forms of authority? In this regard it was not different from what we had tried from the ‘50s onwards.

Letter to Cinemaya

Nagisa Oshima (bottom right) with Takeshi Kitano (top left) on the set of Gohatto / Taboo (1999) Image from British Film Institute

32

And what was the result? Although the ancient regime in Japan was not destroyed, the significance of the old authority had definitely been reduced. The Japanese people, especially of the younger generation, no longer pay special regard to traditional authority. In this sense, a kind of liberation has taken place but only to a certain degree and within the context of an essentially traditional society to which one still conforms. Yet, most Japanese appear to be satisfied with this state of affairs. The young who aspire to work in films approve of the basic framework of Japanese society and the Japanese film world. They either wish to do what they like within this framework, or not to think about it seriously. Many young people claim to be film critics but what they are actually doing is merely showing their affection for films and trying to protect the world of film which is very weak in Japan today. Under these conditions I do not expect impressive productions or criticism to appear.

The force which produced the earlier Japanese films was Japanese society. Until the end of the Second World War this society was, by and large, homogenous and displayed the same characteristics. Since then, this homogeneity has almost completely disappeared, a process that has been propelled by economic prosperity. Since my life and my films have been more or less in favour of this process, I should be content. Japanese society has been dismembered, but I still do not feel in harmony with it. This sense of incongruity is what makes me continue working and producing films. But it is not easy to find a figure to reflect my sense of incongruity.

Dear Aruna, did you meet anybody interesting while in Tokyo? Or did you see any character in Japanese films that moved you? During our conversations in Honolulu and Tokyo, you suggested that I should produce my next

Writings on Cinema

33

film in Japan. I have begun writing a script in which one of the heroes is Japanese, but the background is not Japan. When the film is completed you will, hopefully, understand what I am thinking about at present.

I have always been confident of my ability to assess the situation around me, but I honestly do not understand what I myself want to do unless and until I produce a film. Perhaps I produce a film in order to know what I do want.

As I told you in Tokyo, I would like to make a film on the Buddha in India someday. But I still do not know why.

So until we meet again, I hope you will be in good spirits.

Sincerely, Nagisa Oshima

Translated from the original Japanese by Masako Noda This letter was originally published in the inaugural issue of Cinemaya (Fall 1988), the official quarterly journal of the Network for the Promotion of Asian Cinema (NETPAC). It was also featured in Asian Film Journeys – Selections from Cinemaya (Wisdom Tree: 2010) co-edited by Aruna Vasudev, Rashmi Doraiswamy and Latika Padgoankar. We’re very grateful to Editor-in-Chief of Cinemaya Aruna Vasudev for this reprint. Thanks also to Philip Cheah.

Letter to Cinemaya

A s

cene

from

The

Hun

ter,

a pe

riod

film

abo

ut th

e fa

ll of

the

Kor

ean

arm

y.Im

age

cour

tesy

of L

iana

in F

ilms

36

Writings on Cinema

Keen to make a dispassionate and searching documentary film about North Korea’s film industry, intrepid documentary filmmakers Lynn Lee and James Leong instead found the ghost of the recently deceased Kim Jong-il inflecting the aspirations of the nation’s young aspiring actors. So they watched and listened. Here’s what they found.

People have expectations when you tell them you’re making a documentary in North Korea.

They ask if you’re going undercover, if it’s about gulags, defectors, mass starvation.

I almost feel bad about disappointing them. Those are after all, compelling issues. Who hasn’t read awful things about that totalitarian regime? Seen images of North Korean children with hungry eyes and distended bellies? Heard stories of life in brutal labour camps? Accounts from defectors about why they decided to leave? What

The Great North Korean Picture

ShowLynn Lee

37

little we know of North Korea is not nice. Its leaders often come across as bizarre and sinister.

How can anyone live in a place like that?

But in 2008, we visited Pyongyang and realised something we should have known without being told. Things are always far more complex than they seem. We met North Koreans who appeared genuinely proud about being North Koreans. People who felt they owed everything to their leaders. Some had even lived outside the country. And yet they proclaimed that their system was the best in the world.

Were these people nuts? Putting on an act? Trying to impress impressionable foreigners? Back then, it was hard to tell. We had been invited to Pyongyang to attend a film festival. We knew that what little we saw was probably not representative of the whole country. But it was illuminating.

* * *Kim Jong Il loved movies. It is rumoured that he owned the world’s biggest library of western films. There are even rumblings that the Dear Leader once kidnapped a South Korean director and his actress wife because he wanted them to make films for him. But Kim was apparently more than just an eccentric fan. Festival organisers informed us that he was in fact, nothing less than a genius - the man responsible for building, from scratch, his country’s own version of Hollywood. They said he vetted scripts and paid regular visits to film sets; dispensed advice to actors and actresses and even oversaw post-production. At North Korea’s only film school, the primary textbook is Kim’s The Art of the Cinema. There’s even a museum in Pyongyang dedicated to the Dear Leader’s cinematic achievements.

The Great Korean Picture Show

38

Writings on Cinema

It might all seem a little bizarre and over-the-top, but Kim understood the power of film, and used it to his advantage. In North Korea, movies aren’t just made to entertain the masses. They are tools of the state’s propaganda machine. They help shape a people’s psyche. But who are North Korea’s film workers? Where do they come from? What are they like? The ones in attendance at the festival were exceedingly warm and surprisingly normal. Perhaps they had been told to be nice to us foreigners. But even so, they seemed unusually open and a lot more exposed to the outside world than we ever expected of a North Korean. Some had even travelled overseas. Many were eager to discuss foreign films – they told us it was part of their job to watch movies from other countries in order to learn from them.

At the festival’s official banquet, we found ourselves seated next to perhaps North Korea’s biggest movie star - actress Hong Yong Hui. Plucked from obscurity in 1972, she was just a teenager when she took the lead role in what is still the country’s most famous movie, The Flower Girl.

All through dinner, a long line of people stood by our table, eagerly waiting their turn to shake hands with Hong. Some of them were fans from China. The Flower Girl had also been a hit in their country.

In between posing for photos, Hong made small talk with us. She said she felt privileged to have been given a part in such an important film. She told us about the time the Dear Leader visited the set and taught her how to walk in straw shoes. We were intrigued. When she asked us what kind of documentary we were planning to make next, it felt like the most natural thing to say: “A film about North Korean cinema.”

39

She smiled. Told us it was a great idea. And we left it at that. We didn’t realise that that conversation would open the door to a whole new adventure. Because the next day, our guide came to tell us that someone higher up had overheard us.

“Are you ready to pitch your idea?”

* * *It would be a whole year before we returned to Pyongyang with our gear and official permission to film. When we left after our first visit, we half-suspected we might never hear back from the North Koreans again. But they surprised us. We had attached a long list of suggested venues and potential interviewees to our pitch, fully expecting to be rebuffed. The two fixers assigned to help us never said no to any of our requests though, and in the three trips that followed, actually gave us much more than we ever expected.

Making propaganda. Director Pyo Hang on the set of the North Korean period film, The Hunter. Image courtesy of Lianain Films

The Great Korean Picture Show

40

Writings on Cinema

Stars in training: students at the elite Pyongyang University of Cinematic and Dramatic Arts. Image courtesy of Lianain Films

41

But there were conditions. We had to have our fixers with us wherever we went. We had to agree to stop shooting whenever they told us to. We had to allow censors to vet our footage at the end of each day. We learnt during our shoots that we were not allowed to film cyclists, or soldiers on the streets, or frame only part of any portrait of the country’s leaders. And of course, we saw only as much as our fixers were allowed to show.

These rules were not easy to swallow. We thought hard about them. Stressed over whether to say yes and possibly be accused of collaborating with the North Koreans. Or say no and have the door close on us.

In the end, we decided to go for it. We also learnt that the more we tried to respect their rules, the wider the door opened. The film school was off-limits during our first two trips. But on our third, we were granted access.

We realised also that it was possible to negotiate for censored material to be released – footage showing power outages, a whole scene in the film museum, shots of the students clowning around, these were initially deemed “unacceptable”. But in the end, after many a heated debate, they were allowed. The only footage we couldn’t have were images of people cycling. Why? We’re still trying to work that one out.

Some people have suggested that our subjects were merely putting on an act. That everything we witnessed was staged for the benefit of our cameras. One commissioning editor even asked if we were making propaganda for the North Koreans (she never saw any of our footage). In their minds, it was unfathomable that anyone could love that country. They had to be pretending. Or brainwashed. Or both.

The Great Korean Picture Show

42

Writings on Cinema

All we can say is we opened a door, walked in and observed.

Our central characters were, in all likelihood, instructed to be on their best behavior, to say the right things, to project the right image. They were probably picked because they came from the right families and had the right credentials. But we hope that by being patient, by stepping back, and by being as unintrusive as possible, we were able to capture moments when they let their guard down, when they were their genuine, unadulterated selves.

Did we succeed? What is the truth? What is real? The audience will just have to watch, and decide.

Lynn Lee is a filmmaker based in Singapore. She has co-directed three independent feature-length documentaries – Passabe (2005), Aki Ra's Boys (2007) and Homeless FC (2007). The Great North Korean Picture Show is currently in post-production.

43

Filmmakers James Leong and Lynn Lee (front row left and centre) with director Pyo Hang and actors. The filmmakers were granted rare access into North Korea's film industry. Image courtesy of Lianain Films

The Great Korean Picture Show

44

45

Sno

w C

ity (2

010)

by

Tan

Pin

Pin

Im

age

cour

tesy

of T

an P

in P

in1–

9 (2

009)

by

Ang

Soo

koon

46

Sookoon Ang’s work spans sculpture, installations, video, short films and drawings. The artist, who was formally trained in fine art, speaks with the Cinémathèque Quarterly about the myriad stylistic forms and textures her films adopt, and how she sees these works primarily functioning as vehicles of visual narratives. Sookoon's artwork explores separation from a loved one, childhood discovery and waiting and anticipation. She speaks to the Quarterly about what inspires her and how she navigates between installation and visual art.

Your films seem to span a broad range of subjects and themes (mum, swimming, mosquitoes, and intricacies of sewing). Do you consider any themes or subjects of particular interest, which you have constantly explored in your work?Yes, I use film as a much more personal medium than art (painting, installations, etc). The themes in my film seem diverse, but actually they largely reflect my personal life. With Mosquito (2009) I tried to capture

Interview

Ang Sookoon

Mosquito (2009)

47

how my boyfriend and I have been living apart for so much of the year. Sewing Room (2005) is about the creative process. It doesn’t matter which craft you practice, whether it’s writing, making art or editing, when you’re in the studio there’s this calming sensation. To me this is a magical part of the production process. There’s also something monotonous about it, but there’s something opening up in your mind-space. Sewing Room is about that monotony and magic that goes on in the mind and the canvas, or page, you’re working on. Mama at the Swimming Pool (2007) is about my mum, of course. I find her super adorable!

What inspired the short film, Sewing Room? My mother had a garment factory when we were growing up. So I was always very fascinated by this industry. I sew all of my own stuff and I find it very therapeutic. To me, it’s the same as doing my other art. In drawing, you keep repeating lines by hatching or etching. Sewing is the same and it has a calming effect. That is what the film tries to address. Tell us about the diorama in Sewing Room with the scissors, chair and the fabric. That diorama is part of a series of miniature rooms that I made. I made the waiting room, television room and the sewing room, which you see in the film. It is a metaphysical room that tries to convey this sense of waiting and anticipation.

Sewing Room (2005)

48

Björk actually refers to each album she’s made as a ‘world’, a ‘space’ you enter into and inhabit. She described her album Vespertine as an album that evokes an elegant lady in waiting, all dressed in white. It feels like you’re mentioning something similar.That’s really interesting; I have to look that up. Actually the writer Jeanette Winterson says in her book Art Objects(1997) that our real life is elsewhere and art finds it. It’s not about ignoring our physical world. It’s just that the imaginative world, the metaphysical world that is within us is very real too and we have to find it, reconnect with it. I imagine that’s what Björk is talking about too. There’s this universe within us that is worth exploring too.

Xiao Fu (2009) contains a gentle humour in the way the language is carefully formal and 'adult' in expression. But the narrator expresses elements of a child's experience (best soda flavour, recommended reads, peeing in class). Could you tell us more about this facet of the film? I wanted to tell a story from a child’s point-of-view. I wanted to retain that naiveté, but without the childishness that’s commonly imposed on anything representing children. I wanted to portray the soulfulness of children who are speaking from this position of newly formed experiences. I couldn’t do it accurately because I’m an adult! I thought I should try to study children more but I feel rather awkward speaking to children. I don’t know what to talk to them about. I also imagine they see me as an adult and don’t communicate with me the way they would communicate to each other. So I could only voice it as an adult recalling childhood experiences, which resulted in this bizarre short film, which has child actors and a more mature narrative voice. There’s a short interview with you on the Sindie cinema blog online in which you reveal this other layer in the film Xiao Fu. “Vincent”, the boy to whom all the postcards are addressed is in fact your current boyfriend. So there’s this ‘nostalgia’ for a time that never happened.

Interview

49

I’m sure a lot of people feel that the person they love is like their best friend as well. So I imagined what life would have been like had we known each other as children. It’s not just about the romantic relationship. It’s about the adventures and life experiences, the fun in the relationship. So how would I have communicated with Vincent as a child and how would he have responded? So Xiao Fu is also a film about an alter ego or another life in which I am writing to Vincent, my pen-pal, about life in Singapore and he in turn tells me about life in France through postcards.

For your films, what determines your decision on the format to use, on whether to present in black and white or colour? The black and white shorts are mostly shot on digital or analog video. I really dislike the harsh colours that come out in video, so when I do video, I prefer to shoot in black and white. The films shot in colour are often animation and they’re shot in Super 8 or 16mm because I can achieve softer colours with film, especially for animated illustrations. There are probably ways to work in video that would remove this harsh contrast of colours, but I don’t know how because I’ve not been formally trained as a filmmaker, or editor.

Ang Sookoon

Xiao Fu (2009)

50

What is it about these formats that you’ve enjoyed and liked aesthetically as a video artist? What has been limiting about them?I like the challenge of working with these new mediums. I was forced to be pretty disciplined because with video I could have done a shot over and over again because it’s cheap and I can review it repeatedly. But with Super 8 and 16mm, it’s more expensive, and I couldn’t look at it, or see what I’ve done. So I planned my shots carefully. And that kind of challenge brought out something new in me.

You shot Mama at the Swimming Pool and Xiao Fu on 16mm and that gives both films an immediate look of something plucked from the family archive. It’s almost as though the mediums (even Bolex) are a mnemonic device. Again, my using Super 8 and 16mm is for purely technical and aesthetic reasons. I wanted to move from video and experiment with film. Super 8 and Bolex were the cheapest forms available to me. I can’t afford 35mm film! The medium tends to evoke this feeling of nostalgia, but it’s not necessarily what I want. Mama is a simple record of a day in my mum’s life and she’s still alive, so no nostalgia there. A high-definition video camera would work just as well. But the effect works for Xiao Fu because, even though it was filmed recently, it’s kind of about my recollections of childhood experiences.

Interview

Mama at the Swimming Pool (2007)

51

Then there’s Birthday Cake (2011) which is like remembering childhood when you’re old and mad.I think part of what evokes that feeling in Birthday Cake is also the soundtrack, which is all from Sesame Street. It’s almost like a chant, the numbers 1-9 being repeated. I layered it so that it becomes a kind of mad chant. It gives it this crazy feeling, like you’re high. Sesame Street was made in the 1970s so I think there are a lot of psychedelic influences in it too! It just felt very appropriate for Birthday Cake. The stylistic presentation of your films employs many textures and forms. Are you moving towards favouring any particular stylistic representation in your filmic work? I have lots of idols in filmmaking whom I try to emulate with my confined technical skills. The Brothers Quay are a huge influence. To me, it’s obvious that I’m a shameless Brothers Quay wannabe. I copy a lot of what they do, in my own way. I also really appreciate Julie Taymor’s work, as well as Wes Anderson. All these directors put great attention into the visual aspect of storytelling. I’m not so good at putting things into words and I tend to rely on visual language to compensate for that. So this aspect of motion picture storytelling appeals to me. That’s why I guess I put a lot of effort into texture and form.

Ang Sookoon

Birthday Cake (2011)

52

You mention the Brothers Quay. There is also a hint of Georges Méliès in the mood of your video art outtakes – perhaps a more languid Méliès!There is definitely a resemblance! It was the earliest experiments with cinema and you could only do so many camera tricks to make it magical. There were no computers, no digital effects. That’s how he did it. I have limited skills and I don’t work with a crew, so I try to employ the same sorts of tricks. Making the magic work depends on how the films are edited. So it’s really the most primitive cinema tricks.

What sort of freedom does the experimental short form give you to explore your ideas and how does it restrain you?The short film and experimental film format has given me a lot of freedom. It’s very accessible. It’s the medium I go to when I can’t afford to make my sculptural installation art because that sort of work costs a lot. With short films, all I need is any camera that takes video, a computer, and of course, an idea that needn’t to be too concrete because I don’t use a crew. I film more or less intuitively. It’s mostly during editing that I try to make the material more concise and give it a narrative. Short film does not restrain me. My own inclinations do. I have so far steered away from working with a crew because if I can, I try not to work with people. I’m that dog that just wants to quietly gnaw its bone in its own corner! This limits me from going for more ambitious film projects.

Would you consider venturing into making a narrative feature film, with a somewhat more ‘conventional’ script? Of course! I don’t want to be that dog happy with a bone forever! I want a bigger kill, which means I need to work in a pack. First things first, I need to either develop a feature length script myself or collaborate with someone. I imagine if I come up with the script myself, it’d be one of those films with very little dialogue like Un Chien Andalou / An Andalusian Dog (Luis Buñuel, 1929) or Le Ballon Rouge / The Red Balloon (Albert Lamorisse, 1956). But it would be fun to work with someone else and to have their input so the work isn’t always just from my point of view. It would make it more interesting for me.

Interview

53

You trained at NAFA here in Singapore before heading abroad. Were there a community of practitioners around you back then who wanted to work with both video and installation art, to experiment with the form?I was a painting major at NAFA. At that time, it was a much more traditional academic arts school. So we weren’t introduced to anything other than oil painting, very traditional approaches to charcoal drawing and sculptural works. So I was often the only one interested in experimenting with new mediums to explore my work and ideas. In that sense, I couldn’t get any help from the school. But I had friends studying in Temasek Polytechnic, which is where I met Victric Thng (Singapore filmmaker) and others, and it was through them that I learned about filmmaking and found that ambition to make and edit my own films.

VISUAL AND INSTALLATION ART:

What prompted you to explore the 1 – 9 (2009) numbers series? Why do certain numbers connote what they do for you?David Tammet and Sesame Street are the reasons behind my number series. As you can tell, Sesame Street is a huge influence on my work! As a child, I enjoyed the way Sesame Street taught numbers with 1970s psychedelic cartoon clips and Muppet skits. I can’t remember how I came across reading about David Tammet. He is a savant who is able to make incredible math calculations without calculating. He feels the answer intuitively like 2 is a motion and 5 is a clap of thunder and that’s how he gets the answers. I thought wow! What a gift! I am really impressed and envious because I’m a math retard. I have number dyslexia and often misread numbers. So I wanted to do my own number imagery too. I wanted to emulate Tammet with his number imagery. So for example with “1”, I think of the Aimee Mann’s cover of that song, “One is the Loneliest Number” – so it’s in a dark place. And “8”, it’s two circles and looks really fertile to me. So I thought of it as a symbol of Mother Nature and it has two sperm whales flowing through it in a nurturing seascape.

Ang Sookoon

54

There’s this condition called synesthesia where numbers or letters are coloured, or certain words actually evoke a visual image or a symbol. So what prompted you to go for blacks, whites and greys instead of bursts of colour?I love working with pen and paper. I wanted to make images of landscapes and I somehow feel like I dream in black and white. Someone once told me if you dream in black and white you’re a pessimist! That’s how I saw the numbers – in monotone.

Your Love is Like a Chunk of Gold (2010), which was part of an exhibition at the Singapore Art Museum (The Singapore Show: Futureproof), has crystalline growth on various loaves of bread. Another rendition of this, The Best Vitality Cannot Excel Decay (2011) was recently exhibited at Chan Hampe Galleries. Tell us about the genesis of this work.Like most people, I find crystals very beautiful, which is the reason I wanted to work with them. I wanted to show something oxymoronic. Bread is familiar, it’s comfort food, and the crystal growth makes it strange and repulsive. I am inspired by Gothic romance novels, in which uncanny things happen in the domestic realm. So instead of mould growing on the bread, I decided I’d have crystal growing on it. It changes the bread into this geological object and it evokes this sci-fi feeling, like it’s from another planet!

Interview

1–9 (2009)

55

You mention Gothic influences and incongruity. Where does that come from and what else influences your work?The Gothic element comes from my fears. I have many. I have night-mares and anxiety dreams all the time. The storybook-like illustrations and drawings I think is a way to represent or exorcise these fears like in fairytales. Because of my insecurities and fears, I developed an affinity for dark visuals. In my drawings, an obvious influence is Edward Gorey, the American illustrator, except that he drew a lot of characters and figures and I dislike the human form in my own work so I don’t draw it. I’m also an admirer of Japanese illustrator, Tadanori Yokoo and the great painter, Joseph Turner. But writing also influences my work because of the images that are conjured in my mind. I like Tim Robbins, Emily Dickinson, Dylan Thomas and Jeanette Winterson. Winterson’s Art Objects is fantastic on art. Coco Chanel said, “If you think you’re original you have a bad memory”. I know I’m not original! All these things influence me.

Moving images, drawing, ink on paper, installation art using organic and chemical elements, stoneware – what other mediums would you want to work with, going forward?I don’t know. I look forward to knowing! All the time, I fear I will dry up and have no inspiration. It’s one of the things that trigger my anxiety dreams. That’s the discipline. I keep going back to the studio, I keep reading, I keep looking out for what will make it work with little or no recognition or a boss who imposes deadlines. It’s all about looking for a poetic meaning in life.

Ang Sookoon works with various mediums, including video, installation, drawing and printmaking. Her work has been shown in Germany, Switzerland, France, China, Singapore, UK, USA, and Australia. She majored in sculpture in School of Visual Arts, New York and has participated in the Rijksakademie Artist Research Residency in Amsterdam. Her work addresses both the physical and metaphysical world— the space in which we physically dwell and the interior space within us that is our spiritual, emotional and imaginative world, and how these two both reflect and have an effect on each other.

Ang Sookoon

56

Interview

Your Love is Like a Chunk of Gold - Chrysanthemum (2009)

57

Ang Sookoon

Your Love is Like a Chunk of Gold - Broccoli (2009)

58

From left to right, Gina Pareno, director Jun Raquiza and Marianne De La Rive on the set of Krimen / Crime (1974).

58

59

Word on the Ground

The Salvage Detectives Dodo Dayao

Rumor has it that there’s a lost Martin Scorsese film out there, a crime film shot on the cheap from before Mean Streets (1973), that exists in the form of a grimy bootleg VHS. Lost films are the yeti footprints of film geeks, our ghost stories, our fuzzy UFO photographs, our obscure objects of desire. And there certainly is a touch of the arcane, an esoteric pedigree, if you will, to the notion of an under the radar film by a high-profile filmmaker that few have seen, tenuously held together by the duct tape of failing memory, its potentially vital cultural data hostage to the processes of decay. Exotica like this are the vitamin of film geeks. But Scorsese hasn’t gone on record to confirm or deny the film nor has anyone bothered picking up its trail. It’s not as if the world is in desperate need of any more Scorsese films, anyway. We have too much as it is, if you ask me. And it’s not as if we’re talking about Citizen Kane (1941) either.

But what if we were? Or something of similar exaltation? The few people who’ve seen Gerry De Leon’s own lost film Ang Daigdig Ng Mga Api / The World of the Oppressed (1965), for instance, have unanimously proclaimed its magnificence. It had me with that title, sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it lives up to its name and turns out to be our Citizen Kane after all. Except that we might never know. Just as we might never know, too, if Manuel Conde’s Juan Tamad Goes to Congress / Lazy John Goes to Congress (1960) deserves the legend it’s long been freighted with. Or if Ishmael Bernal’s Scotch on the Rocks To Forget, Black Coffee To Remember (1976) is anywhere near as tantalising as its title. No prints have survived. No copies are known to exist. Not even

60

on tape. The number of films we’ve apparently lost out of disregard and indifference is the sort of punch in the gut that can make even the most stalwart of us buckle at the knees. And folded into the context of our film history, the stakes are raised and our lost films become more than mere collector’s esoterica, gaining instead the sheen of a minor tragedy. If anyone from SOFIA could have their way, it would gain a throb of emergency, too.

Founded by the late film critic Hammy Sotto and a handful of like-minded colleagues in 1993, SOFIA is the Society of Filipino Archivists for Film, a non-profit task force of volunteers whose station is to salvage whatever lost films of ours they can. It’s not yet too late but time is running out. Entire strains of history are literally and inexorably turning to vinegar. There are piles of films past the point of rescue, and there are piles more getting there even as you read this. SOFIA is not exactly bereft of trophies, counting among their triumphs the rediscovery and restoration of films like Carlos Vander Tolosa’s Giliw Ko / My Love (1939), Octavio Silos’ Tunay Na Ina / The Real Mother (1939), Gerry De Leon’s Noli Me Tangere / Touch Me Not (1961) and Sanda Wong (1951), Lamberto V. Avellana’s Kundiman Ng Lahi / Song of the Race (1959) and Lino Brocka’s White Slavery (1985). And while it isn’t exactly a lost film, a print of Conde’s Genghis Khan (1950) has been found in Vienna. But this, their members will be the first to tell you, barely scratches the surface. The work that needs to be done is regularly curtailed as SOFIA is continually beset by troubles that swing from the usual lack of funding to the lack of support. Help has begun to pour in from all sides, though. Foreign organisations have lent a hand in restoring some films, including Bernal’s iconic Manila By Night (a.k.a. City After Dark) (1985). Even studio heads and some branches of government are weighing in.

Perhaps more significantly, with the newly-established National Film Archive, what should’ve long been in existence, is finally operational. The President himself signed off on an administrative order that not only effectively institutionalised it but centralised all archiving endeavors in one fell swoop. History has made wariness in the face of victories

Word on the Ground

61

like this come easy, almost unnecessarily, but built-in and extraneous cynicism aside, the situation does remain precarious. There’s little that’s actionable about the fallout from decades of neglect, after all. But ‘never say never’ remains the default mantra of SOFIA, now more than ever. De Leon's Daigdig Ng Mga Api may be their elusive, near-impossible Holy Grail. But so were, at some point, his The Moises Padilla Story (1961) and Brocka’s debut Wanted Perfect Mother (1970), both long thought forever lost in any format. If these films can resurface, as they have, all bets are reasonably off and suddenly anything is possible.

Some time ago, after years of basking curiously in its longstanding myth, I at last saw Mario O’Hara’s previously long-lost noir Bagong Hari / The New King (1986) for the first time, as part of SOFIA’s temporarily defunct Overlooked Films Underrated Filmmakers series of screenings. Cobbled from grungy U-Matic elements, its condition was far from pristine but this was probably the best the film has looked in years. More to the point, though, it surged with energy, felt thrillingly alive. It was dense, ballsy, vigorous. O’Hara was there and so were the film’s stars Dan Alvaro and Robert Arevalo and Perla Bautista. This was the first of the screenings I attended, and regret missing Jun Raquiza’s Krimen / Crime (1974) and Danny Zialcita’s Masquerade (1967); regret missing nearly every screening, really. This was how it was each time, I’ve been told: an unsung film is retrieved from the fringes, a relatively fervid audience comes to watch, its director and stars rekindle glory days and meet new generations of admirers. It’s a shame that the logistical demands of the screenings have taken their toll on the limited manpower at SOFIA’s disposal, and forced the team to put the screenings on hold. There are assurances, however, that plans for an even more extravagant revival are being drawn up. But, despite its brief two-year run, the screenings were incredibly encouraging, and it makes sense that a generous amount of SOFIA’s energies were poured into them.

We are largely a culture that has routinely trivialised, neglected, ignored and vilified our own cinema, elevating our revulsion to a class schism even, while kissing the ground American cinema treads. This flippant,

Watching the Wheels

62

often disgruntled, apathy has more or less had a bearing on the current state of Philippine cinema. But, in its own modest way, the screenings embodied the almost violent tidal shift in attitude and enthusiasm. It was tough not to feel even the tiniest glimmer of hope. The mash-up archaeologist / detective / mercenaries of SOFIA have not shirked from their first mission, no. The lost films need to be found and restored and seen and discussed. But auxiliary efforts such as these screenings are, in and of themselves, restorations, too, of the very things that bought SOFIA, and those of us who champion their efforts, here in the first place: cinema and all the jubilant obsession, keening passion and relentless love we have for it.

*Thanks to Ramon Nocon for the stills and additional information.

Word on the Ground

63

Dodo Dayao writes, films, paints and programs. He was one of the programmers of the 4th .MOV festival and also one of the editors and writers of the book Philippine New Wave: This is Not a Film Movement (2010). He has made a number of short films and video installations including Zero (2010), Memories of Places I've Never Been (2010) and Entropy Machine (2011). He is constantly writing and constantly needing sleep. You can find him lurking at Piling Piling Pelikula (pelikula.blogspot.com).

Watching the Wheels

64

Write to us

Submissions are eagerly encouraged. We’re keen on writings on cinema that include, but are not limited to:

– overviews of a director’s work;– photo essays celebrating or studying images in a film;– explorations of one particular film or groups of films;– analysis of moments within a film;– situating a film within its historical/political context;– stories or narrative non-fiction pieces inspired by films.

We are not looking for academic treatises, nor are we interested in lightly journalistic film reviews. We’re keen on writing that is sharp, intelligent and knowledgeable, though not without humour. Each piece should be between 1,500 to 2,500 words long.

For submissions and letters to the editor, email: nhb_nm_cinematheque@nhb.gov.sg

or write to: The Cinémathèque Quarterly National Museum of Singapore 93 Stamford RoadSingapore 178897

65

Credits

Editor Vinita Ramani Mohan

Editorial Adviser Ben Slater

Programme Text Zhang Wenjie, Warren Sin, Low Zu Boon

Graphic Design LSD Corporation

Cover Image Shura / Demons (1971) by Toshio Matsumoto, Image © 1971 Matsumoto Productions p26–33 Nagisa Oshima’s Letter to Cinemaya © NETPAC, 1988 p34–43 The Great Korean Picture Show © Lynn Lee, 2012 p44–57 Interview: Ang Sookoon © National Museum of Singapore Cinémathèque, 2012 p58–63 The Salvage Detectives © Dodo Dayao, 2012

The Cinémathèque Quarterly July–September 2012 is published by the National Museum of Singapore

ISSN: 2251-2993

All information is correct at the time of print. Every reasonable care has been taken to ensure the accuracy of information within, hence, neither the publisher, editor nor writers may be held liable for errors and/or omissions however caused. Every effort has been made to identify copyright holders. We deeply regret that if, despite our concerted efforts, any copyright holders have been overlooked or omitted. Any reproduction, retransmission, republication, or other use of all or part of this publication is expressly prohibited, unless prior written permission has been granted by the National Museum of Singapore or the appropriate copyright owner. The Museum reserves the right to make changes and modifications to the programme without prior notice. The views and opinions expressed by the writers in this publication and the speakers and facilitators in the programme do not necessarily reflect the views of the editor or the official policy and position of the National Museum of Singapore.

66

About Us

About the National Museum of Singapore CinémathèqueThe National Museum Cinémathèque focuses on the presentation of film in its historical, cultural and aesthetic contexts, with a strong emphasis on local and regional cinema. Housed in the 247-seat Gallery Theatre, the National Museum Cinémathèque offers new perspectives on film through a year-round series of screenings, thematic showcases, and retrospectives that feature both essential and undiscovered works from the history of cinema.

Besides the presentation of film, the National Museum Cinémathèque is also active in film preservation, especially the heritage of Asian cinema, and has worked with regional film archives to restore and subtitle important film classics. With an imaginative and diverse programme that includes Singapore Short Cuts, World Cinema Series, and Under the Banyan Tree, the National Museum Cinémathèque aims to create a vital and vibrant film culture in Singapore.

About the National Museum of SingaporeWith a history dating back to its inception in 1887, the National Museum of Singapore is the nation’s oldest museum with a young soul. Designed to be the people’s museum, the National Museum is a custodian of the 11 National Treasures, and its Singapore History and Living Galleries adopt cutting-edge and varied ways of presenting history and culture to redefine conventional museum experience. A cultural and architectural landmark in Singapore, the museum hosts vibrant festivals and events all year round – the dynamic Night Festival, visually arresting art installations, exciting performances and film screenings – in addition to presenting lauded exhibitions and precious artefacts. The programming is supported by a wide range of facilities and services including F&B, retail and a Resource Centre. The National Museum of Singapore re-opened in December 2006 after a three-year redevelopment.

67

Ticketing Information

www.sistic.com.sg / (65) 6348 5555SISTIC counters islandwide or National Museum Stamford Visitor Services: 10am–7.30pm

ConcessionsConcession rates for most programmes are available to students (full-time, with valid student pass), seniors (aged 60 years and above, with valid identity pass showing proof of age), NSF (with valid 11B pass), National Museum Volunteers, National Museum Members, NHB Staff and MICA Staff. Passes have to be presented when purchasing tickets.

General Enquiries (65) 6332 3659 / (65) 6332 5642

Film Classification GuideG (General) Suitable for all ages.PG (Parental Guidance) Suitable for all, but parents should guide their young.PG13 (Parental Guidance 13) Suitable for persons aged 13 and above, but parental guidance is advised for children below 13.NC16 (No Children Under 16) Suitable for persons aged 16 and above.M18 (Mature 18) Suitable for persons aged 18 years and above.R21 (Restricted 21) Suitable for adults aged 21 and above. For further details and the latest film ratings, please visit www.nationalmuseum.sg

68

Getting to the Museum

Train Bras Basah MRT Station (5-minute walk) Dhoby Ghaut MRT Station (5-minute walk) City Hall MRT Station (10-minute walk) Bus YMCA Bus-stop (08041) SBS: 7, 14, 14e, 16, 36, 64, 65, 111, 124, 128, 139, 162, 162M, 174, 174e, 175 SMRT: 77, 106, 167, 171, 190, 700, 700A, NR6, NR7 SMU Bus-stop (04121) SBS: 7, 14, 14e, 16, 36, 111, 124, 128, 131, 162, 162M, 166, 174, 174e, 175 SMRT: 77, 106, 167, 171, 190, 700, 700A, 857, NR7 Taxi Pick-up and drop-off points are at the Fort Canning entrance or the Stamford entrance. Car Limited parking facility is available at the National Museum. Other parking facilities are available at YMCA, Park Mall, Singapore Management University and Fort Canning Park.

MRT

P

B

July

Aug

ust

Sep

tem

ber

1–8

July

Vario

us T

imin

gs (

Pag

e 2

0)JA

PAN

ES

E F

ILM

FE

STI

VAL

2012

10 J

uly

7.3

0 pm

(P

age

8)W

OR

LD C

INE

MA

SE

RIE

SR

ong

Rae

m N

arok

/

Cou

ntry

Hot

el

Rat

tana

Pes

tonj

i

4–5

& 1

1–12

Aug

ust

2 pm

(P

age

24)

9th

SIN

GA

PO

RE

SH

OR

T C

UTS

14 A

ugus

t

7.3

0 pm

(P

age

12)

WO

RLD

CIN

EM

A S

ER

IES

Shu

ra /

Dem

ons

Tosh

io M

atsu

mot

o

11 S

epte

mbe

r

7.3

0 pm

(P

age

16)

WO

RLD

CIN

EM

A S

ER

IES

San

ator

ium

pod

kle

psyd

ra /

Th

e H

ourg

lass

San

ator

ium

Woj

ciec

h H

as

National Museum of Singapore 93 Stamford Road Singapore 178897 www.nationalmuseum.sg