Perth

Directed by Djinn
Starring Lim Kay Tong

A Review by Lenn (16/08/2005)

Rating: **** ½

“Perth” shouldn’t be taken lightly. It is a film that will sear itself into your memory with its unforgiving portrayal of Harry Lee, a local denizen in every sense of the word.

What is it to be Singaporean? Cash, Car, Credit, Chicks and Condo. Harry Lee lacks all of this, but he has dreams of immigrating to Perth, and that makes him the quintessential Singaporean on the wrong side of the income bracket.

Harry Lee goes on and on about Perth. Whenever a mishap befalls him or problems abound, he says, “its okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a plan – I’m going to migrate to Perth! Leave all this behind.” And like tomorrow never comes, you know that Harry will never go to Perth. It’s the proverbial castle in the sky.

The film is like an extension of Harry Lee’s soul, which is interesting because he gives so little. One is cloudy about his past, which reveals itself only when necessary. He was in the merchant army, a security guard, a taxi driver and worked for a pimp.

“I’m just a simple man, who wants a simple life,” he often says.

He is also fond of expressing his loathing of unfaithfulness, and even names a dog he finds in the park “Faithful”. His wife is an unfaithful gambling addict, while his son is ashamed of him, and even excludes him from his wedding.

The dialogue has a habit of revolving around these three things – the simple life, migrating to Perth, and faithfulness, like a broken recorder always tripping. One feels the claustrophobia of Harry’s life, a life he’s dug himself 51 years too deep into, has nothing to show for it, and at the same time, nothing to go look forward to except the illusion of Perth.

But through this, he has two friends. Selvan, himself an ex-army guy turned taxi-driver, and Angry Boy, his ex-supervisor. Their conversations are strictly Singaporean, occurring in coffee shops with common slang like “I salute you brudda!” that abounds.

Through Angry Boy, Harry gets a job under a pimp as a driver. There, he sympathises with a Vietnam prostitute who reminds him of a girl he once loved. The details of this mystery girl remains, well, a mystery, but that’s Harry Lee for you. He loathes himself and sees no value in remembering his past.

This is where the Taxi-Driver references come in. While the actions of the characters may be similar (Harry Lee, like Travis Bickle, wants to free the girl of her slavery), their motivations are worlds apart. While Travis is just a bit crazy, Harry is every bit sane and all his actions practically rational, though sometimes ethically skewed.

Though I’ve left a lot out, in a nutshell, Angry Boy promises Harry the girl’s freedom. Pimpboss doesn’t allow this, and Harry goes on a particularly brutal and gory alcohol-fueled rampage with a parang and a corkscrew. He frees the girl, but at the cost of his own life as well as four others, and all this happening a week before he’s supposed to leave for Perth. Personally, I cannot imagine Harry ever really going to Perth. Perth is, to him, a state-of-mind, not a physical location. Its just he didn’t know that difference.

I’d like to believe the final shot, an up-ward arial pan of Harry’s lifeless limp body in the backyard of a Geylang pimphouse, is in fact Harry’s soul is going to heaven, because despite his outward toughness, Harry is a just good soul caught up in a bad life.

Watching the ending, I wondered what it would be like if such an incident really happened in real life. Harry Lee would be vilified in the papers- condemned for his lack of achievements (“I’m sorry my father achieved so little in his life,” lamented his cocksure son), his dodgy career history and wife-beating habits. His motivations would be skewed and he would be sold, like a prostitute, as a good-for-nothing gang member.

But “Perth” makes no judgments on Harry, and doesn’t try to make him a pariah, hero or villain. It doesn’t paint Harry’s actions (beating his wife, freeing a prostitute, getting drunk) in any emotional light. It just shows Harry as a common everyman who just wants the simple life that went horribly wrong for no explicable and avoidable reason. And that’s something everyone can identify with.

While I feel the film would benefit from more economy, both of scenes and sounds, it still stands as one of the best films I’ve watched in recent memory. Watch “Perth” because it is a landmark Singaporean-made film that transcends Singapore, but doesn’t forget it either. Watch “Perth” because this review doesn’t even begin to do it any justice.


Details: http://imdb.com/title/tt0444890/

Breaking Story!

Yesterday the nation of Singapore, a small island south of Malaysia, faced a pandemic. Nationalis-Patriotis swept across the island at fever pitch, infecting the island's otherwise staid inhabitants. The numbers stand in the tens of thousands, with the hardest hit area being the Padang area, followed by heartland areas Jurong East, Marina South, Yishun and Woodlands.

"Nationalis-Patriotis is a very uncommon disease. Fortunately, its usually transient and should pass with time," says Dr. Oh Joo Tee, a professor at the National Communicable Disease Centre.

"I usually complain about the Government, but. but suddenly, i feel an overwhelming love for being singaporean! We, the citizens of Singapore, pledge...." rambled Maye, one of the infected. Her case is not unique, and all over the island people can be seen doing the same.

Is this a plot by the goverment? This author, who was in the thick of the action at the Padang, detected faint noxious fumes permeating the area. A query put to President Naton was shot down and dismissed as merely "the odour that is Singapore!".

I myself felt the pangs of Nationalis-Patriotis coming on, but was quick to steady myself and remind myself that the only reason I was at the Padang was for purely journalistic reasons. That, and because my NS boss wanted me there.

A sample of the fumes mentioned has been collected and sent to the National What-is-that-Smell Centre for analysis. We are currently awaiting the results. Stay tuned...

a comment on my previous post:

-
a said...
hey, were you in some advertisement about losing handphones or something?
-

Now, "a" isn't the only one to ask me that. So i'm going to set things straight. While I admit that the guy in the poster bears striking similarities to me, down to even owning the same sweater, and having the same chiseled jawline, I would like to state on record that "No, that guy in the ad is not me."

However, I would like to thank everyone who thought that was me, because he is one handsome bugger and I guess I don't mind the comparison.

But no, its not me. just someone who looks very much like me.

thanks.

lenn.

Imaginary friends clucking around like hens, only there till the good times end.

i'm back and sorry to disappoint well alive. heres an excerpt from the spf website regarding my thoughts on the trip:

Lennard Ong

"The beauty of selective memory? It elevates terrible experiences to an intangible level. Ideals like determination, heroism and the indominable human spirit freely roll off the tongue. Truth is, the act cycling the 1000-odd journey felt, at times, like hell on earth and the only thing that kept me going was the promise of a good night’s rest and a decent meal. Nevermind the bollocks.

But now its over, it all feels like the pain and suffering on the saddle happened to someone else, and maybe that’s not half wrong, because I sincerely believe that the six of us came out of this journey changed.

Personally, it found it refreshing, being able to cycle for hours on end without having to stop at traffic lights or worry about cars. The actual act of cycling takes full focus. I love cycling – it’s beautiful. It makes me feel infinite, almost like a sunbeam.

My feelings? Predictably, I’m happy. "

points to note:

1) i got the word bollocks printed on the spf website!
2) nevermind the bollocks: sex pistol album.
3) makes me feel infinite: perks of being a wallflower
4) forgot to add: i kept thinking of banana pancakes while cycling.

ta ta, farewell,, au revoir!!! i'm off for my adventure!

(www.spf.gov.sg/crossingtheline. check for updates.)

*note to self: play chess in park

leaving this saturday, and things are in a tizzy, busy busy doing this doing that tying up loose ends.

i can't wait to go on the road. In singapore you can't cycle for more than 30 mins before hitting a traffic light. if you think about it, with the ongoing tour de france right now, we'll be cycling at the same time (roughly) the greats lance, basso and ulrich are.

with such a strong start lance looks like he's got the tour in the bag. tour de lance.

aye hai sigh. griffith and sabine. are. on. hiatus. fuck it fuck it fuck it.

you know what heat sez? "if you can't in 10 secs turn your back on anything then you're not truely free" or some nonsense like that. caged man caged. caught up caught in.

Hi there lennard-fans!

Lennard just got back from a 2-day recon trip up to the thai border for his upcoming cycling trip.

10 people were put into 2 vans and they gingerly set off to traverse the old highway system of Malaysia.

"We covered a total of 3000km in the whole journey. And through this 3000km, we did not see one chiobu at all," said lennard in a recent press conference. "And i don't mean this in an ironic-witty-tudung-clad-women-don't-count."

Long journeys in the van led to soul-baring discussions and revelations. "We came to the stark realization, that at the core of all actions, its motivation lies in sex, or more accurately, getting sex." They came to this startling revelation after probling Khairi, another one of the cyclists.

Another revelation from probing khairi is the "smelly pantat" syndrome, which comes from sitting on your ass for hours on end. "Khairi was leaning over me to get something from his bag. So me being me, I couldn't resist and gave him a wedgie," elaborated lennard. "The minute I displaced his underwear, a strong acrid smell immediately assaulted my nose."

"It was terrible. Horrible. Oh my god..." added Calvin Liang.

They spent the night in a little town call Lumut, in a motel called "Galaxy Inn", which sported window-less, funky-smelling rooms.

On the subject of the journey itself, the cyclists had this to say. "Oh my god... 150km a day didn't look THAT far on paper..."

thats all for now. am tired. good night.

ladies and gentlemen...

www.spf.gov.sg/crossingtheline

thankew verr muchhh.

(sepia toned)

do you know how useless you've become? you could die and this moment and it wouldn't make one fucking difference to anyone or anything. 6 degrees of seperation isn't enough to make anyone shed a tear. ooooooooooooooohhhhhh. maybe tom's lost his head, maybe tom needs a map of his head.

* <---- you are here

the crux of the matter is, you see, the degree of self-loathing inherent in every narcissist. and if tom's crazy and tom wants to kill himself then he's his own master but he's a servant to everything he feels bethrothed to. so whos the fucking boss?

its the power to turn shit into gold thats so appealing, but shit is just so brown and smelly and plainly shitty that sometimes tom asks "is it worth it?"

and then comes the final questions, the game winner for all losers, bums and good-for-nothings in the world. the rallying call of "whats the point?" we're all a speck of a speck in a quark of an atom thats an atom of an atom. "whats the fucking point" tom howls.

its enough to make you tear your hair out and tear your eye dry, because really, "whats the fucking point??"

http://www.flickr.com/photos/34968224@N00/sets/363373/

been a while since i last posted.

been busy busy busy.

anyway, top of the news- i just passed driving! as a private candidate on my first try at Ubi. so as you can see the odds were really stacked against me, but i did it with the help of an excellent private driving instructor, Mr Ah Seng. So if any of you are going to take your license or are thinking about it, ask me for Ah Seng's contact. you really can't go wrong... so far all my friends who trained under him passed on their first try.

kok- haven't been brewing much! finding it hard to finish 25 litres of beer!
yishi- too late. Shes GONE. but its okay, i can still cook for you.
stef- welcome back soon?
lenn- how've you been?

Celluloid Realities and the Sadness of Tomorrow

I am now wading through the thick of the Singapore International Film Festival, which holds its screenings at the Singapore History Museum and the Shaw Cinemas along Beach Road. The Shaw Cinemas have droopy regal-red velvet curtains which are pulled so elegantly apart to reveal the screen. Ornate detailing also lines its aged walls. This is sharply contrasted with the tangy smell of yellow pee and old-man feet, which is a pretty pity. I felt like I was living out a scene from Cinema Paradiso. I also felt like I was living in the east again and watching a movie in Republic or Bedok Theatre.

The night before, I was watching Pin Boy, and to my dismay, was seated with people flanking me on all sides. Front, back, left and right. I guess this is pretty normal and I wouldn't consider myself chlostrophobic (sic), but I don't usually enjoy being in close proximities with other bodies, especially if there's no comfortably leaving the situation. Such situations make me feel very cooped up and I find it hard moving and sometimes have difficulty breathing even. It makes me feel like screaming. Okay, so maybe I am a bit chlostrophobic.

Anyway, so I left halfway through the show, which was pretty boring to begin with.

Pin Boy is an Argentinean show about a guy who moves from the country to the city to work as a pin setter at a bowling alley. This was, of course, before the advent of pin setting machines. The movie gave new meaning to the word "deadpan", because in this case, there literally were no camera pans. The camera was static for the most part of the film, comprising mostly of one-shots, which made the movie really boring to watch, despite nuggets of interesting dialogue here and there.

"I am a nice guy. Very easy going. Relax. But you piss me off, I kill you. I don't care. I kill you." says one of the other pin setters.

This taught me that sometimes, anti-education is education. Learning what not to do is as useful as learning what to do.

On another occasion, when I was watching another show, this time called Tarnation (which was very enjoyable and engaging), I saw Roystan Tan. I was stunned speechless and didn't know what to do or say except to just point and look stupid, which is my natural reaction to most things.

Tomorrow is a very sad day.

Tomorrow, Chalimah is leaving to return back to her family in Indonesia for good. I'm very sad. Not just because she's a good cook, but also because she's kind of part of the family. She's a part of the house dynamic.

I know I don't know how to cope with loss at all. Of course I try to remain objective and really it shouldn't matter too much but emotions always get in the way and screw up good logic, like the proverbial wrench into fine clockwork. I feel this, I feel that. I don't even know what I'm feeling sometimes, just that I'm "feeling something".

Feelings and emotions are very irritating. I wish I had more control over them.

The Beautiful Cliche - a Critical Review of "Maria Full of Grace"



The cut-out protagonist - a 17-year old girl with fiery soul trapped in a poor, pious, and conservative Colombian family living in a generic semi-slum area in Colombia. The kind of area where streets aren't quite dirt roads, but aren't quite paved either. She lives in a house full of women, littered with religious artifacts looking more like Salvation Army rejects than tools of the divine.

She's poor, working a dead-end job de-thorning roses in a factory with an uncaring and unsympathetic boss with a waist far bigger than his heart. She has a small-minded boyfriend who seeded the growing foetus within her. "I don't love you, and you don't love me. But you have a baby and its my duty. Marry me." reasons her boyfriend in spanish. One can't help but snicker at the stereotyped lad.

Maria Alvarez, like any strong willed girl with wordly ideas of her own, vehemently rejects such an offer, and subsequently throws a fajita at him. Instead, she quits her job and becomes a drug mule. Drug mules are people who smuggle drugs into other countries by swallowing as many as 60 latex pellets packed full of drugs at a time. She does this to escape from her physical and financial reality.

Going along on the journey with her is her Best Friend, Blanca, (the fat girl side-kick to the attractive heroine)and another girl, Lucy, who acts as their mentor-of-sorts, though in my opinion they are all in the same sad situation. They're all headed for new york with a belly full of sin.

And so the movie plays out in similar fasion, full of predictable cliches and tired scenarios. Lucy dies in the motel they are held in in New York when a pellet bursts in her stomach. The drug dealers, bored, cold and calculative, cut her stomach open to remove the rest of the drugs before discarding her lifeless body. Maria flees in fear with Blanca in tow, going to the only place they know - the residence of Lucy's sister, who immigrated to NY some time before.

"New York isn't so bad. It was very scary for me at first, but I stayed because of my child," says Lucy's sister while cradling her swelling belly.

"I want to give him opportunities." she adds with a self-satisfied smile.

Pregnant Maria listens intently and behind her saucer-like earnest eyes, her brain races with the possibilities. One can already predict what she is going to do. Surely, she's going to stay in NY. But no, the movie pulls us along as she buys tickets and drags Blanca with her to the airport so they can get onto the next plane back to dead-end poverty.

That is, until Blanca passes immigration. She turns back to see Maria looking at her with a mixture of regret, sorrow but at the same time satisfaction, meekly waving good-bye. Blanca is neither surprised nor angered. Like us, she expected this.

Maria decided to stay in NY as one of the million illegal immigrants who try to eke out a living; hoping for a better future - If not for herself then for her child.

Maria Full of Grace, screened last week at The Arts House, is a beautiful movie where Joshua Marston, scriptwriter and director, exercises great restraint by sidestepping many tempting plot off-shoots, snubbing the "neo-noir" cinema popularized by the Coen brothers so famously in "The Big Lebowski".

Even its tag-line embodies the more traditional story-telling nature of the movie - "The True Story of a Million Lives." The film doesn't fool itself into thinking it's doing anything new, modern or cutting-edge. Joshua Marston realizes and embraces that everything which can be done has been done.

But the thing is - he just does it better.

Perfect-Day Scoop! Exclusive Interview with the Lennard.

"Why 'Eat Shit and Die'? Its so crass! You're more eloquent than that," says Noelle when she checked up on Lennard's blog one night.

"I think its pretty poetic. To eat someone's shit and die. Everything's pretty much shit nowadays- a regurgitation of images, thoughts and ideas we're all familiar with, sucked dry of all meaning and context. Contemporary culture is as ageless as shit," says Lennard.

"...And about as useless," he adds dryly.

The title is an evolution (or devolution, some might say) of Lennard's blog, Perfect-Day. "It started out as Perfect Day, with a plain and simple layout, and became something else. I forget. Then something else again, this time a bit more elaborate, and something else after that. Till what it is now," he says matter-of-factly.

"I mean, if you want to over-analyse the whole thing, the blog started out as a recountive-type blog. 'Today i did this and that. This funny thing happened, that sad thing happened', and has since changed into something more opinionated. Not something many would care about. It's a lot more 'I think' and 'I, I, I, I'. Shite. I've become pretty narcissistic," he adds.

One might attribute the shift to a change in circumstances- from schooling to NS and his shift from his room upstairs to his now more independant existance living in the basement. Lennard cringes at this analysis but doesn't deny nor confirm it.

"I'm worried for that guy. He's always in his basement where its dark and damp. He's got this picture of a rabbit cadavre and photo of a porecelain clown. He doesn't even sleep on a bed! Fuck, he's writing his own post in third person. How screwed up is that?!" says Dingren, a long-time friend.

Lennard smirks when told this. "Hey, Ding's pretty fucked up himself man."

Fucked up.

That seems to be a running theme with people Lennard's age. "All this schmoze about globalisation, the global soul and global citizen. What if its the exact opposite? What if this is an age of alienization and de-rootification of the individual? We become globally connected not because of a common soul but because of the lack of one," he laments.

"I mean, I don't even know who or what I am! Am I a boy, man or thing?"

Boy/Man/Thing is also the title of Lennard's self-planned and self-penned posthumous magnum opus of his life consisting of blog entries, sketches, milestones and interviews with friends, family and acquaintences. "To publish it anytime before that would be pretty pretentious, don't you think? Its gotta be posthumous. Yeah... definitely. I would like this interview to go into that book too. Could someone please take note of that?"

Okay for those who don't already know I'm cycling to thailand in july for the President's Challenge charity, well. I am. And so when i approach you for donations you reach into your wallet and pull out a fucking fat wad of cash for me. kapish?

I am Confidently Insane!

Lets all take a moment to remember the thief. All hail to the teeth, chattering away in the cold. Eating beef sandwitches and the muslims stuffed with halal pork, its all blessed anyway. Jesus H. Christ! (Did you know his middle name was Herman?!) Spoke with him last night and thing's're cool there "ya know... chillin' and shit wit da moet chandon..." so says the son of grapes.

I stabbed Tom and spilled wine all o'er the carpet and now its stained like a St. Augustine on top of a catholic pulpit. Sound filters through it and sounds like this "Daawwwwwwnnnn skaiiiiiiiieeeeee!" Ever screaming. Dad, Tad. Bad... tsk tsk.

Next time you hit the town, next time you hit the clubs, don't forget to accessorise your bangin' outfit with a personality. "Paper cuts and denim butts strewn across the floor will floor you."

The Gaping Cosmic Anus and the Hungry Electron

What a title!

Special Ops Command came down to give a demonstration for the new Police Taser. In a nut shell, it shoots two barbs at the victim which then forms a closed circuit and electrocutes him into submission.

Who’s an experience whore?! I am! So I volunteered, and oh the pain. Coarsing through your muscles, you vibrate like the elemental particles you’re made of as the electricity sears through your nerves. I became a point above my head to remove myself from the pain and everything happened in the third-person. A surreal moment indeed. After the 5 seconds-which-seemed-to-never-end, the points of contact smelt like bbq-ed pork, somewhat appetizing if not for the fact that it was me. The skin was ashen coloured which slowly reverted to a reddish burn mark that turned into a blister.

What surprises me is the body’s surprising capacity for amnesia. I remember it hurt, because I told myself it hurt. I can’t describe the actual senstation anymore because I can’t remember it. The same with many other things- the taste of that killer steak. You remember it was succulent and flavourful, but you remember the descriptions you attached to it, not the actual sensations. Is it just me?

My back has gotten from worse to Worse so I went to a chiropractor. Funny tubby French dude who twisted me like a pretzel as my back squealed POP POP POP. After the session, he gave me a series of exercises to strengthen my back and knee. One of which requires me to squeeze my anus open-close-repeat 400 times a day.

“eets a ween ween seetuation, ya? You vork for police, your ah-nus vork for you! Everibodi happi ya?” said the funny French man.

See? I work my ass off for the nation.


The Doors of Perception

Psychodelic! Am now reading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Gonzo journalism, in part as tribute to the late Hunter S. Thompson, in part because I prefer non-fiction.

Humans take 1/30th of a second and upward to process and respond to an external stimuli. Can you dig it? I can’t break that 1/30th second barrier. We’re all doomed to spend our lives watched a movie of our lives- always acting on what has just finished happening. It happened 1/30th of a second ago. We think we’re in the present, but we aren’t- we’re lagging. That’s the human lag. Then theres cultural and social lag that can you hurl you years into the past. We need to break free people. We need to decrease the lag. Can you dig me? Fuck the future, screw the past, what about the now? Now. Now. Can you read now….NOW. NOW! NOW. Now. Now now.

Help. We’re all lagging and theres nothing we can do about it.