Singapore Dreaming

Went to see “Singapore Dreaming” on 23 Sept 2006.

What’s painful is not that it’s disappointing, but that this is apparently the best we can do. It need not have been this way. Singapore was once a movie-making hub that churned out all the Malay classics for the region. But the industry died in the late-1960s, and the discontinuity caused us to start from ground zero again. There is no maturity here because the cycle of growth was so traumatically extinguished. We are back now to a cinema in its infancy.

This is an indie picture. It means practically no budget, low quality visuals, lighting and sound. It is also a debut effort for the directors, so they are struggling to speak the cinematic language. This means poor pacing from stationary camera position, slow dialogue and disjointed moods. But this is forgivable if we have a good story to be engaged with. But no. The family featured here, a study of 3 couples, is coarse and unlikable. They do their best to make each other miserable. Then there are unbelievably monstrous employers, it’s a wonder they have any employees. We squirm in our seats, not because of the verismo, but because it is awful human behaviour. This is not Singapore. It’s a selective vision of hell.

I place the blame squarely on the script. I can imagine how hard everyone associated with the movie worked, and many of them would have done it with meager pay, if at all. It’s a labour of love. They must have believed in the project, and some gave stand-out performances for what are essentially card-board characters. (The most real character was the waitress from China, who was only on screen for less than 5 minutes. She was natural and unforced, took a couple of ordinary lines and actually made them poignant.) But to all of them, I give my support. It’s why I went to see it alone, and why I stayed till the end of the credits.

Maybe the script just couldn’t be better because we lost all that movie-making tradition for 30 years. We have nothing to build upon, and we can only start again with clichés. That’s why S’pore’s TV industry is miles ahead. Mediacorps’ drama series have had 20 years of tradition to build upon. The Singapore audience is far more sophisticated than its indie movies. Building upon this base now, things can only get better from here.

Chup

Salome

I have a laser disc of the 1990 Deutsch Oper Berlin production of "Salome" which I bought in the mid-1990s (The photo above is the DVD version of the same performance). I watched it once and it's been on my shelf since then. Last night, I watched it again. (Yes, my LD player still works!) This time, I sat through the show at one go, fully riveted. This is sensational stuff. It's almost exactly 100 years ago that the opera was premiered in Dresden. But I could have sworn the music from its key scene, The Dance of the Seven Veils, was replicated in John Barry's score for James Bond in the early 1960s, in particular, for "From Russia with Love". It's also easy to see why this was banned and controversial in its time. New York held public prayers to save itself from the scourge of Salome. It's a one act opera with a striptease sequence and themes of incest and necrophilia. In this particular production, the singer also acted and danced as tirelessly as she sang. For the dance, a solo sequence of over 8 minutes long, she went all the way, as did the recent 2004 soprano in NY's Met production. It's still shocking for what we think of as a 'traditional' opera, and doubly so when we normally associate sopranos with elderly and weighty figures who don't move about much, not to mention moving with grace and sensuality.

And the music! Some wise-cracking critic said it's "all effect and no substance." (That's usually written by snobs who don't write music.) By some accounts, Richard Strauss was also a nasty money-minded miser. It's easy for such knowledge to colour our judgement. But watching and listening to it last night, I really couldn't care less what a pig Strauss was. This, I know, is brilliant stuff!

Chup

Moonchildren

"Moonchildren" is the title of a Taiwanese 63 min. documentary by Wu Yii-Feng that I caught in the Substation last Saturday. The director was present as well, and there was a fruitful Q&A after the screening, even though there was only 13 in the audience. The documentary was made in 1990, when Wu was only 30. It's still fresh and moving. They focus on a community of albinos and the discrimination they face in a society that values yellow skin and black hair. They told their stories plainly and simply, giving a human face to a under-represented minority. Many were moved and for me, I find their voices unforgettable.

Even more unforgettable was the 2.5 hour long documentary by the same director they screened a day later in Picturehouse. It was a rather pompous title: "The Gift of Life". It tracked the fortunes of 4 families affected by Taiwan's 1999 earthquake over a period of 3 years. Some of the audience left halfway. Others who stayed wept now and then. I was unmoved because I sensed that there was more exploitation here than in "Moonchildren", and more self-indulgent. But again, the simplicity, humanity and compassion of the film came through. These are simple folks, albeit photogenic and natural in front of the camera. The director was present to talk about the film again afterwards. He shot over 300 hours of footage, then trimmed them down to the 2.5 hour film we saw. Again, the stories of these ordinary folks are unforgettable. But I like "Moonchildren" more.

I'm glad I caught these documentaries. They set me thinking about a lot of things. Chiefly, it made me want to make a documentary like that too... Well, all in good time, I suppose.

Chup

It's been 5 years...

...since we got married! Time flies... I've never been happier.

Chup

The Devil Wears Prada

I've not enjoyed a show quite as much as this for a long time. It's an ageless story and good at so many levels. And Meryl Streep may have found yet another career defining role in Miranda Priestly, because the character is larger than life. It's like Travis to DeNiro or Kowalski to Brando. There's even a quotable quote; "That's all."

At its core, it is its integrity that resonated with me-- a kind of wholesome innocence. It reminds one of what's really important, the beauty of old-fashion values. And Anne Hathway, the great rodeo beauty who took out her bra in Brokeback Mountain (did you expect a guy not to remember a thing like that?) is picture perfect for her part. A 5-star rating. That's all.

Chup

Cheeky

There's a new resident in our KL home. She's quite tiny for her age (3 years) and she hails from Pulau Langkawi. This was where Yuan and Jay were conducting a workshop several weeks ago and they were living next to this animal shelter farm. The farm locks up at night but no matter how secure the barriers, one tiny cat always gets out. That's the culprit up there; hence her name. They took a liking to her so much so that they brought her back to KL after the workshop. We think her restless nature may stem from her very mixed parentage. No designer could have imagined a more mischievious face.

While Lini and I were back in KL last weekend, she lived up to her name by shocking my brother by climbing through the window into his locked bedroom. She had somehow found a way to walk on the external canopy. But she is also quite tame and responsive to humans. She allows her ears to be medicated by mum, and she allows herself to be locked in Yuan's bedroom to sleep every night. She has gotten on well with our dog too. All in all, a happy addition.

Chup

Forbidden City: Portrait of an Empress

Watched my third Dick Lee musical of the year on 7 Sep 2006. This is the third staging of the musical but the first I'm seeing it. Seeing it was a pleasure. Hearing it a little less so. This is more to do with the music than the singers. Kit Chan was flawless; neither overly dramatic nor weak. It's hard for anyone not to love her straight away, in one of the most nondescript entrance a leading lady could make, where she was one of many concubines singing in ensemble. Then the spotlight falls on her and her voice raises above all else. That is one hell of a way to introduce a character, and it was appropriate to the story! Loved that.

Some reviewers in the papers thought the plot was too ambitious, and it tried to cover too much. There was certainly all the commercially exotic set-pieces-- the martial arts move, the acrobats, flesh parade at the bordello, calligraphy lessons, chinese opera interlude, mass protest-- but ambition is the life-blood of musicals. Think of the ground Les Miserables had to cover, or Camelot. Nor is the length of a musical the problem. Most musicals are about 3 hours long if you include the 20 mins intermission. The problem is the music. And even here, it was not the scoring, which was suitably oriental in parts, but its dreadful lack of memorable melody. There is nothing to hum to after the show, and no one bought the CDs either. So it was a mixed evening for me, a nice diversion and a sigh for an opportunity missed. But Kit Chan was magical.

Chup

Small pleasures

Sending Lini to work in the morning has an added bonus now that she introduced me to "Grinders Coffee" at the Bratwurst Shop in the basement of Plaza Singapura. Opened by a couple who has worked for the original outlet in Victoria Market in Melbourne, they now have 2 branches here, one in Capital Square, and the other at Plaza Sing. At the latter, they are huddled to a corner, and they squeeze some tall tables and chairs out next to the escalators beside Carrefour. For $2.80 to $3.20, you get terrific coffee, which is why there's always a long queue at the stall around 9.00am. The coffee is cheaper and better than TCC down the road, or Starbucks upstairs. Service is friendly and chatty, laced with thick Aussie accent. Try the foamy white latte or the long black...

Then if I'm early and Lini is detained after work, there's always the Taiwan Oyster Mee Sua stall a few stalls away from Bratwurst. It's a good before-dinner snack, with cut mee sua mixed with thick sourish gravy garnished with fried shallots, small strands of chicken and 3 fresh oysters, served in plastic containers and spoon. The mixture is almost like brown porridge. You sprinkle some pepper on, and the magic is complete. Expect long queues during peak hours.

If I feel sinful, I'll walk across the mee sua stall to the small Carl's Jr. outlet, which has replaced Burger King to become the only burger I take nowadays. The outlet may be small but their burgers are prided for their size. They have incredibly juicy bacon, and the best salsa sauces. It's ironic that their name is "Carl's Jr." Won't you think "Carl's Snr." would sound a whole lot bigger? Their ads are quite inventive too. I saw a their bus ad once with a simple photo of the burger and the line, "Not recommended by Doctors..." Cheeky and cocky but memorable. Then there's the other ad, with a big photo of the burger and the line, "If your girlfriend tells you size does not matter, she's lying." Of course, the reverse can also be true. Meaning, you can replace the word "girlfriend" with "boyfriend", in the interest of equality, and the ad can still be as punchy. Except, of course, it doesn't apply to me, who, as my wife knows, am not too particular what size my buns, er, burgers come in. In fact, pleasures can be found in small, er, things... But there's no harm indulging in a big burger once in a while, umm, if my health can withstand it... Er, that is, er...

Chup