"Blissfully Thai" Review: Pen-ek Ratanaruang's "Monrak Transistor"

Monrak Transistor. 2001. Written and directed by Pen-ek Ratanaruang, based on the novel by Wat Wanlayangkoon. Produced by Nonzee Nimibutr and Duangkamol Limcharoen. Cinematography by Chankit Chamniwikaipong. Edited by Patamanadda Yukol. Music by Amornbhong Methakunavudh and Chartchai Pongprapapan. Production design by Saksiri Chuntarangsri. Costume design by Sombatsara Teerasaroch. Sound design by Amornbhong Methakunavudh.

Cast: Supakorn Kitsuwon (Pan), Siriyakorn Pukkavesh (Sadaw), Black Phomtong (Yot), Somlek Sakdikul (Suwat), Porntip Papanai (Dao), Ampon Rattanawong (Siew), Prasit Wongrakthai (Sadaw's father), Chartchai Hamnuansak (Prison guard).

Pen-ek Ratanaruang’s melodramatic musical Monrak Transistor tells the sad, pathetic tale of Pan (Supakorn Kitsuwon), an aspiring singer who, through a series of episodes detailing poor choices and colossal bad luck, is separated from his wife Sadaw (Siriyakorn Pukkavesh).  The film begins with Pan imprisoned and forced to excrete a stolen necklace he had swallowed earlier.  A prison guard, who happens to be from Pan’s home village, addresses the camera and tells the story of how he ended up in prison.  Pan’s story is one of the hoariest of tropes: that of the innocent country naïf who becomes corrupted by the bad old sinful city, in this case Bangkok.  But the charm of Monrak Transistor is that the film itself is very much aware of how hackneyed and maudlin that story is, so Ratanaruang impishly plays with it by utilizing narrative devices such as direct address to the camera, as in the prison guard narration, and several instances in which characters briefly give asides to the camera.  Another instance of this occurs in an early scene in which Pan sings to Sadaw in her room to demonstrate his love for her; a cutaway shows Sadaw’s angry father (who dislikes and distrusts Pan) listening in on the fully orchestrated song on the other side of the door.  Later in the film, in a sequence detailing Pan getting drafted into the military and sent to boot camp training, Pan and his fellow soldiers join in on singing “Mai Leum” (“Never Forget”), a famous Thai love song that becomes a repeated refrain in the film.  This song is reprised in a later scene, where some characters return from the dead to sing the song.

The film also has a lot of fun with the contrasts between the rural village and Bangkok, playing up these contrasts to a consciously absurd extent.  The outdoor concert, in which we are introduced to Pan as a featured performer on the stage, is populated with a large number of ducks and goats, who seem almost as numerous in the crowd as the humans.  Pan cures the back pain suffered by Sadaw’s father with an elaborate folk remedy with fanciful names.  This is the environment that surrounds and protects Pan and Sadaw, and is the source of their moral virtue.  The government breaks this bond by drafting Pan into the army, and this enforced separation is the catalyst for Pan’s precipitous downfall and Sadaw’s destitution and abandonment.  Pan’s pursuit of a singing career is also a corrupting influence, causing him to go AWOL from both the army and his family, and eventually leads to his incarceration.  What makes Pan such a pathetic figure is the fact that so much of what happens to him is a function of accident and happenstance.  He is almost never an active agent.  Whether he has to mop floors for two years in pursuit of his professional singing debut, is propositioned by a skeevy impresario, or is falling into a vat of human excrement, he allows himself to be passively carried along on the tide of machinations done to him by others.  Pan always has our sympathy, but he never comes across as very smart.

Monrak Transistor is dedicated to, and is an homage to the spirit of, the famous luk thung (country music) singer Suraphol Sombatcharoen, whose song “Mai Leum” recurs in the film.  It has affinities to other Thai films by Ratanaruang’s contemporaries who also mined Thai cinema to fashion their own post-modern nostalgia reworkings.  One of them is Wisit Sasanatieng’s Tears of the Black Tiger (screening June 10 at Asia Society), a candy-colored “pad Thai Western” that is cannily referenced in Monrak Transistor; it is the film that plays in a scene at an outdoor theater.  (Tears also stars Monrak’s lead actor Supakorn Kitsuwon.)  Despite Ratanaruang’s cheeky stylistic games, Monrak Transistor retains a genuinely emotional core, helped in large part by its very attractive cast, including Kitsuwon and Pukkavesh as the central couple, and also the very striking Porntip Papanai as Dao, who becomes an alternate love interest for Pan. (Papanai also portrays the hotel maid in Ratanaruang’s Ploy.)  Inventive and beguilingly charming, Monrak Transistor – which premiered in the Director’s Fortnight at Cannes, and was Thailand’s 2002 foreign film Oscar submission – helped greatly to cement Thailand’s prominent place on the world cinema map at the turn of the millennium.

Monrak Transistor screens tonight at 6:45 at Asia Society as part of the film series “Blissfully Thai.” Click here to purchase tickets.

           

"Blissfully Thai" Review: Pen-ek Ratanaruang's "Ploy"

Ploy. 2007. Written and directed by Pen-ek Ratanaruang. Produced by Rewat Vorarat. Cinematography by Charnkit Chamniwikaipong. Edited by Patamanadda Yukol. Music by Hualampong Riddim and Koichi Shimizu. Production design by Saksiri Chantarangsri. Sound by Akritchalerm Kalaynamtr.

Cast: Lalita Panyopas (Dang), Pornwut Sarasin (Wit), Apinya Sakuljaroensuk (Ploy), Ananda Everingham (Nut), Phorntip Papanai (Tum), Thakaskorn Pradabpongsa (Moo).

A Bangkok hotel is the backdrop for a crumbling marriage, a torrid love affair, and moody languorousness in Pen-ek Ratanaruang’s Ploy, a film so ethereal that it nearly floats off the screen.  This is a mode Ratanaruang has favored in his most recent films: Last Life in the Universe, Invisible Waves, and his most recent feature Nymph.  His films now seem to be experiments in how minimal in plot, how elliptical and allusive in tone, and how much empty space and silence they can bear and still retain audience interest and substance.  Judging by some of his recent critical notices, the jury may be out on this, but as for me, I find both Ploy, and its follow-up Nymph, very beautifully made and fascinating, melancholy ghost(ly) stories of a sort.

The storyline of Ploy, such as it is, concerns Wit (Pornwut Sarasin) and Dang (Lalita Panyopas), a married couple returning to Thailand for a funeral, after living for 10 years in the U.S.  They arrive at their hotel at a troubled state in their marriage, having grown distant from one another, spending very little time together and no longer having sex, mostly arguing with each other.  Wit believes their love has reached its “expiration date,” and Dang suspects her husband of having an affair when he finds another woman’s name and number in his jacket pocket.  Unable to sleep (and perhaps as an excuse to get away from his wife for awhile), he leaves their room to get cigarettes and hangs out at the hotel bar.  There he meets Ploy (Apinya Sakuljaroensuk), a young woman with a frizzy halo of Afro-like curly hair, who is waiting for her mother to arrive from Sweden.  Wit invites Ploy to stay in their hotel room, to get cleaned up and wait for her mother, which greatly displeases Dang, who wishes to rest in privacy after their long trip.  As the film progresses, more tidbits of information about Dang emerge: she is a former film star who left the business long ago, and now appears to exist in a deep depression, which she assuages with heavy drinking, and (the film suggests) drugs.  While all this is occurring, a separate story details a hotel room tryst between a hotel maid (Phorntip Papanai) and a bartender (Ananda Everingham), a narrative thread which only has peripheral association with Wit, Dang, and Noy’s story, yet gets nearly equal screen time.

The minimalism of Ploy’s narrative allows Ratanaruang to visually indulge in varied ways, favoring long shots of its characters, and empty corridors that reinforce the sense of the drama that plays out against the hotel’s anonymous, antiseptic backdrop.  The maid and the hotel bartender serve as a counterweight to the distant and unhappy Wit and Dang, their sexual passion in stark contrast to the married couple who sleep as far apart as possible on their bed.  Although the film is named for her, we learn very little about Ploy, and she remains a mystery to the end; never explained, for example, are the bruises around her eye (which mirrors bruises Dang receives late in the film), or the male companion she leaves behind to go to Wit and Dang’s room.  Ploy shifts often between dream and reality, deliberately confusing distinctions between the two.  At least two major scenes in the film are revealed to be the dreams of Ploy and Dang, and this uncertainty about what we see in the film has a faintly unsettling effect.  Ploy ultimately lacks the lasting resonance of superior, earlier films such as 6ixty9, Monrak Transistor, and Last Life in the Universe; still, it has intriguingly odd visual and narrative touches and is never less than lovely to look at.

Ploy screens at Asia Society on May 13 at 6:45pm as part of the film series “Blissfully Thai,” which spotlights key Thai cinema of the past decade, including works by other major Thai directors such as Apichatpong Weerasethakul (last year’s Cannes Palme D’or winner Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, Blissfully Yours) and Wisit Sasanatieng (Tears of the Black Tiger).  Ratanaruang will have a Q&A after the screening, and will participate in a discussion on May 14 at 2pm with Apichatpong Weerasethakul at Asia Society to discuss their work and recent Thai cinema.  For info and tickets for Ploy, click here.  For info and tickets for Saturday’s talk, click here.

2009 Pusan International Film Festival: Review Round-up #2

Sawasdee Bangkok (Wisit Sasanatieng, Aditya Assarat, Kongdej Jaturanrasmee, Pen-ek Ratanaruang, Thailand, 2009)

A great four-film anthology about the city of Bangkok, each one built around a song. In Wisit Sasanatieng’s “Sightseeing,” a blind homeless girl selling lottery tickets on the street is accompanied by a mysterious companion who claims to be a literal guardian angel. In Aditya Assarat’s “Bangkok Blues,” a young man, who has broken up with his girlfriend, and his soundman best friend are the crux of an amusing tale about relationships. Kongdej Jaturanrasmee’s “Pi Makham,” about a heartbroken, solitary man and the prostitute he picks up, morphs into an unusual ghost story. In Pen-ek Ratanaruang’s “Silence,” a woman driving home after a wild night of partying learns a painful lesson on the perils of judging by appearance. Four appealing miniatures from four of Thailand’s most accomplished young directors.


Break Away (Lee Song Hee-il, South Korea, 2009)

The second film from Lee Song, one of Korea’s very few openly gay filmmakers, and my first disappointment. Essentially a road movie consisting of two AWOL soldiers and the girlfriend of one of the men who accompanies them, the film has a thin, undeveloped scenario. It is based on a true story of soldiers who attempted to escape sexual abuse of the hands of their commanding officer. There’s really not much more to it than the above description, and Break Away is strangely inert, lacking the intensely passionate nature of his first film, No Regret.


I Am Looking For A Wife (Ha Kil-chong, South Korea, 1976)

I Am Looking For A Wife is a typically weird entry in this year’s retrospective of filmmaker and critic Ha Kil-chong. It’s not a particularly good film, but it is a divertingly eccentric portrait of Pal-soo (Ha Jae-young), a horny young man who strolls around the streets outside Ewha Womans University in Seoul ogling the college girls and fantasizing about being with them. He works as a debt collector for a loan-shark, and through his boss’ machinations, Pal-soo ends up sharing a house with a collection of nubile young women. Meanwhile, his farmer father has arranged a more traditional bridal prospect for him, which Pal-soo assiduously resists. Presented in a bizarre visual style with anarchic humor, this film is an interesting example of the unusual films released in Korea in the 1970’s, belying this period’s undeserved reputation as a cinematic wasteland.


Magma (Pierre Vinour, France, 2009)

The second feature by experimental filmmaker Vinour extends that aesthetic into this story about Paul (Mehdi Nebbou), an agoraphobic software engineer who very reluctantly travels to a conference to pitch a video surveillance program to an American company. He speaks to his wife Christie (Natacha Régnier) by video conference, where he has installed the surveillance program in his own house. Christie feels neglected and alienated from her husband, both by his extreme workaholic ways and his various personal issues. Paul, initially restricting himself to his room, is persuaded to venture into the outside world as the result of an affair he embarks on with a mysterious woman in the hotel room next door. Employing the titular substance as a metaphor for the buried evil of the main character, Magma impressively elevates its rather standard plot with some interesting visual flourishes.

2009 Pusan International Film Festival: Review Round-up

Before I get into the post proper, a bit of housekeeping: you can now find me on Twitter. After being a long-time Twitter atheist, I am here to announce that I have fully converted to the faith. If you look to your right, you'll see a widget with my latest tweets. My Twitter feed will be mostly an extension of this blog, to post short reviews of films, news items, and other ephemera that I either don't have time to post on the blog or don't necessarily warrant entire blog posts.


You can follow me at http://twitter.com/bournecinema.



It was so nice I had to do it twice. Yes, your intrepid cinema world traveler made a return trip to Busan, South Korea last month for the Pusan International Film Festival, for another round of (mostly) great films, seafood dinners, and strolls on the beach. My PIFF coverage is ongoing at Meniscus Magazine; three pieces are now up: a festival overview, a top 10 list with awards and statistics, and a review of the opening night film, Jang Jin's Good Morning President. I will also post some pictures and videos from the festival here. Below are brief reviews of some of this year's selections.


I’m in Trouble! (So Sang-min, South Korea, 2009)



This gently amusing film about the travails and romantic complications of an unemployed poet at first comes across as a poor man’s Hong Sang-soo, but soon reveals charms of its own. As the protagonist Sun-woo (Min Sun-wuk) breaks up, gets back together with, and breaks up again with his long-suffering girlfriend, his struggles become increasingly complicated and absurd. With a definite penchant for getting drunk (leading to hilarious scenes such as one where he drunkenly walks stark naked through a 24-hour spa), Sun-woo believes that he makes all of his most important life decisions while drunk, an idea that may or may not be delusional. This year’s co-winner of the New Currents jury prize (for best first or second film), the film’s best asset is its witty and revealing dialogue, delivered by an appealing young cast.


Nymph (Pen-ek Ratanaruang, Thailand, 2009)



Pen-ek’s latest (he was also on the New Currents jury this year) is beautifully shot, with a creepy atmosphere. A photographer (Nopachai Jayanama) and his philandering wife (Wanida Termthanaporn) travel deep into a dark forest, where forest spirits reside. The film opens with a murder in the forest, and there is evidence of others. However, these murders are never solved, and the film has little interest in explaining them; in fact, there may be no rational explanation. The worldview of this film respects, even reveres, mystery and things in the universe that are unknowable and un-seeable. Nymph is a distinctly Thai ghost story, exploring the porous boundary between the corporeal world and the spirit world. Quiet and disturbing, Nymph is so ethereal as to nearly float off the screen.





A Brand New Life (Ounie Lecomte, South Korea/France, 2009)



A beautifully observant, semi-autobiographical story of a girl left in an orphanage by her father in 1970’s Korea, A Brand New Life is built around close examination of its abandoned protagonist, Jin-hee (Kim Sae-ron), as she slowly comes to realize that Daddy’s not coming back, and she’s about to have a new family. Co-produced by Lee Chang-dong (Peppermint Candy, Secret Sunshine), one of Korea’s greatest filmmakers, Lecomte’s film has a similar novelistic attention to detail as can be found in Lee’s films. Its young actors and personal nature will no doubt draw many comparisons to So Yong Kim’s Treeless Mountain, which are admittedly not unwarranted. Lecomte, however, is no mere slavish imitator, despite her film’s clear antecedents. Tough-minded and bracingly unsentimental, A Brand New Life includes in its portrait of the orphanage and its inhabitants some sharp commentary on the mindset of Westerners who adopt kids from Korea. Lecomte’s film is a simple tale, but well told and with considerable emotional resonance.





Black Hair (Lee Man-hee, South Korea, 1964)



An unusual gangster film, Black Hair is a major Korean film of the 1960’s, recently restored by the Korean Film Archive in a print that includes the long lost opening sections of the film. These parts of the film were badly damaged, resulting in visual distortion in the initial scenes of the digital restoration. The story concerns a gang boss who gives anyone who crosses him a big scar across the face with a broken bottle, blinding the victim in one eye in the process. The boss instructs his men to give this punishment to his cheating wife. He has a change of heart at the last moment, but not before his enforcer (himself a victim of the “discipline,” as the gang boss terms it) has given his wife a hideous scar. She then becomes a prostitute (fixing her hairstyle to cover her scar) who shacks up with a raging opium addict, later finding love with a kind taxi driver. Complications arise when the gang boss seeks out his ex-wife, filled with remorse over the mark he has given her. Stark chiaroscuro and a grand, operatic atmosphere make this a valuable example of the riches to be found in the 1950’s and 1960’s so-called Golden Age of Korean cinema, which are still being rediscovered.


Toad’s Oil (Koji Yakusho, Japan, 2008)



A little too long and more than a bit self-indulgent, actor Yakusho’s debut as director is nonetheless very funny, pleasingly eccentric, and in the end quite moving. Concerned with the grief of a father (Yakusho) over the sudden death of his young son, the film combines comedy, tragedy, fantasy and nostalgia in a unique mixture. As is usually the case when actors direct, the performances are impressive across the board, starting with Yakusho himself, playing a stock day-trader gaining and losing millions and completely jaded and unfazed by it all. The personal tragedy that befalls him forces him to reorder his life priorities, and a road trip he takes with his son’s friend turns into a surreal journey into his past, featuring the salesman of the titular substance he first encountered as a child. There is also a bizarre comic encounter with a bear in the woods. As ungainly and unruly as its protagonist, Toad’s Oil is by no means a perfect film, but it has enough charm, humor and heart to get the film through its overindulgent longueurs.