Asrul Sani: A man of letters for all media

Asrul Sani: A man of letters for all media

By Jane Freebury

JAKARTA (JP): Eminent Indonesian intellectual Asrul Sani is a
poet, short story writer, theater educator, film and stage
director, and film and television scriptwriter. He is a man of
letters who works in the mass media. He was recently interviewed
at home in East Jakarta and asked to reflect on his career in
film and the state of the Indonesian film industry.

Question: Originally, you studied veterinary science. What
drew you to literature and subsequently to film?

Answer: I'm not sure myself, but it was not planned. I liked
reading novels when I was in primary school and I tried to write.
I had at that time a mission to be a writer. Then I went to a
technical school -- this was an accident also -- but I had no
mechanical talent at all.

I was not interested in the medical aspects of veterinary
science and I used to go instead to the other campus library
where I could read on culture. I continued writing -- poetry,
short stories -- and discovered that Indonesian poetry should be
spoken, not read.

I went to work in the theater and studied dramatic arts in
Amsterdam. Being there in Europe gave me the opportunity to see
classical films that I had read about, like the silent film of
early Soviet director Pudovkin. I thought, this is poetry also.
This was when I started getting interested in film.

Q: Any particular films?

A: The poetry of Sergei Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin (1925)
was significant for me. Very strong visuals.

But I continued to work in theater. Besides that, we had a
group here at the time.

Q: Was this the Generation of '45?

A: Yes, and it was with Usmar Ismail (popularly regarded as the
father of Indonesian cinema) -- who started as a writer and a
poet also -- that we started modern theater in Indonesia --
theater as a cultural form, not a commercial enterprise. I was
one of the first generation to get involved in theater not as
literature, but as theater.

By the time Usmar Ismail made his third film -- The Long
March, which he always said was his "first" film being the first
to deal with a national issue -- the modern Indonesian film
industry was beginning. This was when I started learning to write
screenplays.

Q: Was this to introduce ideas into the public arena?

A: Yes, it was in the context of communicating ideas and it was a
way of reaching the new young generation. It was a time that,..
well, no one read Anwar, no one listened to the poet, Chairul
Anwar. It is entirely different now. The poet Rendra gets three
or four thousand people.

We were writers but not professionals. We were amateurs,
interested in ideas. It was content then that counted much more
than form. Now there is a different development -- for instance,
Garin Nugroho, the film director, has started to play with form.

When we started an academy of dramatic arts in Indonesia it
was realism (the realist aesthetic, considered most appropriate)
that was brought to the stage. This is quite natural because the
first thing that Indonesian writers and artists have to face is
themselves. What they are, exactly.

I remember a Dutch friend of mine, a correspondent during the
war who visited my home, the village in Sumatra where I grew up.
He asked how it was possible that I had come from that village.
What makes us become different when we get to Jakarta?

This change is not new. It began with the early Indonesian
intellectuals. Now with the uprooted peoples of today you get
what is called a crosscultural reality, with which this
generation is preoccupied. The artistic form that suits this
situation best is realism. So I came to film, the medium which
can reach millions of people and which could disseminate the
Indonesian language.

It has been noted by the Dutch historian Teeuw, that a number
of young intellectuals (like Asrul Sani) were drawn to film in
the early years of independence, "fascinated by this new medium
which promised so much -- especially in a land where for the man
of letters contact with the (not yet) reading public proved to be
such a great problem."

Q: Predominantly you have been a screenwriter, though you were
engaged a number of times as director, particularly during the
1960s. How do you view the Indonesian film industry today?

A: Everyone is talking about it. We talk about "Indonesian
films", but in the 1960s there were only "Jakarta films". There
was a time when Indonesian cultural nationalists saw the village
as a very romantic entity, something you go back to. Life was
simple while the cities became more and more complicated. But
today's younger generation has a different attitude to the city,
for them the city is the center. It is Jakarta. Once artists are
here in Jakarta they become Indonesians because they are
communicating something to an audience beyond their area, beyond
Yogyakarta or Sumatra. Once they are here they become
Indonesians, because they have to communicate with each other.
It is Jakarta that produces something new, ideas you could not
express in your mother language. It is Jakarta that produces
modern Indonesian art and modern Indonesian culture.

The younger generation long for change. The young have an urge
for the new.

The role of Jakarta is, shall we say, the Indonesianization of
many aspects of cultural life. Something interesting, of course,
though it is dangerous for traditional cultural forms. But it can
create innovation -- in modern dance, for instance, where you can
see the traditional traces. I've seen it performed in Padang
where they do enjoy it, which is very different from Jakarta
where everyone takes everything so seriously. There is no problem
with this innovation of traditional forms.

Q: Does a film industry matter, when Indonesian television
production is prolific? Is it in the national interest to have a
film industry or is it better to leave it to those (overseas
production companies) who might appear to "do it better"?

A: Film and television are different, they are viewed in
different circumstances, and produce different sensation. With
film you can expect more of people, more effort to understand.

Q: What do you watch on TV?

A: News, you cannot escape the reality of your situation with TV.

Q: As a scriptwriter and scenarist, do you feel there is a
problem with Indonesian scripts and screenwriting? Do plots
continue to be shallow (your views quoted in The Jakarta Post in
1993) with few films inspired by "true life experiences in this
country". Is plot an afterthought?

A: Yes, there are many problems. The most important problem is
the influence of bureaucratic control. There was more creative
freedom in the early 1970s. One of the many other problems is
publicity, the marketing of Indonesian films. But yes, the choice
of the stories, the quality of the screenplays. This depends on
many things, of course. Almost all Indonesian screenplays now do
one thing, they talk about love but not about life. No one
believes in that kind of love. Why should you go to a movie to
see the same kind of film? Made with the same technique as on
television.

Q: To the extent that the problem is systemic, can you elaborate
on the production, distribution and exhibition systems here? Is
bureaucratic control of aspects of the industry stifling
creativity and innovation in production?

A: In the late 1960s the national film production council Dewan
Produksi Film Nasional (DPFN) sponsored directors. When suitable
(director-driver) projects were found, the DPFN found producers.
(Asrul Sani's Apa Yang Kau Cari, Palupi? was made under this
system. It won the Best Film award at the 1970 Asian Film
Festival). The current distribution system is out of date. The
single buyer system, brought in to protect Indonesian exhibition
and distribution interests, is no longer necessary.

One of the recurrent themes encountered in Indonesian film
such as Arifin Noer's Matahari Matahari and Slamet Rahardjo's
Rumahku Langitku is that of Jakarta as a place out of touch with
the significant traditional values that reside somewhere else, in
the kampong.

Q: The latter is a very interesting case. It was banned, wasn't
it?

A: No, it was taken out before time. It is a serious film, but
it says nothing new. It is the same story which you see
everywhere, but there are so many other aspects to poverty.

The creative atmosphere now is different from that of the
early 1970s when there were more themes and more varied stories,
and writers were free to say something about something. We now
have this continual repetition. But it is very simple, you have
to be able to say black when it is black.

Q: Why is the action film so popular? What does it have to say to
audiences?

A: It is for tired people. You don't have to think. But, it is
not true that people only like action films. I remember the film
Taksi, (directed by the late Arifin Noer) winner of the 1990
Citra award for best Indonesian film. It concerns a philosopher
taxi driver and offers a portrait of kampong life. No action, no
sex, nothing, a straight story. It was a box office hit.

The successful Indonesian film need not be traditional. The
film by Nya Abbas Acup, Inem Pelayan Seksi (1976) presented a
contemporary reality, a possibility, and was a box-office hit.

At the moment we have Chinese kung fu in cinemas just as we
have Mexican telenovelas on television. At prime time on
television we have a Chinese film or an Indian film or a Mexican
series. Very seldom does TV come up with something to improve
your taste.

Q: In 1950 you were member of a group of writers, the Generation
of '45, that declared "We are the rightful heirs of world culture
and it is this culture that we intend to expand on in our own
ways". Would you comment on this in retrospect? Is there a
special identity for Indonesians?

A: No, we are a product of history, not of geography. We live
with the misunderstanding that we are Indonesian because we are
born in Indonesia. But gotong royong (mutual help) is going to
disappear with time, you can say what you want. This new
generation is going to consider going to Los Angeles the same as
going to Blok M. If the traditions disappear are we going to stop
being Indonesian? No.

Q: Protectionism?

A: I tried to make a film about this. Sorta (1982) is about a
girl who lives in the Lake Toba area. She has a teacher who says
to her "The world is big and wide. Go there!" She starts a small
theater group, then television arrives and everyone just sits in
front of it. If she wants to survive she has to change herself.
The only way to protect is to promote creativity.

Q: When did the "process of impoverishment" (your words) in
Indonesian film begin? Is it when audiences first began to
decline in 1990 and directly related to the rise of commercial
television?

A: Yes. If Indonesian films want to survive they have to produce
something different from television. In the 1960s the Indonesian
film industry was in the same position as now, with poor product.
The film industry was reawakened with an Indonesian martial arts
film, a silat film. It was the beginning, because people started
to believe that Indonesian film was enjoyable.

Q: Which of your work do you think would appeal most to audiences
today?

A: Titian Serambut Dibelah Tujuh (1959; screenplay/story and
direction by Asrul Sani). It is about fear of the unknown, about
the problem of believing in something and then having to go ahead
and do it. The problem of being easily corrupted also. A second
version of this film was directed by Chaerul Umam in 1982.

Para Perintis Kemerdekaan (1977; screenplay and direction by
Asrul Sani). The main theme is the trend of history versus human
aspirations.

Naga Bonar (1986; screenplay/story by Asrul Sani; directed by
M.T. Ristaf). A first effort to ridicule ourselves. I thought it
might be banned, but is wasn't. There is a 26-episode TV version
being made now which has kept me busy since last year.

As the gentle street sounds took over again -- the very
occasional car, the shouts of children playing, the calls of
street sellers and bird songs -- Pak Sani mentioned his current
daily writing program of five to six hours a day. What better
backdrop to work with.