Fun, fearless female films at JIFFest

Fun, fearless female films at JIFFest

By Dini Djalal

JAKARTA (JP): All you need is love, right? Not according to
two thought-provoking films screened at this week's Jakarta Film
Festival, The Personal and The Last Malay Woman.

The films try to refute tired cliches in answering the age-old
quandary: what do men and women want from each other?

Unfortunately, one cliche is at times replaced by another.
The vastly different conclusions the films make of gender
relations show that despite decades of feminist thought Girl
power is still playing catch-up with the status quo. Many Asian
eyebrows are still raised when confronted with a "fun, fearless
female" (the films' theme, borrowed from the motto of
Cosmopolitan Magazine). And when film-makers are among the
disapproving critics, the modern woman's reputation risks taking
a beating.

The deciding factor is not necessarily the person's gender.
Chen Kuo Fu, for example, the director of The Personals, did not
set out to tell a feminist tale. His mission was to narrate a
story about ordinary Taiwanese, to put "the faces and voices of
the Taiwanese people on the screen". Yet Chen's portrayal of a
heart-broken single woman searching for Mr. Right is an astute
and sympathetic exploration of women's strengths.

The Personals opens with a pair of eyes staring into space,
contemplating the room as our heroine, Dr. Du (Rene Liu), looks
at her patient. How the good doctor scrutinizes other people,
while others scrutinize their lives, becomes the film's main
theme.

Du does so by putting a personals ad in the newspaper, and
quitting her job in order to devote all her time to finding a
soul mate. In the restaurant where she met her departed lover,
she interrogates her would-be partners.

These encounters comprise the bulk of this talk-heavy film.
But don't be discouraged by the monologs; director Chen
skillfully weaves the stories into one innovative whole. Each
segment is accompanied by mood-setting music, and filmed with
such creative care that one forgets the set doesn't change.

Chen occasionally leaves the audience to play director. Du's
responses to her dates' rattling are often unseen; the absence
heightens your own reaction as you become Du. The trick entangles
viewers deeper into the plot line.

Sometimes the camera trains only on Du, and viewers become the
person Du is interviewing. Even at her sharpest, audiences can
only sympathize with Du, her newly shorn pixie hair intensifying
her bright sincere eyes. The camera loves her, and so will you.

As the story unfolds and Du becomes more impatient with her
men, the camera follows her distraction. Occasionally the object
of her curiosity is placed in the corner, as if marginalized.
Other times, the camera seems to be just there, leaving audiences
feeling like voyeurs at the next table -- like Du.

Brilliant editing, synchronized with the soundtrack, makes The
Personals an even more enjoyable treat. But the film's true
worth is its probing intelligence, offset by a disarming wit. And
when Du makes some unexpected decisions, abandoning her original
expectations, that lump at the back of your throat will make way
for a grin -- our heroine smiles at all the male chauvinism
thrown at her and gracefully walks away.

The heroine in The Last Malay Woman, however, takes the
chauvinist home with her. The conclusion is all the more
surprising because the movie, having its international premiere
in Jakarta, was made by a woman.

In many ways, this film about cultural conflict applies to
Indonesia, undergoing a national identity crisis of its own --
many Indonesians will likely share the characters' same sense of
displacement.

The story is like an Asian Shakespeare in Love: Western-
educated Johan is a playwright searching for belonging and
inspiration -- ironically finding both in the arms of a woman
steeped in conservative Muslim values.

Yet unlike Shakespeare's Lady Viola, who strides out
confidently into the new world, our Malaysian heroine Mustika
opts for the confines of the old world. Mustika's decision affirm
the film's incredulous thesis: are there still women who are pure
and loyal in this world?

Yes, says director Erma Fatima, surely progressive judging by
her curriculum vitae. Her answer likely leaves most women -- at
least this reviewer -- cowering in inadequacy.

Johan has recently returned from England, where his British
wife died. Back home, he begins a career staging plays few
Malaysians understand. They are too Western, his friends
complain, so Johan sets out to write a "Malay" play. His research
takes him to the shores of Trengganu, where he meets the
beautiful Mustika. Johan soon falls in love for this epitome of
Malay womanhood -- whatever that is. But predictably, Mustika is
already engaged, and to the resident firebrand fundamentalist
too, leaving the audience for scenes of serious swashbuckling.

Unfortunately, the dueling episodes take place toward the end,
by which time the languorous mood the film attempts to imbue is
deeply ingrained. This is a slow film; character development
involves long conventional sequences -- Mustika, for example,
first appears on-screen in billowing silk, and slender limbs
strolling to a languid guitar melody. When we see her again, she
is doing a traditional dance.