Film Atlas (Thailand): Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior

Country: Thailand

Title: Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior (2003)

An unscrupulous drug dealer steals the head of Ong-Bak, a statue of Buddha, from a small temple in Pradu, and the only one who can save the day is Ting, a highly-principled but unworldly yokel who practices a regional martial arts called Muay Thai. He heads to the big city to track down the crooks and quickly teams up with fellow Pradu-émigré Humlae and his girlfriend Muay Lek, smalltime gambling hustlers who initially fleece Ting but reluctantly help him after getting chased by a gang through Bangkok’s bustling bazaars and back alleys. 

Humlae takes Ting to a freestyle fight club where he impresses the bosses (including handicapped kingpin Komtuan) by defeating a trilogy of competitors whose specialties are, in order: strength, speed and a willingness to use any objects in the room as a weapon (the latter pretty much destroying the facility). This somehow leads them to Don and his flunkies, who they chase in tuk-tuks (motorized rickshaws), leading to more destruction of property and ultimately exposing a hoard of stolen religious artifacts in an underwater fish farm. The mastermind, Komtuan, reveals that he still has the head of Ong-bak, and agrees to give it back if Ting fights Saming, his adrenaline-fueled right-hand man, and throws the fight. Afterwards he reneges and leaves behind a few of his least competent henchmen to execute Ting while he goes to unearth a giant Buddha from a nearby cave. Ting makes quick work of his goons and catches up with him in time for a final showdown supported by his new friends.

Ong-Bak made its star, Tony Jaa, an overnight sensation, launching his career as a major martial arts action star in the same league as Jackie Chan and Jet Li, at least in terms of combat versatility and acrobatics, if not charisma. What’s most exciting about the film, though, is simply seeing Muay Thai in action, a fighting style that hadn’t previously enjoyed international exposure. Its focus on elbows and knees over hands and feet and its sweeping leaping explosiveness make it visually distinct from other martial art forms even to untrained viewers. Director Prachya Pinkaew and fight choreographer Panna Rittikrai (Jaa’s mentor) are particularly good at finding fresh venues for Tony Jaa to kick ass in and inventive ways to push his abilities to extremes, be it flying through the air with his legs on fire or crashing a dozen tuk-tuks off a bridge. And the absence of CG or wires gives the film an air of old-school authenticity.

The film’s early foot chase is one of the highlights, managing to be wildly creative while playing its obvious contrivances for laughs: they dash past conveniently inconvenient obstacles like tables, vehicles, walls, fruit carts, glass panes and loops of razor wire while weaponing chili powder, sizzling woks and an array of cutlery. The fight club scene is also a standout, showcasing outrageously idiosyncratic tongue-in-cheek fight styles that harken back to the tournament-themed martial arts films of yore (Enter the Dragon, Master of the Flying Guillotine, etc.), though it also grinds the narrative to a halt without mustering much in the way of plausible excuse. 

Story, though, is just dressing in this type of film (besides which, in the US and Europe, several of the subplots were hacked up anyway and the Thai music replaced with generically serviceable hip-hop), but Ong-Bak will entertain nevertheless if you have even the slightest sweet tooth for action. After the opening sequence, a rather curious tree-climbing affair, and the typical exposition loll, Pinkaew wisely ramps up the pace and only lets you catch your breath during ‘instant replay’ style alternate takes of the best stunts. You rarely have enough time to consider whether Buddha would’ve really sanctioned all this skull-smashing over an icon of his likeness or why the police never show up or how come so few gangsters have guns.

In addition to a renaissance in action and horror films, the last two decades have seen Thailand establish several art house auteurs, particularly Pen-Ek Ratanaruang and Palme d’Or winner Apichatpong Weerasethakul. The latter makes radically-personal highbrow slow cinema critically ranked among the best of the 21^st century, but I have to admit to finding him a little too detached, ponderous and obscurant, so I’m taking a vacation from writing about Important Landmarks of Art Cinema (I think Tropical Malady is his best, if you're curious) and backing a bit of schlocky fun instead.

My Favorites:

Ploy

Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior

Tears of the Black Tiger

Tropical Malady

Last Life in the Universe

Major Directors:

Prachya Pinkaew, Pen-Ek Ratanaruang, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Banjong Pisanthanakun and Parkpoom Wongpoom

SLIFF 2008 Coverage Part 3

Title: Slumdog Millionaire
Director: Danny Boyle
Country: UK/India
Score: 8.0
Review:
Boyle continues his successful string of high-energy entertainment with this slick Indian production based around “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.” Ironically, contestant Jamal Malik, a poor orphan raised on the tough streets of Mumbai, is more interested in reuniting with his lost love from childhood than winning the money, but he just might get both wishes. The inspired structure has Malik narrating his life story to the police, as a way of explaining how a “slumdog” with no formal education could know each answer without cheating.

As with all of Boyle’s films (“Shallow Grave,” “28 Day Later,” “Sunshine”) the style is unabashedly populist, characterized by rapid cutting, throbbing music and aesthetic hedonism. While it isn’t surprising that this formula worked well for his films about gangsters, zombies and astronauts, I was surprised how easily it integrated with the more serious setting of India’s megaslums. It helps that the writer took care to channel the excitement, humor and optimism of youth even as he bares the pain and viciousness of poverty and crime. Even the visuals manage to strike a unique beauty, finding splashes of joy in human faces and dyed cloth against backdrops that include sprawling dumps and open sewers.

The final third of the movie becomes more subdued and saccharine, turning into a more conventional love story complete with overtures about destiny, smirking villains and tragic sacrifice. It’s likely to rub the wrong way with many who enjoyed the freshness of the rest of the film, but I suspect that it’s an intentional nod by Boyle towards the traditions of Indian cinematic romances. The ending credits are done as a Bollywood music video, making a more explicit reference to Indian pop culture.

With his kinetic storytelling, emotional range and engaging story, Boyle’s likely to have another hit on his hands. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he walked away with the SLIFF audience award. At the same time, I suspect the critical elite will turn their noses up at the flashy style, cheesy ending and occasionally hokey acting and they’d probably have a good point… but I have to say it was one of the most entertaining releases I’ve seen this year.


Title: Alone
Director: Banjong Pisanthanakun and Parkpoom Wongpoom
Country: Thailand
Score: 7.0
Review:
The Pisanthanakun/Wongpoom team (“Shutter”) continues to make a name for themselves in the international horror scene with this creepy tale about cojoined twins and the strange separation anxiety and survivor guilt that results when only one survives into adulthood. Pim seems to be doing well with her loving husband Wee, but when her mother becomes critically ill and they return from South Korea to Thailand, painful memories of her twin sister Ploy begin to drive her towards insanity.

Though “Alone” is unmistakably genre-bound, it is far less interested in the grotesque body-horror possibilities of its premise than the intensified intimacy of its relationships (twin sisters, husband/wife) and their psychological ramifications. This is more “A Tale of Two Sisters” or “Sisters” (1973) than “Basket Case” or “Dead Ringers” (1988) (interesting to note that this split seems to run down gender lines). The directors are quite skilled, if not particularly original, at developing atmosphere, tension and curiosity around their setup.

Horror fans will be particularly pleased by the sheer quantity of scares, which are thankfully not all hoarded for the finale. These are almost all of the loud-noise/sudden-image variety that I’m not usually impressed by, but I give “Alone” credit for actually scaring me time and again. I wish the directors would have tried to sustain the terror, however, since most of the fear-climaxes lasted only a single shot (sometimes with a reaction shot) and I was too often able to assure myself that “it will be over in just a second.” Though the film tarries a little long in the one-scene, one-scare purgatory of horror set pieces, the directors get the plot out of a rut and managed to admirably surprise me (and everyone with me) with a solid final act.

SLIFF 2007 Coverage Part 2

It’s time I started playing catch-up and reviewed the St. Louis International Film Festival movies I’ve been packing in this week. I’ve been seeing at least two a day after work, which has been fun, but doesn’t leave a lot of time to write if you are also fond of eating and sleeping. There have been at least four excellent films so far, but I’ve also seen my first batch of duds. I’ll be bringing you reviews of them all!

While overall it has still been a great year, this week saw a parade of disappointments with the upcoming Peter Greenaway screening. First the distributors wouldn’t cough up his latest film, “Nightwatching,” so Cinema St. Louis had to rely on an older, but still brilliant, “Drowning by Numbers.” Then Peter Greenaway canceled his trip to St. Louis, prompting the festival to withdraw his lifetime achievement award. In the scramble to find someone locally to present the film, my name came up. I was overwhelmingly excited by the prospect and set about doing some research and outlining a draft. Then I found out shortly after that RD Zurick had been given the job instead. Disappointed as I am, I still thank Brett Smith and Prof. Charles Barr for thinking of me and suggesting my name.

I think at this point, I will probably skip out on “Drowning by Numbers” and see the Israeli film “Aviva, My Love” instead. However, when I’ve finished covering SLIFF 2007, I’ll dig up a paper I wrote on my favorite Greenaway film, “A Zed and Two Noughts,” and post that as a tribute to the great director.

Anyways, on to the reviews from Nov 11-12:


Title: Getting Home
Director: Yang Zhang
Country: USA
Score: 8.5
Review:
Zhao (Chinese comedian Zhao Benshan) is kicking back some midday drinks with his friend (as usual), when his buddy up and dies. Despite his lack of money or friends, Zhao determines to bury the corpse to its home town, about 1000 miles away across China. Yes, it does sound a lot like a Chinese cross-country road-trip version of “Weekend at Bernie’s,” but the film is actually quite touching and frequently hilarious. I was told later that this has been one of the most popular films at the festival and a second screening has been secured (Sunday, Nov 18th at 8:30 at the Plaza Frontenac).

The film is quite good-natured and draws the audience into sympathy with Zhao who is honest, unpretentious and friendly. The attention to character and personality pays off, since it allows the audience to enjoy morbid, deadpan and absurdist humor from jokes that might have felt cheap otherwise. Much of the laughs come from irreverent visual gags, like Zhao strapping the body inside a giant monster-truck tire and rolling him along the road or lashing the corpse to a scarecrow pole to keep it inconspicuous at night.

The humor is not particularly sophisticated, but it is pinpricks us with unexpected jolts and jostles us out of complacency with sudden shifts. The pace shows delicate balance when it comes to maintaining the comedy, quirkiness and drama, but it is Zhao Benshan’s performance that aids immeasurably in selling the material. His gentle, hangdog face, steady resolve and impeccable timing bolster the film through the vast stretches where he is the only character onscreen. His dalliances with friendship, love, criminality and suicide round out his development and provide episodes that keep the plot interesting and the jokes fresh.


Title: The Method
Director: Marcelo Piñeyro
Country: Argentina/Spain
Score: 6.0
Review:
Eight applicants (one of which is a mole) at a multinational corporation compete for a cushy executive position in this corporate psychological drama. The film is set in a near-future world where riots against the IMF are tearing apart the street while the rich vie to get richer in the glossy conference rooms of towering skyscrapers. The brilliant opening sequence features some gorgeous triple-split-screen work (one of my favorite techniques best used in 2003’s “Doppelganger”), but it is all too short; after the initial credits it is replaced with traditional camerawork in the single-room setting where most of the film takes place.

The bulk of “The Method” involves the eight applicants gradually learning how diabolical the so-called “Grönholm method” of psychological testing, screening and selection can be. Pitted against each other in direct competition, the initial veneers of politeness and civility quickly crumble. The men and women are voted out one-by-one after completing various tasks involving problem-solving, peer-evaluation, verbal play and trust. One of the more obvious examples is an exercise where each person must defend why they should be allowed to stay in a bomb shelter in case of a nuclear attack and a shortage of supplies.

“The Method” is a tense, harsh indictment of office politics, corporate greed and the dehumanization that comes with modernization. It combines over-the-top with all-too-real. I loved the way that the verbal exchanges escalate from neutral comments through banter into stinging insults. However the balance only lasts for the first half of the film and, after a striking early peak, Piñeyro doesn’t is unable to keep ratcheting up the intensity. With a handful of cast members yet to eliminate he devolves into repetition, ill-suited sexual tension and an excess of verbal and physical extremism that loose any sense of realism or truth. He also breaks from his claustrophobic one-room premise in a misguided attempt to expand the space, fit in some sex, and isolate the characters into pairs. Unfortunately it also allows the tension, momentum and discomfort to leak out. The final act coasts on rail, too contrived and predictable to be exciting or shocking.

Piñeyro was clearly influenced by elimination-based reality TV and the trendy mix of melodrama and sex appeal on soap operas. Both sources tend to hold back the potential of the film, causing the structure and character dynamics to sit comfortably in a rut. The similarities to films like “The Game” (1997) or any of the “Ten Little Indian” adaptations only reminded me of more successfully variations on the every-man-for-himself theme.


Title: No Regret
Director: Hee-il Leesong
Country: South Korea
Score: 3.0
Review:
“No Regret” has thus-far been the clear low-point in my SLIFF viewing experience. As a big fan of South Korean films in general, I gave it a chance despite the dull-sounding premise. I quickly ended up regretting my decision.

The plot revolves around an unrequited gay romance between petulant orphan Lee Su-min and obsessive stalker/businessman Song Jae-min. Despite plenty of opportunity for insights into the inherent cultural and class conflicts, “No Regret” is content to simply mire in cycles of romantic attack and retreat. Neither character is likable, interesting, original or logical and their emotions are such broad, inconsistent mishmashes that one has no idea what they are thinking or why they do or say anything. The acting is not really bad, but lacking material to sink their teeth into they fumble and flounder.

The screenplay is bland and lifeless, borrowing unenthusiastically from other art-films about mismatched lovers and stormy homosexual relationships. There are a few conversations which hunt for new thoughts and emotional expressions, but there are no real kills. After spending about an hour too long trapped in the stagnant life of Su-min, the film veers into thriller territory. The pointless drama, trauma and violence feels like a last-ditch attempt to get onto Tartan’s “Asian Extreme” DVD distribution label.

I’ve saved the worst for last. Though the film is bad enough based on writing, story and pacing alone the real mess is the craftsmanship. A good low-budget filmmaker can transcend lack of materials, but Hee-il Leesong is, instead, crushed under the weight of his technical incompetence. There is no lighting to speak of and most of the film is spent trying to divine the meaning of shapeless silhouettes blurring across black patches. Arbitrary natural light from ugly phosphorescent bulbs occasionally reveals the emptiness of the sets, the inexpressively of the minor cast and the banality of the composition. Talent, training, money and help from an experienced crew or sorely needed to save this visual trough.

Sadly, a film that is this bad for so long allows the mind of a film reviewer to wander and I begin planning ways to trash the film when I sat down to write. Here is the most succinct one: If I had a dollar for every time I yawned while watching “No Regret,” I could have bought a better digital camera than the one it was shot with.


Title: Waiter
Director: Alex van Warmerdam
Country: Netherlands
Score: 6.5
Review:
“Waiter” is a dramedy about a fictional character (the waiter) who interacts with the writer who created him. While I do enjoy this premise, the festival is featuring it in three movies, and it has already been done adequately in the surprisingly good “Stranger than Fiction” (2006). Warmerdam has very little to add, except that he improves upon the ending and ultimately displays a different perspective on the powers of creation and authorship.

Edgar, the waiter, is depressed and depressing. He leads an empty, thankless life serving rude upper-crust snobs. He lives with a bedridden wife and maintains a whiny mistress. His next door neighbors are not just loud and cruel like regular bad neighbors, they are actually vicious mobsters. Edgar finally gets so fed up with his lot that he busts into his author’s apartment and demands a better life, or a least a few moments of bliss and love. Herman wants to write a serious modern novel and will thus tolerate very few romantic notions, though his mischievous girlfriend, Suzie, is more than willing to grant wishes. Eventually Herman invents Stella (Lyne Renee, looking sumptuous in her debut film role) to fulfill Edgar’s need for love, but life refuses to get easier.

The humor in “Waiter” comes entirely at Edgar’s expense and we spend most of the movie either trying to anticipate his next fiasco or enjoying his current abuse. Not many of the laughs are particularly well-earned, but some really work. My favorite was a scene from one the more absurd subplots, in which Edgar arrives home to find his gangster neighbors sitting in the darkness of his apartment. They introduce Makino, a Japanese assassin who “needs a place to lie low.” Guess where they had in mind? Some of the material is less inspired, like most of the straightforward restaurant pratfalls that hit all the usual jokes involved with food preparation and rude customers. The audience responded particularly well to a running joke in which Edgar role-plays with his mistress and four African American spear-hunters.

None of the performances really stand out and not enough is done to capitalize on the fact/fiction author/character possibilities. Herman in particular comes off as a loud, mean and untalented author. Whether his creations are intentionally supposed to be mediocre workmanship is hard to gauge, but since the audience is stuck viewing them for 90% of the film isn’t a wise decision even if it is the point. I did appreciate the ending, with three linked twists in rapid succession that smartly, though bitterly, beat out the conclusion to “Stranger than Fiction.”


Title: Ploy
Director: Pen-Ek Ratanaruang
Country: Thailand
Score: 8.0
Review:
Ratanaruang is becoming somewhat of a perennial SLIFF fixture, where I think pretty much all of his films have played over the years. Scheduling issues (on the festival’s side) prevented me from seeing “Invisible Waves” (2006) last year, but I had seen “Last Life in the Universe” (2003) a couple of times and was looking forward to “Ploy,” his latest.

Like his previous films, this one has an easy-going pace and a thick moodiness in which a handful of sharply-drawn character float about. Ploy is the name of a young girl who enters into the lives of Wit and Dang, a withdrawn Thai couple who have recently returned from America for a funeral. Wit meets Ploy in the hotel bar where she is waiting for her mom and invites her back to his room to freshen up. His wife, already reeling down the path of jealously after finding a woman’s name and number on a scrap of paper in Wit’s jacket, imagines that the interloper is a romantic rival brazenly trotted out right in front of her. Arguments, misinterpretations and disturbingly realistic nightmares divide the characters and pull them through ponderous emotional wormholes.

The heavy atmosphere, digital camerawork, minimalist mise-en-scene and gently intercut free-flowing story make this film a bit difficult to get into. I found that my sleep-deprived drowsiness actually helped me slip into the mood, keeping myself in the dreamlike narrative stream and presenting relaxingly simple, but strangely beautiful, compositions. The actors are all extremely confident and comfortable in their roles, showing effortless modulation of their expressions. Their words, and the silences in between, feel packed with a history only partially revealed by the film. Their realism lacks a clear agenda, and I appreciate the way that Ratanaruang refuses to tell us how we should feel about them.

Atmosphere is definitely the crux of “Ploy,” but it does not rely solely on a homogenous haze of pretty pictures and brooding silences (Tsai Ming-Liang, pay attention now). What gives the film its depth is the way that reality dissolves into dreams in a manner that is seamless and seductive to watch yet delightfully destabilizing when one tries to pin down the narrative. These ethereal intrusions don’t always have distinct transition points, but they open doorways for fears, desires and the other phantoms of imagination to enter. Then there is also emotional resonance, the warm melancholy and a few choice interjections of sensual passion. Though I am often antsy during these festival marathons, time seemed to stop for “Ploy” (in a good way) and then resume afterwards.

Review of Last Life in the Universe

Pan-ek Ratanaruang’s “Last Life in the Universe” (2003) is one of those movies I will probably come back to every once in a while. It has a quiet melancholy and unobtrusive presentation that is pleasant and thoughtful without sliding too far down the slippery slope into indie-art boredom. It’s a Thai film, and I’m not very familiar with the country’s national cinema, but it has an accessible “good-natured, modern, alienated youths” core that will be recognizable to most viewers.

The film stars Tadanobu Asano as Kenji, a fastidious Japanese librarian living in Thailand who fantasies about suicide and seems always on the verge of reaching the concrete reality. His reasons, as he explains, lie more with the emptiness of his lonely existence (metaphorically symbolized by a children’s story about a sad little lizard that wakes up and realizes he’s the last lizard in the world) than because of financial or emotional hardships.

Through a series of circumstances he meets a young Thai female escort, Noi (Sinitta Boonyasak), on the very night that tragedy strikes her sister, Nid. Kenji is afraid to stay in his house because a yakuza crime has occurred there and some bodies are starting to smell, so he eventually ends up staying for several days with the free-spirited and accepting Noi. Though they have trouble speaking each other’s languages, they get along; Kenji cleans up Noi’s terribly messy apartment, while she makes him loosen up.

The leads have a charisma that doesn’t require much development, dialogue or drama, but invokes our compassion through the basic ordinariness and honesty of their performances. Their relationship is built more on a mutual need for company than sex, angst or expression (three things noticeably, and perhaps thankfully, absent from the film). Viewers should not enter expecting the typical romantic comedy treatment of love with quirky humor, perfect hair, the gay friend, a contrived misunderstanding that stalls the relationship and a big public display of overt love that reunites the couple in a blissful ending.

Ratanaruang directs with a surreal inflection that leaves me with mixed feelings. Several moments of “is it magical realism or is it a dream sequence?” are slid casually into the narrative. One scene bothered me with an inexplicable use of semi-gaudy CG (Noi’s house appears to spontaneously clean itself in a whirlwind of debris) that lacked the sincerity required to have emotional impact. Two other scenes, in which Noi is spontaneously switched with Nid, reminded me vaguely of “That Obscure Object of Desire” (1977), but without any real meaning or commitment. Perhaps the best touches are Kenji’s early death fantasies and their substitution with reunion fantasies at the very conclusion. Nothing is quite clear about the ending (don’t worry about spoilers, everyone has to see the scenes to decide for themselves), but the emotional progress feels uplifting even while the fantasy, when it is revealed to be only fantasy, is a harsh slap.

These slaps, which Ratanaruang doles out with the sage restraint of a compassionate yet strict parent, also appear at other times: when we suddenly learn more about a character, their past or their inner thoughts (so often hidden) or when something completely unexpected happens with almost no warning (one non-spoiler example is the title appearing about 35 minutes into the film!). These are good shocks, never depended on for carrying the story or holding our interest, while still being capable of transforming the mood generated by cinematographer Christopher Doyle’s beautiful photography. Doyle (“Chungking Express” (1995)), meanwhile, finds unforced images of aesthetic delight in relatively simple exteriors and unassuming interiors.

The main flaw with “Last Life in the Universe” is its basic unoriginality. While it does have a minor twist or two on the unlikely-romance/modern-alienation indie-art paradigm, not much is new. The film feels almost like its flying on auto-pilot over long-ago charted land and nothing much happens to really subvert our expectations or bring fresh insights to light. In the hands of a lesser cast and crew the material would be unmemorable, empty and almost trite, but the performances, direction and cinematography are a redemptive combination.

A nice inter-textual touch that must be mentioned: one scene ends with a character saying, “You’ve seen too many yakuza films” before a cutting to an “Ichi the Killer” (2001) poster near where Kenji is shelving books. “Ichi” not only stars a blonde Tadanobu Asano (Kenji), but is directed by Takashi Miike, who has a cameo at the end of the movie… as a yakuza boss.

Walrus Rating: 7.5