When I turned on the news this morning at breakfast, I got a rather nice surprise. I was right in time for the CNN live telecast of the Phoenix Mars lander's final approach. The final approach: not some animated prediction of what was to happen, or a post-event replay. I was watching the live pictures when Mission Control at the Jet Propulsion Labs burst out in celebration, when the data on the screen flashed, in solemn triumph, the confirmation that the probe had arrived safely on the Red Planet. It was gripping, I have to say; it wasn't showy in the way that Mission Control is portrayed in such sterling productions as Apollo 13. But it was touching because it was genuine. Authenticity is to be valued wherever it can be found, unfettered and unself-conscious.
Space exploration has a special place in my heart, and in the psyche of people in general, not so much because of what can be discovered out in the vastness of the void, but what it reveals about our inner motivations and potential. This is what we can do if we all put our minds to it. The marvel is not the fact of the probe on Mars, but that people invested so much time and effort into such a risky venture in the first place. The audacity of it is exhilarating. Stanislaw Lem was right: space exploration is really about looking inward, about exploring ourselves, rather than the heavens.
*
The day at the office was rather quiet. Had another amusing lunch filled with oblique hints and guarded looks regarding whether or not I should sign the bond. But the process is finally ready to start. Gathering the documents to fax over to Columbia to obtain the initial document that would get me a visa interview at the American Embassy. Also spent an inordinate amount of time reading the instructions for applying for an American student visa. The process is daunting not because of the likelihood of failure, but because of the sheer volume of administrative paraphenalia that is involved. There are so many rules, caveats and conditions that you feel claustrophobic reading the instructions; I daresay it may be simpler to be holy than to apply properly for an American visa!
I also realise that it is easy for me to get lost in the details. I was really feeling rather buzzed and dismayed when confronted with the stacks of instructions, but all it took was to go out to lunch to reveal that the issues facing me are actually by no means insurmountable. They are tedious, yes; but they are also trivial. As usual, problems can be simplified by simply changing your perspective. And I am aware of the importance of maintaining a proper sense of perspective. It is just that sometimes it's hard to notice that you've lost your perspective.
*
This evening, went out with some of my old classmates to watch the finalists for the short film competition in the recently concluded Singapore International Film Fest. Originally, I had my doubts about this enterprise, having the impression that Singapore cinema was like Singapore television, or worse, as gimmicky as the Uniquely Singapore campaign. Initial impressions were not promising; the screening took place in Old School, which seems to be an art institute of some sort in a converted and decommissioned school. It smelled like pretentiousness to me.
But I am delighted to report what a pleasant surprise it was. The films were actually worth watching. Sure, the cinematography could have been more refined, the scripts tighter, the direction more self-effacing than self-conscious. But the ideas that were present, though not free from quirkiness and absurdity, were actually quite solid. There were some great moments: the sad comedy of a late father memorialised in the form of an apron-clad skeleton, the halting eloquence of the mother eulogising her love for her dogs that was deeper than that for her family, the flash of shame and accusation that crossed a father's face in reaction to the instinctive suspicion he has towards his delinquent son.
It seems that Singaporean film-makers have really matured past the stage of I Not Stupid, and though I can't really say because I haven't watched the Singapore films of the '50s and '60s, I have the impression that we're on the way to recapturing the acclaim of those days, if not the glamour and prestige of that long-ago industry. These film-makers handled things like death, love and longing with considerable adeptness; although when it came to sex, they couldn't juggle that hot potato effectively. The sex scenes in the various shorts struck me as irredeemably self-conscious, and even hysterical, as if the directors were so concerned with seeming to have good taste that they sacrificed their meaning to it. These were highly stylised scenes; theatrical, and thus unnatural. As such, sex becomes an obstacle rather than a device to aid understanding of the work's themes (but it also occurs to me that the audience, myself included, may also be guilty of reacting overly hysterically to such scenes, and so are as guilty of distorting the significance of these scenes as the directors).
But all the same, it is heartwarming to see how much they can achieve with so little. Singapore cinema has had to return from the dead, more or less, and with limited financial resources and expertise. And with handheld cameras and digital cinematography, with laptops for production studios and friends and acquaintances for actors, they have nonetheless found a way to be sensitive and evocative with their themes. In fact, the rawness and unpolished quality of the productions, and the conspicuous self-consciousness of the direction, also become endearing, in that they are evidence of the passion and effort that went into the pieces. Passion and effort that were so intense that they leaked out from the seams in the work. It is clear to me that, despite everything, they dared to try, and this daring, this audacity, is compelling.
Special mention to one particular scene in the short, Keluar Baris. It's a film about this kid who comes back from studying abroad in Spain, because he has to enlist in two days' time. There were quite a few good moments, like his hanging out with his old friend at the condemned Kallang Stadium, and the friend shouting "Keluar Baris" at him from across the stadium, NDP-style. Or his scrolling through his pictures from Barcelona on his laptop. Or how he seems torn between looking out at the skyline outside the bus, and staring at the spectres of the two recruits sitting in front of him. But the most powerful moment, I think, was when he is in the car being driven to the SAF Ferry Terminal, and how he resolutely looks out to sea and away from the barbed wire fence of the airport. And how he gazes up at the planes taking off across the ocean. It was a powerful moment for me. I was telling the others that this film would have been more effective if I had watched it before enlisting myself; but now, after having actually gone through the experience of enlisting myself, I find it impossible to recapture that quality of innocence and terror at an impending great unknown. But I do recall the yearning of those evenings spent at the corridor outside the bunks, sketchbook in hand and eyes turned upwards towards a plane arcing high overhead...
*
And, just now, received an exuberant call from an old classmate confirming what we had suspected all along; that he had gotten the university place that he has been hoping for. It is a great piece of news. He certainly deserves this break. And now, he can begin to move forward again. I still remember that evening, when I was checking my own results from the American universities; how the warm glow of promise and potential suffused my heart as I read those acceptance letters, how the prospect of the future was suddenly blasted wide open to include all manner of unimaginable wonders. This is a heady feeling indeed. And I am happy that yet another of our number has had the occasion to experience it.
No comments:
Post a Comment