[Our thanks to Teresa Nieman for the following review.]
Karaoke, the first feature-length film from director Chris Chong has enjoyed quite a bit of festival buzz for such a small movie. It screened at Cannes and Toronto as well as Vancouver, not to mention the festivals of plenty more cities. It was even announced that, because of its various successes elsewhere, the movie would be removed from VIFF's Dragons & Tigers competition in the interest of fairness to the other nominees. And for what it's worth, I too can attest that Karaoke is a great accomplishment, and an exciting debut for Chong.
The story follows Betik, presumably an onscreen surrogate for Chong himself, as he returns home to small-town Malaysia after studying graphic design in the big city. It seems that something happened while he was away--maybe things didn't work out like he planned, or he just wasn't the natural urbanite he thought he could be--and he's decided to change his entire career trajectory. Now he wants to take over his mom's dingy karaoke bar, and in doing so, allow her to get some rest while he takes care of her. However, his naive, white knight approach doesn't go over very well, and his mother pooh-pooh's his plans by announcing that she's already decided to sell the place.
The old adage "you can never go home again", encapsulates the major theme of the movie. Betik strikes us as someone who had lofty plans to impress his family and return a new man--ready to save the day. Of course, graphic design--not unlike, say, filmmaking--is something that's largely useless in a small town. No one's impressed, and no one's going to rearrange their lives or make allowances for him. Things have changed. There's a wonderful moment where Betik is out in his father's old shed, fiddling with a machine that he doesn't know the use for. The girl he's courting is there, and Betik spends a lot of time fondly going on about his father's life, and how much he loved working on the machine. At the end of the conversation, he casually reveals that this was the first time he'd ever come out to the shed at all, and that his father and he didn't get along. It's a perfect example of the rose-colored glasses we put on when we're ready to reflect on our pasts, accuracy be damned.
Then there's a sequence, and this is probably what everyone will remember most about the film, that is utterly unexpected and haunting in its methodical, unflinching approach. It's the extended, documentary-style footage of the palm oil plantations outside the village. Trees are cut down, oil palm husks are propelled along a conveyor belt, said husks are piled into a crude mountain of them, and despondent-looking workers stack, sweep, or operate machinery. This goes on for about ten minutes give or take, and as it does, not one bit of dialogue is spoken nor main character shown. It's an audaciously effective way of getting a point across, and it really is the moment when you know you're watching a truly great filmmaker at work.
The title pastime plays a large role here, too. As Chong mentioned during the Q&A that followed the film, karaoke may be a novel and cheesy idea to Westerners, but in Asia it's just part of life--and something they genuinely enjoy doing whenever they get the chance. For instance, how many times has karaoke been used to comedic effect in Hollywood movies, by drunken characters singing ironically inappropriate songs? In this film, every performance is as heartfelt as if the temporary vocalist had written the lyrics themselves. If someone is sad, they choose a sad song, and vice versa. Scenes of patrons singing along to a sappy karaoke videos are sprinkled throughout the movie, gelling everything together like some kind of clever binding agent--yet it's never once gimmicky or false.
Chong is able to pull off the subtle realism that he does because he cares about the characters, and he cares about the situation. Maybe it's because the story is a personal one for him, or maybe it's just his style. Either way, a director like him is refreshing in this age of manipulative storytelling and shallow intentions. As more and more studios force their new fad ideas (3D, anyone?) down people's throats, I hope we'll always still find room for this kind of fare, because it's tragic that it has become the minority. Thank god for film festivals.
Review by Teresa Nieman
Karaoke, the first feature-length film from director Chris Chong has enjoyed quite a bit of festival buzz for such a small movie. It screened at Cannes and Toronto as well as Vancouver, not to mention the festivals of plenty more cities. It was even announced that, because of its various successes elsewhere, the movie would be removed from VIFF's Dragons & Tigers competition in the interest of fairness to the other nominees. And for what it's worth, I too can attest that Karaoke is a great accomplishment, and an exciting debut for Chong.
The story follows Betik, presumably an onscreen surrogate for Chong himself, as he returns home to small-town Malaysia after studying graphic design in the big city. It seems that something happened while he was away--maybe things didn't work out like he planned, or he just wasn't the natural urbanite he thought he could be--and he's decided to change his entire career trajectory. Now he wants to take over his mom's dingy karaoke bar, and in doing so, allow her to get some rest while he takes care of her. However, his naive, white knight approach doesn't go over very well, and his mother pooh-pooh's his plans by announcing that she's already decided to sell the place.
The old adage "you can never go home again", encapsulates the major theme of the movie. Betik strikes us as someone who had lofty plans to impress his family and return a new man--ready to save the day. Of course, graphic design--not unlike, say, filmmaking--is something that's largely useless in a small town. No one's impressed, and no one's going to rearrange their lives or make allowances for him. Things have changed. There's a wonderful moment where Betik is out in his father's old shed, fiddling with a machine that he doesn't know the use for. The girl he's courting is there, and Betik spends a lot of time fondly going on about his father's life, and how much he loved working on the machine. At the end of the conversation, he casually reveals that this was the first time he'd ever come out to the shed at all, and that his father and he didn't get along. It's a perfect example of the rose-colored glasses we put on when we're ready to reflect on our pasts, accuracy be damned.
Then there's a sequence, and this is probably what everyone will remember most about the film, that is utterly unexpected and haunting in its methodical, unflinching approach. It's the extended, documentary-style footage of the palm oil plantations outside the village. Trees are cut down, oil palm husks are propelled along a conveyor belt, said husks are piled into a crude mountain of them, and despondent-looking workers stack, sweep, or operate machinery. This goes on for about ten minutes give or take, and as it does, not one bit of dialogue is spoken nor main character shown. It's an audaciously effective way of getting a point across, and it really is the moment when you know you're watching a truly great filmmaker at work.
The title pastime plays a large role here, too. As Chong mentioned during the Q&A that followed the film, karaoke may be a novel and cheesy idea to Westerners, but in Asia it's just part of life--and something they genuinely enjoy doing whenever they get the chance. For instance, how many times has karaoke been used to comedic effect in Hollywood movies, by drunken characters singing ironically inappropriate songs? In this film, every performance is as heartfelt as if the temporary vocalist had written the lyrics themselves. If someone is sad, they choose a sad song, and vice versa. Scenes of patrons singing along to a sappy karaoke videos are sprinkled throughout the movie, gelling everything together like some kind of clever binding agent--yet it's never once gimmicky or false.
Chong is able to pull off the subtle realism that he does because he cares about the characters, and he cares about the situation. Maybe it's because the story is a personal one for him, or maybe it's just his style. Either way, a director like him is refreshing in this age of manipulative storytelling and shallow intentions. As more and more studios force their new fad ideas (3D, anyone?) down people's throats, I hope we'll always still find room for this kind of fare, because it's tragic that it has become the minority. Thank god for film festivals.
Review by Teresa Nieman
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