To a Crowd of Dusty Trees

 

I was thinking about you, not too long ago.

It must have been that time you wrote to me…

When you said you’d leave the biting winter to go home,

just in time to remember how pretty it could be.

That was the time you were writing your papers,

when you were close to the end of school.

You must have been smiling…

when you said you’d get a new car,

to drive down to the countryside, 

as soon as it was over. 

 

 

Or perhaps it was a little longer before that.

It might have been that time you spoke to me…

When you told me you were going away,

just in time to hide out in the winter,

how pretty I imagined it would be.

That was the time you went away from school,

and you cared not to write your papers.

I remember you smiled…

when you said you were selling your beaten car,

to fly away to a place you once knew, 

and to catch the start of winter.

 

 

And then I almost forgot about you.

Perhaps it was some time too long ago.

Until the day I was told you were gone…

When you were found in your car, not far from home. 

It made me recall that time in school, 

when you laughed at how cold a winter could get,

at a drive down the countryside,

and at the thought of writing your papers.

I remember I smiled…

at the mention of your beaten car,

for it made me imagine life,

and how so pretty it could be.

 

 

So now when I think of you,

in a time I’m certain I could never know,

I’m made to imagine how those days of winter,

had eaten you up inside…

as I imagine your new car,

lying dead off the beaten road.

I heard they found it down the south coast,

so I imagine you were going to your countryside.

I was told it was your birthday,

so I imagine you remembering,

all the places you once knew…

through a fog on the window, to a crowd of dusty trees.

But most strangely I also imagine you, 

with a gas mask over your face…

 

 

Perhaps school was too long a time ago?

Or perhaps I just can’t ever remember you, 

without your smile.

 

How I Would Finally See Them Disappear (O Courage – My King, My Fist!)

How I Would Finally See Them Disappear (O Courage – My King, My Fist!).

 

How I Would Finally See Them Disappear (O Courage – My King, My Fist!)

So I procrastinate by writing down random thoughts all over Ismail Xavier’s ‘Historical Allegory’ article… but at least I try to compile them together to make myself think I’ve done something useful with my time. This is, of course no poetry, but simply a result of my lack of ability to write in prose-form.

For my beloved Malaysia(ns) in their bedrooms…

 How I Would Finally See Them Disappear (O Courage – My King, My Fist!)

 

There I was,

lying so quietly

still,

in the stifling confines

of my lived space.

When the urge to scream,

Forced

Itself upon me.

I was frightened,

for reasons I could find no way

of knowing.

O why, should I have allowed myself to be so frightened?

I could not,

from any one corner of my powerless frame,

see the vindication

for it

Since there seemed nothing for me to be frightened of.

So I remained,

just as I knew I should,

so quietly still,

when I felt myself scream…

Only to hear its echo

Within the bloody walls

and the inner most depths

of my heart.

 

 

 

And there I was,

closing my eyes

as tightly and cowardly

as I only could.

O why, O why should I have allowed myself to be so frightened?

And upon having to

open them once again,

I began to see the walls

Around me

slowly and in such manners so painfully quiet

Fade their colours away.

And there and then again,

I was struck

with the urge to scream.

But just like before,

my voice could not find its way out

of my bloody ticker.

And as the walls

Around me

Continued to submit itself

to such revolting expels,

I realized to my horror

that it was beginning to bear

The ugliest of transparencies.

 

 

 

There I was,

my heart beginning to burn.

With every scream…

struggling, straining and stinging,

I felt its sore…

More, more and more.

And at every ounce of blood

that my heart would

pump, pump and pump,

I would feel it burn even more.

And my poor, quiet soul,

would scream even louder.

And my poor heart,

would sting and burn,

would sting and burn,

More, more and more and more…

O why? O why? Should I have allowed myself to be so frightened?

Yet there I STILL was,

with that splitting pain one would feel

If only a needle should

Force itself

To pierce right through,

So slowly and quietly,

an open and most bloody of wounds.

O why? O why…

I felt the pleadings

Within me.

But as I had feared,

the colours of the wall

Faded completely…

 

 

 

There I was,

in my lived space,

Within those four walls,

no,

Within glass walls

with silver linings

Around

each of their borders –

How ugly and clear

How cold and captivating.

My heart began to pump

even harder and louder.

Then there I saw,

in the distance,

Faces that glowed

With such incomprehensible life…

With the most blindingly radiant of

Eyes,

With the most painfully striking of

Smiles –

The most beautiful of Princes and Princesses…

Gliding toward the glass walls

Around me.

Their gaze were fixated

on me.

Like sewing threads

Tightening my lips;

Like plaster and clay

Covering my eyes;

Like the blood that

Nailed my feet

To this soil;

Like the nails that had

Pinned my soul

To this coffin.

 

 

 

At that,

the thought of all my ‘sins’,

Forced

Itself upon me.

Those stubborn desires

of mine,

the perverse thoughts

of the mind,

and those most savagely willful indulgings.

O why? O why? Should I have allowed myself to be so frightened?

My heart began to pump

More, more and more,

Louder and harder

than ever before…

So loud,

that I could hear it in my ears,

So hard,

that I could feel it in my throat.

O how terribly sorry I was made to feel…

O Why should I have allowed myself to be so frightened?

 

 

 

There I was,

as the urge to be punished

Forced

Itself upon me…

To punish me

for all those ‘sins’…

To plaster my mouth,

that I may speak no more;

To put needles through my eyes,

that I may see no more.

O why? O why? Could I have not allowed myself to put a needle through my eyes?

For what use were they then?

When they be captivated

Only by the most painful of sights…

When they should see only these

Glass walls

Around me

and those beautifully cruel

Princes and Princesses.

As they inched close-r and close-r…

with Their eyes

sharper than the sharpest of needles…

I could see Them

Watching me,

More and more;

I could hear Them

Listening more and more

to my heart’s violent screams.

 

 

 

And there and then,

My heart did scream

Louder than before…

No,

Louder than ever before.

I could feel the needle

Touching the very surface

of that open wound.

They reached out

Their hands,

and placed Their pointers against Their lips…

O why? O why? Should I have allowed myself to be so frightened?

And still there I was,

as They then reached out

Their hands

Toward the glass walls.

I could  see –

O how painful it was!

Their ears closing in…

I could hear –

O how violent it was!

Their eyes drawing near…

As Their hands moved to border on the surface

of that cold, ugly and captivating

Glass.

And then

I thought…

about that needle.

Yes, all of a sudden,

I thought…

 

 

 

I thought about…

My eyes, my mouth and my ears.

 

 

 

And then,

right then,

there occurred a most peculiar incident,

at the very time

I recaptured

The forgotten act of thought.

What was so peculiar…

but, I think, less unfamiliar,

was that before my heart was to be punctured,

that is,

the split second between

Their hands touching the surface

of the glass,

and the needle inside penetrating

that of my heart…

I saw

In my eyes,

I heard

In my ears,

I felt

In my mouth,

For the first time in my living…

The most unpleasantly uncomfortable of all silences.

And

I thought…

Yes, I…

Thought,

in the loudest of voices –

Piercing, splitting and stabbing –

“O why? O why? Should I allow myself to be so afraid?”

 

 

 

And at that,

I

Stood up,

For the first time in my

Life.

I

Reached out my

Hand

and

I

Clenched it.

I

Raised it up

to punch and puncture the stale and stifling air

as

I

Exclaimed,

at the top of my

Voice…

 

when

Pump… Pump… Pump…

“Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!”

 

Pictures for presentation

Rajesh’s room – interior

Rajesh’ house

 

Postcard for A Better World

Digitale made for film class. Meant to be ’emotional’ – with still images and narration. I couldn decide if i should put music in the end. But the one i decided to submit was without music. Here it is.

 

 

with music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0f3Ym49oP4

 

Tents, Poles and the media

(From Media blog – April 27th, 2010)

 

I have only recently been made aware of the term ‘tent-pole programming’, which I believe (that is if I have not misunderstood my lecturers or Wikipedia’s brief explanation of the term) has an obvious affiliation or association with the terms media convergence and transmedia storytelling mentioned in this week’s readings. The term is rather self explanatory, it is most commonly used in the film production industry where a particularly high budget/highly anticipated film is seen as the ‘tent – pole’, or the pole that helps hold up the tent that is none other than the production company that produces and markets the film. Of course it is a strategy not only reserved for the motion pictures industry. Television networks often produce tent-pole programmes/shows for their benefit as well.

I am guessing there would be no need to mention what the biggest and most successful of these tent-pole films is. I would bet my last Lindt ‘mega easter egg’ that at least the entire population in Australia (except maybe the really young and really old people) has at least heard of that annoyingly pervasive ‘name’ referencing giant blue creatures roaming a fictitious planet. 150million American dollars was the estimated figure that fuelled the efforts to not only make that James Cameron film common knowledge but also to create an enormous universal buzz for it. It is almost typical of producers and distributors to invest large amounts of money in the promotion of these tent-pole films or programmes, and many are now beginning to reappraise, in the wake of the success of that film, the amount worth investing in extensive promotional methods. Like promotions for other big budget productions (ie. American Idol), advertisements for the film in the form of posters, trailers, snippets, behind the scenes footage, all trudged its way across various media platforms to meet our adoring eyes. The role of media convergence could be seen as most evident in this case, where one same intended content have permeated every side of the border between old and new media technologies, reaching out to media users (a.k.a the whole wide world) through every single media platform available.

In addition to that, these tent-pole films/programmes work as a medium for other companies to advertise their products. Like the Coca-Cola cups parading itself on the judges’ table in American Idol, we see the characters in the film that is being discussed here use particular brands of technological equipment. Companies anticipating the potential success and extensive reach of the film, embrace the opportunity to showcase their products and advertise their brands on the big screen, which most of the time in the case of this film would meet audiences’/viewers’ eyes in a rather impressive three dimensional display. Other companies also share in the film’s revenue simply by partnering up with the producers to help promote and advertise the film, like what was done by the Coca Cola Company (surprise surprise). But it does not end there. The film created hype not only for itself and the very special coke zero bottles and cans, but also for newly emerged technologies such as the HD and 3D TVs. All that manufacturing companies were left to do was compete among themselves and take advantage of the ‘migratory behaviour of media users’ (Jenkins, 2006) by offering them a viewing experience similar to that of which had buzzed their enthusiasm when they looked into Pandora. AND it does not end there as well! After all that the producers had done, it would seem unwise of them to ignore potential profits of transmedia storytelling. Hence, unsurprisingly, the film has been made into a video game and of course there are books written to supposedly enhance the narrative of the film. And that’s not all! There are action figures of those blue creatures (I am going to quote information from Wikipedia here) that come with a ‘3D web tag’ that if scanned using a webcam would reveal, on its supporting website, some information specific to that particular action figure. Way to stretch the limits of advertising.

One could be forgiven for thinking that this is the end of the possibilities that media convergence presents us with. The same could not be said for anyone who, at this point, still does not know the name of that film.

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Gunning down the exploitation debate

Exploitation cinema has been around for ages. Made famous by of course one of its quintessential directors and propagators Roger Corman, around at the more famous part of the global film community – Hollywood. Sex, violence, and all that triggers those chills, thrills and spills within you, are showcased within the magnified boundaries of the silver screen. The most long lasting effect it entails is none other than the familiar questions surrounding its horrifying degraded qualities and its frightening usefulness to the film industry. If you agree that Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper, 1969) is a teenage – motorcycle – exploitation flick, than you could be well on your way to champion the effectiveness of such exploitation cinema while still having some ammunition for the case against the claims of horrifying degraded qualities secured within your limited armoury. The same could be said for Australia’s very own Mad Max (George Miller, 1979).

However, the quality of exploitation films do little to pose too much of a concern, because frankly speaking (and I’m sure the films speak for themselves) they more often than not have very little of it. What is more important is whether or not these films, which most of the time portray cinema in the darkest of lights, have benefited national cinema and the film industry as a whole. Take Mad Max for instance – A fearsome Mel Gibson, clad in vicious looking leather, bolting through the desert land in an equally daunting, menace of a car. Exploitation? Cars – Motorcycles – Gangs and Guns – Macho male and a whole load of ‘exotic’ outback sand – Yes! Good film? No doubt. But what is most important is its role in building the Australian film industry. Money? Made for only 400,000AUD and garnering an eventual 100million from worldwide sales, good old trusty Wikipedia tells us that: “it was a major financial success.” And: “the movie held a record in Guinness Book of Records as the highest profit-to-cost ratio of a motion picture, conceding the record only in 2009 to Paranormal Activity.” So what’s so bad about it all? Well sadly for films like Easy Rider and Mad Max, ‘exploitation cinema’ is usually synonymous with B – grade films that never really end up being as good as them, thrusting all those carrying forms of exploitation with them right through to the common negative stereotypes. But, again there are buckets load of cash to be gained from making these films, which could in turn help the industry. Only logic and reason would dictate that richer filmmakers and producers can afford the choice between quality and quantity, or even both. Plus with the figures in hand and shotgun – wielding – Max Rockatansky for backup, who are we to stand against them.

 

SBS – six billion People… and counting

The one word that I think could best define the Special Broadcasting Service or SBS is that it is a breath of fresh air. It sits just outside and yet not too far away from the convoluting barrage of regular and often annoying mainstream broadcast. Here in the land down under, it is perhaps the best and most direct way to keep in touch with the world abroad. Coming from a country such as Malaysia, multiculturalism is for me an idea not all that foreign at all. The dominant broadcast service back home is provided through satellite TV which almost every household has a share of. The cultural constitution of the community here in Australia shares some common traits with the one I am most familiar with back home. And in terms of broadcasting stations or channels, the SBS can find itself a similarly motivated counterpart from that part of the continent.

It is a daring and yet noble effort to have a national broadcasting company functioning on the service for minorities. I fully understand the part of terrestrial television in Malaysia, their devotion to an every day multi – lingual broadcast service can be explained by the diverse ethnic groups, each of which speak their own language and make up, even on their own, a rather big part of the majority. On the contrary, in a country where the widespread medium of communication is only English, and where the majority of people speak that one same language, it is surprising that the existence of TV channel such as SBS was even suggested at all. For all that talk about neglecting minorities, I think SBS is one step in the right direction. It opts to take the most unusual stand by shying away from the majority, a move that could even be seen as neglecting the majority. But to attest the latter would seem unfair. SBS does so well not only to recognize and provide a service for minorities, it succeeds in even giving at least some decent entertainment for the majority. Not to mention the awareness it raises of other cultures within and outside the country. And while mainstream television more often than not have such bad programs on show, the ‘alternative’ entertainment provided  by SBS might just be seen as a step up from the aforementioned ‘decent’. Whatever the line up is like at the next station, one can always count on SBS to be a breath of fresh air, and more.

 

Nation Building and Identity through Cinema

Themes of loyalty, friendship and endurance that embellish the narrative of the film Gallipoli, is more often that not difficult to be identified as part of efforts in the name of nation building or awareness of identity. It is rare, especially for the mass audience, to associate a certain government’s or filmmaker’s agenda to promote national identity or nation building with a particular film that is being watched. There are two main issues that mark the mentioned problem. Firstly, all films have a narrative and characters that preferably can be identified with, and as a result of this basic story-telling practice, there lies a difficulty in distinguishing whether a character’s attributes are representative of the populous or just his own. The same could be said for the film’s narrative – does it tell the story of an isolated individual, a small fraction of a particular society, or the entire nation? Secondly, film genres, unique styles and narratives in films and audience expectations of what a film or an anticipated film is/would be about, inadvertently subdue their awareness of the details that may have been included for that ‘nation building through cinema’ propaganda, or in some cases for better government funding.

Gallipoli was a film that, for Australians, not only reminded them of that historical event, but also of what it means to be Australian, or the familiar attributes and practices that make them uniquely Australian. It was a film not just about Gallipoli and not so much about warfare, but more importantly it was about the Australian spirit and identity shown through and represented by the character Archie. But for the international audience, which I count myself a part of, there were only few uniquely Australian elements and details, and one of those few was the unique event of Gallipoli itself. It is not true to say that it wasn’t a film that tried to showcase Australian culture and identity. But access to a proper awareness of that culture and identity through this and many other films seem to be reserved only for those who are already familiar with the said culture and national identity. It is difficult to point out, the bits in this film that truly define Australian identity, the details and attributes that isolate Australian culture as specially and uniquely one of its kind. Similarly in most western cinema and films, it is difficult to recognize or identify the unique cultural and national identity that the people in those countries have. This is due to either a lack of investment in the said propaganda or to the fact that the screen is just too limited an avenue to showcase national identity. In the case of cultures that are deemed ‘exotic’ by international audiences, one could be forgiven for thinking that they have it easier when it comes to nation building through cinema/screen. Films like Slumdog Millionaire give one the immediate awareness of not only what the culture of the natives in the slums of Mumbai is like but also how unique it is, how different their culture is as compared to that of the majority of its international audiences. It may be true that they have it easier and filmmakers count on and use this exoticness at times specifically for international appeal. But as a result of that, the portrayal of a culture’s or nation’s identity may be and could be easily tainted, exaggerated or even exploited.

Nation building through cinema is in most cases ineffective and burdensome. It offers too narrow a platform for the demonstration of national identity and leaves attempts to showcase it short of either clarity or accuracy. But this is not to say that there is no hope and that there have not been successful attempts at all in the past.  Government funding should not only be allocated to films still riding on the ‘national cinema’ bandwagon. Growth of cinema as an industry should be encouraged and more creative output and artistic talent fostered so as to pave the way to a more influential and efficient national cinema. For now, there should be a quota system by which a specified amount of films from both the nation building and more independent camps would receive government funding.  This is probably the only way to attract filmmakers to produce films without the fears of being limited to certain ‘nation building’ content.  If one good film is but a narrow platform for nation building, mathematically and maybe logically, the longer run would produce more good films that could become a collective effort or joint-base for a potentially better and more effective form of that construction.