Philadelphia Asian American Film Festival

Author name: Chen-Yi Wu

Chen-Yi Wu is a Taiwanese artist based in Philadelphia, USA. Drawing from a diverse background in literature, theater, and filmmaking, she explores the intricate interplay of different media in her storytelling. As the first generation raised in the post-Martial Law era of Taiwan, she has been exploring her identity through different lenses.

Surviving Modernity in Pen-ek Ratanaruang’s Universe

Film Writing /

The unborn and the deceased, are they the same? In Last Life in the Universe, we take a glimpse of the globalization in Asia – even loneliness started becoming borderless in the early 2000s. Tsia Ming-liang’s What Time Is It There (2001) presents a timezone-agnostic alienation; at the same token but probably a different section on the spectrum, Pen-ek Ratanaruang ends Last Life in the Universe with a brighter tone – if you find what is shown in the finale reliable.  photo credit: Last Life in the Universe We are introduced to Kenji, played by Tadanobu Asano, when he attempts suicide. As a Japanese librarian based in Thailand, Kenji is surrounded by books, organized and coded for sorting purposes – an ideal image of what people think history should be. During the late 1990s and the early 2000s, Thailand went through the Asian Financial Crisis and political instability. With the political power shifts and the country decentralized, there were rapid population mobility and changes worldwide, affecting interpersonal relationships. Kenji encounters Nid (Laila Boonyasak) and Noi, two Thai sisters, after the former is killed by a rushing car. Nid is fixated, and then gets bumped by a vehicle, when she sees Kenji try to jump off the bridge as if that is her ultimate dream.  photo credit: Last Life in the Universe “The lizard wakes up and finds that he is the last lizard alive. His family and friends are all gone. Those he didn’t like, those who picked on him in school, are also gone. The lizard is all alone. He misses his family and friends. Even his enemies. It’s better being with your enemies than being alone. That’s what he thought. Staring at the sunset, he thinks: what is the point in living, if I don’t have anyone to talk to? But even that thought doesn’t mean anything, when you’re the last lizard.”  Sexual desire and defecation are both expressions of the longing to survive in Last Life in the Universe. Nid serves as a uniformed hostess in the sex industry, and her customers stand in stark contrast to Kenji, who remains indifferent to the teasing and invitations from his female colleagues at the library. This only changed when Kenji and Noi started living together at Noi’s family house after Nid died – one night, Kenji fell asleep on the couch and had a wet dream. Pen-ek pushed this even further at the end of the film, with the Yakuza gangsters (played by Sakichi Sato) breaking into Kenji’s apartment. However, for Kenji, the immediate priority was not escaping, but rather finishing shitting on the toilet. While some might see this as an exaggerated subtle detail that Pen-ek embellishes in the final scene, it effectively emphasizes what modernity has done to our bodies and mentality. Uninterrupted external activities continue to disrupt one’ s life, moments such as suicide (Kenji was interrupt by his brother), reading on the bus (at the beginning of the film, Kenji opens a picture book to read, while an elderly passenger keeps asking him if he is Japanese), and even the time spent on the toilet. This is a contradictory process: we leverage modernization and internationalization to get to know people across geographical boundaries, yet we cannot fully control our own bodies and free will. photo credit: Last Life in the Universe Pen-ek has always excelled at collaborating with actors and artists from different countries in Asia. From cinematographer Christopher Doyle, Hong Kong actor Eric Tsang, Korean actress Kang Hye-jung to Japanese director Takashi Miike, Pen-ek’s creation of a Pan-Asian worldview is not just a concrete expression of Asian globalization but also an inspiration for cross-border cooperation in today’s film industry. In an interview with Asian Movie Pulse, Pen-ek once mentioned, “ […] one consistent issue throughout my films is human relationships. It is something I always have an interest in.” It seems that Pen-ek has found the common denominator that transcends language and culture — or even life and death. Last Life in the Universe is part of PAAFF’s 2024 Film Club watch-list. Sign up for Film Club here.

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Static Noises and Silent Voices: “Chronicle of a Disappearance” 28 Years Later

Film Writing, Middle East /

Photo Credit: Chronicle of a Disappearance Recent solidarity protests on university campuses and increased calls for recognition of a Palestinian state may be shining an unprecedented spotlight on the ongoing genocide in Gaza, but the dispossession of Palestinians by Israel is not a new story. This makes Elia Suleiman’s first feature, “Chronicle of a Disappearance,” still fresh and relevant, even as it marks the 28th anniversary of its premiere.  Soldiers, gunfires, bombs, and limbs. The crying women and children. Starvation and poverty. All these images do not exist in Suleiman’s debut. The only aspect of “Chronicle of a Disappearance” that resembles belligerence is its metaphorical impact, as it was a bombshell on the 1996 film festival circuit. With no clear storyline or plot, the film presents a fragmented personal diary from the perspective of a man named E.S., played by the director himself. The film starts with E.S. return to the West Bank and Israel after the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin and the election of Benjamin Netanyahu.  Suleiman’s work embodies Felliniesque absurdity and humor, along with the spirit of post-war neorealism. However, it goes further by creating spaces between sounds and images that allow for audience interpretation. Those determined to “understand” Suleiman’s work often end up frustrated, as he does not attempt to authoritatively explain or clarify any plot points. According to Suleiman himself, the film is meant to be an exploration of “what it means to be Palestinian.” Those who view identity as a fixed and concrete concept will find themselves challenged by Suleiman’s creative decisions, ultimately losing themselves in the statelessness of Palestine. Photo Credit: Chronicle of a Disappearance In the first half of the film, the audience follows the perspective of E.S., experiencing the peaceful and simple life of the small town of Nazareth through his chronicled entries. In this quiet town, there seem to be no signs of war; the only clues to political turmoil come from television and radio news. Suleiman uses many static shots and long takes to create this illusion of tranquility. The souvenir shop “The Holyland” comically illustrates the religious and commercialized nature of Israel: tourists’ impressions of Israel are rooted in ancient religious stories, seeing not the living people of today, but rather cultural icons — camels, holy water, and scenic postcards. In this context, “Chronicle of a Disappearance” also seeks to challenge this flat and oriental perspective. Suleiman focuses on the complex racial and cultural dynamics of Jerusalem in the latter half of the film. One of the most humorous scenes features an Arab actress, Adan (Ula Tabari), using a walkie-talkie to command and direct the police. This scene starkly contrasts with an earlier one where she is mansplained by an older estate agent, telling her she must wait until marriage to live alone so her honor is protected. It also contrasts with her repeated failures to rent an apartment due to her Arab identity. Both the walkie-talkie and the telephone are tools for communication, yet they yield different results based on the assumptions made about the speaker’s identity. As an unmarried Arab woman, she faces constant obstacles; as a member of the Israeli police, everyone obeys her commands. Is communication ever truly possible, regardless of the tool or medium used? When E.S. stands in front of the microphone to speak about his new film, the microphone magically breaks. We only hear static noises. Photo Credit: Chronicle of a Disappearance Serving as the first piece of Suleiman’s Palestinian Trilogy, “Chronicle of a Disappearance” is a commentary on existence, communication, and identity that still resonates deeply in today’s tumultuous political landscape. It’s even more special if one considers nowadays American audiences’ preferences: straightforward, clear narrative, and character-driven stories. Suleiman’s minimalism is a generous gesture to pass the power of discourse back to the viewers, and the Palestinians. Suleiman never needs a microphone. Chronicle of a Disappearance is part of PAAFF’s 2024 Film Club watch-list. Sign up for Film Club here. If you were moved by this writing, consider donating to the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund or Medical Aid for Palestinians.

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