On Dreaming

Earthly matters never cease to surprise.

In his 2010 film Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, Apichatpong Weerasethakul tells the story of a man, and by extension a family, both haunted and supported by the past. This “past” as depicted in the film, and in a sense as it exists in all human consciousness, is not a static, observable thing. In Uncle Boonmee’s case, it is his own sketchy personal history, which encapsulates in some ways the modern history of Thailand as a state and a people, as well as the various bizarre and fantastical histories incarnate in his many lives, in the many vessels he inhabited before his current, ailing one. The past is ghosts, talking fish, and primordial caves from which all life emerged. Our past is true history as well as myth. It is a dream, and it follows us into the waking present.

2025 has been a harder year than most to reckon with. It has been defined, seemingly or in actual fact, by compounding tragedies—state violence, preventable disasters both natural and unnatural, human suffering broadcast worldwide 24/7. As our government continued its backing of Israel’s genocide in Gaza, it unleashed hell on immigrants domestically. We now know, if there was ever any doubt, that we—whether belonging to diaspora communities, other communities of color or marginalized groups—remain second class citizens, our belonging in this country entirely contingent on the whims of those in power. We now know that representation is not enough, that we will not be saved by our relative Americanness. And in the history of this country we see echoes of this present: whether in Chinese Exclusion or Japanese internment or the Patriot Act or whatever other instances of racism, anti-immigrant sentiment, and social ostracism brought us here. You might say that there is nothing new under the sun.

In light of all this, one must wonder, where is inspiration hiding? How do we react to this world we’ve been saddled with? For filmmakers and audiences and nearly everyone in between, it is tempting to lean toward escapism. After all, we all go to the movies to forget about the world outside, to distract ourselves from the dullness and disappointment of reality. Don’t we? On the other hand, there is a sense that one must do something important. After all, hasn’t storytelling historically been a means of resistance and liberation? Still, that feels somehow reductive. No, in this age of repression and fear and increasing hopelessness, the last thing we would want is to limit ourselves, to stare steadfastly in one single direction.

Uncle Boonmee won the 2010 Palme d’Or at Cannes, an accolade which hurled the film and its director headlong into global recognition. This bizarre story about Thai folklore and history, which places political violence alongside whimsy, melancholic and contemplative beauty alongside gallows humor and absurd sexuality, somehow resonated with audiences worldwide. Of course, for those of us who understand the magic of cinema, this is no surprise. Storytelling is universal, and the art of film universalizes it further. The experience of sitting in a theater being bombarded with sound, light, color, music, ideas, emotions, and dreams is unparalleled. Ultimately, the most impressive thing a film can do is show you something you’ve never seen before, make you feel something you can’t put into words, and make you think about something you’ve never considered.

This is a resolution: In 2025 and beyond, we are not denying reality, nor are we accepting our fates. We are seeing through the eyes of others, crossing the boundaries of time and space so we might learn something about ourselves and our ancestors and our children. We are imagining how things have been worse, and how they must be better. We are taking in stories as history, as speculation, and yes, even occasionally as escape.

According to Weerasethakul himself, in a 2016 interview with Cinema: Journal of Philosophy and the Moving Image, “Cinema has always been trying to mimic dreams. From black and white to color; from silent to sound. Now we are moving from story to experience. And experience, like dreams, has no frame.”

Experience, like dreams, has no frame.

By Arzhang Zafar