Atonement isn't about atoning at all

I was fortunate today: a friend of mine (who works not far from where I work) had a couple of tickets to Atonement last night. She wasn't able to make it: her boyfriend had free tickets to something with Hossan Leong in it and both mutually forgot to inform the other. She decided to give up Atonement for Hossan Leong, and I got myself 2 free tickets to an Oscar-winner-to-be.

My own date's version of events is that the Hossan Leong show costed more, and therefore, in pure economic terms, giving up Atonement was a far better deal. Upon learning about Hossan Leong though, I told my friend that it was far more prudent to give up Hossan Leong instead.

Like she would. :)

And anyhow, I think I would have enjoyed Atonement alot more - why would I blog about it, no less?



Ed note: before proceeding further, there're going to be a whole lot of spoilers (from my POV at least), so read on only after you've either read the book, or seen the movie.



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When I read Atonement a few years back, it struck me that I had probably just read the best book of my life (I think I've scaled higher peaks in literature since then, but alas, I've recently regressed a far lot further since). Atonement was, for me, a writer's novel. It takes someone who's read well and read a lot to empathise with the protagonist, and, by extension, with the author himself.

The movie as I saw it yesterday night (this being only a few hours ago) was faithful to the novel - this must be because Ian McEwan himself was a producer on the movie. The movie neatly segments into four parts, just as in the novel itself:

- there was the story of that one fateful day where Briony saw her sister jump into the fountain before the manservant Robbie, and the tragic misunderstanding borne of an overactive imagination;

- there was the horror of war and what it wrought on the young men of a generation, the story of Robbie and his promise, the promise to return to the woman he loves;

- there was the story of Briony and her atonement, and how she slowly understood what she had wrought. There was her experience as a wartime nurse and her wanting to tell the story that is consuming her;

- there was the story of the aged writer, Briony finally realizing the story, her last, and what it meant to tell a story itself.

Ultimately, the story that is told in Atonement is not about Robbie and Cecilia, though one will think it is, given that they get all the coverage. The story is also not about Briony: it is, cleverly hidden from the reader / viewer who the person pulling the strings was, and the smart reader / viewer will have already discerned, early on, that the writer was telling the tale, and the writer is Briony.

But... be a little patient, and listen carefully when Briony makes her soliloquy (in the novel, this was all in Briony's head; in the movie, it came out cleverly as an interview). What Briony was essentially talking about was about storytelling, and there were a few themes in there which made the book more than just another frame story (a mise en abyme), and which made this the Booker prize winner. The truth of the matter is this: I believe Briony, in this last part of the story, is actually Ian McEwan talking about himself; and particularly, himself as a storyteller and what it meant.

I remember reading the story so many years ago, and it still struck me how, in this last part of the book, everything that was fabricated earlier was an exposition in the struggles of a storyteller: telling it as it was (fact) or telling it for what it is meant to be (fiction); imagination and the dangerous course it sometimes runs; one's experiences in life, and how they come to be important in shaping the story; and what it means to set things right, even if they were never to be achieved in reality.

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I felt for the characters: I truly did. It hurt to be wronged, disgraced and shamed; and set in an English class struggle it is all the more tragic what Robbie himself went through. It hurt to be separated from your love, and the pain of separation which drove Cecilia to part from her family, distraught and angry with your kin, is one that is beyond bearing. It must have been distressing to be Briony, to realise that you have wronged someone, and was ultimately the cause for the suffering and hurt to, not just our two protagonists, but, to a whole family as well. Briony realised that her actions of that evening was the cause of it all (like the first domino in a long chain of tragic events).

I felt it must have been carthatic to write about it all, and seek release - and I smiled when she talked about the happy ending that she wrote. An irony at the end: the truth is tragic, and the novel would have had closure the way it was without the fourth and final part of it. But that was Briony's closure, not ours, and Ian McEwan recognised that the novel wasn't great until he tore away the veneer of falsehood over it and pulled away the wool that covered our eyes all along.

That made the novel a masterpiece - and I can think of no better compliment than that for a writer.

History Lessons

It is seldom that I blog about movies that I've watched. To escape the mundanity that was existence today, I sneaked off with a good buddy (out on an afternoon birthday treat away from work) to watch a movie about, of all things, dealing with the harsh reality of existence.

Ah, I'm being too harsh a critic. Half Nelson is a nice little film about a history teacher cum basketball coach who's also a drug addict. He teaches history primarily through the use of dialectics, the idea that opposing forces drive change, and history is about change.

The film also tracks his friendship with one of his students, a black girl who is quite self-reliant, and whose friendship with a drug courier shapes the other half of the plot. While the teacher descends into a drug-fueled life plunge just to escape a reality that he cannot change (even while he preaches it), the student finds herself confused into helping her brother's friend run drugs (it didn't help for her to also find out her teacher's a druggie).

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Anyhow, that is the plot. Oh, and lead actor Ryan Gosling is nominated for Best Actor for the Academy Awards (who won last year? I don't recall).

For me, what was more interesting was to hear about the notion of dialectics (Check out this very simple to understand website to read about Dialectics - they even make references to the film).

To understand change, Dialectics philosophers preach that there are 3 rules (Ryan Gosling above has just written down the first one for his class):

1. Every object and process is made of opposing forces or opposing sides: a historically relevant example for Singapore would be its independence from Malaysia. On one side, there is Lee Kuan Yew and the PAP, who do not want Singapore separated from Malaysia; on the other, there is Tunku Abdul Rahman and UMNO, who can't wait to get rid of the pain in the neck that is Singapore.

2. Gradual changes lead to turning points, where one opposite overcomes the other: Racial riots were rife in Singapore, fanned in part by accusations of unfair treatment of Malays in Singapore, while Chinese were incensed by the federal government's policy of affirmative action. Singapore was also economically better off - there was concern of a shift in economic power from the main capital of KL to Chinese-dominated Singapore. The turning point came when the Malaysian parliament voted to expel Singapore from Malaysia as a way of ending the racial riots and rid themselves of the problem once and for all.

3. Change moves in spirals, not circles: For Singapore, there was no turning back. The separation from Malaysia resulted in it moving in a direction that was of its own design, free of intervention from meddlesome Malaysia politicians. However, we see that the forces that drive us apart ultimately also bring us closer - but not to the point of re-unification. Through diplomatic efforts, one force (the force of 'unity') bring us closer again through better ties - economically, politically etc.

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I like this framework for change: I wished they had taught it in b-school or back in the consulting company I worked at. It would have made it easier to show people how system implementations are meant to change them (for good or for better, change is something to live with).

However, I don't think history's all about change: history is also about circumstances. Because of circumstances beyond our control, we are plunged into particular interesting crossroads in history. Because of circumstances which provides the power for one side to dominate another, that side can push change more effectively.

I think it is important to study change (or history for that matter) for the opposing forces there exist, the particular turning points (which is what leads to history teachers making us memorise meaningless dates), and the irrevocable but subtle movement of change in a spiral manner. It is also important to see why one side came to dominate another. It is also important to understand which circumstances made it possible for a change to occur.

Think about it.

The Break Up - My Side

This is going to sound like one of those blog entries where the blogger goes out of his/her way to do something outrageous with his/her life. All in the name of having something to blog about that is not so mundane and can actually pull in the eyeballs.

But... that wasn't why I did this.

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Ever wondered what it's like to watch this movie with your recent ex?

The Break-Up

For me, it was somewhat surreal. It's like all the bad behaviour you ever displayed in a relationship is magnified and played back to you. For a guy like me, I get to see how insensitive I could have been, even if my proxy was Vince Vaughn. I could have cared a little more, showed some appreciation, yet at times, I just want to do my thing and forget the (perceived by me to be) superficial stuff, the unsubstantial feely things that the woman only hinted at and 'fuzzed' about.

For the ex, perhaps it was a little of a revelation - she came out of the theatre with questions. She came out requiring some answers and perhaps sought to see things from a different perspective (at least, that was what I hoped I saw...) In so doing, she made the inner me smile a little contented smile. It was what I was hoping for - closure. :)

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Oh go watch this movie if you like - describing it as a romantic comedy is, in my opinion at least, incorrect.

Before I launch into why, I need to first recall an International Political Analysis (IPA) class that I had back in May, where the professor described Singapore's government as that of a 'Benevolent Dictatorship'. That, of course, drew an objection from a particular Singaporean (take a guess as to who). Said professor then asked to which part the objection was regarding, that Singapore is 'benevolent', or that it is a 'dictatorship'? His implication being that by themselves, the individual words do not describe what the phrase as a whole encompass, and that was what uniquely identified Singapore (a compliment, in less oblique terms).

And this is where my issue regarding 'The Break-Up' resides. The Break-Up is NOT romantic. It is a break-up and even most die hard romantics will be pressed hard to see anything mushy in the proceedings. The break-up is painful for both parties, and at that juncture, it isn't about the romance anymore, but about the practicality (or lack of) in living with another human being. Brooke (Jennifer Aniston) broke up because Gary's (Vince Vaughn) insenstivity went overboard (when Gary's maths failed him in a lemon test and he couldn't care less). What is so romantic about that?

The Break-Up is NOT a comedy - it is extremely painful to see two people go out of their way to hurt each other, and to induce ill-calculated reactions from the significant other. It doesn't make one laugh much (well, it has its moments, but the whole 'comedic' theme of a couple slugging out for a condo gets shafted by the emoting of the leads). Comedies have a nice neat way of wrapping things up, with the typical happy endings and with messy situations tidily resolved. The Break-Up stayed that way: they broke up.

So does it qualify as a romantic comedy? Not strictly. Most rom-coms end the other way - with boy meeting girl and hooking up. Meet, swoon, kiss, smiles, roll credits. The Break-Up started when things get messy: when 12 lemons became 3 and the lady of the house didn't get her talking point of a table centrepiece. Romantic comedies are like Sleepless in Seattle, where despite the odds, the leads end up together. The Break-Up is where, despite all odds (ok, when a girl walks around your apartment naked, it is NOT because she wants you to wank off in the bathroom later), the leads split up.

So what kind of a movie is it?

Definition and categorisation notwithstanding, it is a movie to watch for those times when you wonder why a relationship ever broke up. For a partner to watch it with, there is none better to recommend than with a recent ex: I think that it is a good way to invite a closer examination into the workings of a concluded relationship. No matter the circumstances of your break-up, seeing a break-up rom-com is a good way to seek closure.

Having closure, after all, is the most healthy way that people should part: leaving with a better understanding of themselves, the lessons learnt, and why things can be done better.

Of Reading Lists and Postcards from Barcelona

Given the time out from full-time student life, I've come to appreciate the fact that I can finally read fiction work again. It sounded strange when I first verbalised it to myself: as a student in uni, I consumed fiction voraciously. Textbooks were full of gibberish and the only thing I counted on were notes and scraps of paper.

Then that monster known as work came along. Consulting is not for everyone, and was definitely not for the fiction afficionado. So I compromised: I read less. Still, I could consume enough books to satiate that lust for stories. I read stuff from all over, and it was during this time that I started liking Margaret Atwood's feminist gab and David Mitchell's dreamy sequences.

Along came biz school and this time round, reading anything other than the required cases for class is a travesty. What's more, the profusion of reading material on the net (I speak of blogs, newspapers, whatnots) meant that my whole day is spent in a constant infusion of text into my brain. I just did not have enough bandwidth to consume fiction as well, and it was on a sad note that I stopped reading anything interesting (hey, some business texts are interesting in their own right - just go read Blue Ocean Strategy... but they aren't stories).

So summer without an internship was a kind of blessing in disguise. I've read David Mitchell's Black Swan Green (I like his previous work better), Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love in a Time of Cholera (I never thought I would touch that novel, to be honest), and Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore (very weird stuff in this book... very very indecipherable). And due to the dearth of good fiction around the house, I'm actually reading the Da Vinci Code (after having seen the movie).

The Da Vinci Code reads like a person driving a car with both the accelerator and brake pedals depressed: start-stop-start-stop-start-stop-start... the protagonists find some new clue, and then the action stops at a critical juncture, and you ask yourself "Gee I need to know what happens!!!" and so you read on. Until the next critical juncture. Ad nauseam. Very useful device to convince the reader that you have an engaging and interesting book (but seriously though, the book reads like someone throwing his high-school history+art+bible lessons at you, wrapped around a treasure hunt story).

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Someone once said that there were only 2 kinds of stories in the world: "A man goes on a journey" and "A stranger comes into town". Every other story is a variation of the 2 themes, a combination of both, or a sluice of something in between. Try looking for these themes the next time you read a book.

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As promised, here are the photos from Barcelona. While there, I met up with a friend who was learning Spanish there (lucky guy) and he introduced me to some of his classmates, one of whom was Italian. That Italian lass and I sat glued in a pub watching the World Cup finals: I cheered for France; no questions who she cheered for. And for my efforts in cheering the losing team, the Italian lass gave me a lesson on what Italian hooligans sing about (they were everywhere in that pub and sang the lewdest songs!), and of course, goaded over their goddamn undeserved victory.

Anyhow, photos:

Go to Barcelona, if for nothing else, thn to see Gaudi's irreverent artwork

La Pedrera

Parc Guell

And the Sagrada...

...with its interesting doors.

The only place where skateboarding can be done around gothic buildings...

...and demonstrations take place outside the mayor's office regularly.

Art, in whatever forms it assumes, is always being restored. The lady here is painstakingly restoring a letterbox carved during the renaissance for the building formerly used by a lawyer's guild.

Port Vell, where a shopping centre's front arcade features mirrors on the ceiling. Perfect for the narcissist in all of us; and a strain on the neck.

Oh yes, the bridges also tend to break up often. :)

Also, do not miss Las Ramblas for the street performers - to be honest, I find them all a tad too touristy and profit driven. Much preferred the occasional guitarist or opera singer I encountered around parts of the Gothic Quarter (a maze to certainly get yourself lost in).

Due to space constraints, check out the rest of my Barcelona impressions here.

What if God was One of Us?

As you're aware, this isn't an anime blog, and this post isn't about an anime either. I'm just a regular guy who got into watching anime purely for recreational reasons (at the instigation of Stripey) and to replace an unhealthy diet of TV shows. Come to think of it, I don't watch the telly anymore: the MBA kind of took that luxury away (no way can I stay glued for fixed times on regular days!). So nowadays, I supplement my entertainment with anime - freely available on the internet, and always a click away with bittorrent.

I digress: I've been seeing this really good anime called 'The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya'. To sum it simply, Haruhi Suzumiya is a typical Japanese schoolgirl who also happens to be God. Not like the God of the Judeo-Christian faith, but God in the sense that she is able to wish things into existence, without even realising it. A dangerous friend to have, but that's what the protagonist, Kyon (regular Japanese school boy in her class), is dealing with. It is like having a nuclear weapon as a friend, and certain interested groups of people are concerned that she should be kept as 'entertained' as possible.

Anyhow, I saw the latest episode (#13) of it two days back and a monologue from our heroine in the middle of the episode struck me as apt description of how small we really are.

First off, some context: Haruhi was talking to Kyon. She is not a typical Japanese high-school girl. In the series (which was re-arranged and not showed in sequence intentionally), Haruhi formed the SOS Brigade club with the expressed purpose of finding espers, time travellers and aliens. Unwittingly, she recruited one of each species (and Kyon, the narrator). The SOS Brigade get into the hijinks that can only happen in anime, and the producers puncture the action with philosophical insights into the creation of the universe, time travel and whatnots. Haruhi also has the ability to wish things into existence, and she's suffering from angst and feeling melancholic because life is too ordinary for her: she also doesn't know she has the power of God.

The monologue (translated from Japanese and copied off the subtitles of Ep #13):

Say... Have you ever realized how insignificant your existence is on this planet?

I have. It's something I'll never forget.

During elementary school, when I was in sixth grade, the whole family went to watch a baseball game at the stadium. I wasn't particularly interested in baseball, but I was shocked once we got there.

There were people everywhere I looked. The ones on the other side of the stadium looked like squirming grains of rice all packed together. I wondered if every last person in Japan had gathered in this place.

And so, I asked my dad, 'Exactly how many people were in the stadium?'

His answer was that a sold-out game meant around fifty thousand people. After the game, the path to the stadium was flooded with people. The sight stunned me.

So many people around me, yet they only made up a fraction of the people in Japan. Once I got home, I got a calculator and did the math. We learned that the Japanese population was a hundred million and some in social studies. Divide 50,000 into that and you only get one two-thousandth. I was stunned again.

Not only was I just one little person in that sea of people in that stadium, but that sea of people was merely a drop in the ocean.

I had thought myself to be a special person up until that point. I enjoyed being with my family, and most of all, I thought that my class in my school had the most interesting people in the world.

But that was when I realized it wasn't like that. The things that happened in what I believed to be the most enjoyable class in the world could be found happening in any school in Japan. Everyone in Japan would find them to be ordinary occurrences.

Once I realized this I suddenly found that my surroundings were beginning to lose their colour. Brush my teeth and go to sleep at night. Wake up and eat breakfast in the morning. People do those everywhere.

When I realized that everyone did all these things on a daily basis everything started to feel so boring. And if there were so many people in the world, there had to be someone living an interesting life that wasn't ordinary. I was sure of it.

Why wasn't that person me?

That's all I could think about until I graduated from elementary school. And in the process, I realized something. Nothing fun will happen if you sit around waiting.

So I figured I would change myself in middle school. Let the world know that I wasn't a girl content with sitting around and waiting. And I conducted myself accordingly. But in the end, nothing ever happened.

Before I knew it, I was in high school. I thought something would have changed.

Of course, our dear heroine, being almighty, did change things through sheer willpower alone (without realising it either). What struck me was how the thoughts that she had were probably not unique unto herself, but probably what we all come to feel at crucial points in our lives.

Just how significant can our lives be? Not everyone of us is going to be a superstar, model, or celebrity. Not everyone of us is going to be a world leader, opinion shaper, news maker. Not everyone will die a glorious death, have people worship us, or lead a congregation of believers.

In fact, most of us are going to be nondescript, unheralded individuals, living lives that are ordinary, simple and unadorned. Haruhi is right in one aspect: life is going to be boring and it is up to us to make it as exciting as we want it to be. It doesn't mean we have to be God to do it - it just means making the effort to seek interesting avenues in life - explore the less explored.

Well, we all can learn lessons everywhere, and I've learnt one from an anime.

More Spelling Fun!

The standard of english in Singapore's educational institutions have been declining the last few years. It is in such an appalling state (just look at the spelling errors and grammatical mistakes I've already made!) that I feel more a further need to teach the kids out there how to spell. But given the limited space I have and having much less popularity than Miss Wendy Cheng (who, incidentally doesn't use very good English either... oh don't flame me though), I shall restrict myself to my oft-cited letter of late: the letter 'V'!

V is (also) for 'Very-long-time-never-see-you': As Stripey has chosen to point out to me, he hasn't seen me for a very long time. Which is, of course, no longer true since I just saw him for dinner today and we had a nice chat at a Kiliney Kopitiam. I think we were both somewhat disappointed with Mai Otome, but on the whole, the series does have its merits. We also discussed the economics of the wedding dinner, and cbk also contributed a new term in my expanding lexicon: the XMM (Xiao Mei Mei; more on other 3 letter shortening of useful phrases some other time).

Also, to Stripey, cbk (aka the Chongster) and zw, I'll be off to La France in May and June, so you guys may use that 'Very-long-time-never-see-you' phrase on me again some time later this year. But rest assured: I won't miss any of your weddings if I can help it! (not that there are many in the first place!)

V is (also) for 'Verisimilitude': I first learnt this big word in university. To be honest, I still don't really know how to use it in a sentence, but suffice to say, to describe something as having verisimilitude is to say that it looks realistic. The phrase first came to my attention when I did classes on American Film (cross-faculty module alas - I wasn't an Arts student). It was a bombastic word to describe scenes we saw on film, whether or not it looked realistic. You won't believe it now, but in the 1930s, films in black and white with cardboard backdrops actually looked realistic to viewers then (they had vintage, those films... can't say the same for nosh like 'Attack of the Clones' - yuck). Another big word I learnt back then was mise-en-scene - something to mean cinematography, though not quite technical.

V is (also) for 'Victory', 'Valour', 'Vigilance', 'Vengeance', 'Vigour' and 'Valiant': Somebody back in the 80s had the bright idea to name the (then) new missile corvettes (MCV) using the letter 'V' (no doubt, he must have read 'V for Vendetta', that 'V' focused spelling book). Somebody should have pointed out to him that 'Valour' and 'Valiant' somewhat mean the same thing, but that fact was probably lost on the powers that be in the navy at that time. Having served my NS in the navy, the MCVs were the pride of the navy (then... probably not so much now) and their names evoked enVy.

I wanted to say, though, that despite the somewhat fancy names, the MCVs have the best names in the entire fleet. Seriously, the name RSS Victory (or my fav: RSS Vengeance) evokes more awe than RSS Punggol (a mine clearing vessel, one of several named after ulu places in Singapore - it was ulu back then but not now), RSS Sea Lion (the navy wants you to think these are lions which surf the seven seas, and not the cousin of the seals of Ocean Park), RSS Endurance (it's a kind of 'garang' name, but it just shows how uncreative the bigwigs in the navy were - this name was recycled from an older ship), and RSS Brave (along with its patrol vessel brothers, Daring, Dauntless, Boring - kidding with that one - these ships further display the lack of ingenuity with ship names).

I think ships should be named after presidents and other kickass politicians, like its done in the US navy. Think RSS Yusof Ishak, or RSS Wee Kim Wee for a change. Well, these names don't exactly strike terror in a foreign naVy, but they definitely are a better way to remember a dead statesman (of course, the MAS can always top that by putting his excellency's face on a 2 dollar note). I hope the naVy does do something more creative with the upcoming frigates it is intending to purchase though.

That's it for now - no more V-ishness and hopefully I haven't crossed the line with that irresponsible defense nonsense. Cheers and Vive la Franc3! (in slightly more than a month's time!)

V is for...

If you haven't seen V for Vendetta (the movie) or read V for Vendetta (the far better done graphic novel) then you probably wouldn't know what I'm talking about.

In any case, go see the movie - it's great! It's a good hard critical look at fascism and anarchy, and it doesn't make a case for either (in the end). I was not that thrilled with the political ideas expounded by it; I was more intrigued with Alan Moore's clever wordplay.

Speaking of Alan Moore (and here, I digress), I somehow wished that he involves himself with the film creation process of his stories, rather than completely divorce himself from it. Prior to V for Vendetta, there was From Hell (Johnny Depp smoking pot and hunting Jack the Ripper), and there was A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (Sean Connery leading Victorian-era X-Men in some swashbuckling adventure). Both stories seriously detracted from Moore's script, borrowing the premise, but none of the richness of ideas and philosophy. A pity: part of the beauty in reading an Alan Moore graphic novel is in recognising this guy's genius with wordplay, philosophy, and subtle references. V for Vendetta is much closer to the original story, but (like in Sin City) squeezing 3 stories into a movie makes scenes look rushed and rather badly paced.

V stood for many things in the movie. Besides being the character's chosen namesake, V represents the Roman numeral for 5. And if you analysed V's utterances carefully, he spoke in iambic pentameters, a system of rhyme with 5 beats composed of 2 syllables each. Also, in the original graphic novel, each chapter of the book was titled with a word beginning with V. V also stood for victory, especially so during WWII and the Allies' invasion of Normandy (another interesting fact: Beethoven's 5th symphony starts off with that famous 'da da da DUM', which is also Morse code for the letter 'V').

Anyway, since that book was such a great spelling book, I decided to do my own version of it. Here's my "V is for..." list:

V is for Van Zandt: this man is a faculty at INSEAD (sighs, that's all I can talk about these days). He taught the Singapore folks Prices and Markets, which is really just a fancy name for Microeconomics and some Game Theory. I've never seen a professor that was so dedicated to helping his students learn: he seriously did a lot to help us all understand, so much so that we ended up misunderstanding at times. 10 points for effort though: he's always trying. Wished INSEAD would give him some kind of award.

V is for Vandalism: the 2 front doors of my car have been purposely scratched. I do not understand the penchant for people to go scratch paint off other peoples' property. There is no justice in it, and exactly what kind of a kick comes out of doing such an irresponsible act? Sure, the other guy parked too close for comfort, but that's no reason to vent your frustration in such a manner. Seriously, car drivers in Singapore are a juvenile bunch: they drive like they own the road; they think having a car is a big deal; and they can't deal with having their so-called freedoms infringed upon. Grow up Singapore car drivers (of course this does not apply to all drivers, so don't take this personally).

V is also Roman numeral for 5: 5 is the number of periods I have to go through for this fricking MBA. 5 is the month that I celebrate my birthday in. 5 is a television channel which is always playing catch-up with the local cable provider. 5 is the number of fingers on my hand (ah duh). 5 is the mental age I lower myself to whenever I throw a tantrum (which I don't, anymore). 5 is so many other things I can't finish numbering them off, so I'll stop with 5 of them.

V is for Ventriloquism, a word I had to look up to spell properly: once upon a time, way back when I was a Primary 6 kid in a mission school, a friend of mine and I decided to do a 'Xiang Sheng' (a Chinese comedic performance, click link and check with professor wiki). To 'spice' up our act, we decided to incorporate a puppet into the act. My friend was supposed to do the ventriloquist part and play with the puppet. Faced with a lack of resources, our puppet was a toy koala bear my sister owned. The soft toy was of the kind where you can stick a hand into it and manipulate its head and 2 little arms. Our act got into a little trouble with the Chinese teacher, and it got canned. (and so ends my brief attempt at a showbiz career).

Right, its late and I need to sleep. Thanks for dropping by and today's program was brought to you by the letter V, and the number 5.

Of geishas and the names we call ourselves

Last week, I saw Memoirs of a Geisha.

Ordinarily, I'm wary whenever Hollywood does something Oriental - you know someone's going to screw up the English (typically the Japanese or Mandarin speech as well), there will be some stereotypical oriental (think Fu Manchu), the Westerner man-from-out-of-town is going to come in and save the day, age-old conventions get defied (damn Westerner's fault!), and pretty much all cultural subtleties are thrown out the window.

That's my rant at least, but I think things at Hollywood have improved. However, until Memoirs, the bigwigs there seem to always insist on a major white guy in the story, his chief role being that of the Devil's Advocate / Enlightener / Troubledour (and whatever else). I remember watching 'The Last Emperor' and Peter O'Toole teaching the monarch about the fine art of bicycle riding. More recently, I disliked seeing Tom Cruise in 'The Last Samurai' becoming swordsman extraordinaire in (oh I don't know...) 2 months?

In any case, I actually liked Memoirs. Nope, I didn't read the book - purists will probably be disappointed (and I like to be a purist, so its good I didn't read it). For once though, there was no chief white man, and the story was more about the trials and tribulations of one woman, and her quest for that one man. It's kind of like Oshin, but condensed and set in the world of the geishas. It is somewhat more glamorous as well - it seems geishas command a high price for their virginity (I've been told this was nonsense by a Japanese - having acted as the local, I've learnt not to trust one).

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Other than being a touching story, Memoirs also had another interesting characteristic - it used Chinese actresses to play Japanese geishas. That, of course, is somewhat obvious though there were 2 subtleties that I thought were noteworthy about the key actresses:

1. In the film, Zhang Ziyi played Sayuri, the protagonist who eventually usurped the resident baddie star geisha, Matsumoto, played by Gong Li. In the movie, Matsumoto was the (initially hot) star geisha whose star was dimming. Sayuri's sudden rise from humble servant girl to men-stunning geisha spelt her doom.

Reel life imitates real life doesn't it? Gong Li was the Chinese star of the 90s, due in large part to the many Zhang Yimou films she starred in; but her star has been fading. The Chinese star of the moment is Zhang Ziyi - she looks younger, she acts just as well, she's a bigger sex symbol and she strips more (well, no frontal nudity cos that will so ruin the image, but you do see lots of her skin). A cruel joke? Or perhaps just an uncanny casting choice?

2. Oh yes, the 3rd big Chinese star in the movie is Michelle Yeoh, and these 3 women combined just about sum up the issue that I really wanted to talk about: Chinese names.

"Michelle Yeoh" is the kind of name I would have given myself if I wanted an ang moh to actually pronounce my name properly, and be able to call me correctly phonetically. It is like that period when folks go into secondary school and it suddenly became cool to have an English name. Tan Tian Huat wanted to be known as Robert, and Goh Siew Hwee insisted on responding to Genevieve. Oh of course that didn't quite apply if your parents gave you a Christian name, but I think you get my drift.

So it is with the "Michelle Yeoh"s of the world - here, I have named myself something cool with my folks, and with which you can call me by. So call me by THAT.

"Zhang Ziyi" is your more typical hanyu pinyin name. Strangely though, she wants to be known as Ziyi Zhang these days. I can understand why - when you have had more than one foreigner mangled your surname (or last name) and given name (or first name) too often, you'll want to set the record straight once and for all. The "Zhang Ziyi"s of the world are the set like mine - it isn't cool to have any ang mohish name once everyone who knows you already know you. If auntie next door has always called you Ah Teck, it'll be really hard to correct her (No auntie, it is LORBIRD. R-O-B-E-R-T).

I sympathise with what she's (Miss Zhang) done with her name - culturally, the typical foreigner refuses to get off his cultural high horse to understand how the Chinese name themselves. We have to end up giving it to them in a palatable form, even if it was something as weird as "Ziyi Zhang". Is it that hard to see that the Chinese have always had their surnames come first?

Then we have the "Gong Li" names. That's where I am - I am a "Gong Li" name-type. I'm the kind of guy who did not manage to get a real cool English name (some idiot wanted to call me Valence in Sec 4 and thank God that didn't happen). Even more unfortunately, my parents thought it was cool to have a child with a "dan ming" (a 1-character given name, some examples from politics are: "Li Peng", "Lien Chan"). Thus, like Gong Li, I'm forever doomed to being called by my full name.

See, the typical ang moh can't understand that - in their universe, nobody gets called by their full name. It is just plain rude (it is plain rude too if you called Zhang Ziyi "Zhang Ziyi" all of the time too, incidentally). However, the problem with dan mings is just that: you have to call the person by their full name. I'm sure Gong Li doesn't want to be called 'Li' on the set - she's not likely to respond to that. It doesn't help even if she was to be known as "Li Gong" (just so that the typical ang moh knows which is the given name, and which is the surname).

Mangled names aside, I've had a tough time explaining my name. Some give up - they just call me by my surname (since its the first syllable, and many people are called by their surname too - I remember a certain 'bear' friend who is). Some others actually do try - the INSEAD professors have been the best - they just call me by the bold characters on my name tag (this green card that everyone puts in front of themselves for identification purposes - I'll try to put up a pic to illustrate when I can).

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Names - it seems they are a part of ourselves no one can take away. Yet, they are also a part of ourselves that are so easily mis-represented. I think we should be proud of what it is - after all, what else do you carry with you when all else leaves you? What's there to mark your grave when you finally depart this world? Your name is you - so live with it the best way you can.

Be with Me Part 2 - Where is the Love?

Be with Me has the trademarks of an Eric Khoo film - the nymphet, the ghost, the despairing man, the down and out lowly-educated guy, the suicide case, the mother figure.

Remember 12 storeys? Nymphet - Lum May Yee (yummy - she looked real delicious in that film). Ghost - er... you know that guy who killed himself in the beginning of the film? He's also the suicide case. Despairing man - ooh, too obvious to miss this one, go watch the film again.

Be with Me: Nymphets (!!!) - Ezann Lee and Samantha Tan (and I thought at least one of a pair of lesbians has to be a butch; how unfair to men). Ghost - the despairing man's wife, who died in a nursing home. Mother figure - Theresa Chan, deaf, blind and expressive, her thoughts on love are beautifully crafted. Suicide case - lesbian loses love and tries to kill herself. Down and out guy - security guard lusting for some of Lynn Poh.

Ed note: Hmm, there's too much name dropping back there.

In any case, I liked the idea of having Theresa's text from her book typed into the subtitles, without any voice over. For once, I truly focused on her thoughts and her recollections of her life - without her talking about it. One reads it in the text, with the subtlety all in the scene being played out.

And isn't it somehow familiar to see Ezann get jilted like this? Unrequited love - I think we've all gone through it at some stage of our life, but to feel it so poignantly in smses is something new. Our modes of communication has changed so much that one experiences real pain when one sends an sms... and the reply never comes back.

'Be with me my beloved love, so my smile will never fade'

Be with Me Part 1

I saw Eric Khoo's Be With Me today by myself.

Actually, I was glad that I saw it alone - I couldn't bear with having to discuss it with anyone at all; this thought having come out of what I heard as I left the cinema.

"That scenario will never happened" - it's a movie, so enjoy the movie for what it is, don't diss it for an improbable 'scenario'. Yes, I know it is unlikely that a girl committing suicide will end up hitting someone below (well, she should have looked, etc), but heck, it's part of the plot. Do try to say something more intelligent next time.

"Ezann's uniform didn't look right - I think that JC's skirt has a pleat" - Haha its the first time I've met a JC uniform purist. He thinks the uniform is somehow wrong (oh, is it the wrong shade of green?) and couldn't stop describing it to his friend.

"That woman playing the deaf and blind woman didn't act like a deaf and blind woman" - Bimbo of the night said something as silly as that. With all the publicity this movie has been getting, you would think that all Singapore knows that Theresa Chan was... well, played by Theresa Chan, a real-life deaf and blind woman. I think she was being herself - especially when playing a deaf and blind woman. Didn't the words "Inspired by the Story of Theresa Chan" appear in big bold arial font at the commencement of the movie? Oh, even better still, didn't the name Theresa Chan appear in the credits?

People should quit acting intellectual; I would have hated discussing this movie with anyone at all, because:
a) I'm going to hear about that lesbian kissing scene
b) I'm going to have to cringe at talk of 'what it all means'
c) someone's going to say 'Nobody really understands Eric Khoo like I do'
d) someone will think he's wasted his money
e) a certain friend would preferred to have seen less brainy fare - the Longest Yard for example ;)

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To be honest though, I would rather have seen the movie with a friend. The GF is out of town and it was too late to call someone (anyone at that point) out. And another night having dinner with my dad and mom would have driven me nuts (I need time away from my parents - they suffocate).

On the other hand, watching a movie is mostly a solitary experience. You pay an exorbitant price to sit in a comfortable seat, eyes riveted to the big screen watching drama unfold. Unless you're in the cinema to make out or snuggle with a loved one, you're unlikely to have much interaction with anyone else, save for the occasional comment shared or elbow being nudged.

It was with this ideal that I spent a lot of time during my uni days watching movies by myself. About a third of the movies then were watched alone, with nary a friend accompanying. Frankly, it would have been difficult getting someone to come along sometimes - I wanted to watch the less mainstream stuff (it's mostly to indulge the perceived arty side of myself; arty being a misnomer, I realised).

It's with this thought that I urge you to do this the next time you watch a film such as Eric Khoo's (whether it be the raw gritty Singapore film-maker kind or the pretentious arthouse Wong Kar Wai-esque kind or the Zhang Yimou pretty colourful sights kind):

Don't discuss the film.

Just remember it for what it showed you, and the story it was trying to tell. Your memory of it suffices - the words of another just taints the picture you have drawn of it.

Space Opera

Question: What do you call those things fitted onto a car bonnet, making it look kind of out of shape, so that it can stabilise a speeding car by countering Bernoulli's effect?

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I saw Revenge of the Sith (ROTS) yesterday night and never felt better that the saga is finally over. Most fans were disappointed with the earlier prequels; I think things were wrapped up nicely in this very last instalment of the space opera (big fan I am not; know story I do though).

Anyway, I just thought I do a 'Did you spot that?', just for the heck of it. I have this knack for keeping a whole load of movie moments in my head and Lucas leaves blatant references in ROTS which screams for your attention. Here goes:

Did you spot...

1. a younger Grand Moff Tarkin? He was supervising the construction of the Death Star, together with Vader and Palpatine at the end of the movie. This is the same bad guy who says that line: 'Leave? In our moment of triumph?' moments before the Death Star is blown to bits in A New Hope. Strange - even in the Star Wars space age, should it take the time for Luke to grow up for that Death Star to be fully built?

2. the father of Wedge Antilles? Wedge is this hot shot rebel figher pilot instrumental in blowing up the second Death Star. You see him leading the Rogue squadron in Return of the Jedi. His father (I think, not sure) is the guy who got handed C3PO by Senator Organa, and was told to erase the droid's memory (wrap up plot device - C3PO is to become comic relief fodder in subsequent epis).

3. the same diplomatic ship that Leia was captured in? That will be the fist shaped ship Bail Organa travelled in, right down to the spick span white corridors. Hmm... it appears that they haven't gotten their crew round to wearing those aerodynamic helmets yet. When I first saw those helmets as a kid, I remember asking why fellas in a space ship needed to protect their heads with that ridiculous headgear.

4. Obi-Wan picking up Anakin's light saber? Crucial plot device, cos Obi-Wan will later give that same light saber to Luke. Not so subtle, of course, but without that scene, fans will be baying for Lucas's blood.

5. really lame explanation for why Obi-Wan and Yoda can come back in 'ghostly' forms in Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi? This comes from that secret training to gain immortality bit. I kind of just like the mystery the way it is - when you try to explain a mystery, it comes off kind of cheesy if you do a half baked explanation (such as that midichlorian thing).

In any case, I enjoyed watching the movie. The title should really be: Emperor kicks Jedi butt (its not my movie alas). My favourite Star Wars movie in the entire franchise remains Epi 5: The Empire Strikes Back - nothing in whole story beats seeing Darth Vader saying 'Luke, I am your father'. Its like, suddenly, a swashbuckling romp through space is turned into a family drama of galactic proportions.

A space opera indeed.

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The answer to the earlier question? Spoilers.

Tragically Yours

I want to be the tragic hero. Well, in truth, I want to be the tragic heroine, but that sounds a little too gay / transexual / girly. It sounds nicer to say "I want to be a tragic heroine" than "I want to be a tragic hero". And aren't tragic heroines much better at emoting pain than tragic heroes?

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While on a recent flight I saw this Zhang Yimou wu xia pian - House of Flying Daggers. Actually, a literal translation of the Chinese title is "Ambushed on 10 Sides", but that probably won't market very well in the US. "House of Flying Daggers" give it a more mysterious aura (think "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon", which was literally translated from its Chinese title).

That movie has a tragic heroine, and 2 tragic heroes! What better way to be a tragic hero than to stand in huge field (pan the camera over the tragic plains), while a blizzard works itself up (zoom in on my tragic face when the snow begins to fall), holding a dripping dagger (I've been stabbed, goddamn!).

Oh yes, I will also have smouldering good looks, wear some Chinese robe thing that must flap wildly in the blizzard. The snow falling around me will add to accentuate my misery as I hug my one true love (who is dying, wilting away).

The plot of the movie needs work - it's based on the premise that people are not who they are. That blind courtesan there is not a blind courtesan, she's the daughter of some pseudo dagger wielding cult. That marshal there is not a marshal, he's a spy sent to infiltrate the government. That movie you're seeing is no movie, its a blatant excuse for some folks to take your money.

Ah, but it is kind of nice to be a tragic hero, if there's a camera there placed aptly to capture that angst and mellow introspection.

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Misery always require an audience.

What's a life worth

If you've seen the movie Constantine, you'll probably remember that the Rachel Weisz character (Isabel I think?) has a twin sister. This twin took her own life and promptly went to Hell. According to Catholic doctrine, committing suicide is such a big sin that you're sent to Hell immediately.

What is the rationale behind this school of thought? Here, I'd like to give my take on this. I think that we are not supposed to take our own lives because our bodies are meant to be a temple to God. To wilfully destroy this temple is such sacrilege that there can be no bigger sin. Each one of us, after all, is God's creation. And we give Him praise through our actions and deeds. Killing oneself goes against all tenets of this belief.

Personally though, I don't entirely subscribe to this form of thinking. Remember that there is no 'hierarchy' of sins - sins are just sins, and if taking your life is a sin, it is no greater a sin than theft or murder is. What is so unpardonable about committing suicide that one should be condemned to eternal damnation? Even murderers on death row have a chance at redemption. Side note: it is kind of hard to redeem yourself while you're still alive if your sin is suicide, don't you think?

I do agree on one point though: we won't be alive in the first place if not for God. He's the reason we exist. Thus, we are accountable to some degree for how we've lived our lives. Our time on this Earth is but training for eternity, and it is imperative that we live it to its fullest. To take one's life is to rebuke this opportunity. It is not a short cut to the after-life - it is chickening out of a responsibility in its worst form. God will ultimately hand judgement on such individuals, be it damnation or bliss.

A reservist friend of mine said it best - there's nothing in life that is insolvable. Depression can drive us to do the unimaginable, but there is always help somewhere.

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By the way, as a Christian, I'm (more or less) of certain Judeo-Christian inclinations regarding life, death, God and the after-life. Feel free to express other views of the issue. I don't think I'm done expressing what I think though. More opinions later...