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I love films that take place in one location. Buried comes to...

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 23:39:00 +0800

I love films that take place in one location. Buried comes to mind. Lumet’s 12 Angry Men. More recently, Polanki’s Carnage.

A personal favourite is Richard Linklater’s Tape.

There’s something special about a space. A place. A single location. This couch in the picture, for instance. I love this couch. Things happened on this couch; lots of things — because of it, and in spite of.

If this couch could talk, oh the stories it would tell.

I already made a film where the couch is a character. Now, I would like to make one that takes place entirely on it.

One location. One place. I want to make this couch a holy space.

Little Taiwan. No. Mamak? Naaah. Old Town? And then usually,...

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 01:48:00 +0800

Little Taiwan. No. Mamak? Naaah. Old Town?

And then usually, whatever comes after, everyone agrees.

My colleagues and I, we have this problem: Every day at lunch, we spend anywhere from five to fifteen minutes trying to decide where to go eat.

You see, I was raised in a culture where Carbohydrate is king. Not that we didn’t have proteins or fats or whatever, but those were merely supporting actors catching the flash of Carb’s starlight.

In the West, you order Roast Chicken with a side of french fries; in West Africa, you order French Fries with a side of roast chicken. It’s basically the same thing, yes, but there’s a difference; subtle, but vital.

I have this theory, which if I’m really being scientific, isn’t actually a theory — more like a habit — and it’s that basically, I consume rice at least once a day for optimal holistic health.

Back home, rice mostly comes in three forms: white, fried and Jollof, so making a decision wasn’t really that difficult. I had Jollof yesterday so today is white. If it’s a special day I have it fried.

Here in South-East Asia, there are practically a bajillion different types of fried rice alone. The paradox of choice.

A while back, Patrick told me about this decision hacking tool he heard about called The McDonalds Method. Basically, if you’re in a group that’s having difficulty coming to a unanimous decision, the trick is to suggest the worst possible most repulsive option; the next suggestion — whatever it may be — will seem infinitely better. And everyone will agree.

So tonight, there we were — Shan, Chee, Matt and I — all trying to decide where to go for dinner, going back and forth, wax philosophizing and procrastinating, and then Matt suggested Old Town.

We ended up here — wherever here is — because that’s what came after.

I fucked up.

Mon, 17 Jun 2013 05:48:07 +0800

I fucked up.

Spent most of the day up at Starbucks learning and breaking the...

Sun, 16 Jun 2013 00:44:49 +0800

Spent most of the day up at Starbucks learning and breaking the rules of cinematic composition.

Jamal Raslan. Poet. Performer. All-round good guy.

Sat, 15 Jun 2013 03:08:50 +0800

Jamal Raslan. Poet. Performer. All-round good guy.

My camera fell in the airport today. I placed it on a bench for...

Sat, 15 Jun 2013 02:19:00 +0800

My camera fell in the airport today. I placed it on a bench for a second and then watched in horror as the very next second, it fell in slow motion to the floor. The camera body is fine — thank goodness — but I’m now stuck with a 50mm lens that takes these funky soft-focus photographs.

Sigh.

In the last 30 days, I’ve been to the airport three times. For some reason, my close friends keep leaving Malaysia for good; going back home. First it was Alex, then Patrick and SY, and now Gaj.

Seven months ago in Penang, I heard Nii describe home as “the place where you don’t have to explain yourself”. It made a lot of sense to me at the time; and to some extent, still does, which I guess is why I’m still here.

They know me here. There is no need to explain me here.

So I stumbled across this old abandoned-house-turned-parking-lot...

Fri, 14 Jun 2013 00:55:00 +0800

So I stumbled across this old abandoned-house-turned-parking-lot in Bangsar today.

You see a couple of nights ago, I watched this excellent documentary, GREGORY CREWDSON: BRIEF ENCOUNTERS, and towards the very end — spoiler alert — after Gregory was done shooting Beyond the Roses, he wanted to take a break from shooting, he was tired, but while at an exhibition in Rome, he visited Cinecitta, the fabled Italian movie studio, and when he saw the old abandoned sets on the backlot, he immediately knew that that’s what’s going to be his next body of work.

The old abandoned-house-turned-parking-lot isn’t quite Cinecitta, but I’ll take inspiration where I can get it.

There’s a scene in Medicine for Melancholy — Micah...

Thu, 13 Jun 2013 00:40:00 +0800

There’s a scene in Medicine for Melancholy — Micah asks Jo to describe herself in one word, and she says it’s impossible; people are way too complex to be summarized down to a single word.

“Me? I’m a black man.” Micah says. “That’s how I see the world. That’s how the world sees me. But if I have to choose one, I’m black before I’m a man. So, therefore, I am black.”

The first time I saw the film, that scene stayed with me for several days. There was this internal conflict in me: On one hand, I am (read: want to be) like Jo, post-racial, someone who believes that race isn’t the central part of my (or anyone else’s) identity; on the other hand, everything Micah said in the film made perfect sense to me.

“Think about it. Everything about being indie is all tied to not being black.” - Micah.

A couple of months ago while I was out swing dancing, I bumped into this dame I knew from the Internet but had never met in person. We got talking, very soon we started laughing, and somewhere along the way, I threatened her — jokingly. She laughed, and then said that she better complies because,

“I know you guys are predisposed to violence”

Which I took to mean us, men. Because I’m a man; men are stereotypically violent.

And then she added,

“Wait, is that racist?”

Ah! Black. Oops! My mistake.

I told my friend’s girlfriend that I dance Lindy Hop, and she immediately assumed that I’m a good dancer; told me about all the good black folk she danced with in Paris.

Because I’m black before I’m a man.

My colleagues at the gym are envious that I don’t have to work out as hard because I have “good genes”.

Because I’m black before I’m a man.

Earlier today, this guy I know was telling me about a video he saw of a genocide — some ethnic cleaning type shit in some country somewhere in Africa, and about the horrific things he saw, he said —

“Black people are just so evil, don’t you think?”

Sigh.

Whenever I hear things like that, my black heart breaks into a thousand little black pieces. It makes me want to reach out and hold the guy by the neck, raise him up to the skies and shout at the top of my lungs —

“HAVE YOU HEARD OF THE CRUSADES?!”

“WHAT ABOUT THE HOLOCAUST?!”

“SLAVERY, MOTHERFUCKER!”

And then punch him in the face.

Because I’m athletic.

Because I’m violent.

Because I’m black before I’m a man.

Light reading while Media Encoder exports.

Wed, 12 Jun 2013 03:21:00 +0800

Light reading while Media Encoder exports.

If it’s dark and you’re hurting and feeling very...

Tue, 11 Jun 2013 05:46:00 +0800

If it’s dark and you’re hurting and feeling very stupid over some other person, chances are, your despair is not very interesting. That’s not to say that your feelings are illegitimate or uncalled for, but please for the love of god don’t write poetry. I’ve never been at an open mic where someone read a break-up poem and I though, “Gosh, that’s fantastic”.

But I know a person who compared old emotions to pickles, and I thought that was interesting.

The truest memories are the ones forgotten.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that the one who wears an emotional armour gets hurt less often than the one who does not, but the one who does is also less human.

Our humanity lies in vulnerability. Or more accurately, being human means being willing to be completely vulnerable with another human.

That being said, everything I said could be totally wrong.

Photo

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 01:37:22 +0800

It used to be that when you make a phone call, a woman at the...

Mon, 10 Jun 2013 00:57:00 +0800

It used to be that when you make a phone call, a woman at the exchange will literally — through the use of metal pegs and a giant board — plug your incoming line into the receiving plug. Her job title, Switchboard Operator. That woman is now dead, but even if she wasn’t, she’d be out of a job.

Less than century ago, if you got on an elevator, a man would ask what floor you’d be going to, and when you answered, he would take you there, landing the elevator cab perfectly level with the floor. On a crowded elevator, he decides what floors to stop at, in which order. He was an Elevator Operator, and he too is now obsolete.

And the world is now a much better place because of that.

See also: Telegraph Operator. Pinsetter. Lamplighter.

Over brunch, Tharish told me about a terrible experience she had in Macau, and in turn, I told her how much I despise traveling in general.

“Going places, that I don’t have a problem with. Just the logistics, you know — visas, vaccinations, insurance…” I said. “Which is why I can’t wait for teleportation to become a thing!”

“Yea, and then long-distance relationships will become obsolete”, she said, and the minute she said that, I really really hoped teleportation never comes to fruition.

Short-term solitude is crucial. Distance gives perspective. I would go so far as to say that next to communication, the most important element in a healthy relationship — ANY relationship, not just a romantic one — is space.

Space to think. Space to breathe. Space to miss each other. Space to grow.

Space.

I need my space, and I really really hope teleportation never becomes a thing.

I’m tired.

Sun, 09 Jun 2013 02:59:18 +0800

I’m tired.

There’s a fantastic This American Life episode about...

Sat, 08 Jun 2013 01:46:00 +0800

There’s a fantastic This American Life episode about Animal Sacrifice, and the last story, act three — titled Human Sacrifice — was about Ira Glass going above and beyond the call of duty to make his dog happy. Just go listen to the episode, I promise you won’t regret it.

I adopted Marker a little over a week ago, and at the time, I was very unsure whether or not it was the right thing to do, me adopting a stray; which is exactly why I did it: The old saying how at the end of your life you’re going to regret the things you didn’t do more than the things you did.

Growing up, we had a few cats at home, but I’d never actually raised one myself. Marker was my first, and in the week or so I’ve had him, I learned a lot about cats and vets and the responsibility of pet owners. I also learned how to clean cat shit from tiles: Clorox.

Surprisingly, Marker and I bonded really quickly. By the second day, he was following me around the apartment everywhere, like a puppy, and when I sat, he sat with me and played with my toes; my fingers; my dangling earphones. This one time, he climbed on top of me and kissed me on the lips. It was surreal. The Internet says he’s using me as a surrogate mother because he didn’t have one.

Of course the Internet is always right.

Being with Marker this past week and a half, the one thing I learned more than anything is that I’m not a raise-a-kitten-on-my-own kind of guy. If a wormhole were to appear in front of me right this very second, and I stepped inside and found myself back on the day I adopted the little guy, I would know for sure not to adopt him, and the only reason I would known that is because in this timeline, I did adopt him and loved him and raised him for a week or so, and just before stepping into the wormhole, passed him on to someone who I know will undoubtedly take better care of him.

Now I know for sure that I’m not a raise-a-kitten-on-my-own kind of guy, but I don’t know if I’m a raise-a-kitten-with-the-help-of-a-loving-partner kind of guy.

And I’ll never know until I try.

And maybe I will.

And my point is, some things in life — human sacrifice, for example — you gotta say yes to even if you’re unsure — especially if you’re unsure — because even if it does end up being the wrong thing to do, it was the right thing to do because that’s what led you to being sure. Self-knowledge is invaluable.

Beauty. Beauty. Beauty. Some colleagues were watching HOLY...

Fri, 07 Jun 2013 02:09:00 +0800

Beauty. Beauty. Beauty.

Some colleagues were watching HOLY MOTORS earlier today when I came by. I hung around for a few minutes. It’s such a fantastic film; I would’ve stayed for the entire thing if I didn’t have to go back home to feed Marker.

Something I realized, which I didn’t the first time around, was how the photographer just kept repeating the same word over and over while he was taking pictures.

He’s so weird. So weird. So weird.

I need to see HOLY MOTORS again.

Another one of those nights, only tonight, I didn’t walk...

Thu, 06 Jun 2013 02:44:59 +0800

Another one of those nights, only tonight, I didn’t walk home all alone.

The concept of predestination is something that has always...

Wed, 05 Jun 2013 01:55:00 +0800

The concept of predestination is something that has always fascinated me. On one hand, there’s peace in knowing you can never go wrong; everything you do has already been etched in stone and is therefore inevitable. You’re always in a perpetual state of rightness, and damn if it doesn’t feel so good.

A few things happened in my life recently, things that normally may raise a case for regret on my part. Not too long ago, I woud’ve gone weeks feeling like a complete mess; an ass; explaining what had happened every chance I got.

But now, I think it was meant to be; the best thing to happen when it did considering the circumstances. Maybe the things that happened happened at exactly the time they did because it was the best thing to happen not just to my life, but the Universe and everything; I’m talking the literal sense, not my parents.

There’s peace and then there’s peace. There’s peace in having faith that everything will work out; then there’s peace in knowing it already has. The belief that each occurrence will be better than the one before. IS better than the one before.

This peace though, is not cheap.

The payoff, I guess, is that you don’t have free will. You’re a robot; less than a robot, in fact; you’re an automaton.

I, automaton.

I like to think of celebrities as people — I know right,...

Tue, 04 Jun 2013 02:51:00 +0800

I like to think of celebrities as people — I know right, radical — and because I try my best to stay out of people’s business, I don’t usually comment on celebrity shenanigans that don’t affect me directly. With a preamble like this, you know I’m about to do just that right now. So…

Zosia Mamet and her sister want to make a music video and they need $32,000. That’s right, THIRTY TWO THOUSAND AMERICAN DOLLARS!

I’ll let that sink in for a second.

This is what they said in their Kickstarter video:

We’re sisters. We’re so successful that we don’t get to hang out with each other. So we started a band in order to hangout more. Please help us raise this much money so we can be besties some more.

I’m paraphrasing, of course.

Now the fact that they’re both on hit TV shows and can probably fund the whole thing out of their pockets isn’t even the issue here. If they don’t want to put in their own money, it’s cool; I’m not their financial advisor. But here’s an idea:

Why not have a competition type-thing where people from around the world make music videos for the song and the winner gets, say, $5,000 and some exposure. I’m sure there are a couple of people out there who would kill to make a music video for the Sisters Mamet. I certainly won’t kill for it, but I might actually take a stab at it. I actually quite like the song, ~~the little of it I’ve heard~~.

My problem is — I’ve got friends and acquaintances asking for less than half that amount to make feature films; people who cannot raise the money any other way, not even if they literally whored themselves out. These sisters can endorse fucking taco bell or whatever and get that money in a heartbeat.

My problem is — “abuse of power” isn’t quite the clause, but it’ll do for now.

Pay me $2,000 so my sister and I can hangout, and in return, we’ll let you talk to us on Skype for 45 minutes.

My problem is — it’s a FUCKING MUSIC VIDEO! Period. The world doesn’t need more music videos.

All that being said, if you want to give the Sisters Mamet your money, more power to you.

Today, I saw KIL. It’s one of those movies where I went in...

Mon, 03 Jun 2013 00:03:00 +0800

Today, I saw KIL. It’s one of those movies where I went in expecting one thing but got something else entirely; and even though I liked what I got, I’m slightly disappointed that I didn’t get what I expected.

Afterwards, I went to Kinokuniya to “just look around”, but I should’ve known that one can’t simply just look around in Kinokuniya.

I ended up with four books: Three of movies I love, and the fourth a book by a writer I’d never head of before today which I bought only because the cover looked pretty. Really.

Have you seen KIL? Let’s talk about KIL.

Meanwhile, I think Marker likes John Dies at the End.

Describing cab drivers in KL after midnight, “scum”...

Sun, 02 Jun 2013 02:31:00 +0800

Describing cab drivers in KL after midnight, “scum” doesn’t even begin to do it justice. It’s like a fucked up version of Cinderella, where instead of turning into pumpkins at midnight, they just disregard the meter. They look in your face and quote an arbitrarily ridiculous amount no self-respecting thief would be able to say without flinching.

And they don’t flinch.

Tonight, I saw NOW YOU SEE ME, a movie in which each scene is more ridiculous than the last; each line more preposterous than the one before; so naturally, I loved every bit of it. As far as summer movies go, it’s up there with FURIOUS 6, which, believe it or not, I loved more than STAR TREK and IRON MAN 3 combined.

After the movie, I took an executive cab (which is considerably more expensive than a budget cab) because the driver was using the meter. In the end, I payed about the same as I would’ve if I’d taken the overinflated scum cab. Having said that, I’ll tell you what anyone in my position would say —

… it’s the principle.

On the ride back, I started thinking about the movie, and why I like it. I’m not into magic in that I don’t watch David Blaine’s specials on TV, but the very idea of misdirection has always fascinated me. I think every well crafted story should have an element of magic in it. You think it’s going one way, and BAM — it’s something else entirely. I’m not talking about a cheap twist, I’m talking brilliant sleight of hand.

Something that takes your breath away.

Something that amazes.

Magic.