U-Wei’s HANYUT begins with an image of a Chinese man who
appears to be an opium smoker. But it is a red herring. Opium smokers are thin
with sunken cheeks, and lie supine. This man, however, looks well-fed and
appears to be in charge (Mamat Khalid also had a Chinese opium smoker in his
parodic film, KALA MALAM BULAN MENGAMBANG). This scene in HANYUT is actually part
of the last scene in the film where we see the Chinese man leaving Almayer’s
house. Almayer (Peter O’Brien), is then shown lying on the floor, with an opium
pipe beside him. He is gaunt, obviously brought about by opium smoking, and
provided by the Chinese man. With unblinking eyes and an expressionless face,
Almayer stares straight ahead and mumbles: “I cannot forget….”
Every portrait that is painted with feeling
-
Oscar Wilde
As in all U-Wei’s films, there will be lines of dialogue
like this. Like Shakespeare’s lines which use simple words but are pregnant
with subtext, U-Wei’s words draw attention to the subtext of his films. What is
it then that Almayer cannot forget? Is it the unfinished house that he himself
finally sets fire to? Or is it that mountain of gold that he was searching for?
He had devoted twenty years of his life to that quest, and he will not leave. Almayer
vehemently emphasizes this at dinner with the British officers at his house: “I
cannot leave this infernal place. I have been trying to leave for twenty years.
I will never get out.” He does not say “cannot” but “will never”. What is it
then that is holding him back?
The opening and closing scenes in HANYUT are significant as
subtexts in the context of Malaysian cinema. It is the background story, one
that is hidden and needs to be interpreted in light of the history of Malay
cinema (not Malaysian cinema). Many films begin and end with the same scene. It
becomes a signifier - that nothing has changed, and the cycle goes on. U-Wei’s
earlier film, JOGHO, also began - with an untended paddy field, and ended with
the same field, still untended. Nothing has changed, and life goes on as it has
for centuries. The landscape functions as a mindscape of the inhabitants and
their habitat. It is U-Wei’s observation of the fate of his race, his nation,
and the profession that he has embraced. He will not put it all behind him
because he has not forgotten – as in Mem’s words to Nina, her daughter (Diana
Danielle): “This country gave birth to me. I am Malay. You are Malay.”
One cannot argue with that…
The story continues with Nina being forcibly taken away from
Mem (Sofia Jane), by Almayer to be sent to England to become ‘a lady’. Mem now
has hatred and a desire for revenge on Almayer. Almayer, being a European, does
not understand this particular trait in the Malay race. Like the characters in
U-Wei’s first film, ISTERI, PEREMPUAN DAN…, this is what drives the story of
HANYUT, drawing other characters into its web, and is what builds up to the
inevitable climax. History simply repeats itself. It is characters like these
that brought down the Melaka sultanate in the 15th century. Jealous
ministers and opportunists like Raja Mendaliar and his minion, Kitul anak
Patul, recur throughout all time. The final scene in ISTERI, PEREMPUAN DAN… too,
echoes the story of Hang Tuah where brother is pitted against brother. The
cycle becomes repeated.
The story of HANYUT carries on with the birth of a baby,
with Nina coincidentally returning ten years later. The birth appears to signal
a new beginning, but it is not meant to be. In Dain Maroola (played by Adi
Putra), Mem sees the opportunity to exact revenge on Almayer. And so she,
unknowingly, sets into motion events that will end in tragedy for her husband.
The tragedy, in fact, is presented by U-Wei in dramatic
irony. Almayer sincerely has his daughter’s happiness and future in his sights,
and he does it all based on his own culture, one that is very different from
the culture of the Malays where there is a lot of intrigue and power play. Almayer
rejects an Arab’s marriage proposal, and provides a logical explanation for it.
But even the Arab (Bront Palarae), is like the Malays, becoming offended and
emotional. Mem, Almayer’s wife, pretends to be like Almayer, but is enamoured
and carried away by the jewellery offered by Dain. Nina, caught in between, is
confused but ultimately, her love for Dain takes over, and she ends up
rejecting her own father, unable to comprehend that Almayer actually has her
best interests at heart.
U-Wei introduces other characters who add insult to injury.
Among them are the lackadaisical and brainless Sultan (El Manik), with his sycophantic
right hand man, Orang Kaya Tinggi (Khalid Salleh). The Sultan cooperates with
the British. Like old Melaka’s Raja Mendaliar, Orang Kaya Tinggi sees his
opportunity and spreads calumny against Almayer. Tarminah (Rahayu Saraswati),
the kueh-selling village girl, is in
love with Dain. When she finds out that Dain is going to run off with Nina, her
jealousy and anger contributes to the inevitable. She spies on Nina and Mem,
and then tells Almayer that Mem is behind the plot to fool the British by claiming
that Dain has died by drowning.
U-Wei depicts Almayer as a man of vision. He is progressive,
in contrast to the Malays around him, and the British whose main aim is only consolidate
their power. He has begun to build a house. It is not finished, and he will
finish it himself without any help from the Malays once he finds the gold that
he is looking for. However, when his
daughter makes the decision to leave him and go with Dain, his whole world
collapses. All the more so when Dain confidently tells him that “Nina is now
Malay.” Unlike Mem, Almayer’s desire for gold was all for Nina, so that she
could marry a European and live a happy life away from the decadent ‘savages’
that he has been around with for twenty years.
Federico Fellini said that all art is autobiographical, and
he has demonstrated that in his films. Oscar Wilde’s comment that every
portrait painted, in reality, is a portrait of the artist himself can also be
applied to the works of many filmmakers. Since the 1980s, many Malaysian
filmmakers – In particular those trained overseas and exposed to great
literature – have made films that are, in fact, about their own involvement in
the film industry. U-Wei is no different. To understand the background story of
HANYUT, one needs to decipher the character roles and the events depicted. They
become pointers as to what is U-Wei’s subject matter and what he is really
saying in HANYUT.
The story of HANYUT as presented on the screen is very easy
to follow. But its meaning is indeed very complex and needs to be deciphered. How
then shall we decipher the meaning of HANYUT vis-a-vis the opening and closing
scenes of HANYUT? U-Wei’s directorial statement is:
Hanyut is a story
about a cosmopolitan society living and working together along a riverbank
some-where in Malaysia. It attracted many sea travelers seeking opportunity and
rewards. It gives us a window into the Malay society in Malaysia in the late
19th century: A highly competitive mix of indigenous Malays, tribal aborigines,
Europeans, Arabs, Indians and Chinese living and working together. Although the
book starts out as though it is from the perspective of the European
protagonist, the narrative is dynamic. By the end of the story the protagonist
(and the audience) discover the understanding of his own insignificance. In the
beginning of the story Almayer appears to be at the centre of society, but in
the end we see that he is very much peripheral and alienated, and that the real
cultural, political and economic life of the community is located elsewhere and
involves other people besides himself.
I much prefer U-Wei’s dictionary meaning of the word
‘hanyut’ that appears at the end of the film:
Drifting off into ominous peril, without
any real way of getting back.
Perhaps HANYUT is a huge portrait of U-Wei himself, and the
people and the milieu he has to contend with, one that has taken him twenty
years to finally ‘paint’. And perhaps, U-Wei is still waiting to discover that ‘mountain
of gold’, which has been eluding him as a film storyteller, and – like Almayer
- he cannot leave the scene without having achieved that goal. Perhaps he feels
that he is now adrift, but has come accept that fact because there is no way
back…
But for Malay cinema, HANYUT, which finally has come to
fruition after almost two decades, is like a ‘mountain of gold’ that has been
longed for, one that can be called an authentic Malay cinema, even if it has
been largely brought to the screen by many foreigners, both in its cast and
crew. Perhaps that is the irony of the Malays: that they can only discover
themselves – like Almayer – when they come into contact with the Other.
Oleh: Hassan Abdul Muthalib
© 2016 Semua Hak Cipta Penulisan Kreatif adalah terpelihara milik penulis. Sebarang cetakan semula dalam apa jua platform sekalipun tanpa kebenaran penulis adalah dilarang.
Oleh: Hassan Abdul Muthalib
© 2016 Semua Hak Cipta Penulisan Kreatif adalah terpelihara milik penulis. Sebarang cetakan semula dalam apa jua platform sekalipun tanpa kebenaran penulis adalah dilarang.
