I really enjoyed learning about the breadth of Gotot Prakosa’s work over the last forty years. Of particular interest was the fact that in Indonesia the craft of filmmaking is closely linked to the local custom of wayang, the country’s traditional style of puppetry. Gotot told us that his film education included instruction in wayang. His very loving documentary about wayang—which is in part a preservation effort—as well as what he had to say about it suggest that his culture and its traditions and his filmmaking are very much intertwined. He spoke of the way that wayang combines the tangible and the intangible—the tangibility of the puppets and their ornate presence in the theater space and the intangibility of musical and verbal accompaniment, as well as the extra-intangible intangibility of how all of these things come together and complement each other and exceed themselves in some beautiful way—and I was reminded of Kantata Takwa, its juxtaposition of different media and styles and its poeticism. He also showed a clip of a historical film that he made called Froet Nia’Dhien, which is about a woman who becomes a rebel leader in Aceh during the Dutch war in the 19th century. This film had more of a narrative than the others we saw (which also included his very early experimental work), but like Kantata Takwa it tackled the theme of oppression and examined the rebellions that arise in its midst; notably, the main character in this film—who is Muslim—says that “struggle is integral to our faith,” which resonates deeply with how Islam is positioned as a symbol of rebellion, and necessarily of struggle, in Kantata Takwa.
The question-and-answer session had to be cut short so I didn't get to pose it, but the question I formulated was this: “Since Kantata Takwa was only completed a few years ago but in many ways was intended for an earlier time, what do you imagine is its contemporary purpose?” This is a question that the article addressed, but I wanted to hear Gotot’s response. In the article, van Heeren says that the film is much more than a historical record; it is a necessary reminder to a younger generation that Indonesia is still troubled: “There is no more ‘a towering Devil.” Instead we got little devils now, ghosting around in a fragmented Indonesia, without any direction or celebrated cause” (104). What makes this call-for-action problematic, van Heeren argues, is that one of the film’s major symbols, Islam, has different connotations than it did fifteen years ago (105): previously a symbol of defiance, it now carries connotations of extremism, intolerance, and even coercion. The predominant reference to Islam throughout the film is a woman in a jihab, which within Indonesia (and elsewhere) today references the fact that in many provinces “women are now forced to cover their heads” (105). Gotot addressed the issue in the talk simply, saying that the jihab-clad women were meant to symbolize Indonesia’s subconscious, or possibly an outside, watchful, historical view of the conflict. There are still complications in the film’s use of symbolism: it equates supposed religious purity with purity of conscience and implicates a covered woman’s body in doing so
-Laura C.
I’m still frustrated that I didn’t get to see Gotot Prakosa speak. I’ve watched the film Kantata Takwa twice now, and while I find its imagery powerful I still am confused as to what most of it means. I’ve read everyone’s blog posts about the film and they helped me form some sort of contextualization, but I definitely missed out by not going. This is what I took from the film though.
ReplyDeleteBoth times I watched it the scenes that stood out most to me were the ones of extreme violence. The masked characters to me were a fantastic way of presenting this violence as horrific. These characters have no individual identification and come across as abject. I also view the gas masks as signifiers of war. I know that war is a theme in this film and it’s a bit redundant to say this, but their images signify to me chemical warfare that highlight the shirtless, defenselessness of the Masks’ victims.
I was also really fascinated with how the film mixed “documentary, art house film, and concert movie” in these scenes. The jump cuts between the violence and the concert connected the too in the narrative. The presence of Kantata Takwa’s music over both of their images further served to bridge the two together and draw comparisons between both of their formal elements. In both we have people thrashing about at a very fast pace. The tinted lighting of the forest massacre matches the colorful lights on the stage and the audience reacts to the instruments the same way the victims react to the weapons.
Through these structural similarities it seems like the film creates a really ironic contrast between this intense violence and Kantata Takwa’s peace promoting music. By doing so the film acts to position music as an oppositional force. Kantata Takwa and their music are thus in direct conflict with the Masks and their guns. This was a very interesting technique by which to privilege the potential of music. Again, I don’t know Prakosa’s intentions because I wasn’t at his lecture, but it’s still a cool idea.
Multi-structured (Multi-genred?) films, based on what I saw occur in Kantata Takwa, have a lot of subversive potential. They recognize the limitations of single-genred films. They admit that documentaries are intentional, narrative is too rooted in dominant ideology and art house is too inaccessible for the average spectator. Blending these formats together thus allows Prakosa to send his intended message in a far more effective way. When he kills members of a real band, Prakosa is able to affect the spectator much more powerfully because they know that the character actually exists outside of the diegesis. The oppressiveness of the regime Prakosa is criticizing can therefore be more effectively exemplified and the viewer more motivated to criticize.