ROCK BRO! BY MAMAT KHALID: OF HUMAN CHARACTER, THE TIMES,
AND THAT GOTHIC FEELING...
We had the experience but missed the meaning. And approach to the meaning restores
the experience In a different form – T.S. Eliot
Mamat Khalid’s Rock Bro! is the final chapter of his trilogy of films about the rock era in Malaysia from the 1980s to the 1990s. The foreground story of Rock Bro! is about a fictional rock band, Rimba Bara, and how they have fallen into more dire times as compared to that depicted in Rock Oo! (2013) and Rock (2005). Mamat himself had once been a member of a group, and so is clearly qualified to depict an era of musicians who have been misunderstood, and wrongly vilified by many - the Establishment and Islamists included. Like T.S. Eliot has said, he has the experience (of being with a rock group) but ‘missed’ its meaning at the time. Only now, when he is in a different time and milieu (but experiencing the same negative effects of the 1980s), he realises the meaning of what he has experienced, and is ‘restoring’ it in a different form, that is, cinema. Mamat also sees it as his duty to put history right.
As someone who was directly involved in the rock era, he necessarily brings a personal
approach to his treatment. But Mamat knows the fickleness of local cinema audiences, and he also does not forget his duty to the film producers who have put their trust in him to make an entertaining film that would, hopefully, recoup costs. And so he resorts to many iconic images and other elements, to cajole the mainstream audience into the cinemas. Ingmar Bergman has noted that if one wants to know what a filmmaker is saying in his film, look at how he is saying it. To fully understand Mamat’s narratives (story and ideas) and appreciate his unique stylistics (technique of presentation), one needs to look at not what he is saying but at how he is saying it.
Federico Fellini once said that all art is autobiographical, adding that “(T)he films I made are as autobiographical as fiction can be.” Jesse Wallace, a fictional film character in Before Sunset (2004), played by Ethan Hawke, posed a question: “Isn’t everything autobiographical? We all see the world through our own tiny keyhole, right?” Oscar Wilde has also noted that a painting is in reality a portrait of the artist himself. Mamat Khalid’s films have all been, in their background stories, about the Malaysian film industry, and his own involvement in it. He had abandoned a life in rock music and its lack of a bright future (as depicted in Rock), and opted to go into the mainstream with its supposed pot of gold. He had not expected to find a different kind of gothic world there (with industry players who are more like zombies, an audience that cared not for art, and an establishment that only gave lip service to the needs of the industry. But in spite of his pessimism about all of it, he journeys on, and like a true artist,
expresses his despondency, using the genre of parody. Unlike many artists, he is not gloomy but instead, gleeful, and having fun doing what he does. I think his biggest satisfaction comes from the way that he does it, that is, by giving references to the history of world cinema, and to artistic movements in music and art. And like the benign characters he has created, he is not a whit concerned if his audience does not grasp what he has intended.
It continues in the millennium with Nuri Bilge Ceylan (Uzak, 2002), Sofia Coppola (Lost In
Translation, 2003), and Ang Lee (Life of Pi, 2012). In Malaysia, it can be seen in the films of Mansor Puteh (Seman, 1987), Anuar Nor Arai (Johnny Bikin Filem, 1995), Shuhaimi Baba (Layar Lara, 1998), Ng Tian Hann (First Cut, Final Take, 2004), Chris Cheong (Karaoke, 2010), Dain Said (Bunohan, 2012) and in the forthcoming Hanyut by U-Wei Hajisaari, which is as autobiographical as a film can get. In most of these films, the protagonists are, in reality, the alter ego of the filmmakers. As can be expected, in the hands of good filmmakers, the autobiographical aspect will only be in the subtext - and at times, will be extremely oblique. This obliqueness will be arbitrary, and is only able to be discerned by the most able of
cinephiles.
Pauline Kael, the doyen of film critics, has said that, “(T)he role of the critic is to help people see what is in the work, what is in it that shouldn’t be, what is not in it that could be. He is a good critic if he helps people understand more about the work than they could see for themselves; he is a great critic, if by his understanding and feeling for the work, by his passion, he can excite people so that they want to experience more of the art that is there, waiting to be seized. The art of the critic is to transmit the knowledge of and enthusiasm for art in others.”
It is the duty of the film critic to discover the (intrinsic) craft of the film director, interpret them and transfer it with lucid writing to a movie-going public that will become film literate over time. This will result in a healthy national cinema and an environment which will nurture newer generations of
intelligent filmmakers. A number of things separate the ordinary filmmaker (artisan) from he who is very personal with his work (auteur). Chief among them is his personality that becomes submerged in his narrative, which will be seen in his stylistics. This can be discerned in the mise-en-scene, the
juxtaposition of images, and finally in the film form that emerges once the post-production is over. John Caughie (in Theories of Authorship, 1981), noted that “(T)he business of the critic was to discover the director within the given framework to find the traces of the submerged personality, to find the ways in which the auteur had transformed the material so that the explicit subject matter was no longer what the film was really about…” I will add to that by saying that, “...it is really about the filmmaker.”
Mamat’s landscapes, the idiosyncrasies, and the peculiarities of his community of simple people have always been his preoccupations in all his works. What he renders is not pedestrian. He brings about significant form in his films that takes the mise-en-scene to a higher level of visual meaning, a point argued by Stefan Sharff in his book, The Elements of Cinema (1982). For Sharff, there exists uniquely cinematic elements of meaning and structure. This cinematic element is seen in the stylistics of Mamat (the how), wherein we discover his nawaitu (intent). From Caughie: “It is with the mise-en-scene that the auteur transforms the material which has been given to him; it is in the mise-en-scene – in the disposition of the scene, in the camera movement, in the camera placement, in the movement from shot to shot – that the auteur writes his individuality into the film.” (Theories of Auteurship).
Mamat Khalid’s Rock and Rock Oo! were about the exuberance and innocence of young people who were enamoured by rock music. They did not understand that to truly make it in the entertainment industry, they needed managers, promoters and recording companies. And so they were taken
advantage of by the bogus managers and promoters who themselves were trying to survive and make a living, and by recording companies who had their own agenda and played on the naivete of the rock bands.
Mamat’s deep understanding of mise-en-scene can be seen in the opening scene of Rock Bro!. It is a hook (a dramatic opening), and at the same time, harks back to the glory days of Rimba Bara and its world - a world that was gothic, full of huge buildings with faded walls, chiaroscuro lighting, and
abandoned boats. But that unique milieu that identified rockers is now no more. Inexorably, time moves on and waits for no one. Those who cannot change must fall by the wayside.
Berubah (You Changed in the Twinkle of an Eye), we are in a bright environment that looks like some kind of a mall or apartment. People keep walking in and out of the scene, including the band’s manager and a new band recruit. The glory of rock is no more. Nobody - not even their own people - cares for them. Rock is dead.
Even stranger is another landscape - the television studio. Jijo stands, looking at it, flabber-gasted. Rock has “transformed in the twinkle of an eye” (the lyrics: sekelip mata kau berubah). Rock has now been given a stamp of approval for a general audience but has lost its soul. The lyrics of the song sung by Jijo is heartbreaking:
“I feel my world is so lonely, I am at a loss for words. I am heartbroken, overcome by memories of the past.”
Dunia ku rasa di saat in, suasana sepi membisu. Tersentuh hatiku, dibuai kenangan lalu.
The lead guitar hits a high note, it is like a soulful cry, the cry of Jijo from inside him, looking at what rock has been degraded to. Jijo is transfixed, looking at Ella, unable to believe his eyes. She is lovey dovey with the television producer. Jijoe holds out his hands, as if asking: “What have you done (to rock)?!” In a similar scene in Zombi Kilang Bikut (Zombies of the Biscuit Factory), we see the protagonist, Awie, leading students while singing a popular song, Yale Yale, at a certain film faculty at a certain university run by a certain professor. A line of dialogue to the PhD goes: “Do you realise what you have done?!” - a comment against the kind of teaching he is providing (and what he has done to the industry with the kind of films he has made).
The lyrics are also meaningful, and are a pointer as to the kind of teaching that goes on at the said faculty, one that churns out graduates like biscuits in a factory:
“How beautiful is this fantasy world. That allures, and is so gorgeous, it entices and raises up,
With dreams of passion. Yale yale yale yale,
The heart is regaled endlessly. Like the bee that is sucking honey.” Alangkah indahnya alam maya, yang berpuparaga dan keindahannya.
Yang serba menawan, serba membangkitkan.
Angan-angan berahi, angan-angan berahi Yale yale yale yale, Hati senang tiada menentu, Bagaikan kumbang menghisap madu
And like the lead guitar in the earlier song, again Mamat provides soulfulness, one that touches the heart, by ending the song with a long-drawn pensive note flowing from a flute.
The lament that runs throughout Mamat Khalid’s films is about the new generation of filmmakers. What kind of space will they have when they enter the industry with new forms of story-telling. Will they, too, face what Mamat is facing? Jijo’s song is also a lament for Mamat, with his kind of storytelling that is outside the norm, one that is yet to have a consistent audience. He implores to the audience through the lyrics:
“I hope you will understand this outpouring of mine. If you are well off, do not forget me, I who am all alone. I am tossed by the waves, drowned in the mists of time. Why do I still await you, patiently hoping for your love? Where have you gone? I am the only serious one, awaiting you.
Aku mengharap agar engkau mengerti, curahan rasa ini. Jika engkau senang hidup bahgia, jangan kau lupakan diri ku.
Yang tertambah kesepian.
Ku dilambung ombak rindu, yang hanyut dalam kelam masa Mengapakah aku masih menunggu dan masih menagih kasihmu, Diri mu di mana? Cuma aku yang serius, tabah menantimu, Tanpa jemu.
The final lament is in the last lines of the song, on a visual of young people imploring to the camera as it pulls out:
Oh, that’s the way it is, it’s a lack of love.
It strikes at my heart, overcome by memories of the past. Oh, it is so easy for you, you have changed.
Oh, begitulah, kurang percintaan. Tersentuh hatiku, dibuai kenangan yang lalu.
Oh, mudahnya, kau berubah.
From the macro, Mamat moves to the micro. It’s not just the audience that is the problem plaguing filmmakers. The members of Rimba Bara from early in the film begin to show all manner of symptoms. Their character begins to undergo change. Zul Kapan, apparently affected psychologically by their failure to make it in the industry, turns to religion and, in the middle of a show, wants to go on the Hajj! Black has health problems and begins to collapse at shows. The dark side of Slash shows up when he takes over the leadership of Rimba Bara. Only Jijo is steadfast and optimistic, in spite of everything. A scene of Jijo watching his father jam at a gig with his friends when he was still a child is an indicator as to how music was to become his calling, and that he will not give up easily. Neither will Mamat in films, no matter how tough the going.
Mamat shows that the problems facing the film industry goes very much deeper. Too many charlatans are involved (one promoter even spells their name as Rimba Raba!). Even the academics cannot be trusted. Other players in the industry are not serious with their involvement. Islamisation has crept in but does not offer a positive outcome. Jijo converts to Islam but the imam who officiates shows his displeasure at Jijo’s long hair. Mamat’s mise-en-scene does not provide proximity for them both as would have been normal.
The final scene in the film is probably one of the most heart-wrenching sequences ever seen in Malaysian cinema. It will be a major spoiler if I were to describe it! Suffice to say that many years later, Zul Kapan has become a television personality; Slash meets Zack, one of the original members of Rimba Bara (as seen in Rock). They have one last duet with their guitars. It is witnessed by Slash’s daughter who was the one who asked them to do a duet. How little children know about what their parents have gone through?
Both Slash and Zack had a past, one that was full of life, camaraderie, facing all manner of hardships patiently, even to sharing a single potato to eat, and living in cramped quarters. They had never given up hope. But time changes people. The past slowly fades, even from memory. Zack left the group because he saw no future in rock. When asked by Zack, Slash brushes his past aside, and says for him it was the zaman jahiliyyah - the era of ignorance.
That is the fate of the artist.
