Left Field Cinema

Thailand may not have the same weight behind its cinematic output as Japan, Hong Kong, or more recently South Korea, but this is something that director Pen-Ek Ratanaruang is looking to correct. Thai cinema has a long history of filmmaking but by 1997 it was only producing 10 Studio films per year, however a number of directors coalesced in Thailand to change this. And from this, such Thai films as Tears of the Black Tiger, Dang Bierley and the Young Gangsters and Bang Rajan appeared, alongside work from Hong Kong’s the Pang Brothers set in Thailand. The most popular work in Thailand and abroad has all come from one mercurial source and that is Martial Arts Extraordinaire Tony Jaa. In recent years, since his magnificent Ong Bak wowed the world, he has become perhaps the most well known martial artist since the heady days of Jackie Chan and Jet Li. His films are perhaps the most well known of the Thai movies in the Western world, though alongside his daring action films, Thailand has produced a number of genre efforts since 2000 which have had a varying degrees of success, from Musicals to Horror. However, it is Thailand’s independent and left field cinema output which is not only its most interesting but also its best. The leading filmmaker of this wing is definitely Apichatpong Weerasethakul, he has been lauded in arthouse circles as one of the best filmmakers in the world for his deliberate investigations into the nature of duality in his deliriously good features. Arguably Pen-Ek Ratanaruang sits between these two supremely divergent schools, his films have typically sat within the crime genre and can be classified as such, however he has a much more arthouse sensibility than this description allows for. His fourth film as director, Last Life in the Universe, is arguably his most famous (although his previous film 6ixynin9 secured North American release and his follow-up Invisible Waves also got UK and US distribution). Last Life in the Universe secures fame within the art house circuit for a couple of fairly superficial reasons. Firstly the deliberate and very intelligent choice of employing the now legendary cinematographer Christopher Doyle to shoot the film with his usual flare for colour and movement and secondly by securing director Takeshi Miike to cameo in the films last act as a violent Yakuza enforcer. Ratanaruang very cunningly used two of the top contributors to Hong Kong and Japanese cinema, lending his material extra weight both in production terms and marketing. But this isn’t some sub-par Wong Kar Wai romance, nor a Takeshi Miike influenced horror film, Ratanaruang’s film is very much a work of his own creation, he’s simply brought in additional help from the wider Asian film making community to augment his considerable skill as a film maker. Whilst Apichatpong Weerasetakul’s stunning 2006 film Syndromes and a Century is a finer and more extraordinary example of Thai cinema though some of the same concerns and themes balance both movies beautifully, Last Life in the Universe is a more accessible fare and one, which much enjoyment can be taken from.

The story follows obsessive compulsive but shy Japanese librarian Kenji who occasionally attempts to take his own life for no obvious reason (played by Tadanobu Asano). His brother unexpectedly comes to stay with. Shortly there after his brother is brutally murdered, Kenji kills his brother’s assassin in self-defence and decides to abandon his flat and go on the run. One night when Kenji contemplates killing himself by jumping off a bridge he witnesses a traffic accident in which a young woman is killed. This young woman’s sister Noi is a Thai girl who places no value on cleanliness, smokes weed and speaks her mind. They find themselves gravitating towards each other and Noi invites Kenji to stay with him at her house. The plot when outlined in this way does sound somewhat clichéd (the odd couple forced together by less than perfect circumstances) but the film is handled in such an original manner that the lack of originality in its central premise is soon forgotten about.

Ratanaruang’s attention to detail and his art design is one of the films biggest selling points. Kenji’s residence is captured in all its mind-numbingly clinical detail. All his clothes are pristine, ironed with perfect lines, colour co-ordinated in his wardrobe and precisely placed with perfect spacing between each item. His flat is impossibly clean and perfectly organised with books stacked at matching right angles and meticulously ordered, ordered in the way even the most anal retentive viewer will appreciate in the month and year which he read them. The scenes in first act show the incredible composition which Ratanaruang and Doyle have infused the film with, scene after scene of perfectly composed artistry follow each other. Scenes of rain running down windows while Kenji’s face is held in the glass, or a beautiful woman caught by the movement of a tracking camera within a grey library or a bar filled with bunny girl prostitutes combine to give the film a deliberately muted feel. The boldness of this contrast with Noi’s house is quite striking; ash trays filled the brim, rubbish bins over-flowing, clutter everywhere. Most people would rather live in a happy compromise between these two worlds, neither as detached and soulless as Kenji’s place, nor as disgusting and unsanitary as Noi’s, together they strike a balance as Kenji takes it upon himself to tidy up her house, an effort that she grows to appreciate, and later when Kenji returns to his own flat he rebelliously kicks over one of his stacks of books, symbolically dispensing with the ordered life. This once again sounds incredibly obvious and clichéd, but these points of the film are explored with a measured subtly. Also the combining of these two disparate environments is only one factor in the films final equation, another prominent factor is it’s frequent and particular use of black comedy. Think suicide can’t be handled with a sense of humour? Then you need not look any further than the opening five minutes of Last Life in the Universe. The film opens with Kenji’s lifeless body hanging from a rope, as his body is discovered with the words “this is bliss” written on a piece of paper in his hand, he narrates and qualifies the scene as a fantasy “this could be me” the voice over states. We then cut to Kenji preparing to hang himself his neck is in the noose, he’s about to do it when he is interrupted by the intensely irritating buzzer at the front door, the look in his eyes is hilarious, how can this be bliss with that noise? This attempt at suicide is very funny, and subsequent efforts help to remind of a classic American movie which had a similar plot outline, if with different stylistic quirks. Harold and Maude also concerns a suicidal young man, who various attempts are ignored, fantasy or gently exasperate those around him, until he meets a woman who shakes him out of these fantasies into something else entirely. The superficial plot remains very similar but the way it is handled between the two films of course is something completely different. Yet it is important to emphasise what a genuinely darkly humorous film this is. There are a number of moments of laughter to be found, this is no deathly serious humourless piece of world cinema. Lines like ‘Suicide, again!’ from Kenji’s brother or the repeated ‘Sorry’ when Noi catches Kenji trying to commit suicide beneath her car are very amusing.

However, Not all of Kenji’s suicide attempts are comical, when he’s on the bridge he drops an orange into the water and again fantasises that it is him struggling to breathe underwater, the transition between reality and fantasy is perfectly done, we see the orange hit the water from above and then cut to underwater as Kenji is submersed. This is one of a number of scenes which really highlight the choice of Christopher Doyle as cinematographer, this scene is beautifully composed with the colour’s of the orange contrasting against the green’s and blue’s of the sea creating a vision of beauty. Doyle’s influence on the quality of this film cannot be underestimated, just as his next collaboration with Pen-Ek Ratanaruang Invisible Waves delights in its colour palette of deep reds and browns, Last Life in the Universe looks incredible from its early clinical whites in the first act, to a more countrified and colourful second act.

When Kenji really attempts to jump he is interrupted by Noi and her sister having an argument, her sister sees him crouching on the bridge banister they makes eye contact for what is a potentially romantic moment only for it to be interrupted by the car crashing into her. The interruption is also darkly comical, especially when combined with the irony of Kenji’s desire to end his life is stalled by the death of someone who had no desire to die. Both of the main characters lose a sibling, and their deaths are also connected by imagery, Kenji’s brother’s blood splashes over the perfect and orderly books and his perfectly painted wall. The contrast of blood on white surfaces is mirrored when Noi’s sister is run over, her blood splashes against the eggshell painted car that Noi drives. The film is riddled with such visual connections, outside Kenji’s flat is a filled swimming pool that is well maintained, outside Noi’s house is an empty swimming pool which nature has begun claiming back. Other visual connections include a story that Kenji is slowly becoming obsessed with about a lizard that wakes up one day and realises that it is the last lizard in the world, the same sort of lizard that is illustrated in the book can be seen at key points wondering Noi’s house, also Kenji looks and behaves like a lizard in terms of physicality, his controlled turns of the head, his twitchy arm movements, his expressionless face. The film’s heart is in its bizarre details, some of them remain confusing like the title not appearing on screen until thirty-two minutes into the film. Though, if I was too make a guess at the filmmakers intent with this touch I would argue that the title only appears when Kenji finally makes a connection with another human being, he has rejected emotional connection up to this point with the older woman who he works with, a Thai man on a bus attempting to remember Japanese and his especially his brother. It seems that Pen-Ek Ratanaruang is being somewhat playful with the audience and indicating the irony inherent in his title, of course this is simply a theory and I am sure others in the audience would take something else entirely. Others make sense, as Kenji and Noi get to know each other they are largely prevented from understanding each other by the language barrier, for large sections of the film they instead speak in English which is the common ground for both of them, although Kenji clearly understands English more than Noi. This is one of the most enjoyable aspects of the film, but also one of the most frustrating for Western audiences, how much humour and cultural minutiae are we missing because of the language barrier between us and the film? In this Pen Ek Ratanaruang gives another hint towards the films of Wong Kar Wai, which often also have a Pan Asian feel to them. For example Days of Being Wild or 2046 have a number of interconnecting languages which may pass by a non-observant viewers, however without having the history or understanding of the differences of these languages details are obscured.

Other details are subtle, Noi’s house is astoundingly large for a woman on her income, we later learn that it might be her parent’s house when she gives Kenji some of her father’s clothes. Where are her parents? That part is up to us to work out…

The gentle blending or reality and fantasy gives the film added spice, in a lovely sequence, Noi is high and wonders through her house, as she does the books all pick themselves off the floor and dance around her before stacking themselves away (think a live action version of Merlin packing his bags in Disney film the Sword in the Stone, wouldn’t life be wonderful if we could tidy up or pack in such a manner!) Whilst Kenji’s fantasies are ordered and simple, hers are creative and arguably meaningless, later in the film the pair share a fantasy as Noi changes appearance into her sister, and then becomes herself again later for no apparent reason. We’re not sure who’s fantasy we’re witnessing and it is arguably the narratives own breaking of reality and slow movement towards metaphysics, the final scenes in the film also compound this notion, but never to the point of being explicit.

These fantastical and bizarre filmic contributions mixed with the slow and dreamy pace, are reminiscent of one major Asian director. South Korea’s Kim Ki Duk has similar stylistic attitude to this film, and the thematic similarities are there too see. Yet, despite an impressive sound design which combines Hualampong Riddim’s beautiful ambient score with the constant dreamlike sounds of waves gently washing ashore, and despite Doyle’s always very beautiful and pitch perfect cinematography; the film might not be to everyone’s taste. Usually I’m wary of films featuring very passive protagonists or passive narratives and this film features both. But despite this and its uninspired set-up, Last Life in the Universe is a film to be praised for its scenes rather than its whole. Particularly impressive is its ability to contort male fantasy’s, the inevitable conclusion of Noi and Kenji’s proximity is romance, but romantic moments are often ruined, one scene sees Noi fall asleep on Kenji’s lap (an image that can be seen on the films outstandingly simple poster) but this most sweet and romantic moment is ruined when Kenji wakes up the next day to find he has ejaculated in his trousers over night. Not all of these contortions are sexual in nature; indeed Kenji misses a climatic shootout because he needed the toilet, which to my mind at least is the ultimate subversion of typically desired confrontation between our hero and the films villains. One of the villains is of course Takeshi Miike’s aforementioned cameo: Miike steals all the scenes he’s present in, be it his cold humiliation of airport staff when he tells a woman “You’ve got seaweed between your teeth”. Or when asked if he need’s baggage storage on his flight he casually replies with no irony “We don’t have bags, we’re just going to kill someone then we’ll be right back”. But despite Miike stealing those scenes he is present for, this is still very clearly Ratanaruang’s film and in fact it could be argued that it is the anti-Miike film, and despite a strong Japanese and Hong Kong presence felt throughout the production, this is still very clearly a Thai film spoken with a Thai voice, a voice which demands to be heard for it’s subversive and contortive details and dreamlike and interconnected imagery and its particularly unique sense of dark comedy. Last Life in the Universe is a film best left to wash over you like the dreamy waves that echo in the distance.

M.Dawson

Additions by Wilson Mclachlan