KARAOKE Chan Fui Chris Cong

Under the trees of a small village in Malaysia, life seems magnified by the eye of an explorer. The faces of its inhabitants are weary and their skin reflects a strange, magical glow. “It’s been a long time since you’re gone” is the first song to be played in the local karaoke bar, and inexplicably we become aware of the presence of someone who’s been trying to come back. As a spirit returns to a familiar place, slowly circulating around his acquaintances, this forgotten land becomes sacred and mysteriously haunted.

A first feature nominated for the Camera D’Or, Karaoké is about Betik, a young man returning to his home town, full of dreams for a new life, only to find that everyone is like a stranger. In his circle he appears out of place; above all, the relationship with his mother lacks intimacy, as if the years have left nothing but bitterness. This awkward environment urges him to search for identification through external references: a rediscovery of the homeland he once belonged to. Is this a coming of age tale? Well, as the narrative is exceptionally subtle, the viewing experience is not as simple as that.

Chan Fui Chris Cong pins down an elusive mood; nostalgia in the present tense. Beautiful aerial scenery, a strict line of magnificent trees, distant glances at the windows of a bare house: these are all wonderfully examined with primitive inquisitiveness. The gaze sways between the inhabitants - a dancing camera that instinctively follows without interrupting - or, sometimes, stays entirely motionless, only to observe. Still, the onlooker’s great distance provides full perspective, highlighting the compactness of anything that dwells on this ground.

Still, if Karaoké is about the end of innocence, this is achieved through the intangible emotionality that cinema - and its creators - can provoke. What remains is an eternal rural landscape, a place that appears as solid rock in contrast with its dwellers’ perpetual mobility. The power of this space is so strong that it scarcely leaves any room for human emotions to arise. They are all buried under its soil.

In this light, the “karaoké” concept doesn’t carry any popular connotations. The tunes are interludes, an acoustic commentary that compensates for the verbal void. A hypnotizing mixture of ethereal matt greens and melancholic blues, the Malaysian entry for the Directors’ Fortnight serenely surrounds you with its unique approach to reminiscence and undisclosed grievance. Karaoke songs were never so in tune.

Eftihia Stefanidi