Motel Mist @ IFFR
I nearly walked out of last night’s premiere at International Film Festival Rotterdam of first-time Thai filmmaker Prabda Soon’s ‘Motel Mist’. Had I gotten there early enough I would have mindlessly fallen into my old habit formed when I was a distributor and taken an end seat. None were available, so I was trapped until the bitter end, hindered by the potential embarrassment of crawling over more patient film-goers than myself and partially enrapt by the barrage of images onscreen.
In case it isn’t already obvious, I am writing this critique from various points along the appreciation spectrum. At times I was entranced by the images, though puzzled by the narrative. Not being a big fan of porn, I was also repulsed. Add to this, a feeling bordering uncomfortably on boredom set in when subjected to the editorial/directorial choice of staying inside static camera shots for what seemed like days. So — all in all — I was able to enjoy (if such a term can be applied) a veritable cornucopia of the film watching experience.
We enter the story in a fairly innocent fashion, setting us up for a double-bluff later on in this twisted tale. A father appears to fetch his daughter after school. We are disabused of this notion very early on…
Jumping ahead, when we witness the metamorphosis of a love hotel towel-boy into an alien being, I was reminded of Haruki Mirakami’s magical realism — disbelief needed suspension for only the briefest of moments, but the interminably long shots required a greater amount of patience than I could muster. I can believe in aliens if you like, but please do not subject me to a static shot for over the 90 second mark. Your point has been made and taken on board, thank you very much. Perhaps — as was ventured in the film’s online catalogue description — Soon’s occupation as a graphic artist informed this often-employed choice.
Two very different stories are told. One morphs into a revenge thriller. A revenge tale of sorts, one brief (why so small a time here when you’re willing to spend ages on a neon sign?) shot — blink and you’ll miss it — explicates the position of the person being avenged, she’s in a hospital bed. The other narrative strand segues from a missing person running news commentary into an alien abduction/communication mystery. There is a tertiary tale formed by the towel-boy who aspires to be a beach side fire performer in order to secure the attentions of the opposite sex — but this is frail glue for the main narratives and undisguised comic relief, I fear. It’s also handy to have him as part of the narrative in order that he might be turned into an alien.
Towards the end of the revenge saga, a wild montage and extreme departure from the former tone of the piece plays out in dizzying costume changes and a series of abuses laid upon the person of the abuser. Granted, we have never liked Sopol from the moment he first slapped Laila in punishment for swearing during a mobile phone conversation she entered into almost immediately after being picked up in the bad guy’s Mercedes after school. He pretty much deserves the various indignities and pains that are heaped upon him by what he thought were his prostitutes to do with as he pleased, but the shift from disturbing exploitation of minors into cartoon-like musical was a bit too arbitrary and rapid for my sensibilities.
The use of second screen porn also feels suspiciously gratuitous. It would have been much more interesting and powerful if what is being commented upon by Laila when she expresses a desire to switch porn DVDS (“don’t like it, he’s ugly”) and by Sopol analysing it from a technical/art form basis (digital vs film) is not seen. Leave that up to our imagination. Please. Forcing us to watch bad porn was just a cheap shot without the added bonus of it being a cheap thrill.
I cannot comment on spoken delivery of the acting performances as I do not speak Thai, but the physicality of each and every actor was completely spot on. There is one particular scene (which was totally justified in its length) in which the missing former child actor pulls up to the love hotel and will not budge from his request for a certain room number. The towel-boy/erstwhile car-park receptionist is eventually persuaded when several thousand bhat are offered as persuasion, though the offerer never varies from his dead-pan delivery and expression.
These, and a handful of other moments gave me hope and kept me in my seat.
Unfortunately, that handful does not provide enough incentive for me to recommend this film to any but the staunchest of cinéastes with the greatest of patience and an appetite for porn.
This is not a cheaply made film. The sound and production design are remarkable. It is a shame that the narrative choices are so weak and the interminable static shots teeter on the knife edge of self-indulgence.
That being said, I will most definitely track future films by Soon. He shows great promise, and I forgive him for bludgeoning me with his first effort on the big screen.
