At once a young woman’s coming-of-age story and an allegory about the struggle of indigenous peoples against the loss of their traditions and possessions in modern Indonesia, Loeloe Hendra’s first feature offers a winning combination of sensitive storytelling, striking imagery, nuanced performances and subtle social commentary. Bowing just two months after the Indonesian government’s much-publicized National Day celebrations at the built-from-scratch city of Nusantara on the island of Borneo, Tale of the Land is sufficiently topical to attract the interest of both cinephiles and activists at home and abroad.
Loeloe’s previous short film, Nail House, revolves around a man trying to protect his house against encroaching property developers. In a way, Tale of the Land could be considered a rural extension. That’s probably why the director chooses to have Tula (Arswendy Bening Swara) tell his granddaughter (Shenine Cinnamon) that “abandoned houses tend to fall apart, but ours is strong”. But the old man seems deluded: a floating structure in the middle of the sea, their rickety hut is vulnerable to the elements and obviously on its last legs. But his remark reflects something deeper: in this case, “house” refers to more than just the physical edifice and includes their cultural and historical heritage, and persistence is the key to the survival.
And persist they do, and only by themselves. Tula rebuffs May’s suggestions about relocating somewhere else, as he says it would waste too much fuel and time moving the house to another spot in the ocean. He doesn’t even entertain the idea of returning ashore: he’s living in self-exile from the rampant corruption and destruction posed by the mining mega-projects on land. Loeloe illustrates this in one of the film’s most powerful shots, in which the old man’s boat is dwarfed by a passing ore-carrying cargo ship. For her part, May suffers from a condition that would make her lose consciousness the minute she sets foot on terra firma.
With Loeloe’s poetic screenplay and Philippine editor Carlo Francisco Manatad’s splicing, the elusive relationship between the duo and the reason behind May’s affliction is slowly but surely revealed. A member of the indigenous Dayak community, May was the sole survivor of mayhem caused by unchecked mining expansions on land. Having saved the girl from her doom, Tula believes her survival – and his own – can only be ensured by cutting themselves adrift.
Now a young woman, May tires of being seen as cursed, and yearns to break out of her confinement and visit her parents’ graves. Another part of it is simply her wish to see the world out there. Her main connection with that visible but untouchable realm is via bumbling cattle herder Yus (Yusuf Mahardika), whose affection doesn’t interest her. Instead, in true romantic tradition, she is drawn to Lawa (Angga Yunanda), a handsome security guard working for a mining corporation like the one that decimated her own community years ago.
Stripped down to its narrative, Tale of the Land is admittedly predictable as May confronts the many dilemmas she is facing. But Loeloe enhances his story with a wealth of visual symbolism reflecting Tula’s long-suppressed trauma and May’s fluttering post-adolescent desire. With the help of Fahrul Tri Hikamwan’s lush camerawork, Loeloe succeeds in bringing these elements to the surface. His evocation of Borneo’s natural beauty and Dayak cultural rituals provides food for thought about the price being paid in the pursuit of a politically-charged modernity.
Director, screenplay: Loeloe Hendra
Cast: Shenine Cinnamon, Arswendy Bening Swara, Angga Yunanda, Yusuf Mahardika
Producers: Yulia Evina Bhara, Amerta Kusuma
Cinematography: Fahrul Tri Hikmawan
Editing: Carlo Francisco Manatad
Production design: Sigit D. Pratama
Music: Teresa Barrozo
Sound designer: LH Aim Adi Negara, Vincent Villa
Production company: KawanKawan Media
Venue: Busan International Film Festival (New Currents)
In Indonesian, Kutai
99 minutes
