At this year’s Cannes Film Festival
28-year-old Vimukthi Jayasundara became only the second filmmaker from Sri
Lanka to compete for an award, nearly 50 years after Rekava by Dr Lester
James Peries featured in the Official Competition. Jayasundara’s film
Sulanga Enu Pinisa (The Forsaken Land) competed in the Un Certain Regard
section and received the Caméra d’Or, Cannes’s award for first-time
filmmakers.
Born in Ratnapura, southern Sri Lanka, Jayasundara worked in the advertising
industry and wrote film reviews before studying at the Film and Television
Institute of India from 1998 to 2001. Returning to Sri Lanka, he joined the
Government Film Unit and made The Land of Silence, a black-and-white
documentary about the victims of Sri Lanka’s civil war. In 2001, he received
a grant to continue his film studies in France at Le Fresnoy, where renowned
Taiwanese director Tsai Ming-Liang – who served as a guest lecturer to the
faculty – left a lasting impression. Working with Tsai, Jayasundara made
Empty for Love (2002), a short film that was selected for Cinéfondation, the
student category at Cannes. Sulanga Enu Pinisa became a reality with grants
from Fonds Sud and Prince Claus.
The beautifully shot film takes place in Sri Lanka in an indefinite setting,
where politics, war, love and sex exist in a suspended state of being.
Painfully evocative, Sulanga Enu Pinisa attempts to capture the emptiness
experienced by the victims of a prolonged civil conflict, using a highly
experimental visual style.
Zhuang Wubin talks to Vimukthi Jayasundara in New Delhi during the 7th
Osian’s-Cinefan Film Festival, the pre-eminent festival in the world for
Asian cinema, where Sulanga Enu Pinisa made its Asian premiere.
Zhuang Wubin: How do you define yourself as a filmmaker?
Vimukthi Jayasundara: There are two types of
filmmakers in the world. One group is more aware of the ground and keen to
show the reality of the situation. They are also inspired by stories of
other people. The others are more like poets. Their inspiration comes mainly
from within. I belong to the latter.
It is obvious that Sulanga Enu Pinisa is about the situation in Sri Lanka,
but I have not set the film in a particular time frame. In fact, my last
three films are about the side effects of the conflict. I’m more interested
in the mood of cinema. Images should evoke a certain mood, and the mood
should bring feelings. Filmmaking is always emotional. It is deeply
connected to my inner world.
ZW: So what is the role of an artist or a filmmaker in a country like Sri
Lanka?
VJ: I don’t think an artist has a special role in any
country, other than that of a civilian. All over the world artists have
always been doing things that are directly or indirectly affected by
society. They have always dealt with conflicts – either within their inner
selves or in the external world – through their art. Moreover, art always
exists within the society. It is done for others. Once you believe in art,
you have to believe in others. In Sri Lanka the term refers to everyone, in
particular the Tamils, who have suffered greatly from the war.
It is dangerous when an artist becomes an opinion leader, because he or she
risks becoming a pawn in the political game. Don’t expect me to give
opinions on the conflict. When people ask me what is behind my film, my
reply is always ‘lights and camera’. That’s all. A piece of art invites a
thousand interpretations. But if I were an opinion leader, I would be
limiting my art to a singular voice. Anyway, both Tamil Tigers and the
government celebrated my win in Cannes. With Sulanga Enu Pinisa I’m more
interested in discussing and exploring the context between war and peace,
and investigating the space between the two possibilities.
ZW: In hindsight, what do you think are the experiences and influences that
have given your films their characteristics?
VJ: Perhaps the only form of art that you can do
without education is cinema. Even if you have a diploma, once you get behind
the camera you never know what will happen in your film. The light may
suddenly change, actors may do something else. You never know for sure what
kind of form your film will take, as you are always outside of it. I’m sure
filmmakers sometimes don’t even know how to interpret their own films.
I was 20-years-old when I went to India. Within a short space of time I
watched 500 films. Access in Sri Lanka was still limited compared to India.
I didn’t understand many of the films – there were no subtitles. Sometimes
there was no dialogue. But I watched everything from the start to the end. I
was absorbing cinema. I was particularly affected by Andrei Tarkovsky, not
directly, but in terms of the mood of his images. It’s the same for Satyajit
Ray. It was not just one particular film – it’s his cinema. I had a certain
feeling for his cinema.
Generally, I’m not attracted by the forms used by a filmmaker. However, if
the form creates emotions, then I consider it a clever piece of filmmaking.
And so, up until the age of 25, I absorbed everything. Right now, I’m only
just starting to be more of a giver than a recipient. As a filmmaker, I’m
like an unknown driver in a little car with an invitation to come inside the
world of cinema and see where I can go. I’m not sure of my destination, but
I will see everything and discover along the way.
ZW: But you seem to speak very fondly of Tsai Ming-Liang as a teacher.
VJ: All my previous teachers are only interested in
teaching form. If you want to make a film, write a script. And they always
treat students as students. Tsai Ming-Liang isn’t like a teacher. At Le
Fresnoy he was more interested in helping me bring out my work. He didn’t
ask me to write a script. Instead, I drew little sketches, which he found
very interesting. A storyline was developed based on our discussion and not
from a script. It was later made into Empty for Love. He was encouraging me
to make films without the forms and formality of cinema.
ZW: How do you work with your actors and actresses without a script?
VJ: I have a very simple script of images, showing,
for example, a character coming, eating and going. But I will not indicate
whether the character is crying. Instead, I want my actors and actresses to
work with the environment – the tables, lights or the atmosphere of the set.
I want them to be humble and naked to the environment. I don’t want them to
act because acting in the professional sense is empty. They have to find
their own settings within themselves.
ZW: Having lived in France for the last five years, are you afraid that your
films may one day become irrelevant to Sri Lanka?
VJ: How I see the world or how I work cannot be based
on where I physically live. I don’t mind even if the French people ask me to
leave now. I can go anywhere, even to Singapore. But will I become a
Singaporean filmmaker? I don’t think so. Tarkovsky made films in Italy and
Sweden, but they were still Russian films.
My memory of images is already in my mind. I can be inspired by something in
Paris but my images will not change. It’s like I’m very interested in
philosophy, but if you ask me what Freud said about a certain issue, I would
have no answer. When I read, I just take away the mood and images of the
text.
ZW: But some critics and filmmakers present at the 7th Osian’s-Cinefan Film
Festival have commented that your film looks European and experimental.
VJ: I have my own philosophy in making films. Maybe
they can say I’m influenced by European cinema, but I watched most of them
in India anyway. Maybe this will be the future form of Sri Lankan cinema.
For me, I feel that my style is very classical and not that abstract, as
some people have commented. I put up images one by one, and not two at the
same time, like some experimental filmmakers do. Maybe they are not used to
the form of my films. Who knows, after two or three years they may even say
that my films are conventional. I’m not interested in being an ethnic
filmmaker – I just want to make films. So my films can be Sri Lankan, but
they are Asian too. And I belong to the world. Others have compared me to
Thai filmmaker Apichatpong Weerasethakul but, before I made Sulanga Enu
Pinisa, I had never watched his films. So what we are talking about are
labels that critics and journalists give to cut an artist into something
small. Cinema has always been a transnational art form.
Zhuang Wubin is a photographer and writer based in Singapore