Neraka

Paul Trigwell's Neraka is a short that shows us what would happen if your AI is not as sweet as ScarJo in Her. Scorn her, and she will come for you. Technology has become the new subject of horror, its workings clouded in mystery. The film, ephemeral as technology can be, is an experience. There is no time to give you explanations, no time to get your bearings together.

You are plunged into the sinister episode as soon as you hit play. A man alone in his house, passing the time with his smartphone. Harmless, you'd think, but clearly not. The arrogance of the man, his short-lived victory against technology, when he thinks he has bested it by asking a question it cannot answer, are all turned upside down in what follows.

Tom Clear plays Al, a name that eerily mirrors his antagonist, especially on its own screen.

He plays Al's transition from nonchalance and arrogance to fear and paranoia smoothly. Neraka, the ominously-named virtual system, is as much a character as Al. Its blank red screen stares at the audience chillingly, giving nothing away about its inner workings. The mystification of technology is realised in its absolute form, leaving viewers with no relief or resolution. The film works against conventional modes of storytelling, refusing to give us what we are used to, and making us experience something new altogether. The mise-en-scene is unassuming, letting the actors shine. The set is sleek, never crowding the frame. The lighting is an interesting element in the film. Dimly lit but ambient, it resists the cliches of darkness or glaring cold lights that have become textbook elements of the thriller/horror genre. Refusing to step out of the house, the action takes on a claustrophobic tone. The music is perfectly in tune with the action, and the track that plays during the end credits is perfect with its peppy, wake-up-now beat. The nightmare is over, but your heart is still racing.

The easter egg in the film, not a mere reference to some pop-culture moment, actually adds another layer of meaning to it. Al is wearing a t-shirt under his leather jacket, one that reads: "John Carpenter's Christine" with an illustration of the classic 1958 Plymouth Fury. An adaptation of a Stephen King story of the same name, Christine is a film about a car that gains sentience, and becomes attached to its owner, Arnie. Just as in Carpenter's film, Trigwell's Neraka too plots revenge on those that scorn her. While Neraka offers a full story in itself, the reference to Christine is a premonition for the acquainted. Perhaps these machines are new incarnations of the femme fatale? They have some similarities: qualities that enchant the man, a dark energy that has the power of to destroy. Seduction, destruction, but disembodied. Trigwell's Neraka is not strictly feminine, though. The shift in her voice to a deep, masculine grovel marks this transition, she is no longer polite, but angry. The measured, monotonous and polite Neraka reveals what lurks underneath, just as in her namesake.

All in all, Neraka is a brief, intense encounter that leaves us with several questions and absolutely no answers. It is a film that is visceral, creating a tension that can only be achieved through the film medium. The dialogue, lighting, sound, cutting, all come together to create a sensory event that reminds us to be cautious. Be careful, not because we know everything technology is capable of, but precisely because we cannot.