The Olive Depression documents the weeks before a teenage boy enters military service He is determined not to mentally accept what is required of him by law. He opts to prepare himself by ma... Read allThe Olive Depression documents the weeks before a teenage boy enters military service He is determined not to mentally accept what is required of him by law. He opts to prepare himself by maintaining his melancholy about something against what it means to be human. However, seein... Read allThe Olive Depression documents the weeks before a teenage boy enters military service He is determined not to mentally accept what is required of him by law. He opts to prepare himself by maintaining his melancholy about something against what it means to be human. However, seeing the depression of his best friend who enters the army before him and the worry of his pa... Read all
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Given the premise upon which The Olive Depression is based, it would be fitting to begin with a brief consideration of the socio-political situation of contemporary Singapore. Since the country's unceremonious separation from Malaysia and subsequent independence in 1965, the government has been running a tight ship, cautious and vigilant in regulating most aspects of society. To a large extent, this is necessary due to the potentially volatile state of Singapore's domestic and foreign affairs, particularly in racial and religious matters. The prominent role and authority of the government can also be traced to its essentially Confucian model of governance, consciously adopted by its founding leaders in view of the predominantly Chinese populace. However, since the 1990's, it has become increasingly common for the younger generation (especially those more influenced by western political ideals) to hold critical, iconoclastic attitudes towards what they perceive as excessively rigid policies or authoritarian rule. While recognizing Singapore's evolving cultural and educational demographics, senior government leaders have sometimes regarded such opposition as stemming chiefly from the ingratitude of these Singaporeans; the younger generation, they say, are not only unappreciative of the difficulties that surrounded the country's founding, but also ignorant of the delicacy of its current geopolitical situation. The questioning of compulsory military service that drives the film and the various responses given to Johnny by his parents and peers may thus be first understood within this context of political and social tension.
When I first learned about the film's premise, I did not think I would like it very much. Personally, I did think that many criticisms that I heard from my peers stemmed fundamentally from an attitude of childish insubordination. I saw this as a symptom of the post-Enlightenment "flight from authority" (cf Jeff Stout), where any notion of authority has come to be deemed as evil, as "totalitarian" or "fascist." Though there were certainly parts where it did seem that the characters were simply mouthpieces airing the director's personal grouses, as the film progressed I found myself pleasantly surprised, increasingly engaged. Rather than a political critique, I think it is more accurate to identify The Olive Depression as fundamentally an exploration of a thoughtful, sensitive teenager's inner life, where Johnny's impending enlistment (a rite of passage amongst Singaporean males) serves as the stimulus to grapple with a host of existential and philosophical issues. Whether in plot, pace, or cinematic style, the mood of the film is slow, pensive, and melancholic. For instance, many of Johnny's significant conversations are had while waiting at a quiet bus-stop, deftly mirroring his silent, reflexive awaiting of conscription. At the same time, reminiscent of the cinematic realism of the Taiwanese directors Hou Hsiao-Hsien and Edward Yang, there are numerous long sequences composed of a single shot uninterrupted by editing, allowing for unhurried action and the natural development or progression of things. The opening shot of a simple flag-lowering; the lingering of the camera upon empty void deck; and perhaps above all the spectacular four-minute sequence of Johnny's bedroom the final night before his enlistment, where the room brightens slowly, as if in real-time, from night to dawn: these are all remarkably graceful sequences which work to convey an air of rumination, pregnant with possibility.
Last November, I attended the film's premier in Southern California, after which there was a post-screening dialog where Joshua Lim was present. Amongst other things, the discussion reminded me of both the abuses of over-interpretation as well as art's inherent openness to manifold interpretations. When asked repeatedly if he had intended to pack a particular religious or artistic significance into such-and-such a shot, Lim often deferred his intuitive method of film-making. Eschewing an excessively "cerebral" or calculated style, he said, he opted for the most part to follow his instinct when shooting the film, doing the best he could according to practical concerns. By disclosing this, there was a palpable sense that many bubbles were burst amongst the audience! However painful or embarrassing, this was in fact a much-needed warning against the flights of interpretive fancy. Yet Lim added another important point: leaving certain shots in contention open to the audience's interpretation, he suggested that he was probably not mature or self-aware enough a filmmaker to understand the deeper motivations behind his cinematic intuitions. Arguably, this admission was itself a demonstration of prudence and maturity, in demonstrating his awareness of how the aesthetic impulse often operates at a level either beneath or beyond rational analysis. Paradoxically then, this in turn authorizes radical interpretive liberty.
Let me close on a personal note. As a Singaporean male who too has been through two-and-a-half years of compulsory military service, watching The Olive Depression proved to be a very cathartic experience. Taking heed from the concept of the "healing of memories" popular in certain psychological circles, I saw in the film an invitation to revisit a crucial, formative stage of my life that I had hitherto repressed from memory. Owing in large part to my traditional Chinese upbringing which exalted submission to authority and acceptance of suffering as amongst its cardinal virtues I had never questioned the rightness and necessity of military service, not even after I had been singled out for especially brutal abuse (whether physical, verbal, or psychological) throughout my six months as a trainee at infantry-sergeant school. While I still do think that it was good and important in so many ways for me to have gone through the army, the depictions of Johnny's trepidation helped me relive that harrowing period of my life. This reliving, according to many proponents of mnemonic healing, is an essential stage for healthy recovery from deep emotional wounds. And by the same token, the kind companionship of Johnny's parents which Lim presents as the purest and surest form of love within the film helped me see with greater clarity the affectionate presence of my own parents during that time, in turn renewing my gratitude to them, and to God.
When I first learned about the film's premise, I did not think I would like it very much. Personally, I did think that many criticisms that I heard from my peers stemmed fundamentally from an attitude of childish insubordination. I saw this as a symptom of the post-Enlightenment "flight from authority" (cf Jeff Stout), where any notion of authority has come to be deemed as evil, as "totalitarian" or "fascist." Though there were certainly parts where it did seem that the characters were simply mouthpieces airing the director's personal grouses, as the film progressed I found myself pleasantly surprised, increasingly engaged. Rather than a political critique, I think it is more accurate to identify The Olive Depression as fundamentally an exploration of a thoughtful, sensitive teenager's inner life, where Johnny's impending enlistment (a rite of passage amongst Singaporean males) serves as the stimulus to grapple with a host of existential and philosophical issues. Whether in plot, pace, or cinematic style, the mood of the film is slow, pensive, and melancholic. For instance, many of Johnny's significant conversations are had while waiting at a quiet bus-stop, deftly mirroring his silent, reflexive awaiting of conscription. At the same time, reminiscent of the cinematic realism of the Taiwanese directors Hou Hsiao-Hsien and Edward Yang, there are numerous long sequences composed of a single shot uninterrupted by editing, allowing for unhurried action and the natural development or progression of things. The opening shot of a simple flag-lowering; the lingering of the camera upon empty void deck; and perhaps above all the spectacular four-minute sequence of Johnny's bedroom the final night before his enlistment, where the room brightens slowly, as if in real-time, from night to dawn: these are all remarkably graceful sequences which work to convey an air of rumination, pregnant with possibility.
Last November, I attended the film's premier in Southern California, after which there was a post-screening dialog where Joshua Lim was present. Amongst other things, the discussion reminded me of both the abuses of over-interpretation as well as art's inherent openness to manifold interpretations. When asked repeatedly if he had intended to pack a particular religious or artistic significance into such-and-such a shot, Lim often deferred his intuitive method of film-making. Eschewing an excessively "cerebral" or calculated style, he said, he opted for the most part to follow his instinct when shooting the film, doing the best he could according to practical concerns. By disclosing this, there was a palpable sense that many bubbles were burst amongst the audience! However painful or embarrassing, this was in fact a much-needed warning against the flights of interpretive fancy. Yet Lim added another important point: leaving certain shots in contention open to the audience's interpretation, he suggested that he was probably not mature or self-aware enough a filmmaker to understand the deeper motivations behind his cinematic intuitions. Arguably, this admission was itself a demonstration of prudence and maturity, in demonstrating his awareness of how the aesthetic impulse often operates at a level either beneath or beyond rational analysis. Paradoxically then, this in turn authorizes radical interpretive liberty.
Let me close on a personal note. As a Singaporean male who too has been through two-and-a-half years of compulsory military service, watching The Olive Depression proved to be a very cathartic experience. Taking heed from the concept of the "healing of memories" popular in certain psychological circles, I saw in the film an invitation to revisit a crucial, formative stage of my life that I had hitherto repressed from memory. Owing in large part to my traditional Chinese upbringing which exalted submission to authority and acceptance of suffering as amongst its cardinal virtues I had never questioned the rightness and necessity of military service, not even after I had been singled out for especially brutal abuse (whether physical, verbal, or psychological) throughout my six months as a trainee at infantry-sergeant school. While I still do think that it was good and important in so many ways for me to have gone through the army, the depictions of Johnny's trepidation helped me relive that harrowing period of my life. This reliving, according to many proponents of mnemonic healing, is an essential stage for healthy recovery from deep emotional wounds. And by the same token, the kind companionship of Johnny's parents which Lim presents as the purest and surest form of love within the film helped me see with greater clarity the affectionate presence of my own parents during that time, in turn renewing my gratitude to them, and to God.
- tengkuan-ng
- Feb 17, 2009
- Permalink
Details
Box office
- Budget
- SGD 80,000 (estimated)
- Runtime1 hour 28 minutes
- Color
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