When quizzed on whether 3D is part of that future, though, Apichatpong was dismissive, implying that 3D marks less of a sea change in the nature of the cinema. “Virtual Reality, I think we cannot avoid it. But 3D is… not the way. Cinema tries to mimic our biological needs — when we sleep, we dream and there are different stages of brain waves, and each cycle is 90 minutes. Movies evolved from this, I think, it’s biological. With VR, you’re freed from the frame, free to look.”
This preoccupation with dreams is fundamental to his cinematic style, and also to his rather lovely, sci-fi-ish vision for the future.
“I really believe that in the future we will be able to share dreams by hooking up our brains, and we will be doing a real collective sleeping. I imagine that the process will bring empathy. Because you really experience other people’s feelings — happiness or fear — and then we will no longer need a camera or a projector.”
And it’s a dream that gave his Palme d’Or-winning ‘Uncle Boonmee’ one of its most peculiar images, the dead son who appears as a kind of monkey creature with glowing eyes.
“He’s a mixture of things, he’s actually from one of the dreams of my friend. A high school friend told me he saw this black creature on the ceiling of his bedroom with the red eyes looking down at him and somehow the image stuck. But when we show it, people say, Oh, it’s Chewbacca! Heheh, I think that’s great.”
When it’s not dreams, it’s memory his films most deal in. And some of his recurring images have their roots in childhood experiences, particularly of hanging around the hospital where his mother worked.
“[The hospital corridor] was my playground and somehow the scene of the patients or relatives waiting and sometimes taking a nap, this space had a big impact on me. The rhythm of it, how everyone seemed to move in slow motion. So for me, the idea of time I think was maybe generated from this space.”
“Not far from the corridor was my mother’s office, and a desk with all this equipment, a microscope, a stethoscope and I would hang out in there and play with those things. The fascinating thing for me is that you can adjust the color of the background in a microscope so, in the end, I don’t really know what is the real color of this world.”
One of his films, “Syndromes and a Century” was partially set in his parents’ clinic. But a particular scene — a terrific unbroken long take in which a group of doctors gossips and drink liquor from a stash hidden in a prosthetic leg — fell foul of Thai censorship.
“There used to be a board of people, there’s a representative from Buddhist society, a monk, film professionals, a teacher, representatives from the medical council and policemen, all around this roundtable. And they watched the film and I was called into the room after and they say which shots I cannot show. So for this shot, the doctor council says it’s impossible, you shouldn’t have doctors drinking, they should be helping patients. But this happened in my memory! And the cinema teacher from the university said “What kind of movie is this? You should stop making movies and go back to school to learn filmmaking.”
“Now we have this censorship board under the minister of culture. Which is a step better. But it’s still very arbitrary. For us the issue is more about politics — not about nudity that much, but more about how you present the military. Not only for cinema but for other things. When we have a seminar at university, if it’s in any way linked with military we will always have a plainclothes police soldier to monitor the talk. And they go to gallery openings and can sometimes make the place shut down.”
That focus is as a result of the latest of Thailand’s many military coups.
“May of 2014 was the most recent one, and we’re still living under a military dictatorship now. There are laws to get rid of the people who oppose the regime, and any symbols of resistance are banned. For example, books like George Orwell‘s ‘1984‘ are banned and theatrical performers are jailed. The troops monitor social media, Facebook and so on, and the people who criticize are sent to what they really call “attitude adjustment camp” where they torture you, mostly psychologically. I’m kind of waiting for this,” said Apichatpong, half joking but half not.
He flashed up a photo of a statue in his hometown. “This is Sarit, one of our corrupt and brutal Prime Ministers, and a prototype of these current authoritarian figures now. He benefitted from the Cold War era when American financial and military support came to Thailand to combat communism. He drafted the law to abolish the parliament and executed those he deemed a threat. I often visit this statue and people still give him flowers! Our past dictators are worshipped, I don’t know why. This is one of the strange logics of home.”
“I remember the transformation very well when I was young. When Communism moved across this region, crossing the Mekong River, we were taught to hate the neighboring countries. There was a saying “if you eat noodles cooked by the Vietnamese, your penis will shrink. So I really avoided noodles.” And the word ‘Laos,’ (our neighbor) was synonymous with old-fashioned. So when I was a teenager, when I went to Bangkok, I often hesitated to tell people that I was from the North East, because geographically and historically we were really closely lined to Laos.”
The political situation in Thailand has not only affected him professionally ((he has announced his next film will be shot in Colombia) but personally.
“Some people like it. It seems peaceful. There’s no protest on the street, no demonstrations. It’s pleasant, the food is nice, it’s cheap. As long as you don’t talk about politics, the military, the monarchy, it’s fine. Livable. So you can imagine the tension. Even me and my family do not get along on this point. I am reminded of Plato’s cave: we’re looking at shadows and mistaking them for reality.”
But cinema helps him make sense of not only his own memories but also the collective memory of Thai history.
“For me making films is like an exorcism, it helps me deal with memory and to understand through illusion. Memory and light are not solid, they’re always shifting, malleable. The same can be said about storytelling and the way history is formed.”
As deeply enmeshed in Thai history and mythology and narrative tradition as he is, Apichatpong would rather not see himself as representative of Thai cinema.
“I don’t believe in nationality in cinema… it’s almost like you are horse in a horse race. Like in Cannes you represent a country — it’s not healthy.”
And he has firsthand experience of his films crossing national boundaries in a dramatic way.
“I went to Norway and I met this guy who said he was being treated for cancer and while in hospital he said, ‘I watched all your movies.’ And I thought, ‘oh no, that’s not a good idea!” But he said they helped him a lot. And I choked up. I thought, wow, this [work] is doing its duty.”
But not every response will be as positive and in that, as all things, Apichatpong has grown philosophical.
“I used to mind [when people didn’t get my films]. To the point that we showed my first film ‘Mysterious Object at Noon‘ in Thailand, and one guy was really mad. He said, ‘I want my money back!’ and I said, ‘Here, sir,’ and I gave him the money! You are not supposed to do that. But I think this is the benefit of festivals, to go and to face the audience — especially in Cannes which is really masochistic! You know, they boo. And then you start to think… fuck it!”
“Of course deep down, you’re hurt because you’ve spent a lot of time on this thing, but through the years you feel less and less hurt. It’s about how honest you are. For me, I like this kind of movie. But if you like something conventional, go for it. Just make it the best, the best you can.”
Tune back in soon for coverage of the rest of the Qumra masterclasses.