“Kerongchong Hujan” lingers through the dark room as the film, “Mukhsin”, reaches its end. With piles of blankets comforting me and only vibrant lights from the computer illuminating my face, I force back the lump from my throat as homesickness reaches its peak. Having recently returned to the UK from a summer back home in Malaysia, I watched the late Yasmin Ahmad’s film to immerse myself in her comforting and witty portrayal of Malaysians, as if I had never left. But then I wondered: her films were released and written ages ago, so why does Ahmad still matter to us today?
In a Malaysia where cheesy TV3 dramas and questionably comedic Zizan Razak movies were aired, Yasmin Ahmad released the Orked series, consisting of multiple autobiographical films that were banned and deemed utterly inappropriate for the Malaysian audience at the time. Being a legendary director and scriptwriter, a name ultimately impactful in the same vein as P. Ramlee, Ahmad’s dauntless approach to promoting unity among racial cultures within the then conventionally Malay, Muslim society had a gratifying – albeit uncomfortable – impact on the fundamental shift in gender, social & racial perspectives.
Take my most adored film of hers, “Mukhsin” (if you can’t already tell). Released in 2006, “Mukhsin” is a sweet coming-of-age story set in the 1960s, which explores the friendship between the acerbic 10-year-old heroine, Orked, and the 12-year-old boy, Mukhsin. Through impactful themes of first love, friendship and family, Ahmad portrays Orked’s strikingly loud, rude, and tomboyish character; a touchy and “overly” extensive friendship between Orked and Mukshin; and a liberally open-minded, publicly affectionate, and quietly religious family – all within the consoling scenes of a quintessential kampung. Ahmad’s portrayal of these characters succinctly describes the intimately diverse lives of Malays, ultimately caricaturising the unnecessary myopia within the fearfully traditional and compartmentalised Malaysian society of the time.
Among Ahmad’s fundamentally contentious pieces lies “Sepet”, meaning slit eyes in Malay. Released to the local public in 2004, the film follows the growing love between teenagers, Orked and Jason (Ah Loong), set in early 2000s Ipoh. Through themes of interracial romance and social & cultural identity, Ahmad blurs cultural stereotypes with the exploration of their budding romance – highlighting the concentrated ethnic tension among Malay-Chinese relationships and, largely, identities.
A study on the inter-ethnic relations of Ahmad’s films notes that, “ethnic identity involves the act of ‘drawing lines’ to differentiate ‘them’ and ‘us’, and to create a self-defence consciousness. It is this intense consciousness of ethnicity that separates rather than integrates different ethnic communities into a coherent whole” (Chew 4-5). Ahmad highlights this “intense consciousness of ethnicity” within multiple scenes: from Lin’s (Orked’s Malay friend) arrogant belittling of Jason’s English name when first meeting, Keong’s (Jason’s friend) concern for Jason having to “snip off the tip of your little brother”, to Jason’s mother not being able to listen to old Malay songs due to his father’s distaste for them. Admittedly, distasteful and harsh, Ahmad integrates the colloquial familiarity that most have experienced within these scenes by tipping the first domino to “softly” combat societal taboos and hypocrisies within Malaysian cultural politics.
Despite the Malaysian government’s and, well, society’s never-ending myopia at the time, Malaysian writer and filmmaker, Amir Muhammad, artfully depicts that “there’s a real sense of family in her films, not just because of the domestic unit that is always foregrounded, but because there is a humane yet raucous inclusivity in her stories, which become miniatures of how Malaysian society can function if we’d just let go of a few hang-ups.” Muhammad validates how these sentimental and vernacular films will always sneakily matter to Malaysian audiences (much like her Petronas ads). At the end of the day, why should we disregard her “perverse” work when all of them ring true?
Through Ahmad’s strong critical voice, she shattered multiple barriers that paved the way for brave filmmakers within today’s independent cinema scene. Like Jin Ong and Amanda Nell Eu, starkly impactful screenwriters who carved out Malaysia’s potential within the industry. Jin Ong’s 2023 tear-jerking film, “Abang Adik”, portrays the hardships of two orphaned Malaysian brothers, visualising a realistic commentary on undocumented lives in Malaysia. His honest and compelling storytelling brought a new, serious perspective from other films released, like the conveniently action-packed nonsense film, “Polis Evo 3”. While “Tiger Stripes” by Amanda Nell Eu presents the horrific coming-of-age of a 12-year-old Malay-Muslim girl who hits puberty, strongly and nostalgically (scarily) depicting the occurrences of hysteria and possessions within Malaysian boarding schools – where its jarring storytelling was premiered at the Cannes Film Festival and won the award for Critics’ Week Grand Prize (yay Malaysia!).
Though she is no longer here, Ahmad’s presence is invariably felt. If not for her dauntlessly didactic storytelling, others would not have been as compelled to produce art that truly elucidates the Malaysian identity, instead constantly regurgitating quintessential Malay blockbuster dramas. Our community, our culture are important elements that need to be presented truthfully and impactfully within the media, regardless of the time. A more transparent and open Malaysian media would result in a more respectful and neighbourly society. Though we are all different, we unite ourselves through our Malaysianness, so don’t we deserve to dance along harmoniously to “Kerongchong Hujan” as Yasmin Ahmad so beautifully portrayed?
