The Olive Depression

The Olive Depression, a film in 8 parts, was originally scheduled to take its bow during last year's Singapore International Film Festival. Out of the blue it got yanked from the schedule of the inaugural festival section called the Singapore Panorama, and going by the synopsis alone, many had wondered if it was the critique contained within that made the powers that be frown upon what could possibly be an attack on an entrenched institution and rite of passage to turn local boys into men. It would have been an interesting addition to the repertoire of local films, because any big-bang action movie involving our armed forces would be somewhat far off, and we only have the comedy Army Daze, based upon the popular play by Michael Chiang, to show for any cinematic effort focused on our army.

Perhaps comedy is the only allowed genre involving our forces, and centered around the 3 months Basic Military Training, which is supposedly the most grueling because you're the scum at the bottom of the food chain trying to survive a change in culture. The Olive Depression takes one step back and examines a boy's life two weeks before he enlists, and for all male Singaporeans, this inevitably will bring back some memories of our own D-day. For me, D-Day was a tour of Singapore, where I had to report to a nearby community centre, before going on a bus ride to a logistics base to collect equipment, then to the Central Manpower Base for the Oath, before travelling to Commando Jetty for a lunch, 30 bucks in cash, and a one way ride on the rough seas toward Pulau Tekong for 2 solid weeks of physical training. Like the character Trevor, my failing of the Napfa test meant an earlier enlistment, and missing out on my prom. Anyway that's my story, one amongst thousands who had gone before and after me.

Joshua Lim's story and direction seemed to pull back the punches, though they aren't strong enough to begin with. Like how he opened the film in a General Paper examination setting, most of his pointed arguments automatically came with counter arguments to provide balance, be it from church members, older peers who had been there and done that, best friends and parents, and in a bizarre twist of irony, the story conforms eventually to a resignation to fate and what it started out opposing, rather than to stay the course in challenging the norms that it began with, proving to a certain extent that it is futile to resist, and assimilation being the order of the day.

However it does get a little tedious in trying to buy the audience into some of the arguments spelt out. Lines of dialogue felt very heavy handed when it became a preachy platform, and you have obscure moments talking about conflict and competition, how the state can effect true control by affecting the minds of its people, terribly sweeping statements that felt like weak potshots against conscription, right down to complaining about cinema ratings and comments about living in Singapore Inc. Character faces are usually gloomy, but never fail to light up when, in colloquial terms, talking cock. Perhaps this boiled down to a relatively inexperienced cast regurgitating with lack of confidence and expression, the lines from a script rather than being made to feel these are actual sayings you and I will talk about.

It became somewhat of a chore to sit through a talkie-film when statements made were wafer thin and came across as a complaint in 88 minutes, although there were one or two gems with regards made to the state of the system here, where everything's just a formality because they're all spelt out to you for compliance purposes. Ooi Jy's Johnny seldom smiles, because he chose not to, covering up his innate fear of enlistment with some false bravado of being nonchalant and spiteful of practically almost anything. Not surprising of course that his crush told him to lay off her and just be friends. It's not an appealing character to associate or identify with, and somehow was quite a turn off with his pissy attitude. If that's the reaction sought to elicit from the audience, that goal got achieved.

Perhaps it wanted to mirror how many perceive life here, that you're given ample opportunity and various platforms to air your piece, but ultimately you are co-opted into what has been decided and established, and the only choice left is whether you'd want to look on the brighter side of things, or dwell miserably on the negatives that you have little power to overcome on your own. Like how the mother character puts it, you can have your own opinion, but keep it to yourself.

The Olive Depression anchors itself as one of the rare military-themed films of Singapore. If only the delivery had been a little more slick and refined - at times the audio was muffled - and arguments felt less like mouthpieces from atop a soapbox, but after all this is a first feature film, and it's good to know that Joshua Lim has another film in the works called The Seminarian. I guess the only way to go from here is up.

Shot on location in Singapore in 2006 after his graduation from the University of Southern California's distinguished film school, Joshua's film has the philosophical provocation and stylized intellectual dialog of a New Wave film by Godard, the serene, gentle quality of Asian luminaries like Edward Yang and Kim Ki-Duk, and the visual beauty of an Edward Hopper painting. It reflects a highly opinionated side of him, as well as the thoughtful philosopher and observant poet within. The film is a remarkable cinematic achievement, and all the more impressive considering the limited resources and budget he had to work with. Joshua assembled a local Singaporean film crew who worked for free and, like one of his cinematic heroes Bruno Dumont, he cast non-professional, native Singaporeans and brought out extraordinarily nuanced performances from them. Working with his regular cinematographer and fellow USC film graduate Lawson Deming, his distinct composition and color schemes are also highly pronounced in the film's striking visual. All things considered, the technical quality of the film and its overall accomplishment rival that of any studio- financed feature. The story of the Olive Depression centers on a predicament facing most young Asian males in the modern era. It chronicles the weeks leading up to a Singaporean boy's entrance into the country's mandatory military service. The protagonist Johnny is a precocious teenage Christian who wrestles with his country's identity and the sense of existential confusion facing his generation of young Singaporeans. Questioning the purpose of military service and the demand of our civilized society, Johnny has decided to maintain his melancholy in order to rebel against the perceived injustice and dehumanization that his country has perpetuated in the name of order and progress. During this very volatile period in his life, Johnny has to learn to balance the competing demands of family, relationship, and the diverse opinions of his friends regarding life and his refusal to conform. Slowly and in its subtle way, the Olive Depression paints a portrait of Singapore and confronts the question of what it means to be a Singaporean in this particular moment in time. Joshua based the story largely on his personal experience and reflection, and the film's authenticity is striking.

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.