The superhero tradition gets a radical makeover in a new movie, with its filmmakers squaring off against homophobia and conservatism in Indonesia today.

Sara Veal

Under a bright spotlight, a white-haired, black cat-suited superhero strikes a fierce pose, her beautifully painted face solemn and sultry. Her manicured talons are enough to make you think twice about crossing her, but it’s her spike-stiletto boots that are the real concern.

Unexpectedly, the Lady Gaga-like dominatrix struts over and flops down beside me on the couch,  where I have been watching, entranced and intimidated.

“My feet are killing me! I’ve had to wear this outfit every day for a month!” Underneath all that pomp and pleather is the lovable Aming, down-to-earth even in sky-high heels.

Aming is the lead in Lucky Kuswandi’s Madame X,  produced by Nia Dinata, co-written by Agasyah Karim, Khalid Kashogi and Lucky, and starring Joko Anwar, Ria Irawan, Robby Tumewu, Marcel  Siahaan, Vincent Rompies, Fitri Tropica, Saira Jihan, Shanty, Sarah Sechan and Titi DJ.

With such a stellar cast, a slew of pop culture nods, groundbreaking CGI effects, costumes by top designers Tania Soeprapto, Isabel Patrice, Jeffrey Tan and Lenny Agustin, and makeup by MAC, Madame X is set to turn cinemagoers heads – as well as open their minds.

In the film, shy hairdresser Adam finds himself in sleepy village Tanjung Awan (Cloudy Point), and is taken in and trained up by couple Rudy and Yantje to become Madame X, a cross-dressing, hairdryer-toting superhero. He’s their last hope to save Capitol City from a hostile takeover by the evil Mr. Storm and his trio of witchy wives. With a high-powered makeup bag and styling kit, Madame X seeks to take down Mr. Storm and his homophobic political party before they can “win” the election.

From Concept to the Cinema

Madame X was conceived years ago by Nia and Aming, who have been in “constant discussion” since working together on Berbagi Suami, in which Aming had a small role as a taxi driver.

“We were talking about ghost characters, why they were always played by women … and then we stumbled upon the issue of superheroes either being very masculine or, like Catwoman, very sexy. Why couldn’t we have a transgendered superhero as a character? ” Nia says.

The founder and head of the nonprofit Kalyana Shira foundation, established in September 2006 by a group of independent film industry professionals concerned by the lack of Indonesian films that advocate women’s human rights issues, embodies feminist femininity, in a breezy, one-shoulder striped dress, and a welcoming demeanor that warms up the room.

“It’s been a challenge to develop the story, because a character cannot stand alone. We discussed the matter with scriptwriters Aga [Agasyah] and Ogie [Khalid] – I produced their first film Soccer & Gambling – and finished the first draft of the script in 2007.”

However, the first draft was too serious, far from the “crazy, campy film” Nia had envisaged, so she decided to let it “marinate” for a while, before calling on French script supervisor Miguel Machalski.

“I tried to stress to Miguel that we wanted it to be campy and entertaining. If it’s too dark then people who aren’t LGBT wouldn’t be able to enjoy it … I want everyone to enjoy it because whatever the sex is, the character is still a superhero. We were able to come up with a workable second draft.”

Nia invited Lucky to join the team, impressed by his direction of At Stake, another Kalyana Shira project.

Lucky is proud his feature film debut will be Madame X.

“I’m attracted to difficult subjects … these are things that people don’t talk about out of ignorance or fear. We should create a discussion.”

Travelling with At Stake across Indonesia helped Nia and Lucky to enhance Madame X’s realism.

“We met many transgendered people at those screenings, which was an eye-opener. They are so honest and so happy-go-lucky – although they are very unhappy in reality,” Nia says.

The people they met were willing to share their stories, including how they had to supplement their incomes with prostitution, which has been incorporated into the story.

The film’s mix of bold subject matter and flamboyant execution has piqued international interest.

“We already have invites to international film festivals for Madame X, some that aren’t even LGBT-specific … I thought let us finish the CGI first!” Nia says.

Madame X is set to have impressive CGI effects compared to previous Indonesian films, but for Lucky, the visuals only play a supporting role.

“What makes this film work is that we haven’t tried to make it a Hollywood film, it’s not a blockbuster. We know the low-budget thing is kind of funny, like with the Batman series.“What I want is for people to really care about the characters.”

Indeed, the characters seem to have more stories than one film can contain. Lucky holds off on discussing sequels – “Let’s get this one done first!” – but Nia confirms a Madame X comic is in development, and will serve as a prequel.

“We’re also creating online games, like Madame X rescuing transvestites, as part of the marketing.”

Preaching to the Conformists

Madame X, though set in a parallel world, has an important message to deliver on the current situation in Indonesia.

“There are many groups in Indonesia trying to impose their beliefs on people by force. This movie speaks to those people,” says Joko, the well-known screenwriter and director who, in his first mainstream supporting role, plays Aling, Adam’s best friend and fellow transvestite.

Nia adds that as OTT as Madame X might appear, her plight and flight reflect the struggles of Indonesia’s disenfranchised, whatever their outlook.

“[The film addresses] a very relevant issue to Indonesia today, which I will only talk to The Jakarta Post about – I don’t want to talk to any other media. When we wrote this script we based it on the tendencies of the conservative militants. Adam is triggered by the injustice of the conformists,” she says.

“If you can stand up for yourself and defend the weak, then you are a superhero. You can fight with as many means as possible, from hairdryers to hairpins – very simple things from your own environment.”

Life Imitating Art

With the memory of the controversially cancelled Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Intersex (ILGA) regional conference, due to be held in Surabaya, East Java in March this year, fresh in people’s minds, Madame X’s timing seems almost too perfect.

“We didn’t plan it! My God, it’s scary!” Nia says.

However, Nia is not worried by the public’s reaction. Her main concern is that the film will receive too restrictive a rating due to the subject matter.

“I think the film should be PG-13, because the violence is really mild … my 12-year-old watched Batman and Spiderman, this film is milder than those two. Teenagers especially need to learn to become tolerant.”

Madame X was originally intended to go on general release at the end of July, but will likely be delayed to avoid clashing with Ramadan, which will start on August 11.

Nia theorizes the film’s neutral title will keep it under the radar of disapproving groups.

“With Berbagi Suami [Love for Share] the militants did not pay attention to it because it had a nonthreatening title, we hope it will be the same with Madame X – it’s not called Transvestite X.”

Transgendered characters typically serve as comic relief in Indonesian cinema. It’s only been in recent years – with films like Arisan and Kala – that gay and transgendered characters have been depicted more three-dimensionally. Nia says Madame X will continue the trend, ensuring that while the transvestite characters are funny, they’re also powerful.

It may appear that Indonesia has been leading the way with LGBT films lately, many of which Nia herself has been involved with. Nia disagrees, saying it is a matter of perception.

“We don’t have many choices, so when a film with queer themes comes up, people focus on it … in Europe they have more choices, so the films float around, are less noticed. In the West, scholars and most academia often think Asian people are very introverted and polite … if something with an edge comes up, it’ll immediately become a focus of discussion.”

Lucky sees Madame X as more than a LGBT film, and hopes straight audiences will find plenty to enjoy and think about.

“If there was a Madame X in real life, the world would be a better place.”

The Many Sides of Aming

By the time Aming is ready for his interview, Madame X has vanished. With his square-cut glasses and smart-casual ensemble, the actor resembles a university student. His low tone of voice is almost deafened by the giggly antics of Vincent and Fitri as they pose for the camera a few meters away.

“Madame X is Adam’s alter ego. He always dreamed about being a superhero, fighting villains … fighting for minorities. Adam’s shy, a bit of a coward … he’s always hiding his inner personality from people,” Aming says.

So is Madame X Adam’s true self, his inner personality?

“One of his many sides,” Aming says.

“This movie isn’t just about gender issues – it addresses gender, politics, beauty issues. I think some people will respond badly, but I don’t care, because we don’t talk directly, we use metaphors, analogy.”

While he again stresses the discomfort of his costume – “If there’s a sequel, I want a different haircut and outfit!” – he says playing Madame X came easily to him, and was his best acting experience so far.

“Can you imagine getting to fly, jump? I love the theme, I love the story … I love everything about it.”

Still, Aming doesn’t want to only be known for playing offbeat characters.

“Maybe some day I will play a boy next door. I think when you play somebody who is ordinary, it’s a challenge for you to make it extraordinary.”

No Joko-ing Matter

Like Aming, Joko found playing a drag queen well within his range, although he hadn’t expected to be cast as one in the film. He had simply been determined to be involved, and had contacted Lucky requesting a role.

“I wasn’t actually expecting to get a big part. Aling is the Jiminy Cricket of the film, the conscience … she tells the hero/ine to stand up and fight the bad people,” Joko says.

Lucky is almost as surprised as Joko that the latter snagged the “second to main role”.

“The decision to try Joko in the role came quite late. He brings a lot of sass, which is great for the character.”

Robby Tumewu and Ria Irawan: The Not-so-Odd Couple

Next up are Robby and Ria, who play Madame X’s mentors Rudi and Yantje. Having only heard them referred to as a duo, I am unsure who is playing who.

My question provokes much laughter.

“That’s a good question!” Nia says.

“I play Rudi. I’m very charismatic … I’m a trainer of the president’s security force,” answers actor and fashion designer Robby.

“Yantje was the hairdresser of the first lady, and then he had a sex change. Then we set up an NGO that defends LGBT and moved to Tanjung Awan.”

Harder than escaping his acting comfort zone – Robby typically plays serious, Chinese characters – was the physicality of the role, as Rudi dances and fights, combining the two for Madame X’s signature battle style.

“During the shoot he screamed before every take, ‘my goodness, why did I choose this role?!’” Nia says.

As Yantje is wheelchair-bound, Ria was spared Robby’s hijinks, but says acting as a paraplegic had its own challenges.

“It was difficult to keep my legs still,” she says.

Playing a man playing a woman came more easily to the gay icon and transvestite beauty contest judge.

“She’s actually a transvestite born with a woman’s body … seriously!” Nia says.

Ria expects Madame X will shock, but believes that will help effect positive change. She points out Berbagi Suami, in which she starred, indirectly led to women being allowed to divorce their husbands in Malaysia, as women’s rights NGO Sisters in Islam used the film to illustrate the pitfalls of polygamy.

Madame X’s ‘Silent’ Partner

Vincent, done with hamming it up for his photo shoot, strolls over and begins cracking jokes that cannot be repeated here. He’s Din, the Q-like inventor responsible for Madame X’s lethal beauty kit. Mute in the film, he gamely makes up for lost time.

“I’m the main talent … the hero … I’ll sing it,” he quips, bursting into Mariah Carey’s chart-topper.

Ria notes Vincent’s verbosity was one of the reasons they had to keep doing retakes.

“He always came in for the readings, even though he didn’t have any dialogue!” Nia adds.

After very graphically elaborating upon – and demonstrating – why Wonder Woman is his favourite superhero, Vincent pulls down his pants and waddles off.

The Virtuous Villain

For all his naughtiness, Vincent is one of the good guys – at least in the film. The soft-spoken Marcel Siahaan on the other hand, is the sinister Mr. Storm. I find it hard to believe he could summon up villainy as he shakes my hand, smiles winningly and thoughtfully describes his character.

“I head this organization that dreams of making a better society, free from drugs, casual sex … but actually I’m a big hypocrite,” he says.

“But in the end, you will sympathize with him, because of what you find out about his childhood. He had a very controlling father.”

Perhaps Mr. Storm’s daddy issues resulted in him assembling a harem of women to fight his battles – Sarah Sechan, Shanty and Titi DJ play his three wives, each with their own superpowers, ranging from witchcraft to knife-throwing.

Marcel says he was very comfortable working with the three, as they were already his friends.“The trick was treating them as wives … I couldn’t stop laughing, especially Sarah the second wife … she tortured us with jokes.”

For Marcel, the appeal of the role lay in the creative challenge – it’s his first time playing a bad guy – and working with Kalyana Shira.

“It’s not just about making movies, but opening people’s minds.”

The Cherry on Top

When Marcel gets up, Fitri plops herself in his place. Everything she says or does has the room roaring with laughter, but I manage to pin her down on a few points.

The popular television presenter is Cun Cun, Aling’s lesbian mechanic sister, who invents the Madame X-mobile.

“In every movie, you need eye candy … someone beautiful … with inner beauty … my part is the cherry on top,” Fitri says grandly, trying to keep a straight face.

Lucky had been a fan of Fitri from TV and approached her for what would be her debut feature film role. She accepted immediately, having no qualms about possibly being typecast as a lesbian.

“I didn’t even know how to act like a lesbian. Nia taught me how a buci [butch lesbian] would act … I learned by doing,” she says.

Her priority was working with actors and filmmakers that she admired, she says in a rare serious moment.

“Are we done?” she asks.

We are. It’s been a long day. Within moments, the small studio is dark and empty, with not even a deadly hairpin left behind by the stylish superheroes who plan to change the world, one closed mind at a time.

Madame X will premiere October 6, with an open-to-the-public midnight showing September 25 and general release October 7. All screenings will have English subtitles.

Favorite Superheroes

The cast and crew reveal the heroes they look up to.

Nia: When I was small I liked Superman, the Christopher Reeves one … it’s very interesting to see him being very weak in the office, and then taking off the glasses and becoming this very strong hero. I also liked the idea of his father being from a different planet. Now, I love watching films like Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, I like Michelle Yeoh’s character … she’s a fierce fighter.

Robby: I like Robin Hood, I always wanted to be him. I don’t care about the films, just the timeless character. His glass is half-full, he helps people.

Ria: From Western ones, I like Superman because he’s a journalist and he can fly. That used to be my ambition – I was a journalist before and now, I just dream I can fly. For the local, I like Srikandi because she has a sexier bustier than Wonder Woman.

Lucky: When I was little I loved Sen Seya [Japanese anime], this group of superheroes that used the power of horoscope. Sen Seya was a Sagittarius … his costume could turn into a centaur.

Vincent: Wonder Woman … she always turned me on when I was a kid.

Marcel: I love superheroes who retain their human side, ones without superpowers, ones who overcome an accident, like Iron Man, who becomes Iron Man because he’s rich and smart – it’s not magic. And Batman, because he’s a ninja.

Fitri: I like Power Rangers … the yellow and pink ones. And Sailor Moon, because of the costumes and girl power!

Aming: Madame X – she’s stronger than any other superhero!

Rebecca James never intended to be a writer. She spent her 20s experimenting, from teaching English overseas and waitressing to starting and stopping several university degrees. But she is being touted as the next big literary sensation. Sara Veal talks to her.

It’s the kind of story Hollywood would snap up the rights to and cast Cate Blanchett in. Last year Rebecca James, then 39-year-old Australian mother of four young sons, and her partner Hilary Hudson were facing dire financial straits when her second novel to be published, Beautiful Malice, spurred an international “million-dollar” bidding war.

Within a week the family’s lives were changed forever – although it actually was a lifetime in the making, with James’ two years in Jakarta and becoming a mother figuring significantly in her development as a writer.

“I’m a restless person, the path I wanted to take just wasn’t clear, and lots of things interested me, so I was easily led into other routes. Writing is just something I have stuck at and now that I will stick at – I love it,” she says by phone from her home in Armidale, a cathedral city north of Sydney.

Talking to James is like talking to an old friend. We’ve been in touch for months, exchanging emails and Tweets, ever since a friend forwarded me a Wall Street Journal article describing James as the new “J. K. Rowling” and Beautiful Malice as a “brilliantly plotted page-turner”. I tracked her down, intrigued by the brief mention of her Indonesia connection.

With the May release of Beautiful Malice, a young adult thriller about an unsettling relationship between two teenage girls, the solitary Katherine and chillingly charismatic Alice, it was finally the right time to talk properly.

Over the telephone, James is immediately open and warm. She wants to know as much about me as I do about her, especially concerning Indonesia, a country she continues to have great affection for since working in Jakarta between 1995 and 1997.

Like her writing career, there was no grand plan behind her decision to come here. After completing her RSA Cambridge TEFL qualification, she chose Indonesia for its proximity and low cost of living. It was not love at first sight.

“I landed there and was horrified… I thought, I had to leave… I’ve been dropped off at the tip… [but] I stayed and got a job, and grew to love it… I stayed for 2.5 years in Jakarta, and hung out with many Indonesians, had an Indonesian boyfriend.”

James has fond memories of partying along Jl. Jaksa and traveling to Yogyakarta and Bali. Most of all, she says, she loved the “warmth of the Indonesian people …I liked the expat culture as well. I liked starting to learn the language.”

She says the main reason she left was because relationship had ended, due to cultural differences and communication problems.

“I came home to lick my wounds,” she says, laughing.

“Still very much in love with Indonesia”, she tried teaching in Japan, but the experience did not measure up. Back in Australia, her interest in Indonesia continued as she pursued an arts degree and studied Indonesian at intermediate and advanced level.

Even after she fell in love with Hudson at 29, whom she had known since boarding school, and the couple had four children in quick succession –  Charlie (10), twins Oscar and Jack (8) and Jimmy (6) – and teamed on a kitchen business (she designed, Hudson fitted), Indonesia still played on her mind. She turned to writing, both as a way to process her experiences and escape from domesticity.

“I was stuck at home with four boys under four at one stage. I really needed an outlet, so I started writing about [Indonesia],”says James, whose sister is a writer.

“When I really thought I was going to do it seriously was when I started getting some good feedback from readers… people were saying ‘You’ve got talent’ and I thought ‘Wow’ so…” she trails off, seemingly a touch embarrassed by her own appeal.

It was not easy finding the time to write while raising four infants and co-running a business.

“Being a mother, one, taught me what really hard work was, so that the whole process of sitting down and writing a book doesn’t feel daunting compared to looking after four children under four… and it made me more patient,” she says.

“In my 20s I think I would have been far too impatient and restless to sit with a book all the time it takes to write a book… and perhaps just getting older allowed me that patience and persistence.”

She’s so far completed four novels, with the fifth, Cooper Bartholomew is Dead, scheduled to be finished in May.

James’ first publishing experience was underwhelming. She sold her first novel to a small American e-press for US$100, and had the next two rejected, although the third did make it to acquisitions.

While Beautiful Malice is her fourth novel, she sees it as her true debut.

“I don’t think [the first novel was] good enough… it’s under-edited and way too short… so I just wish I’d never published it, but the temptation was so great at the time,” she says.

Even writing Beautiful Malice felt different to her other novels, she says although she could never have predicted the attention it has attracted.

“I simply wrote the first line, which is ‘I didn’t go to Alice’s funeral’, and then I thought, oh my gosh, who is Alice? and then really, I just figured it out as I went along, which was terrifying.

“Even the first 30 pages in, I felt very excited.”

Finding an agent was an uphill struggle. All those James queried in Australia rejected it, followed by 70 agents in America, and 10 in the UK, some of whom offered positive feedback but found it too difficult to categorize in terms of genre or target market.

“And then Jo [Unwin], who was quite new at Conville & Walsh [a leading UK-based literary agency], said she’d take it on… She was a little bit ambivalent about whether it was adult or young adult, but she put it out there anyway.”

Meanwhile, James and Hudson had just closed down their business, and were preparing to return to university.

“I was going to do nursing and he was going to do science… we were planning to tighten our belts and have a few struggling years, so I was hoping my book would sell, but I thought it would just make a small contribution to our lives, not something that would save us.”

Unwin first submitted the book simultaneously to publishers in Australia and the UK, resulting in two “normal first book offers”, respectively from Allen & Unwin and Faber & Faber.

“I was thrilled, over the moon, to get a publishing deal at all,” James says.

Beautiful Malice was then submitted to Germany, attracting an offer of 15,000 euros within two days, the fastest response yet – and a sign of what was to come.

“That was on Saturday. By Monday it was up to 70,000 euros and several publishers kept coming in, and Jo said she was saying no to it, that it was going to auction, and that I would know by that Thursday… and then it was up to 252,000 euros… and our lives were changed, obviously… We didn’t sleep for a week… we were going, ‘Is this real?’ It was unbelievable, like winning the lottery.”

In the end, across 35 territories, James garnered $1.4 million in advances, with the US paying the most at $600,000, although she points out the total was for both Beautiful Malice and Cooper, and that she won’t see all the money at once, nor all of it, after tax and the agency’s cut.

“So I’m not rolling in millions, but it did change our plans. We’re not going to university, Hilary is taking this year off because I’m doing lots of travel. He’s being a stay-at-home dad and helping the boys get ready for school and I’m writing the second book and helping to promote Beautiful Malice.”

James adds Beautiful Malice‘s success is especially fortuitous, as her partner has been in serious need of a break for years, after suffering a heart attack six years ago at age 35.

I remark on how well things seemed to work out, just when the family needed them to the most.

“In hindsight, it can look like it’s all fate. It certainly doesn’t feel like that at the time. Hopefully I can make a living from writing now, and if it all tanks, maybe we would go back [to our plans]… it doesn’t have to be loads of money, just a decent living from writing.”

It’s a measured perspective considering the constant comparisons to publishing phenomenons Rowling and Stephenie Meyer, whom James would appear to be following in the footsteps in as a millionaire mum and best-selling author. Although flattered, she laughs off the labeling.

“The comparison to Harry Potter is odd because it’s not a fantasy and it’s not for young kids, so I wouldn’t want people to be misled… it’s certainly for 15 and up. It’s daunting to be compared to [Rowling and Meyer] in terms of success, because I don’t see that I’m going to be the second richest woman in the world any time soon… it’s like wow, is that what you’re expecting?

“And some people are going to be like, ‘Haha it didn’t happen’, whereas I’m not expecting it anyway’.”

James is also philosophical about rumblings about movie adaptations of her books.

“I would absolutely love a movie deal – but it’s not something I feel is necessary to be successful as a writer, if you know what I mean.”

She’s perhaps, understandably, too preoccupied with completing Cooper.

“It’s intimidating, because there are expectations now…. It does feel like wow, what if it’s not as good? It might not be. A book is a weird thing. I’m really excited about Beautiful Malice, and I have to keep thinking about Cooper… I guess it’s a good thing, it’s keeping my feet on the ground.”

Like her first novel, Beautiful Malice focuses on a difficult relationship, a theme James observes probably has its roots in her failed romance with her Indonesian boyfriend.

“I’m interested in why sometimes you can be in love… why you can love someone, your friend or lover or whoever, and they’re not necessarily good for you or even nice to you… I think anyone who has been through high school has been on either end of that relationship to some extent,” she says.

“Obviously Beautiful Malice is quite extreme, and I’ve never had anything like that, but that feeling of having a friend that’s not really good for you… a relationship that’s not necessarily healthy but you pursue it and treasure it anyway. I find it compelling why you would do that.”

In her books, James’ top priority is to “create a really enjoyable story”. Her favorite aspect of writing is “describing little interactions between people that may seem small”.

“If people recognize that and can feel it, and it rings true, that’s what I think is really exciting and valuable… and when I capture that, which is sometimes by accident…  you catch yourself by surprise and go ‘that’s true, that’s right’… I’ve captured something about the human condition.”

Of Cooper, James says she won’t be able to describe it properly until it’s finished, only revealing that like Beautiful Malice it straddles the adult and young adult markets, and will be similarly marketed.

She tells me she’s written 1,000 words of Cooper today, and is looking forward to some relaxation.

“It’s Friday night so [Hilary and I will] have a glass of wine and watch a movie, while the boys do their own thing, outside, maybe on the trampoline.”

Despite James’ million-dollar success, it’s the little things that remain important – in her stories and in life.

Sara Veal

If you watch a Robert Pattinson film at the cinema, you have to be willing to tolerate the helpless gasping that is guaranteed to afflict at least a handful of audience members.

So I was fully prepared  as I settled down to watch Remember Me, a romantic drama that the Twilight hottie seemed to have made just for his swooning fans, a conclusion I came to based on posters and movie stills. Dishevelled hair? Check. Angsty glances? Check. A sullen co-star? Check.

What I wasn’t expecting, however, was the respectful silence that followed the film’s conclusion, the hushed murmuring as people filed out, and my own profound melancholy for hours afterwards.

Remember Me is a deeply sad movie, with a constant specter of death heightened by a final, shocking revelation. It’s a rather good one too, with affecting performances, a quietly simmering romance and a resounding message about the fleeting beauty of simply being alive, against a grimly atmospheric New York City backdrop.

The films opens with a little girl witnessing the murder of her mother at a subway, before being carried away by her cop father (Chris Cooper). A decade later, another fractured family huddle around a gravestone. The circumstances of the young man’s death unfold as we get to know his younger, rebellious and possibly suicidal brother Tyler  (Robert Pattinson), who has a tenuous relationship with his workaholic father Charles (Pierce Brosnan) and knack of getting into trouble.

One day he clashes violently with Neil, a police officer (Cooper, how did you guess?), who has a pretty daughter (Emilie de Ravin) at New York University, where Tyler audits classes. What begins as a petty bet transforms into a passionate affair, as two damaged souls rock each other’s worlds forever.

In New Moon, Pattinson was going through the motions, in tune with the rest of the film. The Brit and his affected American accent are far more comfortable in Remember Me, and he really gets underneath the skin of Tyler, the film’s emotional center, fleshing him out as a compelling, sympathetic character full of anger and sadness.

Tyler tries his best to take care of the people around him, especially his bright but socially outcast younger sister Caroline (brilliantly played by Ruby Jerins), although his attempts to do so can manifest in a destructive fashion. The jury’s still out on whether R-Patz can do more than these brooding Romeo roles, but he certainly makes them his own, and each rendition unique.

Pattinson has an effortless chemistry with de Ravin, whose sweetly caustic Ally complements Tyler. Some parts of her characterization are a bit cutesy – like her desire to eat dessert before dinner in case she dies – but de Ravin makes up for it with details that make Ally real, like a small smile showing the tip of her delight when she gains Caroline’s acceptance or a moment of wondering what to say to her father when she comes home the morning after instead of the night before.

Brosnan and Cooper are both well cast as the fathers, each dealing with their tragedy differently, the former with detachment and the latter with constant invasion of his daughter’s privacy.

The former James Bond is especially memorable – when he finally outwardly reveals anguish was when I felt the most devastated too – one can hope that Pattinson follows in his footsteps as proving himself to be far more than just a one-note pretty boy. Lena Olin, who would have made a deliciously naughty Bond Girl back in the day, contrasts effectively with Charles as Tyler’s more openly loving mother Diane, who has dealt with her grief better than either father or son.

With their shared past of loss and resulting dysfunctional relationships with their fathers, it is logical that Ally and Tyler would come together, which is why it’s a shame that there is such a cheesy premise – the bet – that sets their love in motion.

The writers could have told at least an equally effective story without the contrivance, which is best left to the likes of She’s All That. Tate Ellington’s Aidan, seems to exist entirely for the premise’s sake, and to make his room-mate Tyler seem like less of a jerk for going along with it. However, Pattinson does execute the necessary scenes with ambiguity, and once the cat is out of the bag, it’s dealt with fairly quickly.

Thankfully, a potentially disastrous aspect of the film was handled much more successfully: The twist ending. My definition of a good twist is if a film would work without it, if it is plausible, and if it adds something significant to the whole – Remember Me gets full marks, at once avoiding emotional manipulation and drawing all the film’s elements together even more deeply and effectively.

Verdict: Poignant exploration of love, life and death that will satisfy more than just the hardcore R-Patz fans.

Sara Veal

It may have been five years in the making, but Imogen Heap, who dazzled the crowds at the Jakarta’s Kartika Expo Center, Balai Kartini, on Wednesday, March 31, proved she was worth waiting for.

The British multiple Grammy nominee took to the stage for two hours, with seemingly limitless energy, wit and stage presence, and an 18-song set that spanned her three solo albums.

“Until about two months ago, I didn’t know you were all into my music,” said Heap, who included Jakarta as the penultimate stop on the world tour for her latest album, Ellipse, following floods of Twitter messages from Indonesian fans.

Opening acts Back Ted N-Ted, aka Ryan Breen from Arizona, and Heap’s fellow Brit Tim Exile got the crowds going before later joining Heap on stage, mainly on guitar and keyboards, respectively, along with New Yorker Chris Vatalaro on drums and bass vocalizer.

Dance pop rocker Back Ted N-Ted especially impressed with his closing song, the anthemic “War is Over”, while Tim Exile, striking in a bright red jacket, created new music right before the audience’s eyes and transformed responsive members into a musical instrument, with the help of a refitted joystick.

After keeping her revved-up fans waiting just a little longer, Heap strolled on to the stage to wild applause, launching into the rousing “First Train Home”, Ellipse’s first single, using a glass of water as musical accompaniment.

The artist’s floaty black dress, accented with feathery epaulettes, accessorized with a garland of fresh flowers and paired with sparkling shoes, completed the fairy-glade setting, which comprised a twinkling cut-out tree centerpiece, a white, plastic electronic grand piano, an array of eye-catching instruments, and a rainbow of rich lighting to reflect changing moods and tunes.

Heap was as much enthusiastic teacher as effervescent performer, explaining about the background of each song, and demonstrating how each of her unusual instruments worked, including a set of “water chords” that provided “instant horror music” and a chirping toy bird, who was “patiently” waiting for “one particular moment”.

The wistful Wait it Out, had been written while in Hawaii, while the tinkling, sublime “Between the Sheets”, was “inspired by lying next to a certain nice man” and enjoying being in the moment rather than “thinking about the future or past”.

“Do you love me?” she asked, after entertaining with oldie but goodie “Headlock” and the funky “Bad Body Double”, to predictable affirmation.

“I’m glad, be really bad if you hated me. I’d definitely be in the wrong place.”

Heap then shared a song that she said had taken “a lot of courage” and “a long time to write”, the mesmerizing “Speeding Cars”, about the pain of growing up and making mistakes.

Next she showed off her budding Indonesian skills, before bringing the birds from her local park to Balai Kartini, through a shadowy projection of flocking birds and the sample of their birdsong on “Little Bird”, adding up to a captivating audio-visual experience.

Having dazed with the display, Heap shook things up by treating fans to the song that had likely first brought her to their attention, the intoxicating “Let Go”, from her days in duo Frou Frou, which had fans chiming in happily.

Following reminisces about that former collaboration, it was time for a fresh one, as she brought cellist Rachman Noor on to the stage, a young Indonesian man who had won the chance to play by Heap’s side following online auditions that she arranges before each gig.

Rachman helped to amp up the drama on “Aha!”, a song Heap wrote after being irritated by a picky eater and stayed on to jam on the improvised beginning to the haunting, almost primal “Canvas”, which incorporated sampled sounds of a crackling bonfire and visuals to match.

After Rachman took a bow, Heap showed off another novel instrument, a “plastic snake” or “whirly” that emitted an ethereal sound when spun in the air above her head, which she used for “The Walk”.

The dimmed stage gave Heap the chance to see the audience for the first time, so, gleefully turning the tables on Blackberry addicts, she pulled out her mobile phone and videoed the crowd, saying “I’m going to show my friends and they’re going to say, ‘Shut up!’”

For the otherworldly “Swoon”, Vatalaro emerged from behind his drumkit and began to make music using a saw, a performance that delighted Heap and led to her tossing her garland of flowers into the audience, before singing the soaring, slightly melancholic “2-1”.

Signalling the night was sadly nearing its end, Heap revived an old favorite, the upbeat “Goodnight and Go”, eliciting a rapturous response.

Then it was time for the “first” goodbye, in the tradition of all great music concerts.
“For the moment, this is the ‘last song’,” Heap said knowingly, making quotation marks with both hands, before performing a fresh version of Tidal, her “favorite song to sing”.

Taking a bow, Heap and all her merry men departed the stage together. This time, the songbird did not keep the crowd waiting, quickly returning solo to give her fans the song they had been longing for, Hide and Seek, which she recruited the audience to help her with.

She continued to use the audience as the music for “Just for Now”, and was thrilled by the warm cooperation, saying the next audience would have the present one to thank for her return.

“I’m going to end on one this last song, I’ve tried other songs, but nothing works as well as this one. Thank you all for a special night. My one regret is that I didn’t have any time to see your wonderful country, but I will come back and see it,” she promised, before ending with “The Moment I Said It”, a suitably thoughtful finale to an exhilarating, involving musical adventure.

After the show, Heap fittingly paid final tribute for the night through Twitter, Tweeting “Was a great gig! We all had the best time!! Yay to those in the audience!”

Those lucky enough to attend last night also took to Twitter with their thoughts.

Anastasha Lovinna (@misstashalov) wrote, “All @imogenheap songs kept running in my head. I am soo watching her show again. Once is not enough! Please come back to Jakarta soon Immy”.

The evening’s main attraction told The Jakarta Post that she would be back “within a year”. Imogen Heap, Indonesia eagerly awaits your return.

Between the covers of countless books lurks a mystical creature with multiple masks. Submissive and beautiful. Cunning and domineering.  Shy virgin. Adventurous lover. She is the Asian woman. Or rather what passes for her in fiction. Sara Veal lifts the veil on the inscrutable images.

For thousands of years, ever since the West encountered the East, an exotic vision of the Asian woman has inhabited Western literature, symbolizing the allure, danger and mystery of the unknown.

“In the Western mind, the fictional image of the ‘Asian woman’ is the most imagined, misunderstood and ‘fetishized’,” says Sheridan Prasso, author of The Asian Mystique: Dragon Ladies, Geisha Girls, and Our Fantasies of the Exotic Orient (2006), adding this ultra-feminine exoticism has been juxtaposed onto the Asian male, “effectively wiping out his masculinity in Western culture”.

Academic Elaine Kim writes in a similar vein, observing “the inscription in American popular culture of Asian men as sexless automatons is complemented by the popular view of Asian women as only sexual beings, which helps explain … the enormous demand for X-rated films featuring Asian women in bondage, the demand for ‘Oriental’ bathhouse workers in US cities, and the booming business in mail-order marriages”.

Such sexual overtones are evident in the dichotomy of the Asian woman in literature. Whether Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Filipina, Indonesian, Malaysian, Vietnamese, Khmer, Laotian, Korean or Burmese, the East and Southeast Asian woman is either Dragon Lady – seductive, dominant – or Geisha Girl – subservient, ornamental. Between these two extremes lie permutations like China Doll, Lotus Flower, Prostitute and Mail-order Bride, all with sexual connotations.

The term Dragon Lady is thought to have originated in American cartoonist Milton Caniff’s 1930s comic strip Terry and the Pirates, and since then applied repeatedly to powerful Asian woman such as Soong May-ling, wife of former Taiwanese president Chiang Kai-Shek, and the no-nonsense dominatrix Ling Woo (played by Lucy Liu) in television’s Ally McBeal.

The Geisha Girl of Western popular imagination has its roots in the eponymous heroine of Giacomo Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, a delicate creature who kills herself when abandoned by her American lover. Puccini’s play was likely based on novelist Pierre Loti’s Madame Chrysanthème, in which the “hero” fails to understand or master the geisha of the title. Both versions demonstrate the heroine’s otherness, but the opera strongly implies Western superiority over a submissive Asia.

Representing Asia is a common function of the Asian woman in colonial literature. Between 1900 and 1940, French novels on Southeast Asia were often named for their native female character, as in Roland Meyer’s Saramani, Danseuse Cambodgienne (Saramani, Cambodian Dancer).

In such novels, French scholar Patrick Laude observes, “the Frenchman’s contact with natives … often leads to his adoption of Asian culture and repudiating of Western culture” – the Asian women were at once “Asia herself” and “Asian Eves” tempting Western men to the other side.

An Asian Eve appears in W. Somerset Maugham’s 1924 short story “The Letter”, based on a true scandal in Kuala Lumpur, in which the wife of a headmaster shot a male friend. The victim, Geoff Hammond, had married a Chinese woman, which lost him favor with the expatriate community. Despite her importance to the plot, his wife lacks a direct voice and is simply referred to as “Mrs. Hammond”. She is described as neither beautiful nor young – evidently not a Geisha Girl, her cunning actions and desire for revenge situate her as a Dragon Lady.

However, the beauty and ultra-femininity of Asian woman is often at the fore of their exoticism, so much so that white female literary heroines sometimes had to resort to yellow-face to redress the balance. In Owen Hall’s 1896 play The Geisha, a Story of a Tea House, an Englishwoman, spurned by her soldier fiancé for a Japanese geisha, wins him back by donning a kimono and makeup to match.

Men weren’t the only ones contributing to the Asian mystique. Anna Leonowens, a British governess who spent time in King Mongkut’s court in the 19th century, wrote two memoirs, The English Governess at the Siamese Court (1870) and The Romance of Harem (1873), which condemned her former employer’s harem, ostensibly in support of feminism.

Yet in pointing out the harem’s evils, she imbued it with exoticism, alluding to “heavy curtains of silk and gold”, and infantilized and insulted the Thai women she meant to stand up for, describing them as having “childish minds” and the potential to be attractive “but for their ingeniously ugly mode of clipping the hair and blackening the teeth”. Her observations inspired the Hollywood hit The King and I, which remains officially banned in Thailand due to the offensive portrayal of the revered King Mongkut.

“Leonowens sets up an Orientalizing framework of the Thai woman as oppressed and overly sexualized – one that then plays out in post-Vietnam War fantasies of Thailand to be found in, for example, Michel Houellebecq’s 2001 book Platform,” says Rachel Harrison, head of the Southeast Asian department at the University of London’s School of Oriental and African Studies and co-author of the upcoming The Ambiguous Allure of the West and the Making of Thai Identities.

Indeed, even as – and perhaps especially as – colonialism lost its grip on Asia in the mid-20th century, stereotypes of Asian women persisted and were eagerly lapped up by Western readers, with the Prostitute (with a heart of gold) in Richard Mason’s 1957 novel The World of Suzie Wong, and the Geisha Girl in Graham Greene’s The Quiet American (1955).

In Greene’s novel, middle-aged British journalist Thomas Fowler and young American idealist Alden Pyle quietly tussle over the most beautiful girl in Saigon. The lovely and inscrutable Phuong is Saigon herself, caught between two colonial powers – the older, entrenched Europe and the radical America – waiting to see which will benefit her the most.

Around the same time, Asian women began to speak for themselves in Western literature, mainly through autobiography and history, suggesting that the best weapon against Orientalist fiction was well-articulated fact.

One of the earliest of such texts was Jade Snow Wong’s Fifth Chinese Daughter (1950), which proved so popular that the US State Department sent the author to 45 Asian locales between Tokyo and Karachi.

“I was sent,” Wong writes, “because those Asian audiences who had read translations of Fifth Chinese Daughter did not believe a female born to poor Chinese immigrants could gain a toehold among prejudiced Americans.”

Maxine Hong Kingston’s 1975 memoir, The Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a Girlhood Among Ghosts, sought to present a nuanced account of 20th-century Chinese-Americans living in the US in the shadow of the Chinese revolution. However, reflecting ingrained, sweeping assumptions about Asian women, at least one reviewer found this ambiguity too perplexing.

“It’s hard to tell where her fantasies end and reality begins,” Michael Malloy wrote for the National Observer in 1976, confused by Kingston describing some Chinese women as aggressive and talkative and others as docile and silent.

Still, even these Asian women speaking for themselves may be responsible for perpetuating the Asian mystique, as their critics argue.

Kim suggests that Wong’s autobiography was “valued primarily as evidence that American racial minorities have only themselves to blame for their failure in American life”, an important view “during the Cold War period, when charges of race discrimination in the United States were circulating in developing countries that, having recently been freed from direct colonial rule, were questioning the value of American world leadership”.

Playwright Frank Chin, in his 1991 essay “Come all ye Asian American writers of the real and the fake”, claims Kingston and Amy Tan, who wrote The Joy Luck Club (1989), faked Chinese literature and history to further Western misconceptions about Asia.

Chin criticizes Tan for opening her novel with a fake Chinese fairytale about “a duck that wants to be a swan and a mother who dreams of her daughter being born in America, where she’ll grow up speaking perfect English and no one will laugh at her” and where a “woman’s worth is [not] measured by the loudness of her husband’s belch”, and Kingston’s rewriting of Chinese folk heroine Fa Mulan “to the specs of the stereotype of the Chinese woman as a pathological white supremacist victimized and trapped in a hideous Chinese civilization”.

He goes on to suggest that Kingston and Tan were only published because they were Christians: “… the only form of literature written by Chinese Americans that major publishers will publish (other than the cookbook) is autobiography”, and “… they all write to the specifications of the Christian stereotype of Asia being as opposite morally from the West as it is geographically”.

“Self-Orientalization complies with existing stereotypes,” Harrison explains, “the Orientalized subject absorbs this dominant sense of self-identity and uses it as a way of marketing to the outside world, remaining within understandable and understood frames of reference.”

Perhaps due to a relative lack of self-Orientalizing/culture-counterfeiting, fellow Asian women writer Jung Chang has provoked less ire from her peers with Wild Swans (1991).

British citizen Jung Chang’s phenomenally well-received autobiographical novel spanned three generations of Chinese women in the 20th century, painting a vivid portrait of the period’s political and military turmoil, and was deemed by Tasmanian academic Kaz Ross to be a forerunner to the “faction” genre – “history told by fictional narrative means”.

Continuing the factual crusade against stereotyping, Chinese-American Anchee Min’s novels focus on strong female figures. Jiang Qing, Mao Zedong’s wife, is given a rounded portrayal in Becoming Madame Mao (1991), while Empress Orchid (2004) offers a sympathetic account of Empress Dowager Cixi, de facto ruler of the Mancu Qing Dynasty for 48 years between 1861 to her death in 1908, who has often been portrayed as a Dragon Lady in Western cinema.

Male Asian writers have also risen to challenge the Asian mystique. David Henry Hwang’s Tony-winning play M. Butterfly(1988), loosely based on the relationship between French diplomat Bernard Bouriscot and male Peking opera singer Shi Pei Pu, subverts Puccini’s opera to tragicomic effect.

Gallimard, based on Bouriscot, becomes taken with opera diva Song Liling, whom he idealizes as the perfect woman. “She”, however, is a man, and a Chinese spy to boot, and ruins the diplomat’s name and breaks his heart. “Only a man knows how a woman is supposed to act,” Song informs his deluded lover, who shortly commits suicide, in a mirror of the original Butterfly.

Beyond Chinese dominance when it comes to East and Southeast Asians in Western literature, a wider range of female voices across Asia are beginning to be heard (or read) in Western press, such as in the recent, and aptly titled, Speaking for Myself: An Anthology of Asian Women’s Writings, which offers nuanced tales of the epic in the everyday, moving away from simple history and autobiography.

Such stories are needed to counter stereotypes that continue to crop up in popular Western literature, from the unseen Dragon Lady that is Mark Darcy’s Japanese ex-wife in Bridget Jones’ Diary (1996) to the Geisha Girl/Prostitute Chinese mistress in Tony Parson’s My Favorite Wife (2008), as well as the more overt Orientalization in Arthur Golden’s best-selling Memoirs of a Geisha (1997).

In a sign of the Asian woman being able to directly challenge her misrepresentation, Mineko Iwasaki, who reportedly inspired the memorable geisha, revealed in an interview with Prasso her distaste for the novel’s “misinterpretation” of her “flower and willow world”.

As Iwasaki and Prasso show, the Asian woman of Western popular imagination remains curiously mistaken and outdated in a world where Asian countries are increasingly powerful and Asian women are leading the way.

Presidents, lawyers, doctors, human rights defenders, teachers, writers, mothers, daughters. These are the true women of Asia. It’s time to turn the page on the Asian mystique.

Sara Veal

The ongoing battle between 3D animation studios has two main contenders: Pixar and Dreamworks. Both can astound with cutting edge graphics and triumph at the box office, but so far, Pixar is ahead, emotionally and artistically.

You can rely on Pixar to turn ideas that are generous on whimsy and thin on plot into entertaining treatises on the human condition. Dreamworks tends to go the plot- and joke-heavy route, adding up to raucous laughs, without matching the former’s timeless magic or insight.

But with How to Train Your Dragon, loosely based on Cressida Cowell’s children’s series, Dreamworks has stepped up its game and delivered a winning family fantasy that, despite its many clichés, has that certain something. That something that elevates it above disposable entertainment and means you’ll be able to watch it again and again.

The gloomy island of Berk, located on the “meridien of misery”, has a pest problem. Dragons frequently swoop down on the village, causing havoc and destruction and carrying off food supplies.

Fortunately, the island is populated with “tough and tasteless” Vikings who are willing to go all out to take the beasts down. That is, apart from chieftain Stoick the Vast’s (Gerard Butler) puny but clever son, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III (Jay Baruchel), who only seems capable of causing trouble. This changes when one of his madcap inventions actually works and he captures a Night Fury, the rarest dragon of them all.

There is much that is typical about How to Train Your Dragon. Hiccup is a geeky outsider, with an unappreciated wit, striving for his gruff father’s approval and a date with an aloof babe. With smarts and a very special friend, the lovable outcast is able to find where he belongs.

So far, so your average nerd fantasy, with shades of the recent Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, as well as The Karate Kid, Pete’s Dragon, Eragon and Dragonheart. But the film adds up to more than the sum of its parts, transporting you into well-trodden territory in a fresh and captivating fashion.

Most of that is due to the terrific chemistry between Hiccup and Toothless, the Night Fury he befriends. Their relationship builds realistically, in tentative steps and in ways that deepen their characterization. The dragon and boy are as curious to each other as to the viewer, and it is rewarding all round to get to know them better.

Toothless is especially enchanting, with a unique, feline design that straddles cuteness and fearsomeness. Toothless’ soaring flights provide thrills and ample opportunity to enjoy the Lord of the Rings-like landscape, and on the ground, you’ll long to do as Hiccup does and tickle the dragon’s chin. I foresee a profitable racket in Toothless plushies and Beanie Babies.

Rising star Baruchel voices Hiccup well, imbuing his dialogue with a mixture of wryness and vulnerability, and never overpowering the fictional character, as Jack Black did in Dreamworks’ Kung Fu Panda. Baruchel takes it down a notch, which allows Hiccup to seem more real.

The supporting characters largely serve as chorus and scenery, continuing the trend of low-key vocals, although there is a strange delineation between Scottish accents for grown-ups and American ones for teens. Butler’s Stoick is at first flat, a variation on 300’s King Leonidas, but he grows into the fatherly role, and plays off well with the similarly brusque Gobber (Craig Ferguson), who trains Viking teens in the art of dragon-combat.

America Ferrara is almost vocally unrecognisable as Gobber’s daughter Astrid, but pulls it off as a suitable love interest for Hiccup. Baruchel’s fellow Frat Packers Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Jonah Hill and T. J. Miller, and Saturday Night Live’s Kristen Wiig, round off the teens-in-training, all adding a distinctive touch, and broad comedy.

Besides Toothless, the array of dragons are well-rendered and imaginatively designed, their bright colours and textures contrasting effectively with the most stunning set of backdrops Dreamworks has so far created.

A worthy, if not revelatory, message comes through the narrative, the notion that conflict is built on misunderstanding and thoughtless warfare is an unproductive way to handle it. Hiccup becomes heroic through peaceful means, by being himself and taking the time to learn about the supposed enemy.

Thankfully this message is conveyed creatively, without preaching. Another aspect to be grateful for is the absence of scatological humor, which I anticipated after clocking the Judd Apatow alumni on the cast list. The jokes are fairly wholesome and good-hearted, and are unlikely to date.

Arguably, the increasingly stretched Shrek franchise is the jewel in Dreamworks’ crown, standing head and shoulders above other offerings. With the final Shrek out soon, How to Train Your Dragon is a worthy successor, with sequel potential, and represents a promising direction for Dreamworks, one that could see it finally giving Steve Jobs’ studio a run for its money.

Pixar, you may have won many battles, but the animation war ain’t over yet.

Verdict: Exhilarating, touching, packed with lovable characters and refreshingly low on the poop jokes, How to Train Your Dragon is the kind of movie you’ll be able to watch years from now and still enjoy.

How to Train Your Dragon
(Dreamworks Animation, 98 minutes)
Directed by Chris Sanders, Dean DeBlois
Produced by Bonnie Arnold, Doug Davison, Roy Lee, Michael Connolly, Tim Johnson
Written by Adam F. Goldberg, Peter Tolan, Dean DeBlois, Chris Sanders, Cressida Cowell (novel)
Starring Jay Baruchel, America Ferrera, Jonah Hill, Gerard Butler, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Craig Ferguson

Sara Veal

Chris Cleave has been a barman, a long-distance sailor, a teacher of marine navigation, an internet pioneer and a Guardian columnist. Now the 36-year-old is an acclaimed novelist, as well as a proud husband and father-of-three. Incendiary, his debut novel, won several prestigious awards and was adapted into a film starring Ewan McGregor and Michelle Williams. His second and most recent novel Little Bee is the current #1 The New York Times fiction bestseller for the third week running, as of the time of writing.

What led you to write Little Bee?

I wanted to put a human face to the world’s refugee crisis. There is so much conflict in the world now, and the media tends to focus on the noisy, violent episodes, rather than the quieter and more emotionally-challenging lives of the people who are displaced by those episodes. But I believe that those human stories are the real story of our world right now, so it was something I felt urgently drawn to write about. And I think that’s something one can do in fiction: to tell a story that is entertaining, enlightening and emotionally true, about events in our real world. On a personal level, I became involved with refugees for the first time in my early 20s, when I worked for a few days in the kitchen of an Immigration Detention Centre in the UK. It opened my eyes to a hidden world.

The characters in Little Bee have such distinct voices, from Little Bee’s poetic grasp of the Queen’s English to Batman’s childish chatter. How did you capture this?

I am obsessed with the subtleties of spoken language – I try to be a good listener, and to capture the nuances of what people say, the precise way in which they express themselves, and – vitally – what they do not say.  So to write this novel, I interviewed many refugees and asylum-seekers, I talked with Nigerian English-speakers, and I did a lot of book learning around the grammar and idioms of Nigerian English. Likewise for the characters of Yevette, and Sarah, and Andrew – all my characters are linguistic constructions first and foremost. They have a particular voice before they have their looks, their clothes, their jobs, their histories. And you mention the character of Batman, aka Charlie, a four-year-old boy in the novel. He was based on my own eldest child, who sincerely believed that he was Batman at the time I was writing the novel. Sometimes I just took dictation…

Little Bee is a story told by two women. Why did you choose to present these issues through these two very different women’s voices?

I like writing in female voices because it’s a good way to ensure that I am not talking about myself. Whenever I sit down at my writing desk, I want to be someone different. That is the great escape of being a writer, and of being a reader for that matter – the freedom if affords us from the bonds of being ourselves. Plus I think that for a writer like me, who tries to explore the extremes of the human psyche, the job is best done through extended dialogue and monologue, to which I find that female narrators are more suited. Men have an inner life that is just as interesting but they don’t tend to express themselves to each other through words. Therefore, I find that female characters are often more suited to my purpose.

In Little Bee and your previous novel, Incendiary, you focus on a mother and child with a backdrop of explosive world issues. Why do you do this?

I guess I’m not the first person to believe that the mother-and-child grouping is the most beautiful conjunction in human life. It is a tender and moving image, and in various guises I tend to juxtapose it with scenes that are less tender – perhaps even horrific – for the mutual amplification that the contrast provides. Also, I believe that generalizations about our world are very rarely true or useful, and so as a writer I try to tell stories about particular human lives – often lives that are torn apart precisely by the people who believe in generalizations. In this way I try to explore big world issues through small individual lives, and there is arguably no smaller unit of life than the mother-and-child link.

How does being a journalist influence you as a fiction writer?

Well, I’m not working as a journalist right now – I recently gave up my Guardian column to concentrate on my novels – but I do hugely respect the work that journalists do, and I see the roles of a journalists and novelists as being similar in many respects. For example, I hope that as a novelist I look at the world with the hungry eye of a reporter – I ask myself: what is the biggest story that is happening right now, and how can I bring my readers right up close to it?

How does being a father influence your writing?

For the better, I’m pretty sure. First and foremost, I’m a happier person – I really like being part of a family, and feeling that I am of some use to people I care about. I think the happiness comes through in my work.

So far you’ve published two novels, and Incendiary has already been adapted for the screen, with Little Bee in the works. What are your thoughts on the adaptation process?

I think it very much depends on the novel. Some novels have the quality of being particularly suited to film – they are written in scenes, they have a strong visual aspect, and the story is mainly told through dialogue and action. In such cases it might be fair to describe the transition to the screen as a process of translation. But in other cases, for example where the style or the method or the atmosphere of a novel is more salient than its storyline, then it is probably more useful to think of the novel as the first creative spark that inspires a completely separate creative project; the making of a movie. I think my novels have a foot in each of those camps, so I’m fascinated to see what screenwriters make of them! I’m not precious about my work, and I don’t believe in the idea that a film should be “faithful” to the novel it is based on, so I would always be happy if the producer and the director and the screenwriter just felt inspired and liberated to go out there and make a great work of art.

What can we expect to see from you in the future?

Some good novels, I hope. I have made a choice to give up all professional distractions – however much I enjoyed them – and dedicate myself to producing the best novelistic work of which I’m capable.

Sara Veal

In this information age, we are all aware of the world’s horrors. Villages razed to the ground, in the name of oil. Starving, swollen-bellied children too frail to brush away the flies that feast on them.

We’ve read these stories in newspapers, watched these images on television. Maybe even seen or experienced them firsthand. Unfortunately this deluge of poignant sights and sounds tends to have a desensitizing effect. It’s hard to think of the sea of sadness as consisting of individuals.

Chris Cleaves’ Little Bee, the follow-up to his best-selling debut Incendiary, turns up the volume of one of the voices among these masses – that of a Nigerian 16-year-old girl who seeks asylum in the UK. He pairs her with her superficially polar opposite – an upper-middle-class Englishwoman – and builds around the two women an affecting, often humorous tale that never sinks under the weight of the heavy matters it addresses.

To even basically summarize the plot of Little Bee would spoil its magic, so let’s leave it at this: Two women – Little Bee and Sarah Summers – meet on a Nigerian beach, each there due to insurmountable forces. A terrible decision is made and both women’s lives are changed forever. Two years later they meet again, in a quiet, English suburb, and are forced to confront the consequences of that fateful first encounter.

That sounds rather ominous, and indeed, the topics Cleave touches on are no laughing matter. Oil wars, refugees, the failings of the British immigration system, racism, rape, depression, adultery, suicide, murder, death, grief. All can be found between the cheery orange covers of this book. Yet the tone remains hopeful – these issues are mostly implied rather than gratuitously described, which allows the reader to understand the devastation without losing sight of the individuals.

For, first and foremost, Little Bee is a story about people, and Cleave has brought all his characters to life with careful attention to the way they speak and think. Little Bee and Sarah share storytelling duties, in alternating chapters, and it is immediately evident who is telling her story – which becomes their story.

Little Bee is engaging from the first sentence – “Most days I wish I was a British Pound instead of an African girl” – and has a lyrical way with English, intending it to be her defense against her foreign surroundings.

Unfortunately her English can also undermine her, as when she accidentally likens a taxi driver to male genitalia, thinking she is complimenting him on his impressive shock of hair. Little Bee’s cadence reflects her strong spirit; even when she casually considers the myriad of ways that she would kill herself under necessary circumstances, she does not seem self-pitying, only practical. Her attitude is the same as the novel’s: “If I could not smile my situation would be even more serious”.

Sarah, a beautiful woman with a good job as a magazine editor-in-chief and seemingly picture-perfect family, is eloquent, but her precise way with English only highlights her turmoil (“… here I still was, dry-eyed, with the whole house reeking of gin and lilies”).

Cleaves demonstrates that while these women may seem very different, they can connect profoundly – in the way that we as readers can empathize with both of them despite cultural, social and linguistic gulfs. And although the women are sympathetic, neither is a saint, which adds to their realism.

While Little Bee and Sarah have near-perfected their inner and outer composure, Sarah’s 4-year-old son Charlie aka Batman, is the raw emotional core of the novel, voicing and acting out his feelings with abandon, whether sadness or euphoria, in a childish chatter that enriches the novel’s linguistic melody. He provides some of the most uplifting moments, and a few of the most heart-rending.

Nuanced characterization extends to minor characters, who never act as you would expect. There are no real villains in this story, besides circumstances and political systems. “Simple” farmers are compassionate towards illegal immigrants, offering food and shelter, at risk to themselves. Sarah’s well-educated lover immediately jumps to conclusions about Little Bee’s intentions, in line with the inherent problems with the British immigration system for which he works. Even the most obviously sinister character, a ruthless Nigerian gang leader, displays humanity.

The narrative reads effortlessly although it quickly switches between the past, present and future, circling around the full disclosure of the pivotal event that first brought Little Bee and Sarah together. When the revelation is finally delivered, it is done so in a masterfully smooth way in which the two women’s perspectives blur and overlap, panoramically conveying the event as if through a swiveling camera.

Names play a key role in the novel, tying into themes of identity, a pertinent matter for refugees attempting to belong in the UK – and for every human being negotiating their place in the world. Little Bee, Sarah and Charlie all have at least two names and a persona for each. Little Bee renames herself as such to distance herself from the past; she toys with another when she considers moving on again. Sarah is Sarah Summers professionally, and Sarah O’Rourke as a wife and mother, roles she tries to compartmentalize. A fellow refugee of Little Bee’s refuses to share her name, finding it risky, and in doing so, seems to lose herself. She becomes like those among the nameless ocean of refugees that can be difficult to distinguish between.

Little Bee is not going to change the world. It may spur you to learn something more about the refugee crisis, even take action. It may not. What it will do is draw you into a world both heartbreaking and comic, with captivating characters, a clever use of language and a positive view of mankind against all the odds.

Little Bee

by Chris Cleave
Simon and Schuster, 288 pages

Special offer: Present this page at Aksara Kemang to receive a 10% discount on an imported fiction title.

Sara Veal

Think of women writers, and the phrase sastra wangi (fragrant literature or “chick-lit”) is likely to come to mind.

Authors like Mona Sylviana aim to dispel such dismissive and sweeping stereotypes, and their non-chick-lit writings will be showcased in a new short story collection that reflects what editor and publisher John H. McGlynn describes as a post-New Order willingness to confront “societal problems head on”.

“In my opinion, some examples of Indonesian women’s literature are referred to as [chick-lit] out of prejudice. And prejudice comes from discrimination,” Mona says.

However, she adds that she does not discount works that could be more accurately categorized as chick-lit.

“Maybe some forms of Indonesian’s women literature are not quite ‘literary’, but that doesn’t mean they are not valuable or important. The value of literature, in my opinion, comes from how those works can be read and interpreted. Also whether the works are able to articulate many aspects of life. The more voices, the better.”

Mona was born in Bandung in 1972, where she continues to live with her daughter and husband. Since completing a degree in Communication Sciences at Padjadjaran University in Bandung, she has worked in writing and theater.

Her short stories and essays have been published in various media, including Media Indonesia, Kompas, Tribun Jabar, Jurnal Perempuan and Koran Tempo. She has also compiled a number of anthologies, including Improvisasi X, Angkatan 2000 Sastra Indonesia and Dunia Perempuan. Last year she discussed her writing at the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival.

In September this year, she will feature in Menagerie 8: Not Chick-Lit, an anthology of Indonesian literature in translation published by the Lontar Foundation and edited by Lontar co-founder McGlynn and Dorothea Rossa Herlianya.

“Over the past decade, Indonesia has witnessed an exponential rise in the number of talented young women writers and Lontar wants to help introduce them to the international world,” McGlynn says.

“As the stories in Menagerie 8 show, the authors are not just gifted writers; they are tackling topical and sensitive issues not being covered by other, older writers. Though all the writers who are represented in the book are women, their gender is in fact irrelevant.”

McGlynn says selections were based not only on gender (female), age (relatively young), and quality of work but also differences in theme, setting (geographic region), and ethnic identification of characters.

“Thus we have stories from a fairly wide geographical range. We also looked at difference in social classes — Muslims, Christians, immigrants, ethnic Chinese, poor, rich, Eurasian, etc — and the profession of characters — painters, farmers, NGO activists, urban people, rural people and so on. In short, Dorothea and I tried to construct a mini-mirror of Indonesian women today.”

Mona describes her contribution to Menagerie 8, titled “Suara Tua” or “After He Said, ‘Come in’” as “a simple story about love between a woman and a man”.

“But the love may be platonic because of their age difference,” she says.

She was inspired to write the story when she observed a librarian serving a younger man.

“I imagined the old women was sickly and unmarried. In writing it, I aimed to enter the world of the old woman, who is typically referred to as perawan tua [spinster], which like sastra wangi, is a discredited term.”

Such stories are in line with her desire to write about women who are unique and realistic.

Mona, who acts as well as writes for the theater, says her dramatic experience helps her bring her characters to life.

“For example, when I create some characters I must ‘become’ the characters.”

The 37-year-old explains she first became interested in writing in 1991, when she went to college and made friends who were keen readers and writers. She felt compelled to train herself to write “correctly” and in a “structured” fashion, in order to participate more fully in her newfound community.

“I tried to systematically learn how to write, and learning to write also means learning to ‘read’. Then, I discovered that writing could be another way to express myself. Writing also created opportunities to participate in social activities [like theater and social activism].”

As a reader, Mona says she is not “choosy”, which makes it hard for her to identify any writers in particular that she admires.

“Almost all the writers I have read have inspired me in some way. But, to name a few: Idrus, Budi Darma, Milan Kundera.”

Besides writing, Mona remains interested in social activism and education. Since 2000, she has been a member of Institute Nalar Jatinangor, a not for profit organisation that provides multicultural education through discussions, seminars, libraries and training.

“[Through Institute Nalar Jatinangor] I am trying to do my part to develop world literature,” Mona says, adding she is also editing short stories for another anthology.

“I hope that I can continue to deepen my understanding of people, and people’s understanding of each other, through my writing and activities. That is what literature should do.”

Mona Sylviana’s short story “After He Said, ‘Come in’” is featured in the April edition of WEEKENDER, out today.

Sara Veal

Reviewing a film that has just received the highest cinematic accolade is challenging. Then again, those good folks at the Oscars don’t always get it right, and often reward dreary, self-important “Oscar-bait” that we mere popcorn-munching mortals would secretly consider to be like boiled carrots at dinner-time. Good for you but no fun at all.

But, in this case, The Hurt Locker simultaneously defies expectation and earns its sky-high hype – if you’ve been living under a rock, Kathryn Bigelow’s “little movie” seemingly came out of nowhere to sweep the Oscars, claiming six little gold men and triumphing over the showier Avatar, a David vs. Goliath story made even more memorable as James Cameron is Bigelow’s ex-husband.

It’s an Oscar-winning war film that’s horrific without being gratuitous, important without being pompous, and even fun, without glorifying war.

The film opens with journalist Chris Hedges’ quote: “The rush of battle is a potent and often lethal addiction, for war is a drug” – announcing how it means to go on – before leaping straight into the action, in 2004 Iraq, shortly after the US-led invasion.

A US Army Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) unit loses their leader to a remote bomb, and the remaining members cautiously welcome his replacement, while counting down the days to their leave.

Rather than offer a sweeping overview of war, Bigelow wisely zones in on the EOD trio, allowing them to come across as individuals, all with conflicted perspectives.

Through Sergeant First Class William James (Jeremy Renner), Sergeant J. T. Sanborn (Anthony Mackie) and Specialist Owen Eldridge (Brian Geraghty), we are given visceral slices of the Iraq war experience.

As the bomb-detonating, death-defying maverick James, Renner is worthy of his Best Actor nomination. I wasn’t certain at first – I’ve always enjoyed Renner’s performances, typically as charismatic anti-heroes, be it the baddie in SWAT or psycho vampire in Angel – but it wasn’t initially evident that he was doing anything particularly special in The Hurt Locker.

But his role subtly deepened, revealing complex layers and raising more questions about what exactly makes him tick – a mystery he seems unable to solve. The reckless but tender James embodies Hedge’s opening quote – he is addicted to the adrenaline rush of combat, which makes him a successful bomb technician, but not always a great team leader – or family man.

The dynamic between James, Sanborn and Eldridge is the film’s core, and is nicely set up by what happens in the first 10 minutes. Sanborn and Eldridge were close to their first leader, and the loss of him contributes to their lack of trust for James, and their growing weariness with warfare.

Mackie and Geraghty hold their own besides the magnetic Renner. As the by-the-book Sanborn, Mackie is elegant, with tension bubbling away under the surface, as he butts head with James and struggles to maintain composure.

More visibly fraying at the edges is the baby-faced Eldridge, a more mature version of Geraghty’s soldier in Jarhead. It’s impossible not to sympathize with him as he contemplates the very real possibility of sudden death or when he has to lick blood off bullets in a fraught situation.

Starrier names pop up somewhat surprisingly, with Guy Pearce as EOD’s first leader Sergeant Matthew Thompson, Ralph Fiennes as the leader of a private military contract unit and David Morse as Colonel Reed, commander of American soldiers at the UN building in Iraq. All roles are brief, but effective. Dexter’s Christian Camargo, as the Bravo Company’s out-of-touch psychiatrist is memorable. Evangeline Lilly, as James’ wife back home, however, is simply ornamental.

Admirably, the film conveys James’ lust for danger without glamorizing war. When the men fight and kill, they don’t show pleasure, only relief. As a detonator, James’ euphoria naturally comes from ensuring non-events – it’s not death he rejoices in, but life. Their war is one tense event after another, splattered with abject horror, adding up to an existence perched on the edge of an abyss.

And yet, as mentioned, The Hurt Locker is funny, albeit darkly. After the team comes to blows with an Iraqi, James quips “if he wasn’t an insurgent, he is now”, referring to how the US offensive is a self-fulfilling prophecy. This continuously comic vein keeps the film from sinking into sadness, while sharpening its attitude.

Shaky camerawork heightens the realism, with photographic shots of simple things like cats limping and garbage adding to the oppressive atmosphere. The only let-down is the Academy Award-nominated score, which alternates between near-perfection and aggressively forcing emotions, which would have been better earned with subtler sounds and letting the scene speak for itself.

The Hurt Locker is more than a wonderful Hollywood underdog tale. It’s not my personal pick for 2009′s best film, but it definitely deserves to be seen and won’t easily be forgotten. If you haven’t watched it yet, I highly recommend you catch it while it’s still gracing the big screen.

Verdict: A gritty and stirring war film that pretty much lives up to the Oscar hype.

The Hurt Locker (Summit Entertainment, 131 minutes)

Directed by Kathryn Bigelow
Produced by Kathryn Bigelow, Mark Boal, Nicolas Chartier, Greg Shapiro
Written by Mark Boal
Starring Jeremy Renner, Anthony Mackie, Brian Geraghty, Christian Camargo, Evangeline Lilly, Ralph Fiennes, David Morse, Guy Pearce