Exquisitely dubbed as a “satay-western”, Marlina the Murderer in Four Acts is the latest offering from Indonesian writer-director Mouly Surya, of What They Don’t Talk About When They Talk About Love fame. A wickedly stylish feminist revenge fantasy, the film is a genre blender that bears imprints of Sergio Leone’s Dollars trilogy and Japanese samurai films.
Lensed by Yunus Pasolang in 2.35:1 widescreen, each frame is
luxuriously and beautifully composed, showing off the Sumba Islands in eastern
Indonesia in all of its resplendent arid auburn and amber glory. Under Surya’s
assured and confident direction, the camera is calm and stately; most shots in
the film are held deadly still and out wide, inflecting an almost Ozu-esque
classicism that feels decidedly anti-genre. Surya and Pasolang’s choice of shot
sizes and flat 90° shot angles give the film the quality of a slide show or
stage play, allowing the story and
action to unfold through the organic movement and staging brought out by
Surya’s intricate blocking.
The film rarely ever dispenses with its classical formality,
maintaining a cool detached distance from its title character, Marlina, played
superbly by Marsha Timothy. At once simmering and storming, laconic and stoic,
Timothy’s Marlina carries within her echoes of Uma Thurman’s The Bride and
Alain Delon’s Jef Costello, continuing the rich tradition of imperturbable
‘(Wo)Man on a mission’ hero types.
Marlina herself is somewhat of a cipher, with nary a reaction or emotion elicited as she punctuates her myth with swift and measured violence wreaked upon her perpetrators. Unyielding and uncompromising, she marches on unblinkingly towards her objective, seeking justice and penance from institutions of codified law. Unsurprisingly perhaps, these behemoths of faceless bureaucracy run by hapless men are utterly ineffectual in granting her the closure she craves. This of course, prompts her to take things into her own hands as the film hurtles towards its blood streaked conclusion, a cycle and dance of death and birth.
Marlina herself is somewhat of a cipher, with nary a reaction or emotion elicited as she punctuates her myth with swift and measured violence wreaked upon her perpetrators. Unyielding and uncompromising, she marches on unblinkingly towards her objective, seeking justice and penance from institutions of codified law. Unsurprisingly perhaps, these behemoths of faceless bureaucracy run by hapless men are utterly ineffectual in granting her the closure she craves. This of course, prompts her to take things into her own hands as the film hurtles towards its blood streaked conclusion, a cycle and dance of death and birth.
Their banter is lively and distinctively uproarious, a particular exchange about the vagaries of having pregnancy sex especially memorable. It is in these moments of levity where the film shines brightest, with the film adroitly subverting “locker-room talk” tropes from typically masculine genres. This is not to say the characters are female mirrors of any male counterparts one might find in more typical genre fare, it is brilliant precisely because they are not. They are wonderful because they breathe and are allowed to exist just as they are.
A delicious sense of the macabre pervades the
film. Death is suffused into its very bones; the presence of the mummified body
of Marlina’s dead husband initially draws morbidity but that soon gives
way as Marlina lovingly leans her head on the shoulder of the body. The
quietest of silent gestures transforms the corpse as a figure of frozen
violence into a symbol of crystallised grief.
An imprint from actual Sumba culture, their people frequently preserve the bodies of their loved ones until enough money is raised for a proper ceremonial burial. Demise and bereavement is a common aspect of their every day.
An imprint from actual Sumba culture, their people frequently preserve the bodies of their loved ones until enough money is raised for a proper ceremonial burial. Demise and bereavement is a common aspect of their every day.
Rounding off the suite is the score by Zeke
Khaseli and Ydhi Arfani, which hearkens to Morricone’s finest but infused with
notes and signatures from Indonesian tradition. Ethereal and celestial, the
score charges the film with a grandiosity that befits its mythic character.
At a lean 93 minutes, the film moves
relentlessly towards its inevitable conclusion, though the film wobbles in its
middle two acts, sustained by little but excellent and effervescent
performances. However it recovers in time for a rousing grandslam finish. It is a shame
the intensity that opens and closes the film does not sustain for its entirety.
- Koh Zhi Hao
- Koh Zhi Hao