Revolving around the unlikely friendship between a Thai
fisherman and the Rohingya refugee
whom he rescues, Manta Ray is an exposition
of the perils of displacement and the mindless callousness that has contributed
to it, yet also speaks of a humanistic touch and the universal theme of
friendship that illuminates the bleakest shadows. Employing a hypnotic,
dreamlike landscape, the film often blurs the line between fact and fiction, alluring
audiences right into the heart of the magical realism genre.
The film opens with an arresting yet ludicrous image of a
man draped in coloured Christmas lights, stealthily staking out the dense
forest with rifle in hand. The forest slowly crackles to life as it becomes
similarly awash with the coloured lights, accompanied by the haunting,
disconcerting soundscape of French duo Christine Ott and Mathieu Gabry. This
pattern of elliptical sights proves to be a mainstay, with surrealistic sequences
characterising much of the film.
Dialogue is sparse, with the film playing out in silence for
a good ten minutes before the first word is uttered. Moreover, our protagonist
(a brilliant Aphisit Hamain in his acting debut) never speaks a word, though
whether he truly is presumably mute remains a mystery. Seeing as Aroonpheng has
dedicated this film to the Rohingyas, the shroud of silence enveloping the film
is thus fitting. By robbing the titular character of speech, Aroonpheng deftly
reflects the powerlessness inflicted upon the Rohingya when it comes to voicing
their own narratives, bringing to mind common media portrayals of the nameless,
voiceless refugee. Indeed, the name Thongchai (after Thai pop superstar ‘Bird’
Thongchai) is bestowed upon the Rohingya refugee by the Thai fisherman, albeit
in an act of affection.
One is never quite able to detach from the reality of the
humanitarian crisis, as it forms an unsettling backdrop that hangs over the
film, be it in the spiny, sprawling branches that reeks of disease where Thongchai
is first found heavily wounded, or the chilling sequence where he discovers a
baby’s corpse buried in the soil, the anguished tears rolling down his face an
agonising cry of injustice.
The film, however, never makes the mistake of tottering out the generic tragedy
narrative. Aroonpheng neither exalts nor pities the refugee figure, instead simply
revealing the vulnerability and fragility of Thongchai, faithfully representing
him as fully human and therefore, fully worthy and fully flawed. It is through
his feeble uncertainty that we first relate to him, and his unassuming naiveté that
continues to endear us to him. Aroonpheng’s success thus lies in eliciting
moral outrage without detracting from an intimate, compelling story.
Much of the film’s focus is rooted in the tender notes of
friendship that blossom between the two men. As the fisherman teaches Thongchai
how to ride a motorbike, brings him gemstone hunting, and even takes him on a
ferris wheel ride, he gains an unlikely compatriot and a close friend. In a particularly
riveting sequence, the fisherman teaches Thongchai how to breathe underwater by
emanating a high pitched, guttural sound resembling the cry of the manta ray, a
note which ultimately becomes Thongchai’s own swan song.
It is this very friendship that forces the fisherman to
confront his night time activities, which involve a shovel in hand to bury what
are presumably Rohingya bodies deep in the heart of the forest, a reference to
the 2015 discovery of mass refugee graves in an area of Southern Thailand rife
with human trafficking. In a terse conversation with his boss, he plainly
states that he “doesn’t want to do this anymore”. A few days later, he disappears.
In an interesting twist, the lives of the two men start to
converge, as each begins to take on the likeness and inherit the circumstances of
the other. Discerning audiences will pick up on parallels peppered before the
main act drops, which serve as cleverly crafted foreshadowing. The fisherman
laying face flat on the ground to seek out hidden gems resembles the pallid
position of Thongchai left to die in the swamps, while a scene of Thongchai vomiting
his food is closely followed by the fisherman throwing up at sea. In this
curious swopping of identities, it is heartbreaking that at the end, no matter
what colour Thongchai dyes his hair or no matter the routine he follows, the
construction of an identity and the ability to fashion a significance remains
elusive, for he inevitably returns to the man in the forest, sporting the same
gaping bullet wound as when we first saw him.
One is prone to search for meaning in the variety of symbols
employed, but Aroonpheng maintains that it was not his intention to attach
allegorical significance to each element present in the film. Question
Aroonpheng on the choice of gemstones and he throws out an old WWII tale of
pirates burying their gems in the ground, or while musing on the use of coloured
lights is unsettled by his admission that colour was not on his mind at all. Indeed,
Aroonpheng reflects that much of the film was a product of on-the-spot
improvisation, with his actual film script being a mere 30 pages, roughly
equivalent to 30 mins of screen time. The dreamy, picturesque sequence of the
two men dancing amidst a twinkling array of Christmas lights was, he says, a
result of him wondering what else the men could do besides sleep, eat and work,
paired with the coincidental possession of Christmas lights on set.
Yet, it is this wildly imaginative, poetic instinct resulting
in a mishmash of elusive sequences that best contributes to the overall shape
of the film. While this carefree, adventurous approach to filmmaking may vex
some, he reveals that the secret key is to “have a crew who can play with you”. His is not a film of strict symbols, but rather a lyrical, atmospheric piece
which seeks to drum up alternate worlds and elicit affect. Try too hard to
understand the symbols and you miss the point, voluntarily submerge in its
kaleidoscopic world and you successfully pass the test.
Perhaps the only symbolic meaning that the director lets on about is the choice of manta rays. Narrating an encounter with a manta ray when
he was swimming in the open ocean, he notes that his first response was fear.
Yet, upon reading up about them, he grew to be intrigued and fascinated by
these creatures, thereby paralleling the idea of irrational fear of the other
simply due to our own ignorance.
In a breathtaking final sequence, the chorus of shrill,
manta ray like cries achingly pays tribute to the lost voices of the perished
Rohingya. Aroonpheng brings back the array of coloured lights and gems that
flood the forest, each one a glimmer of a past life. As the camera glides out
to the sea’s shore, these lights rise in tandem, while manta rays glide freely
in the ocean, each a wistful picture of the director’s own hopes for this
persecuted community.
Manta Ray was screened at the 29th Singapore International Film Festival in its Asian Vision section.
Manta Ray was screened at the 29th Singapore International Film Festival in its Asian Vision section.
Written by Jessica Heng