Betwixt and Between: Liminality and recurrence in postcolonial Singapore (SYFF)
Betwixt and Between:
Liminality and recurrence in postcolonial Singapore
(SYFF)
For a country constantly under construction – be it in physical buildings, national identities, or cultural values – liminality is an all too familiar concept for Singapore; The demolition of old buildings is akin to our abandonment of outdated tradition. Our ritual cycles of breaking apart and moulding the new are embodied in the 8 NYFA-award winning films featured in “Betwixt and Between”, screened at Nightflix Somerset on 5 October, 2024.
“Can I stay with you, mama?”
In Adam directed by Shoki Lin, a small mistake burgeons into an act of rebellion. The titular character, a young boy named Adam, literally swings across two diametrically opposed states, never truly settling down or finding his place.
In Adam’s view, the quotidian HDB corridors transform into a playground, where he can express himself through play, a behaviour otherwise restricted in his home. Everyday objects become a gateway of escapism; a can of milk powder transmutates into the wheel of a Land Rover – a way for Adam to detach from the mental confines of his strict household.
Crucially, spatial tensions underline his discomfort around parental figures. His family home almost squeezes him out of frame. Moments of fighting and shouting are interspersed with stretches of quiet reflection in the shower, the sound of dripping water a melancholic rhythm that engulfs Adam’s world.
Adam’s tense discomfort is evident no matter where he goes, even in the comfort of his neighbour, whom he calls “Mama”. His presence feels foreign, even detached in “Mama”’s apartment — the silence between them as she cuts watermelon for him is a metaphor for the invisible barrier dividing them, as he feels detached even in the arms of his found family.
Like many troubled youths, Adam seeks solace in the in-between: navigating the experiences of familial punishment, assuming adult responsibilities, and the feeling of being a stranger in your own home. Having been a castaway his whole life, he seeks to escape from the liminal, yet inevitably returns to it time and time again when in need of solace. From his favourite pastime being playing with his toy car in the HDB corridor, to the shedding of old identities in the hair salon with “Mama”, to racing through the void deck, these truly Singaporean sites function as a safe space for experimentation for Adam, as he wades through uncertain familial ties.
“What does it mean to be born? We all die anyway.”
In contrast, Sexy Sushi, directed by Calleen Koh and Amanda Teo, takes a surreal, absurdly satirical approach to liminality, transporting us into a pastel dreamscape, chronicling the fictional lives of sushi ingredients. In a universe where the relationship between consumer and consumed are inversed, sushi ingredients slowly gain sentience, exploring the meaning of life itself.
A film that reflects the modern consumerist culture,
Sexy Sushi
depicts conveyor belts conveniently and endlessly rotating a whole buffet of food, whose stories before and after that moment of consumption are just as conveniently forgotten. What began as a bombastic, retro music video soon descends into existential horror. Flashy neon signs are no longer a symbol of the bustling underworld but consume the entire universe itself. In a flurry, we are swept to what the film depicts as the origin of life - rice paddies in Japan, as the characters question if the whole purpose of their life is just for the sake of consumption.
“I can’t eat anymore.”
If food is a humorous metaphor in Sexy Sushi, The Sea Between Us, directed by Yuga J Vardhan uses food as a more solemn reminder of cultural disparities. At the dinner table with her Indian host family, a young Chinese girl’s complaints about the food served is met with uncomfortable silence and frustration.
As two girls navigate the uncertainty of their home and future during a COVID-19 lockdown, their unstable domestic lives run parallel to the uncertain state of the world. Wading through the unknown becomes a bridge for them to connect with their host family as they seek to navigate the future hand in hand.
While times and people are constantly changing, the film is a reminder that we share more similarities with one another than we may realise.
“It was like I went back in time… Stopped where I left.”
What does it mean to be ‘Singaporean’? Is it dining at hawker centers, speaking Singlish, waving the national flag, or a title on an identity card?
In
I wanna be where you are, directed by Jovontae Simon Kusuma, the concept of national belonging is stripped down to its rawest components. A melancholic tune plays as we drift through moments in time. Erik Satie’s Gymnopedie plays softly in the background as reversed video loops suspend us in the space-time continuum. Interviewing migrants in Singapore of all occupations and backgrounds, the documentary wrestles with their complex emotions surrounding national identity. Though everyone seems to express their thoughts differently – some through anger, others through humour – in different languages, even, their innermost thoughts overwhelmingly overlap one another’s, marking their shared vulnerability.
The story is expertly conveyed through isolated shots that repeat in a ping-pong loop, with a stark white border further framing each shot, enclosing the subjects. This technique strips them of their contextual surroundings, enhancing the sense of displacement and emphasising the out-of-place feeling experienced by the immigrant subjects.
“‘Are you looking forward to anything in your life?’ ‘Eating this McSpicy.’”
Picture this: A deserted playground. Sounds of construction. Traffic lights shuttle between red, orange, green, then red again. On an evening walk, two friends share a melancholy conversation, an existentialist reflection on memory and life.
With its whimsical, cynical fantasies of escaping Singapore,
You Idiot, directed by Kris Ong is a treat for anyone in a liminal headspace. It paints an eerily familiar feeling for the modern Singaporean, who juggles faraway dreams and unrealistic ambitions with pragmatic everyday life. For the two friends, life in Singapore has become an endless, meaningless rush, with everyone always having somewhere to be, something to do — life feels packed to the brim, yet fleeting. In their yearning for meaning, the pair of friends brisk-walk through their neighborhood in twilight, traveling through deserted sidewalks and seemingly abandoned houses.
In their search for meaning, the friends assemble a band, learning to play ‘Becoming Bossa Nova’. The lyrics of the song ‘I’ve never once stopped’ mirror their personal struggles.
“I took a picture.”
SMRT Piece, directed by Charlotte Hong, takes us on an unexpected joyride as we encroach upon a casual, unstaged conversation between two friends taking place in a car. Unlike a traditional documentary, the film is arranged in an almost disparate manner, begging the viewers to play a game of connect-the-dots.
Vlogs, sketchbook spreads, and static shots are thoughtfully juxtaposed against each other, sometimes even forming a triptych – the spontaneity and fleetingness of the visual arrangements incurring notions of travel, movement, and flux.
Soon, we come to learn that the narrator is an artist who sketches live, often on modes of public transport - buses and MRT trains, describing the varied reactions of the people whom she has drawn, or has watched her draw. A tender, somber reflection on the patterns of everyday life, this film makes one question their own habits whenever occupying these transitional spaces.
“So how. Should I turn back?”
SIN-SFO, directed by Leon Cheo, puts a direction to loss, transforming an abstract concept into vividly physical reality. We follow a Singaporean-American couple on their apprehensive journey as they seek to renounce their Singaporean citizenship.
Letting go of one’s past identity is hard, especially if it’s one that’s been reinforced your whole life. In the film, anxiety of destroying one’s past identity is repeatedly emphasised, with the main characters forgetting to bring things, setting cooling off periods, and stressing over the cashier’s check — echoing one’s inability to predict the uncertain in liminal spaces.
[Spoiler Warning for this short film in the following paragraph. Skip it if you’d like to watch the film first!]
But it all builds up to nothing. At the cold, clinical, and unfeeling immigration office, the process feels almost too quick to bear, as the couple is escorted through administrative office after office before their ‘Singaporean’ identity is terminated in one swift signature. Although they now call themselves ‘American’ citizens, their identity remains in flux, creating a uniquely challenging paradox to navigate.
In Dirty Laundry, directed by Kyaw Shoon Le Yee, underwear becomes a metaphor for breaking free from gender norms. In the main character’s traditional Burmese household, female undergarments are considered sinful and must be kept hidden from public view. While hanging and washing clothes, she is repeatedly reprimanded for ‘wrongfully’ airing her undergarments alongside other garments, and this deepens her sense of injustice. As traditions are reinforced through the scoldings of her conservative parents, she begins to question the ritualisation of tradition, and the rite of passage to adulthood she is experiencing herself.
Clothing serves as a vital form of self-expression for the main character, marking the boundary between her inner self and the outside world. Forced by her conservative father to dress modestly and conceal her more provocative outfits in public, she struggles to balance her desire to escape outdated family traditions with her longing for personal expression and modernity — we watch as she fervently wipes off a night of eyeliner and lipstick in a public toilet, with an intensity suitable for the dilemma she is grappling with.
Her personal battles with this lifelong struggle runs parallel to the film’s use of cliffhanger and foreshadowing, where viewers are led into a space where everything becomes unexpected as we follow her journey.
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Betwixt and Between is a rich tapestry of stories that showcases the tension of navigating identity, cultural expectations, and the liminal spaces between them. These films, each in their unique ways, invite us to reflect on the cyclical nature of life in Singapore, where rituals are our way of coping with the process of becoming. I invite you to envision these narratives with the characters, experiencing their journey of self-discovery and transformation.
Learn more about the featured filmmakers and watch their works here:
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About the author: Interested in philosophy, history, and sociology, Xinyi is an aspiring artist and filmmaker who weaves historical tidbits into her writing. A Hwa Chong Institution's Art Elective Program graduate, she won the 2024 Youth Film Program and participated in the Objectifs Young Photographer's Mentorship Program. Drawn to narratives that challenge convention, Xinyi explores queer identities and underrepresented histories, aiming to shed light on oft-overlooked perspectives through her work.
This review is published as part of *SCAPE’s Film Critics Lab: A Writing Mentorship Programme, with support from Singapore Film Society.
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