Film Review #159: PAPER PLANES, DON'T ALWAYS SOAR (SYFF)
Paper Planes, Don't Always Soar (SYFF)
Paper Planes, Don’t Always Soar is a short film inspired by a true aviation disaster story.
Diyana Amir, the director and scriptwriter, recalls the tragic moment when news broke–her father was involved in a plane crash. Despite only being three years old when it happened, she retains vivid memories of her mother and grandparents’ apprehension as they watched the news intently, crowds of people trailing them in public, but more importantly, her absent father.
While her grandparents were over at their house to take care of Diyana and her little brother, her mother was in a complete state of distress–frantically making calls to try and gather what little information there was about the crash, and in the midst of all the discord, Diyana remembers watching the television, and seeing her father appear on-screen, covered in burns.
Diyana was finally glad that he was at home–but was he
really at home?
Paper Planes, Don’t Always Soar uncovers and sheds light on the struggles and emotional turmoil a family goes through when someone is diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), a mental health disorder that is triggered by witnessing or experiencing a traumatic event.
Diyana describes the film as a “study of invasive and interpersonal trauma” and how humans actually cope with it. Through this intricately crafted narrative, she hopes to empower others to find their own voices as she once was left almost silenced.
The film begins to unfold when Andri, the father, arrives home, and Shana, his 10-year-old daughter, puts her hand out, waiting for him to reciprocate her
salam*. However, as Andri lowered his gaze to look at his daughter, he could only stare emptily–before their moment was briefly interrupted by Dana, Andri’s wife, who explained to Shana that “Papa needed some rest” and brushed her aside.
Throughout the film, we were able to observe the shattering effects of Andri’s PTSD on the entire family. Environmental conditions like the rain and the kindling of a stove’s flame sent Andri spiralling into tormenting flashbacks of the incident again. It was especially tough on Shana, being such a young girl who just craved the love and attention from her parents, who were not engaged in the present. This inevitably forces her to grow up faster than she should, hindering her from living the childhood that she deserves.
The final scene with the three silhouettes strikes me the most. After Shana trails off into the woods to look for her father, Dana is left with no choice but to chase after her. They both eventually come to a halt after chancing upon Andri, who was found sitting near the edge of the bank, embracing the tranquillity of the lake. Three of their silhouettes slowly came into frame to paint a picture that while the three of them were together as a family, they were not
together as a family. It leaves viewers like me wondering if there was ever a deeper meaning behind it.
When I asked Diyana about the thought process behind the impactful scene, she answered, “When I first started writing this script, I wanted to depict how the recovering process of PTSD is always a question mark–like an open-ended book. You never know how or when you are going to recover. There were a lot of times when I wondered if my dad would ever be okay or whether my family would be
this strong again. I also wanted people going through trauma to know that it is okay to not know how you are going to recover from it.”
*Salam is a traditional hand gesture commonly done within the Muslim community to show respect to one’s elders. It usually involves kissing the elder’s hand.
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About the author: A horror film junkie with journalistic grit.
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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