Punggok Rindukan Bulan

Stepping out into the shiny surrounds of the shopping mall after the screening of Punggok Rindukan Bulan at the cineplex, I noted the striking contrast. Here was middle-class Malaysia proudly toting crisp, fully laden shopping bags, drooling over the latest electronic playthings on display, sipping overpriced cups of coffee at oh-so-trendy cafes. It was far removed from the world of grungy nasi goreng warungs and grotty rundown flats to which, back in the darkened confines of the theatre, I had been transported.

The world inhabited by the characters in Punggok Rindukan Bulan is anything but picture-perfect. Sidi (Saeful Nazhif Satria) is an only child who lives with his parents in the dilapidated Bukit Chagar flats in Johor Baru. One day, Sidi’s mother (Maya Karin) leaves home, apparently not to return, leaving the boy, who is still only in his early teens, heartbroken. What follows is an exploration of Sidi’s attempts to cope with the massive void left in his young life.

As its title – which is from the Malay proverb “like the owl pining for the moon” – suggests, this is a film about loss and longing. Sidi longs for his mother, dad Adman (Sahronizam Noor) longs for his wife, and the two deal with their grief in different ways. Adman takes almost obsessively to nighttime fishing, despite hardly ever getting a bite. Sidi, who is left home alone most of the time, indulges in skateboarding and tangling with the neighbourhood grouch.

Punggok, however, looks not only into the relationship between people; it is also about the relationship between people and places. More than just a backdrop to the story, the Bukit Chagar flats are a central element in Sidi’s life. Home for him may quite literally be on the wrong side of the tracks, but it is still home, rickety lifts, graffiti-sprayed walls and all.

Sidi wants to keep staying there, ostensibly because it’s near school, but we know (not least because attending classes is not particularly high up in his list of priorities) there’s a lot more to his attachment to the place. It is a young boy’s refuge from the vagaries of the outside world, its dingy corridors and endless flights of stairs serving as silent, faithful observers of the complexities of growing up. It’s also home to a motley assortment of good friends, creepy neighbours and that cute girl with the shy, soulful eyes. But most of all, perhaps, it’s brimful of memories of a dearly missed mother.

However, at the end of the film, this sanctum too slips away from Sidi, to surely become yet another object of unrequited longing ….

In fact, the Bukit Chagar flats also hold a personal significance for the director of Punggok, Azharr Rudin. The Johor Baru-born 26-year-old has friends and family members who used to live in this social landmark of JB and, for his feature film directorial debut, has chosen to go back to where it all started.

And then there’s Singapore. Its slick affluence may be worlds away from the blue-collar grittiness of Bukit Chagar, but this is another place that exerts a hold over the characters in Punggok. The tiny neighbour looms large throughout the proceedings, its unmistakable presence announcing itself in news reports blaring out over the airwaves, in football telecasts viewed at the neighbourhood food stalls and, of course, in the bright lights that beckon seductively from across the straits.

For the residents of the Bukit Chagar flats, which are just a stone’s throw away from the Causeway (“Why, you could even swim across,” ventures one of Adman’s fishing buddies), it’s a case of so near yet so far. In the complex swirl of feelings engendered in them by this distant next-door neighbour, might a sense of longing be also somewhere in the mix?

If all this seems rather melancholy, that’s because it is. The tale of a boy trying to come to terms with the loss of his mother is told simply and unsparingly, with the undercurrent of painful yearning ever-present. Indeed, to a less-restrained filmmaker, the subject matter would have been an open invitation to turn on the waterworks and let the tears flow in every opportune (and not-so-opportune) scene, accompanied by mournful close-ups and a suitably weepy music score. Thankfully, Azharr eschews such heavy-handed mawkishness, and the mood in Punggok is one of slow-burning tenderness without overblown sentimentality.

Slow also well describes the pace of the film. Without a conventional plot to drive the narrative along, Punggok takes its time delving into Sidi’s (and Adman’s) emotional and psychological responses to the departure of the most important woman in their lives. Unfortunately, this languid tempo can test the patience at times; one scene featuring Sidi going fishing with Adman in the dark, is quite excruciating in its tedium.

In this case though, sitting through some trying scenes is but the price to pay for what is ultimately a meaningful viewing experience. Punggok offers an affirmation of the ties that bind – and a reminder that, even in these materialistic times, some forms of longing can never be satisfied by the contents of a fully laden shopping bag.

Text Lean Ka-Min