Reposted from: Yasmin the Storyteller
Saturday, January 29, 2005

There I was, perched on a waist-high wall that separated the verandah of our hotel room from the garden that led to the sea.

Behind me, the night, and the distant applause of waves.

My husband was clicking away at the camera. I, on the other hand, was not even aware of his presence, my mind so wrapped up with the opening scene of “Gubra”, swimming around in my soul…

A handsome young bilal is in haste. It is nearly dawn, and he does not want to be late for his call of the azan at the surau.

His pretty young wife follows him around the house, and finally to the front doorstep. She is carrying with her a cup of coffee and a biscuit. She wants him to take a gulp and a bite before leaving. She is persistent. After putting on his shoes, he does as he is told, kisses her on the forehead, wishes her salaam, pinches her butt causing her to yelp, and leaves.

On his way, he passes some dark alleys. His quick footsteps break the silence of pre-dawn. A dog barks in the distance, somewhere in the night.

Just ahead of the bilal’s path, along a disconcertingly quiet back alley, two women step out from the back entrance of an old motel. They are both wearing fish-net stockings and stilletoes, very short skirts, see-through white blouses that betray the presence of black brassieres underneath, big hair, and very red lipstick.

Just as they cross paths, the older of the two women says to the bilal, “Lambat hari ni Pak Bilal?”

“Itulah,” he replied, “anak saya demam batuk-batuk malam semalam, jadi saya terpaksa gilir-gilir berjaga dengan orang rumah saya…”

It becomes instantly clear in the course of their brief discourse that the bilal and the whores are good friends.

So tell me. Does that opening scene sound reasonably compelling to you? Or not, perhaps? Pray tell.

Yasmin
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
I am optimistic and sentimental to the point of being annoying, especially to people who think that being cynical and cold is cool. Everyday, I thank Allah for everyday things like the ability to breathe, the ability to love, the ability to laugh, and the ability to eat and drink.

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This photo was taken on August 25, 2003 using a Canon Digital IXUS 400.
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Reposted from: Yasmin the Storyteller
Wednesday, February 09, 2005

This, inshaallah, will be the title of my next film.

The Storytellers’ Club members are all too familiar with the opening sequence to this. The caller of the azan, his wife, and their close friendship with two prostitutes.

But the bulk of “Gubra” isn’t about them at all. It will be, the way I’ve been constructing it in my mind, about a woman named Orked and her parents. Those who have seen “Rabun” will know who they are. And those who will see “Sepet” will know them even better.

“Gubra” is intended to examine one common phenomenon: The simple everyday fact that when we experience betrayal, it is more often than not committed unto us by people who love us; not people who hate us.

I guess in the end, “Gubra” will be about love (because, as John Cassavetes once said, “nothing else interests me”), it will be about betrayal, and in the end, the difficult but inevitable question of whether or not to forgive the people who betray us.

Oh yes, and the photograph I’ve posted here shows my nephew Etienne and I at my in-laws’ house earlier this afternoon, just before our Chinese New Year family lunch. Why did I use it to illustrate my third film? I don’t know. Firstly, I’m considering featuring him in the film. And secondly, the expression on our faces, I guess. It says “Gubra” (anxiety) to me.

Yasmin
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
I am optimistic and sentimental to the point of being annoying, especially to people who think that being cynical and cold is cool. Everyday, I thank Allah for everyday things like the ability to breathe, the ability to love, the ability to laugh, and the ability to eat and drink.

View Complete Profile

This photo was taken on January 2, 2005.
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