astral projection

from its founding in 2014, The Projector at Golden Mile Tower has been a home away from home. i recall the crowdfunding perk of writing a message on one of its cinema chairs—and my vulgar one, calling out a certain critic, being turned down (rightfully) by Karen & Sharon Tan of Pocket Projects. in those early days, there was still a conservative church in what's now the Blue Room, plus an alcohol van with ridiculously cheap drinks in the carpark, and i loved seeing Christian faces mixed with Very Drunk ones on Sundays.

over the years, i've screened my films and conducted Q&As there, including for The Obs: A Singapore Story (2014), A Land Imagined《幻土》(2018) and I Dream of Singapore (2019). The Projector has always been supportive, and their audience the most receptive (even if they hate the film!) compared to other screening venues, past and present. i've seen mindblowing stuff from Funeral Parade of Roses (1969; rescreening soon!) to No Home Movie (2015) there, and cried/laughed buckets, but it's more than a space for cinema: some of my best memories there are of events/happenings like the Singapore International Festival of Arts, Asian Meeting Festival, and RIOT hosted by Becca D'Bus, with the crowd spilling over into the bar area/sometimes dancefloor for informal afterparties. it's there (and at the carpark) that i've made connections with the staff, projectionists, Kak Yati, and a ton of attendees (but never the photobooth folkz), which is more than can be said for all other venues on this island, period.

when The Projector expanded to Riverside Point in 2021, then The Cathay and Cineleisure Orchard, i was glad to have more options and even gladder that they held on to their GMT home thru all the (failed) en-bloc attempts. but if i'm being honest, those pop-ups may have had vastly superior screening facilities and more convenient locations, but never really evoked the special feelz of their Beach Road space. i was quite sad when they stopped screening films at GMT, transforming it into a special-events venue, like for the recent Independent Media Fair. but now that The Projector's been booted out of Cineleisure and is returning to Golden Mile from 6 Aug (just in time for NDPee), i can't wait to go home. in an unreal city like $G, i'll choose the vibez of the Beach over the Orchard any day or nite.

cum back to The Projector!

2015 audience of The Obs: A Singapore Story (2014)

postscript: The Projector shut down suddenly on 19 August.

lovers' tears

Tsai Chin in《青梅竹馬》(Taipei Story; 1985) by Edward Yang

because i'd rather give folks flowers while they're still around, here's celebrating 蔡琴 Tsai Chin, the legendary Taiwanese songstress and sometimes actress. my favourite film role of hers is in《青梅竹馬》(Taipei Story; 1985) by the late 楊德昌 Edward Yang, who she married soon after its filming. in this overlooked, atmospheric portrait of a childhood romance crumbling amidst capitalism, Tsai plays the quintessential career woman, held back by her past while forging ahead in the brave new world of New Taipei (and New Taiwanese Cinema). her perfectly coiffed, wavy hairdo threatening to come undone in the rooftop wind, those '80s sunglasses and spectacles alternately obscuring and highlighting her bad-luck mole, that disaffected look on her face, suppressing horrible fears, as she stares out of another office window...perfection.

today i got hung up on one of Tsai Chin's classic songs,《情人的眼泪》(Lovers' Tears), particularly the live version above. from at least 14 years ago, she prefaces it by sharing that this song still evokes deep emotions in her, so much so that she often skips performing it. but the feeling from singing it is addictive.

it's a deceptively simple number, as so many of the best songs go. just three verses, four lines each, with a coda, repeated twice, like a distilled, haunting poem.《情人的眼泪》, of course, is about the end of love, like most sentimental Chinese music. but what makes it stand out is the special resonance and vibrato in her voice (cinematically best captured in that scene in Infernal Affairs): she possesses a rare range of voice that could go up to Teresa Teng–like high sweetness, but blossoms in the lower contralto region, where she extends Chinese vowels (韵母) and makes them sing, plumbing the depths of sorrow.

in each verse, "Lovers' Tears" employs the rhetorical question: from "为什么要对你掉眼泪?" (Why should I shed tears for you?), repeated twice, to "你怎舍得说再会?" (How could you bear to say goodbye?), the latter even more pitying as parting comes when "Spring flowers are in bloom" (春花正开). the answer to each question is so painfully obvious, the departed lover's obliviousness, blindness, uncaringness stings: respectively, "你难道不明白为了爱?" (Don't you understand it's for love?) and, finally, a plea: "你不要忘了我情深深如海" (Don't forget my deep love, as deep as the sea).

it's funny typing out the English translations of the lyrics: they seem so trite, so sappy. but maybe that's one of the marks of a great singer: selling sap, making it true. (there's also an overwhelmingly sentimental quality to modern Chinese-language creations that's all but unavoidable.) i also love how, unlike many singers who'd rather hide these "flaws", Tsai uses the scraping, guttural quality of her bottom register and the ragged sound of her breath (around the 5'39" mark) for further emotional resonance.

listening to Tsai Chin on and off over the years, i treasure most her quality of singing as if holding back tears. in her pregnant pauses, artful vibrato, and her high, climatic drama, her voice—beautifully aged over the years—reminds me that, like this song, "只有那有情人眼泪最珍贵 / 一颗颗眼泪都是爱都是爱" (Only a lover's tears are precious / Every single tear is love, all love).

in memory of Sirin Yeoh

Credits of Stranger Eyes (2024), a film by Yeo Siew Hua

we had just finished shooting Stranger Eyes. it was a very bad time at home for me. Sirin and i had been living together for 2 years, after being friends/colleagues for more than 5. in the last year, she had been going from bad to worse: a break-up, manic-depressive self-hatred, combined with flings, drugs, and drink. we all tried to help her (we really, really did); nothing, obviously, worked.

the nite before she killed herself and arranged for me to find her body, i thought she had turned a corner. there she was, back on the couch (no more crying in her room, no more suicide attempts), typing away furiously—at overdue schoolwork, she told me when i asked (it was her suicide note). we talked about our relationships, difficult families, music. i thought she had returned. she wished me well with my relationship; i went to bed. i heard her outside cleaning the house, listening to Blink-182.

All the small things / True care, truth brings / I'll take one lift / Your ride, best trip / Always, I know / You'll be at my show / Watching, waiting / Commiserating

as a fellow film worker, before she transitioned into social work, Sirin worked as an art and production assistant on films like: A Land Imagined (Yeo Siew Hua, 2018), Apprentice (Boo Junfeng, 2016), Ilo Ilo (Anthony Chen, 2013). as a producer, she collaborated with the ad companies Lioncat Films, Short Term Girlfriend, and TMRRW. and as a line producer, she worked extensively with photographer Shane Mitchell, especially on his book Far Afield (2016). all this in her short 30 years.

after more than a year and a half, i'm ready to say that i've finished crying. maybe even lessened hurting. i think i've learnt to respect her choice, as horrible as it was; a permanent solution to a temporary problem. i know that she lives because i remember her. i believe that she's in a happier place, with lesser or no pain. i shall still love her in my own way.

Stranger Eyes is dedicated to her. she wanted to return to filmmaking for it; schedules and her chaotic life then did not align. i like to think of a few audience members, like dedicated ghosts, sticking around to the end of the credits, seeing her name and maybe even speaking it out loud. before darkness how she'd cackle, to be spoken of in remaining cinemas around the world; her name flickering, for a while, like the shadows of a furious flame that snuffed itself out.

Sirin Yeoh (formerly Sirin Thongudomporn)