While the people handled, or were handled by new technologies, their time, space, culture, identity, and nation came to feel awry.
— Rudolf Mrázek, Engineers of Happy Land
In history, the tremendous blast of the atomic bomb has become an icon of technological destructiveness, both for those who lived contemporaneously with the explosion and for those who came afterwards. Years later, technological contests between rival superpowers did not come to an end. In newly independent postcolonial states, this war took various forms. Technology as wartime ammunition was no longer limited to rifles and bulletproof tanks. Various advances were translated and legitimized in their own ways, while the masses were reduced to mere objects of experimentation. Sjuman Djaya, in the Southern Hemisphere, was also sent abroad on a scholarship after the birth of the independent Indonesian state. He went to Russia along with several others to study filmmaking. Thus, when he returned home, he carried out a mission as a cultural technocrat.
Through Bukan Sandiwara (1980), Sjuman Djaya attempted to unite at least two concepts at once. First, there is “the play” (sandiwara) itself, which he sought to dismantle through the ups and downs of a couple’s marital relationship within the social framework surrounding them. Second, there is the role of technology in the lives of the humans who employ it. Sjuman anchored these two conceptions in a novel by Titie Said of the same title, published in 1980. The story presents a marriage drama destabilized by the birth of a child through the modern technology of artificial insemination—a unique theme that promises ample room for exploration. By presenting two equally complex concepts, Sjuman ostensibly intended to advocate for a reciprocal relationship between the technology he discussed and broader social structures.
The performativity of the actors who are staging the performance itself becomes Sjuman Djaya’s main focus. To emphasize this intention, Sjuman chose to focus on the moral conflict of his protagonist. This focus highlights the function of film as a storytelling medium. Formally, the film can be divided into two segments marked by a shift in character focus from the wife to the husband. Sjuman Djaya seems to emphasise here the continuity of space and time that can be achieved through the cinematic medium. Aside from several uses of 3D overlay techniques—something Sjuman frequently played with in his films to create surreal moments—the montage functions sufficiently as a tool to support the narrative. While most melodramatic films tend to present stereotypical characters, here one can see Sjuman’s attempt to expose the constraints of such stereotypes.
Japan
The setting in a film plays a role in conveying things that cannot be explained by the characters. Unfortunately, however, the setting here does not clarify what stance the director actually wishes to convey. It is interesting how Sjuman places a Javanese husband-and-wife couple (Pia and Hendi, played by Yenni Rachman and Roy Marten) in a diplomatic post in Japan. More than half of the scenes are set in Japan, yet this space seems to exert no influence on how the characters move within it. The same manners and social etiquette from the homeland remain unchanged and continue in the new living space. The relationship between the narrative subject and its setting appears symmetrical. Through several remarks by Hendi, such as “This house has apparently become a Japanese house!” and “Even at such a young age she already recognizes her people…”, he seems to assert his position as not subordinate to Japan.
At the same time, street scenes are shot in wide frames, making the audience feel that the scenes are deliberately displayed for aesthetic purposes. Through scenes of strolling amid crowds of working people, orderly schoolchildren studying and playing, and also hospitals, Japan in this film is depicted as a neat and technologically advanced place, indirectly presenting it as a role model of modernity. Wahyu Sihombing, as Professor Tsushiro in the obstetrics and gynecology clinic, says, “Technology is for the happiness of man,” followed by an exaggerated handshake with Hendi, accompanied by a slow zoom-in on their hands, emphasizing the trust (or cooperation?) agreed upon by both. And thus, Japan as a setting here feels like a decorative backdrop. No contrast between the two cultures is developed as a narrative point, even though such a contrast would be key to understanding why Hendi and Pia decided to undergo artificial insemination there.
One key dialogue occurs between Pia and her housemaid, Mrs Toshami, an elderly Japanese woman. Saddened by seeing Pia lament her husband’s refusal to accept a child who looks unmistakably Japanese, Mrs Toshami tells her life story. During Japan’s expansionist war, Mrs Toshami’s husband was stationed in Indonesia. There, he married another woman and had a child with an Indonesian face. Out of love for her husband, Mrs Toshami went to Indonesia and ultimately accepted the Indonesian child as her own. The two women share the same feelings. This scene carries a humanistic value opposed to racism and fascism: all humans, regardless of race or nation, are equal. Through the conversation of two women who reject division and choose peace, a utopian desire is implied in both.
The story of a Japanese woman as a war victim abandoned by her husband is certainly unique to be included in an Indonesian film. Yet, its placement simultaneously affirms the director’s neutral position regarding one of the most traumatic events in national history. Historically, such stories became common in Japan during the 1990s, favoured by revisionist groups—specifically the Jiyūshugi Rekishikan faction, which advocates a “free” historical view (Aiko Kurasawa, 2023). This faction prefers to frame Japan’s mid-20th-century expansionist politics as a noble mission, one of which was to liberate Indonesia from Dutch colonialism. A similar translation is applied to stories about soldiers who never returned to Japan and instead settled in Indonesia. After losing the war, soldiers who had sworn to die rather than fail their country were expected to commit suicide (harakiri). If they fled, they risked becoming prisoners of war. Thus, many ended up marrying Indonesians or joining the Indonesian struggle. The personal motives of each soldier remain unclear. What is certain is that such actions were heavily condemned by the Japanese government in the late 1940s and early 1950s, labelling them deserters or traitors. However, revisionist waves later rehabilitated their reputations, erasing their names from condemnation. The previous narrative of desertion was no longer mentioned, like a sin swept under the carpet.
Ultimately, Bukan Sandiwara affirms the status quo of Japan’s post–World War II constitution, which is passive and neutral. If Sjuman indeed intended to discuss technology, is Japan not fertile ground, given how much the country changed after the American atomic bombings decades earlier? The atomic bomb explosion shown as the film’s opening raises questions about its significance and intent. Hendi’s profession as a diplomat should have been able to explain the connection between character and setting more deeply. Setting aside other elements that could have enriched the setting’s relevance, the only link between character and place is the artificial insemination technology practiced there and the child born to Pia.
The Play
The concept of play (sandiwara) that Sjuman highlights is largely embodied in Pia. At least the first half of the story focuses on Pia’s inner condition, as she is continually required to adapt to societal values. Various editing techniques, such as dissolves and 3D overlays, are skillfully employed by Sjuman to depict Pia’s memories of her marriage, overshadowed by tears on her face. The music constantly shifts depending on the emotional tone, whether joyful or sorrowful. Like the original novel, Sjuman intends to convey the story through melodrama. Kabut Sutra Ungu (1980), which preceded Bukan Sandiwara, won several Citra Awards and solidified Sjuman’s mastery of melodrama. At the very least, he had mastered its tricks. Several scenes successfully build sympathy and tension, such as the depiction of flashbacks and rapid transitions in car-racing sequences. Rosihan Anwar wrote in 1949 about Indonesian cinema’s continued infatuation with the Hollywood star system. Bukan Sandiwara follows this pattern by reusing actors who succeeded in Kabut Sutra Ungu. Yenni Rachman herself won Best Actress at the 1980 Citra Awards for that film. Rather than perpetuating Pia’s stereotype within the social structure, Sjuman appears to attempt to surface this layer through everyday dialogues. From her mother, colleagues, to close friends, all are depicted as holding their own perceptions of Pia as Hendi’s wife, awaiting her role as a mother.
For Hendi, conflict arises when his wife fails to become pregnant. After a medical examination, it turns out that he is infertile. This becomes a severe blow for Hendi, to the point that he is unable to confess to his wife, let alone inform those around him. Here, artificial insemination technology lures Hendi with its offer to continue the theatrical performance: as a man with a complete family, to continue his lineage—preferably with a son. As both ideology and practice, heteronormativity extends beyond heterosexuality, transcending national boundaries and permeating all social institutions such as education, law, religion, and media. Those who conform to its hegemonic pattern are considered normal humans, while those outside it are deemed abnormal and shameful (Wieringa, 2021). Thus, even after accepting the consequences of donor sperm impregnating his wife, Hendi eagerly shakes the doctor’s hand. The charisma he had built by following the prescribed path—graduating from higher education, entering bureaucracy, marrying a wife, receiving promotions—ultimately collapses when the child born to his wife turns out to be Japanese!
Rather than presenting Rendra reading revolutionary poetry in Yang Muda Yang Bercinta (1977) or openly exposing bureaucratic decay and corruption in Si Mamad (1973), Sjuman Djaya shifts to speaking more about the personal—since all that is social ultimately grows from the personal. In Si Mamad, bureaucratic corruption is shown through casual conversations between Mamad and his coworkers. Sjuman’s realism in Bukan Sandiwara ultimately becomes moral, psychological, and investigative rather than ideological. In the 1970s, Sjuman tended to be more critical. In the 1980s, he seemed to avoid social criticism. Is this because the 1980s were the peak of the New Order, when censorship grew stronger? One important event in 1974, nearly a decade into the New Order, was the Malari incident (Malapetaka Limabelas Januari), involving student demonstrations and riots protesting the visit of Japanese Prime Minister Kakuei Tanaka. Students protested corruption, rising prices, and inequality in foreign investment. At the time, Indonesia was flooded with Japanese products. Returning to Bukan Sandiwara, does Sjuman still retain his critique in this film by using “Japan” and “technology” as variables of criticism, depicted negatively?
Technology
It seems Sjuman anticipated the audience’s difficulty, since he added a prompting monologue at the beginning and a concluding paragraph at the end of the film to connect the two premises he wished to discuss. The message is stated upfront: “humans have reason to create technology, but in the end, technology can destroy humanity.” But what kind of technology does Sjuman choose to illustrate this?
The technology in question is artificial insemination in humans, a practice that at the time was not openly conducted in Indonesia and was extremely new and inaccessible to the general public. Unlike Hiroshima Mon Amour (Alain Resnais, 1959) or Cranes Are Flying (Mikhail Kalatozov, 1957), where technology affects characters as past trauma or future optimism, in Bukan Sandiwara, the character consciously chooses technology to preserve his theatrical performance. Is this Sjuman’s satire of the regime? Ultimately, the technology Sjuman chooses is consumed only by certain people—the upper middle class. In Indonesia, this technology was still practiced clandestinely approaching 1980. For fans of Sjuman’s earlier films, this tendency becomes noteworthy. Has he now stopped portraying the reality of the lower classes? For whom was Bukan Sandiwara made? The core questions raised by Sjuman’s opening and closing remarks lose sharpness: is our nation ready to accept (or become the object of) modern technology? What remains unspoken—if the baby had not looked Japanese but Indonesian, would Hendi have accepted the technology more readily?
When this film was made, the New Order’s approach to technological development itself was not far from theatricality. Sjuman’s depiction attempts to touch this reality, even if he stutters. State support for technology demonstrates how the regime’s symbolic power operates. Technological advancement is often linked to nationalism, yet ironically distances itself from social reality. In Suharto’s regime logic, symbolic nationalism likely always came first. The development reality in Indonesia neglected social justice. The relationship between Japan and Hendi’s family, as Indonesian middle-class elites, shows a transfer of capital and lifestyle. However, the film does not show this transfer reaching broader society. There is virtually no depiction of society outside Hendi’s family and colleagues. The absence of representation beyond elites fails to suggest what lies unseen behind the luxury adopted by Hendi, such as when he praises a new Japanese-made car to his friend. If this scene aims to critique middle-class consumerism, the absence of a comparative class makes it easier to read as glorification. Without the presence of an oppressed lower class, the continuity of neocolonial logic—of a new hegemony—remains unreadable. Ultimately, the film displays the political calm characteristic of its era while simultaneously blurring historical trauma and repressive hegemony.
According to S.M. Ardan, Sjuman’s style was inspired by post-Stalin Soviet cinema. Materialism in Soviet cinema focuses on physical, observable conditions rather than psychological symbolism, fantasy, or abstract ideas. A materialist approach reveals the material world through interclass relations, systemic engines, economy, technological bodies, objects, and real environments. Thus, materialist traces speak more about social systems than individual psychology. Humans are shaped not only by fate and feelings, but by historical, economic, and power factors. In artistic formalism, materialist approaches often appear through the use of real-life objects as the medium itself, so that what speaks is neither illusion nor narrative.
However, Sjuman’s education at the All-Union State Institute of Cinematography (VGIK) does not necessarily leave behind montage techniques rooted in Soviet constructivist cinema of the Lenin era. The montage in several scenes of this film merely produces the characters’ personal sentiments. The entire film structure depends on narrative. For example, when Hendi is shocked upon seeing the baby born from artificial insemination, the montage recalls scenes from Cranes Are Flying. Yet materialism does not underpin the image composition or montage. The dialectic that produces film form and simultaneous image transitions to depict inter-image conflict as realism is absent. Sjuman’s image dialectics merely convey emotion. As a result, the dialectical strength of images in this film is weak. Sjuman’s distrust of the power of images is compensated by continuous musical reinforcement throughout the film. Even compared to 1980s Ministry of Information billboards promoting the Armed Forces of the Republic of Indonesia (ABRI) supremacy, those billboards more clearly embody constructivism. In a single image, one can already grasp the dialectic through montage that genuinely reflects the realism of the time.
Melodramatic style can contradict materialist approaches. In principle, melodrama is not obliged to bear the burden of explaining structural problems, as it focuses on personal tragedy, privatizing social issues. Thus, melodrama can hinder materialism. However, melodrama can also serve as a weapon to expose social structures rather than conceal them. The formula lies in showing oppression within social classes, politicizing domestic space, or depicting individual suffering that reflects collective conditions. Under New Order censorship, melodrama could be a sexy option—emotionally capable of reaching the masses while delivering implicit criticism, a language of resistance, a signal. Crashing helicopters, broken telephones, and stalled cars are the language of Sjuman.
Sjuman’s duality ultimately leads to the question: Is there an artistic movement that can stand independently and consistently, ultimately defining what Indonesian cinema is? After September 1965, coinciding with newfound freedom to look West, Universal Humanism—previously suppressed under Sukarno—began to be celebrated. Conversely, leftist artists suffered grim fates, imprisoned in Suharto’s gulags (Aminudin T.H. Siregar, 2023). If every artistic product is ultimately a compromise, then the fundamental dilemma faced by artists and intellectuals regarding identity becomes a cross-generational dilemma. Thus, the function of film as social critique is conveyed only through signals and Morse codes from the faraway mountaintop.
References
- Rudolf Mrázek. 2006. Engineers of Happyland.
- Aiko Kurasawa. 2023. “Pembenaran Perang Asia Timur Raya” in Kemerdekaan Bukan Hadiah Jepang.
- Rosihan Anwar. 1994. “Film Indonesia, silakan back to basic” in Mingguan Tempo 25 Juni 1994.
- Saskia E. Wieringa. 2021. Subversi Simbolis: Heteronormativitas dan Estetika Gairah.
- S.M. Ardan. 1985. “In Memoriam: Sjuman Djaya (1934–1985).”
- Aminudin T.H. Siregar. 2023. “Gerakan Seni Rupa Baru Indonesia dalam Pusaran Sejarah Seni Rupa Indonesia,” in Masakan Sepanjang Zaman: Bunga Rampai Seni Rupa Baru 1975–1989.
This article was written and published as part of “BUKAN SANDIWARA” KRITIK! Film Criticism & Curatorial Lab by Forum Lenteng.
Read the Bahasa Indonesia version of this article HERE
