Friday, December 31, 2010

Spirit of Malaysia - a first look at the new cover

Here's the first look at Spirit of Malaysia, an Editions Didier Millet book that I was asked to write the text for, a state-by-state overview of modern Malaysia, a good learning experience for me and a pleasant opportunity to revisit all of Malaysia, if only from my computer and via stacks of guide and reference books, after living here for twenty-five years.  Amazing how much I learned, which is often the case with every book that you write.

The copyright holder of the series provided the photographs, and the layout was already done for me.  Just needed to come up with the text for each section and for the photos, too.  Sounds easy, but initially when writing this it gave me fits -- I was fighting it!  But then I found a way to break down each section, from the economy to transportation, from background history and heritage to diving sites and tourist resorts and just stuck with it.  The problem was always an overload of information from far too many sources and finding a way to distill it all down to a few paragraphs here and there.  Having a deadline and a signed contract helps!

The book will make a perfect gift for those wishing to know more about Malaysia, a happy balance between fascinating and well-chosen photographs (three or four per page) and just enough background information and depth to keep it interesting, without weighing you down.  At 80 pages, it's portable too, in a soft cover, so it's easy to slip into your luggage or backpack or mail overseas to your family and friends.

For advance orders you can go to Amazon.  In the US it sells for $15. In Malaysia RM49.90

Finally, I'm on Amazon, if you don't count some old copies of Lovers and Strangers from the Heinemann Asia Writing Series(1993):  two used from $75.23 and one collectible (an autographed copy) from $49.95.

Let's share the Spirit of Malaysia with the world.

*Here's an updated link with an e-book view of some of the photos.
** Here's also the first review.

***Update, the 20th anniversary of Lovers and Strangers Revisited, my collection of short stories set in Malaysia.

****Here the link to my website, to MPH online for orders for all three of my books, including my latest, Spirit of Malaysia and for Trois autres Malaisie.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

The rise of Maui Inner Circle…and the demise of Maui Writer’s Conference

This is one of those good news, bad news scenarios.

The good news is that the Maui Inner Circle gets a mention as “notable authors” in Graham Brown's latest interview, dated 12 November 2010. Eight of us met at the Maui Writer’s Conference back in 2006, which I blogged about earlier this year, after three of us had published at least one book.  Of course the big breakout news then was Graham Brown’s thriller Black Rain published in January 2010, followed up by his latest book Black Sun in August.  He has also recently signed with Random House for a third book in his series.  Way to go, Graham!

Graham Brown Author Black Rain

Now the pressure is on for the rest of us at Maui Inner Circle to do our part.  For me, my fingers are crossed for a French translation deal for Lovers and Strangers Revisited, my award-winning collection of short stories set in Malaysia.  I also have a new book coming out with Didier, Spirit of Malaysia.  Other than some publications in literary magazines by Eric Paul Shaffer, author of Burn & Learn, Drew Tollman is in post-production for the film Hop, coming out Easter 2011.  She’s also starting to make deals for her pre-school show.  Her company is called Beach Plum Media and a web site is in the works. All the best, Drew!

The bad news is that the Maui Writer’s Conference where we all met is no more.  After a run of 17 amazingly successful years, with its auspicious beginning documented by director John Tullius in Chicken Soup for the Writer’s Soul, the conference switched its name to Hawaii Writer's Conference and its location to Waikiki.  A victim of the downturn in the economy and poor ticket sales for a fundraising event headed by Nora Jones (along with some contractual disputes over the $50,000 that she was paid in guarantee money—there are two sides to this story, so let’s not be too quick to blame her), the conference, unless it's part phoenix, is sadly no more as reported by Lee Cataluna in the Honolulu Star Advertisers.

Our year at the Maui conference is notable not only for Bobby Moresco (Crash, Million Dollar Baby) and Ron Powers (Flags of Our Fathers) but also the West Maui Mountain fire (above).  Now the Maui Inner Circle is looking to set the world on fire with our writing!  Rather appropriate since Graham Brown is writing about the Mayans and its apocalyptic year 2012, with the tag line, “forget everything you think you know.”

So forget everything you think you know about the Maui Inner Circle.  Our story is just getting started…wish us luck! And let's wish John Tullius some luck with his conference, too. Without it, we would never have met.

*As an update, Lovers and Strangers Revisited is now being translated into French!
                                                          -Robert Raymer, Borneo Expat Writer

**Update, the 20th anniversary of Lovers and Strangers Revisited

***Here the link to my website, to MPH online for orders for all three of my books, including my latest, Spirit of Malaysia and for Trois autres Malaisie.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Lovers and Strangers Revisited, a French connection?

Looks like Lovers and Strangers Revisited might have a French connection.  A publisher in France with an interest in South East Asia has expressed an interest in translating Lovers and Strangers Revisited into French, after reading two of my stories, “Neighbours” from my website and “On Fridays” in Cha.  Nothing is official, but they just ordered two copies of the collection to explore that very possibility.  That’s a good start.  Now they need to know the details of my contract with MPH so we can work out a solution, a win-win for all three of us.

Two of the stories from collection have already been published in France, though in English. “Sister’s Room” was published in the French literary journal, Paris Transcontinental back in 1992 the year before Heinemann Asia brought out the original Lovers and Strangers in Singapore.
Then in 2003, “On Fridays” was published in Frank as a joint publication with The Literary Review after Frank’s editor, David Applefield was their guest editor for the Expat Writing issue.

Is this the start of my European period?  Last month Dr Rashidi, a friend who teaches Lovers and Strangers Revisited at USM here in Malaysia saw one of my short stories in Silverfish anthology at a German university, and then I was contacted from The Netherlands, when the Expatriate Archive Centre at The Hague requested a copy of Tropical Affairs: Episodes from an Expat’s Life in Malaysia for their library.  And now France. 

*Here's an update - it's official Lovers and Strangers Revisited is going French!

*Update: Here's a link to the intro and excerpts, and to four reviews of Trois Autres Malaisie in,,, and Petit Futé mag.

**Here’s an update to the French blog about Trois autres Malaisie, a link to meeting the French translator Jerome Bouchaud in Kuching, and also to order a copy or recommend it to your friends, especially those who would like to know more about Malaysia or have an interest in Southeast Asia.

***Update, the 20th anniversary of Lovers and Strangers Revisited

 ****Here the link to my website, to MPH online for orders for all three of my books, including my latest, Spirit of Malaysia and for Trois autres Malaisie.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

The Novel Project: The pitch, synopsis and first five pages of The Mother of that Boy

The pitch:
The Mother of that Boy (99,200 words)
What if you’re the mother of a boy who shot his father dressed as Santa Claus?
Would you be able to defend your son? How about yourself as a parent?

          Rachel Layton finds her fragile marriage shattered when her eleven-year-old son shoots a burglar who turns out to be his drunken father in a Santa Claus suit.  The shooting sets off a chain-reaction of events that threatens to tear apart a small Pennsylvania town.  Cast as a villain and labeled trailer trash by the media, Rachel is determined to hold her family together, even as her son struggling from post-traumatic stress disorder gets beaten up at school, her teenage daughter moves in with a low life twice her age, and an old high school boyfriend comes and goes.  Tired of being on the defensive, Rachel speaks out against guns, especially hunters who give guns to under-aged children.  But that just makes people even madder.
Despite threatening phone calls and a brick through her window, Rachel refuses to back off until Gordon’s Gunshop—located smack on Main Street—is shut down . . . .The one sensible thing that Rachel absolutely refuses to do is to take her son and flee.  But that’s just her—stubborn—like nearly everybody else in this dead-end town.  Just as Rachel’s life begins to calm down, Eric breaks into a cold sweat when he sees another Santa at the mall.  Sensing trouble from the other anxious parents, Rachel tries to prevent her son from confronting him.  At the same time, she’s all too aware that someone is stalking her.
          The Mother of that Boy was a short-list finalist for the 2009 Faulkner-Wisdom novel contest (an earlier draft and a different title).

The synopsis:

The Mother of that Boy                                                 Novel 99,200 words           

          The day before Christmas, Rachel has a spat with her husband Lyle over the hunting rifle that he bought for their eleven-year-old son, Eric.  While teaching Eric how to shoot the rifle, Lyle passes along valuable tips about being caught in a life threatening situation in light of recent break-ins at their trailer court, including his drinking buddy, Sam Taylor.  While Rachel is visiting a friend, Lyle sneaks out to have a beer, after putting Eric in charge with explicit instruc­tions to shoot first and ask questions later if anyone tries to break in.  At Roadkill, Lyle nearly gets into a fight with Deek Jack­son, a low life his age who is secretly seeing his sixteen-year-old daughter, Tara.  As a joke, Lyle borrows a Santa Claus suit.  Eric, thinking he’s a burglar, shoots him, setting off a chain-reaction of events in a small town.
          Reporters, demanding to know how Rachel can raise a child to kill Santa Claus, flock to her trailer.  Forced to make a statement, she accidentally lets out that Lyle dislikes Christ­mas.  After Lyle’s funeral, the press antagonizes Eric into making a sensational comment about him hating Santa Claus.  Tara admits to Rachel that she’s sleeping with Deek Jackson.
          When school reopens, troublemakers goad Eric, who’s struggling from post-trau­ma­tic stress disorder, into a fight.  While his over-sized best friend Duncan Hayes watches, Eric gets beaten up.  Rachel is forced to find a job as a waitress at The Diner, where she works with Sam Taylor’s teenage daughter, Connie.  Tara quits school to move in with Deek Jackson.  Finding the receipt for Eric’s rifle, Rachel visits Gordon’s Gunshop.  Later, she runs into Dale Hocker, Eric’s principal and an old boy­friend from high school.  They start to date again.
          A drunken Sam Taylor beats up his daughter Connie.  After passing out, Rachel discovers that she is pregnant with Lyle’s baby.  Dale abruptly ends their relation­ship.  On the last day of school, Eric is attacked by a group of boys and is hospitalized.  Feel­ing desperate, with no on left to turn to, Rachel calls her estranged father who offers to help out.
          An elderly librarian friend convinces Rachel to speak out against hunters leaving guns lying around for their children to find.  During Rachel’s talk, she’s heckled by Bert Hayes (Duncan’s father), Deek Jack­son, and Gordon Damby, owner of Gor­don’s Gunshop.  A drunken Sam Taylor kills a family of five in a car accident; barely alive, he makes wild accu­sa­­tions that Rachel is a witch.  A brick with a bullet taped to it is thrown through Rachel’s window.  Suspect­ing Gordon Damby, Rachel leads a protest outside Gordon’s Gunshop.
          Later, Rachel confronts Eric about fighting and skipping school, only to learn that kids at school are calling her a witch and a whore for sleeping with their principal.  Wanting to put a stop to all this, Rachel confronts Eric’s principal, Dale Hocker.  During a heated argument, Rachel goes into labor.  Dale not only delivers the baby, but also, after 18 years, finally gets around to proposing to her.  Rachel’s not so sure this is a good idea.
          Bert Hayes forces his son Duncan to go hunting and Duncan shoots his bullying father in the back.  With the two patricide shootings linked together, Rachel delivers a sterling anti-gun statement to the press.  Deek Jackson beats up Tara for getting pregnant.  Later, while drunk, he pays Rachel a visit and threatens her family with a gun.  Eric surprises him with a gun of his own.
          At the mall two days before Christmas, Eric breaks into a cold sweat when he sees Santa Claus.  To Rachel’s dismay, he gets into line behind the other kids.  Sensing trouble, parents pull their children out of line.  As Eric confronts Santa Clause, Rachel is all too aware that some­one in the crowd is stalking her.  Christmas in Sharpton will never be the same.

The first five pages:

Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.
-Edward Young (1684-1765)

        Rachel Layton can’t help but notice Lyle grinning at her.  It’s like he’s mocking her.  Like he knows some­thing she doesn’t and is rubbing it in.  He grabs a bottle of Bud­wei­ser, opens it, and leans against the refrig­er­a­­tor to take a drink.  Before he does, he grins at her again like some hyena that’s laughing at her on the inside. 
        She ignores him and glances out the kitchen win­dow.  She can barely make out the top of the Ever­­green Trailer Court sign arched over the entrance, decorated with blinking Christmas lights, several burned or busted out.  The lights only add to the gaudiness of Ever­green like some drunkard foolishly drawing attention to him­self.  Since the other trailers all have their Christ­mas decor­a­tions up and their trees lit, it made not having any feel worse like watching another kid eat ice cream after your own parents refuse to buy you one . . . . She lets out a prolonged sigh for the seven­teen years of lost battles with Lyle over nearly every­thing related to Christ­mas, especially him not allowing a tree inside their trailer.  If it wasn’t for Tara and Eric, she wouldn’t left him long ago.  If only the bastard hadn’t gotten her pregnant.
        She glances at Lyle, not at all surprised that he’s still looking at her with that stupid grin on his face.  “What?” she finally asks him, in no mood for any of his antics.
        He doesn’t say a word.  He doesn’t have to.  His mocking grin says it all.  I got you!
        She shakes her head, still mad at herself for marrying the damn fool.  She calls Tara and Eric to the table for their overly late Sunday dinner at one.  Both grumble for several moments until a commercial comes on and then pry themselves away from the TV.  Rachel joins them at the table and breathes in the aroma of baked chicken, buttered baked potato and cornbread.  Lyle remains leaning against the refrigerator, his arms now crossed—still grinning at her.  He winks at Eric, guzzles some beer, and wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his favorite frayed-at-the-edges yellow and red flan­nel shirt—something she’s been trying to throw away for years.  He sur­veys the food as if it’s the furthest thing from his mind before reluc­tant­ly sitting down at the table opposite of her.
         Rachel ignores him as she and the kids dig in.  In between bites, she glances at Lyle, fully aware as to why he isn’t hungry; in addition to a drinking a couple of beers, he pigged out on the peanut-butter cookies and some vanilla ice cream about a half hour ago, after she had pointedly told him to wait until after dinner.  There’s still cookie residue on his chin.  Evi­dence.  His hair, as usual, isn’t combed, nor did he bother to wash his oily face.  The longer she looks at him, the more she despises his wide forehead, mis­chievous blue eyes, pointy nose, and jutting chin.
        “You’re not going to eat, are you?” she finally asks, tired of him grinning at her like some simpleton from the Sharpton Odd Fellow’s Home.
        Lyle grins even wider and doesn’t bother to reply.
        The telephone rings.  Rachel grabs Tara’s and Eric’s arms to prevent them from getting up.  Lyle takes another gulp of beer and squares his shoulders.  “Why look at me?”
        “Only you get calls during meal times.”
        “My friends eat at odd times—that’s all.”
        “You mean drink,” Rachel replies, “and they drink all the time.”
        Lyle takes the beer with him as he gets up from the table, no doubt glad for an excuse to get away.  He glances at Mr. Potato Head who’s looking down at them all from his perch on top of the refrigerator with an air of superiority matched only by Lyle himself.
        “Keep an eye on them until I get back.”
        “Talking to your toy again?” Rachel asks.  Mr. Potato Head not only belongs to Lyle but also resembles him, par­ti­cu­larly the limited facial expressions.
        “At least Mr. Potato Head doesn’t talk back like some people I know.”  Lyle turns the corner before Rachel has time to respond.  He continues past the mahogany gun cabinet containing several well-oiled rifles and shotguns and the yard-sale-bought-and-chipped desk where the telephone is located and the presents that Rachel bought for him and the children.
        When the ringing finally stops, Rachel turns to her eleven-year-old son Eric, who’s eyeing her as if she has just com­mitted a crime by crossing words with his father.  “Eat up while it’s hot.”
        “I’m eating,” Eric replies, his mouth full of chicken.
        “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Rachel says, sounding so much like her mother it scares her.  It’s as if her mother is coming back to haunt her, which is all she needs right now. A ghost.  She glances at Tara, whose head is cocked to one side as she fingers her shoulder-length reddish blond hair.  At sixteen, Tara looks a lot older than she is.  For Rachel that means trouble.  Already she lost her virginity at age fifteen, the only thing she and Tara seem to have in common, other than Lyle.  Tara had no say in that matter.  Rachel, most assuredly and regretta­bly, did.
        Noticing that Tara is still watching her, Rachel asks, “What are you looking at?”
        Tara rolls her turquoise eyes—eyes that remind Rachel far too much and far too often of her dad.  Not only the way she rolls them but how they fail to see the world beyond the limita­tions of Sharpton, Pennsyl­vania.  For that matter, Tara’s entire dimpled-cheeks, thin-nosed, hawkish face is Lyle through and through.  At least Tara keeps her hair neatly combed.  Lyle would rather die than comb his hair, something he only does first thing in the morning or after showering—some­thing else he keeps to a minimum.
        Rachel sighs in defeat and glances up at Mr. Potato Head.  “What are you looking at?”
Like Tara, it doesn’t bother to reply.

        “Told you it’d happen again,” Lyle says, returning to the table; a cockiness in his gait from never being wrong despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.  “Someone busted out Sam Taylor’s window and broke in.  Took all their presents.  Even swiped some orna­ments off the tree!”
        “Who would do such a mean thing?” Rachel asks, laying down her fork in protest.  The Taylor’s trailer is just around the bend, not far from theirs.
        “That’s the second one this month,” Lyle says, reclaiming his seat and glancing at the food as if wishing he’d already eaten it.  “Told you it was going to happen again, didn’t I?”  He grins smugly to let his genius sink in.  “Let ’em try that here and I’ll shoot their ass.”
        “Shoot first, ask questions later,” Eric pipes in.  He helps himself to some milk.
        “Got that straight.”  Lyle aims his index finger at Eric like a pistol.  “Pow!”  He blows away the imaginary smoke and winks at Eric.
        “We should give Sarah something to help out,” Rachel says.  “How does fifty sound?”
        Lyle picks up the beer bottle by the neck and strangles the idea. “Fifty is a lot of money.”
        “Just means you got to cut down your drinking and eat more.”  She picks up her fork as if to show him how.
        “Twenty sounds better,” Lyle says, leaving the fork where it is.
        “Twenty is barely going to buy a decent present.  She’s got three teenagers at home.”
        “That Connie’s working over at The Diner, so they’re not hurting none.”
        “With Sam drinking away the pay, she doesn’t have much of a choice, now does she?”
        Lyle doesn’t reply; Sam’s drinking is a touchy subject since he’s one of Lyle’s drinking buddies.  Lyle finishes the beer, gets up and grabs another bottle from the fridge.
        In protest, Rachel adds, “Maybe I’ll give them one of our pies, too.”  
        “Not the apple pie,” Lyle says.
        “Only thinking of yourself.”
        “I happen to like apple pie,” Lyle says, and sits down again.  “You too, right, Eric?”
        “Me too,” Eric replies, and gulps down more milk.
        “I can bake another,” Rachel says.  She looks from Lyle to Eric.  “Eat your potatoes.”
        Lyle stretches out his arms in a manic pose.  “Not in front of Mr. Potato Head, please!”
        Eric sprays milk from his nose and mouth as he cracks up laughing.
        “You’re so disgusting,” Tara says, still fingering her hair.
        “Clean that up now!” Rachel says.
        “Didn’t do it on purpose,” Eric replies, sopping up the mess with a paper towel.
        Rachel turns her attention to Tara.  For a long moment she just looks at her.  Finally, she says, “You’re awfully quiet.”
        Tara sighs and turns to her father.  “I don’t know whether I should get my breasts enlarged or reduced.  What do you think?”
        “You’re too young to be thinking about doing anything to your breasts,” Rachel protests.
        Tara rolls her eyes.  “I mean when I graduate—for my graduation present.”                                
           --Robert Raymer, Borneo Expat Writer

***Here the link to my website, to MPH online for orders for all three of my books, including my latest, Spirit of Malaysia and for Trois autres Malaisie.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Crossing the Bridge of Action

Knowing what to do and actually doing it are two different things.  Action is the bridge that links them together.  On the other side of that bridge are the results that you want.  Knowing what to do can only take you so far.  You still have to roll up your sleeves and cross that bridge.  You probably have to do it every day, too, so get used to it.  Assuming, of course, you really want those results that are waiting for you.

Do you?

I know, I do.  I’m a great to-do list maker, by the way.  I can make those to-do lists in my sleep.  I’m not bad at getting stuff done.  Nor am I that good.  Hey, it’s on my list, even prioritized, but for some reason I never quite get around to the important stuff.  I keep putting it off.  Then I notice, week after week, month after month as I update my to-do lists, that quite a few of those to-do items—usually the important ones—gets repeated over and over.  Sound familiar?

Again, knowing what to do and doing it are two different things.  We want the results, so what’s holding us back?  Yeah, I know, procrastination, but why are you procrastinating?  What are you afraid of?  Fear is usually the culprit.  Do you fear that you’re not good enough to complete the job, or not good enough to receive the rewards on the other side of that bridge?

I admit, at times, I fear both of these.

One of those items on my list that I’ve been procrastinating on is selling my screenplays.  Hey, I did the hard part, I actually wrote them!  But I still have to cross that bridge by selling what I wrote.  Sure LA agents won’t take a look at me, this writer living in Borneo.  LA agents, I’m finding out, won’t take a look at anyone, even if you’re living in LA and knocking on their office door—they don’t have time to deal with you and your movie dreams!  They are too busy making deals for their proven clients.

Book agents and script agents operate differently!  I can submit directly to a book agent who have clear guidelines for submissions stated in their websites or in other listings.  For screenplays you need a script manager, and then, even before they peek at your script, you’ve got to sign a release form (to protect them and everyone in the industry from being sued by you for “stealing” your ideas).  After they’ve determined that the script is as good as you hope it is, they can start knocking on those doors for you.  Since LA agents have worked with these managers before, they trust them.  Together they can put deals together, pulling in actors and producers along the way, to get your script optioned or sold and hopefully, produced.

OK, I know all this, a recent discovery after procrastinating on sending out my screenplays for years (they needed rewritten!), so after rewriting them why am I still standing at the bridge of action, waiting and waiting?  Waiting for what?  For snow to fall in Borneo?

A good question to ask yourself—how bad do you really want those results?  Yeah, I know, really, really bad!  Just because you really, really want it is not—and never will be—good enough.  You need a powerful enough reason. a big why.  If not, you’ll give up the very first time that troll who lives under the bridge says “Boo!”  See, you really don’t want it as bad as you claim!

Now let’s say your spouse or loved one or even your child is on the other side of that bridge and you need to get across it to save them from the trolls.  Are you going to give up this time?  No way!  You’ll fight those trolls off, or find a way to outwit them!  You’ll do whatever it takes to succeed.

So let’s pretend that these screenplays that I’ve written—all five of them—are my children and if I don’t cross that bridge to contact that script manager then I’ll never be able to save them from those evil trolls.  Do I want that guilt hanging over my head for the rest of my life?  What about you, got a good reason to cross the bridge and get on with your own life?   What's at stake?  Your family?  Your financial future?  Both?

Your family, your loved ones, your children (even your friends) all want you to succeed, but you can only succeed when you cross that bridge.  And maybe you’ll get lucky, too.  Maybe all the trolls are asleep, so the only troll around is the one inside your head telling you all the reasons why you’re not good enough, why you’ll fail, why you should crawl back home and hide under the covers.

So find an important why, a really, really good reason why it’s imperative for you to succeed in crossing that bridge of action.  Trust me; this will not be the only bridge you’ll face.  In fact, you’ll probably face several bridges a day, some bigger than others.  But after awhile, you’ll get pretty good at crossing those bridges and reaping those rewards on the other side

And your to-do lists might get smaller, too.
                                                             - Robert Raymer, Borneo Expat Writer

***Here the link to my website, to MPH online for orders for all three of my books, including my latest, Spirit of Malaysia and for Trois autres Malaisie.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Beyond Rangoon: Part II

When I arrived at the jetty to join Beyond Rangoon Wardrobe at 5:30 am, it was still dark and hard to see.  Ernie was busy directing people as they unloaded from a truck the two thousand longyis that he had dyed.  He had been up most of the night trying to repair the axle on the truck so he could make the delivery on time.  Also present was Ernie’s wife, Kathleen, who always wore a pair of scissors around her neck so she wouldn’t lose them.  They had been working together for the past sixteen years and had been married for ten of those years.  Kathleen directed me and Rikki, one of the tour group extras, to help two seamstresses make bandanas.  She told us to tear up several basketfuls of materials, fold them into a triangle, tear again, and then pass them on.

As soon as the extras – mostly students rounded up from every available school in the Penang area – began arriving by the busloads, they were sent to one end of a shipping container filled with clothes racks.  By the time they had exited the other end, they had a shirt, longyi, bandana, scarf, and sandals.  They were also given a plastic bag to store their clothes and vouchers in.  They would need their voucher at the end of the day to get paid.  All meals, including breakfast, were provided, plus beverages, throughout the day.

Handling all the logistics was the Kuala Lumpur based Movie Location Services.  They scouted the locations, auditioned the local actors and extras, arranged for permits, provided transportation and food, and even constructed the sets, including a nearby Buddhist temple, complete with an authentic-looking 33.5 meter pagoda.  Chandran Rutnam, the company chairman, who was responsible for bringing 50/50, Indochine, and Gateway to China to Penang also brought Barry Spikings to Malaysia and had persuaded him to shoot Beyond Rangoon here.  Fortunately Spikings was impressed not only with the all-year round sunny weather that was conducive to film-making but also Malaysia’s multi-racial, multi-cultural environment, which made it possible to make a shot appear to have been filmed in a least half a dozen different countries, thus saving on production costs.

After finishing the bandanas, I helped with the 50 policemen and 50 soldiers.  First I collected their vouchers.  If they failed to return their uniforms intact, no voucher was given, thus no pay.  Although all of them had been pre-fitted and their respective clothes tagged with their numbers, problems cropped up.  One policeman didn’t have a hat, and three others, no pants.  Two seamstresses quickly got to work.  Then a soldier lost his shoes.  He had set them down and, apparently, the shoes walked away.

When everyone was dressed, they were assembled into their respective groups for inspection.  Those who were missing an article of clothing or had their clothes tucked in or wrapped inappropriately were put right.  While Rikki helped the women get dressed, I assisted the men.  Then I went around cutting the tail off their headscarves.  As soon as a group was ready, they were herded back onto the bus and sent to the set.  Then the next group was brought in.

Once we finished at the jetty, I was transported to the set, sprawled out over several streets near the Esplanade, where I joined two others named Tomcat and Libby as part of the “aging crew”.  Our task was to make sure all the freshly washed clothes were badly soiled, so the students would look like they had been wearing them for days on end.  Mineral oil was applied to the clothes to create sweat stains; dirt powder of different shades were used to create smudge; and colored wax was rubbed into the elbows and collars to add some filth.

Later Tomcat, who sported a long ponytail, needed to do some serious ageing on the lead Burmese actor’s vest, including a few rips and a bullet hole.  He couldn’t find his special rat-tail file that he needed for the job, so he sent me to a van on the other side of the set, a good distance away, to go find it.  When I returned from the van empty-handed, Kathleen assured him once again that it had been left back at the Wardrobe house.  Tomcat rolled his eyes and shook his head, then proceeded to gripe about the missing rat-tail file for the rest of the afternoon.

Meanwhile, Libby was also upset and was complaining a lot.  When Deborah drifted by to see how things were going, Libby stalked off.  Everyone was reaching the ends of their rope.  This was only natural after working long hours, for weeks on end, and often under stressful conditions.

Then there was the politics.  Ernie felt he should have had Deborah’s job as Head of Wardrobe because he had more years of experience.  Deborah, however, was more familiar with Asian culture as she had lived in Penang several years ago and was now based in southern Thailand where she works as an archaeologist.  Wardrobe was her means to finance her projects.  Despite their differences, however, she and the others got the job done professionally.

There were plenty of light moments, too, when they played tricks on one another, or sat around and swapped anecdotes from past movies.  Ernie talked about the time Gene Hackman had taught Catherine Deneuve, the legendary French actress, how to swear during the filming of March or Die.  “She was going around telling everyone to ‘f— off’ without even knowing what it meant,” Ernie said.  “It was hilarious, but they all thought I had taught her!”

Since there was no American Embassy in Penang, they borrowed the stately Municipal Council building.  Besides adding an American flag, they built a wall made of Styrofoam and covered it with plaster and coats of paint, including streaks of black and gray to age it, so that it would blend in naturally with the environment.

Several cars had been overturned and set on fire.  Close-ups shots were taken of students running, ducking here and there to avoid bullets, so they did not end up like their dead comrades.  Later in the filming, there would be a ‘blood’ day when all of the people would get shot and killed.  When shot, the actor or an extra would release blood via a hand-controlled mechanism.  After each take, new clothes had to be brought in and more blood would be spilled.  A messy day for Wardrobe people, something they were not looking forward to, but the deaths and wounds had to be realistic.

Realism was important to John Boorman.  The moment the audience stops believing in the realism of the film, it becomes a farce, and they tend to reject it.  Above all, Boorman liked to engage the viewer’s intellect:  You have to have them think.  ‘Would I have reacted or behaved like that if caught in that situation?’

For the American Embassy scene, Boorman and his crew were set up just inside the gate where all one thousand extras would soon be charging.  His orders were given via walkie-talkie and relayed to a Malay translator standing on top of a plat­form who would announce them in Malay over a megaphone.  Each take took a long time to set up, and the wait for many of the extras seemed even longer since they had been there since early that morning and it was already pushing evening.  Some grew restless.  Just prior to one take, a young Malay woman suddenly shouted and ran out crying, bringing everything to a halt.  It seems a boy standing behind her had been pinching her behind nonstop.  The boy was promptly thrown off the set.

The chief advantage of being an extra or helping out behind the scenes was not only getting a firsthand view of how movies were made, but also seeing the stars up close as they performed.  Standing only a few yards away from Patricia Arquette, I could clearly sense the tension building up inside her.  Before each take, she would hop up and down and take deep breaths, psyching herself up, for she knew that Beyond Rangoon could be the perfect vehicle to make her a major star.  There was plenty of action and suspense, and it involved some serious acting, like when she had to fight off and kill a soldier bent on raping her.

For Patricia Arquette, Beyond Rangoon, was a change of pace.  In True Romance, where she starred opposite Christian Slater, she portrayed a call girl.  She also read for the part of another call girl (before Julia Roberts was chosen) in the original version of Pretty Woman.  Commenting on Beyond Rangoon, she said, “Since Laura and the priest were not romantically involved, it delved more into the human and spiritual side of a relationship.  This older, wiser man, from a totally different background was able to help Laura confront her fears and to look beyond them to become a better person.”

Acting is not new to the Arquette name.  Her father Lewis Arquette was an actor, so was her grandfather. Then there’s her sister Rosanna, who hit the big time first when she starred opposite Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan.  Toto’s Grammy award-winning song Rosanna, incidentally, was dedicated to her.  Patricia also has three other siblings who act: Richmond, Alexi and David.  And now a new generation is getting into the family act: Patricia’s five-year-old son.  She had brought him along to be close to him; however, when the casting crew failed to find a suitable boy to portray her son in the film, her real son got the nod.

Nepotism is not new in the movie industry.  In fact, John Boorman’s son, Christopher, would portray the Belgian photographer in the American Embassy scene.  He was first used by Boorman in The Emerald Forest as the American boy who got lost in the Papua New Guinean jungle.  In between scenes in Beyond Rangoon, he helped out on the set wherever needed and was kept busy.

Another Boorman offspring on the set was his one-year-old daughter.  She endured the chaos with complete bliss.  No doubt, a future star in the making.  A highlight for me was being able to stand close to Boorman and the cameramen as a thousand extras stormed the American Embassy.  They came right at us.  It was an awesome feeling.  And to have it repeated take after take.  Where else in life can you restage a great moment over and over again until you get it just right?

As it turned out, most of the people helping out behind the scenes were people like me who just happened to be in Penang and were either interested in how movies were made or were simply available.  Many were friends of those already involved, like the girlfriend of the second cameraman who was always hanging around the set and was soon put to work.  Or the Australian who came to Penang to see his friend and because of his sheer size was hired on the spot as a grip.

Movies are like magnets.  They attract all kinds of people.  Payment for many of us was secondary.  Some would do it for free just for the once-in-a-lifetime experience and the glamour associated with being involved in a film, especially a successful one.  Then there were the out-of-work actors who needed a steady income as they bided their time to get discovered, so they took on work as extras or small speaking parts.

As for myself, once the shooting was wrapped up for the day, I had to rush back to the jetty and help everyone undress.  In exchange for the policemen and soldier’s uniforms, they got back their vouchers.  So far so good.  For the others who were coming back tomorrow, we had to pin their voucher number to their clothes and hang them on the clothes racks in numerical order so they could easily be found the next day.

There were some complaints, too.  One boy had his new Reeboks stolen and a young woman lost all her clothes.

It was one in the morning when I finally left, only a few hours from working around the clock.  The day we had 2,000 extras, I arrived home at 5a.m., and would gladly do it all again.

When I first got involved, I often felt I was in the way, but after working behind the scenes a few days, I just did what I thought needed doing and found myself moving about the set with a sense of purpose – whether it was chasing down Tomcat’s missing rat-tail file, cutting off tails of headscarves, or coming to the aid of several people trying to find the key to a locked portable toilet that hundreds of extras needed to use.  I coolly picked up two pipes and broke open the lock, solving the problem within seconds.

“Nice move,” one of them said, before rushing inside.

It was all in a day’s work.  As Churchill once said, “If there’s no wind, row!”  You do what you have to do to get the job done and overcome all obstacles.  That’s basically what everyone does in the film industry.  That’s how films get made, including Beyond Rangoon.  And because this particular film got made, Aung San Suu Kyi finally got released.  That was back in 1995, and now she’s released again.  But for how long…
 -from Tropical Affairs:Episodes from an Expat's Life in Malaysia
                                                          Robert Raymer, Borneo Expat Writer
* Link to Part I 

***Here the link to my website, to MPH online for orders for all three of my books, including my latest, Spirit of Malaysia and for Trois autres Malaisie.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Beyond Rangoon: Part I

The release of Aung San Suu Kyi by Myanmar's military government last weekend brought back some memories for me, thanks to my taking part in the John Boorman film Beyond Rangoon, both as an extra and working with wardrobe for a couple of crucial scenes. The film, an official selection at the 1995 Cannes Film Festival, had a major impact in Aung San Suu Kyi release back in 1995, after her first six years of house arrest.

Only weeks into the film’s European run, the Burmese military junta freed the Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi (who is depicted in the film). In her first interview with the BBC, she thanked the filmmakers for helping raise world attention on the Massacres of 1988 by her country's military rulers.

Having had experience as an extra in the movie Indochine, which won an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film, I was asked by Sylvester of Movie Location Services to audition for a small part in film Beyond Rangoon. Like the French film Indochine, parts of Beyond Rangoon were to be shot in Penang, where I’m based as a writer. For Indochine, Penang was French Indochine (Vietnam); while in Beyond Rangoon, Penang would become Burma.

Beyond Rangoon is a Hollywood production – with a British twist. Both the director, John Boorman of Deliverance, Excalibur and Hope and Glory fame, and his assistant director, Mark Egerton, are British.

The film is about an American doctor named Laura (portrayed by Patricia Arquette of True Romance and later Stigmata) who tries to overcome the senseless murder of her husband and four-year-old son by traveling to Asia with her sister Andy (Francis McDormand, who won an Oscar for Fargo). While in Mandalay, Laura witnessed a political rally led by Aung San Suu Kyi (who later won the Nobel Prize for Peace in 1991 while under house arrest). But then things go wrong, and there’s a military crackdown. Unable to leave Burma because of a lost passport, Laura tries to flee the country with the help of a middle-aged Buddhist priest whose life is also in danger.

Leading Hollywood producer and financier Barry Spikings, with over 100 films to his credit, including the Oscar-winning Deer Hunter, Elephant Man and When Harry Met Sally, came across the story by Bill Rubenstein, liked it and sent it to John Boorman. Right away, Boorman was interested. Like a lot of talented directors, Boorman had moved to Hollywood because of a lack of financial backing in the British film industry. He had also just turned down a multi-picture deal with one of the studios because he didn’t like any of the scripts.

Beyond Rangoon was different. It involved an unusual friendship between an older Asian man and a younger American woman, both from very different cultures, and it also documented history – the 1988 democracy uprising in Burma plus it examined the nobility of the human spirit when caught in an extreme situation like in Deliverance, Boorman’s signature film.

Deliverance, by the way, made a star of Burt Reynolds who went on to lead the box office for six straight years. No doubt Patricia Arquette was hoping for a repeat performance. All the right ingredients were there: a good script; a US$25 million budget; Barry Spiking’ commitment, and John Boorman’s dedication, plus a top-notch director of photography in John Seales, an Australian who had been nominated for Oscars in cinematography for Rain Man and Witness.

The part that I was asked to audition for was that of an Australian doctor. I met with Barbara and Mary Gail, in charge of casting, and was given a few lines to read. After rehearsing them a couple of times in the hallway, I read them as convincingly as I could:

“Are you a doctor?”

“I’d like to help,” Mary Gail replied, reading Laura’s lines.

“Thank God. We can certainly put you to good use. Where the hell did you come from anyway?”

Several of my friends also read the lines. A few of us were later called back to be video-taped for John Boorman’s final approval.

In the end, in order to shorten the film, the lines were cut.

Then Sylvester called me back a couple of months later, in early January 1994. He said John Boorman was in town and wanted to meet the extras. Instead, we got to meet Walter, the acting coach.

The following week, I was told I would be in the American Embassy scene to be shot in March and that I needed to meet Ernie to arrange my wardrobe. Ernie suggested something smart and casual and a little touristy, so I brought two sets of clothes. The Wardrobe house was stuffed with racks and racks of clothes. The front door was wide open so I wandered inside.

Ernie, a Hungarian transplanted to California, suddenly appeared, coming up the steps from the basement.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, referring to both the house and his hands, which were stained red. “I’m in the middle of dying longyis (Burmese sarongs). I need to make them different colors so they all don’t look alike.” He shrugged his muscular shoulders, suggesting that someone had to do it; he just wished it was someone else.

I sympathized with him and showed him my clothes. “Try them on and we’ll see how you look.” He took a Polaroid of me in both outfits. “Boorman likes to see the clothes. He’s very detail-oriented – wants to make all the final decisions.”

I glanced at the other pictures, recognizing several friends, including Joanne.

“Ah,” Ernie said, nodding knowingly. “She’ll be your wife.”

“Ah,” I replied, hoping my real wife didn’t mind, nor Joanne’s husband, who was a lot bigger than me.

Another change of plans.

It seemed Joanne and I were not “blond” enough for the American Embassy scene. Instead we would be hotel guests. I was told to be at the set at 6:30 am. When I arrived at 6:15 am, I was promptly told the time had been changed to 8:15.

“Sorry,” a young Malay man said, “I tried to call you.”

The hotel that we would be guests of was the Cathay Hotel, which had been renamed the Kipling Hotel for the film, in honor of the writer Rudyard Kipling.

Since I had written several articles on Indochine, I was asked not to write any articles about Beyond Rangoon until after the filming was completed. I had to sign a document to make it official. The reason for the news blackout was because of the sensitive nature of the film and the attempt to protect the families of any Burmese actor or consultant still living in Burma. So in this article, I have left out every Burmese name except for Aung San Suu Kyi, who at the time was in prison. (Twenty years after the uprising, she is still being kept under house arrest.)

Deborah, who was in charge of Wardrobe, took one look at my geometrical Balinese shirt and said, “I have just the thing for you,” and she asked me to follow her to the Wardrobe container. She held up a pair of plaid shorts.

“You got to be kidding,” I said. “That's tacky!”

She nodded with a smile. “That's the look, I'm afraid,” and asked me to put them on. My shoes and socks were light brown, my legs pale. Not a pretty sight. “People will notice you,” she said, which didn't make me feel any better.

Joanne’s flowery outfit naturally clashed with mine, while another extra, Joelle, who has red hair, was asked to wear a pink dress.

“Where's the Lady in Pink?” Boorman kept asking. “Have the Lady in Pink stand over there.”

Joanne and I were to stand inside the entrance where Walter instructed me to point to an intricate wrought iron window and explain its cultural significance to Joanne (which I ad-libbed) as Patricia Arquette’s tour group entered the hotel. The tour group – a mixture of American, French and Swiss middle-aged ladies – were all hot and tired, and the poor receptionist, played by Malaysian actress Tiara Jacquelina, took the brunt of their complaints.

Spalding Gray, who was in The Killing Fields (and wrote a monologue about his expereinces in the film, Swimming to Cambodia, later committed suicide), was the tour leader, Watt. He turned to Laura, whom he had been coming on to, and said, “I’m having this most overwhelming urge to murder whiny middle aged women.” To which Laura replied, “Where would you be without them?” and walked away.

At this juncture, Boorman decided Joanne and I should approach the front desk and ask directions to one of the main tourist sites. He told James, the props man, to find us a map, which we would peruse for several moments before approaching the front desk. As soon as we arrived, Spalding Gray would look directly into the camera and say, “The bar?”

Since the Cathay Hotel had no bar, a real bar had to be created out of one of the rooms. They also turned the spacious hallway upstairs into an old-fashioned bedroom, complete with an antique bath.

Dressed casually in a white t-shirt and khaki shorts, Boorman constantly surveyed the set through a pair of friendly eyes. He made eye contact with everyone, including the extras, and rarely did he overlook a detail. For example, just as the tour group arrived, another hotel guest, upset with the shoddy service, signaled to the porter to collect his two suitcases and follow him out of the hotel. After the first take, Boorman walked over to the two suitcases and picked them up. Upon realizing they were empty – as we had all assumed – he told James to put some sandbags inside. He didn’t want the suitcases to appear heavy; he wanted them to be heavy so the porter would have to struggle as he lugged them across the lobby – something he had to do half a dozen times. Luckily for him, someone in the crew always carried them back.

In between takes, technicians and handymen would rush back and forth to make adjustments here and there, whether to correct the lighting, or to block something unsightly out of the way. Due to the physical constraints of the hotel lobby, no matter where we stood, we were in their way. As soon as Boorman was ready for the next take, all movement and sound had to cease – something some of the local workers helping outside didn’t seem to understand. Each time, Emma, one of the assistant directors, would have to go outside and tell the workers, particularly two Indian men carrying wood back and forth, “Not a sound!” Thinking they were being clever, they removed their shoes and kept on going. Emma caught them. “Don’t walk! Don’t move! Don’t carry!”

Before entering the hotel, the tour group had arrived in a tiny, filthy mini-bus – too small, in fact, to carry the entire group. So they faked it. Those who couldn’t squeeze in stayed off camera until the camera moved away from the mini-bus. Meanwhile, 600 extras were being prepared for a procession that the mini-bus would have to weave around before it arrived at the hotel. Shooting scenes out of sequence, which I learned firsthand in Indochine, was common in filming.

Also common was that no matter how much time, effort, and expense had been put into shooting a scene, there was always that element of unpredictability – the weather. After 600 extras had spent the entire day getting dressed, made-up, and had rehearsed what they had to do, it began to rain. So all 600 had to return the next day and start all over again.

My role for the day was finished. Deborah, however, asked me and some of the extras to help out in Wardrobe during the upcoming American Embassy scene where there would be a thousand extras, and another scene with two thousand extras, which I gladly agreed to.

                   -from Tropical Affairs,Episodes from an Expat's Life in Malaysia
                                                               Robert Raymer, Borneo Expat Writer

*Link to Part II 

**Here the link to my website, to MPH online for orders for all three of my books, including my latest, Spirit of Malaysia and for Trois autres Malaisie.