Apichatpong Weerasethakul
Syndromes and a Century

Syndromes and a Century is (re)constructed with the same ambiguity of dreams and memories, and never more than in this case can reason lead to error. After all, Apichatpong Weerasethakul's cinema has the advantage/disadvantage of being quite out of the box and exquisitely subjective: perhaps more than any other author, it requires not only immersion but also dedication, the active participation of the viewer, who contributes to constructing the meaning of the film by bringing a piece of themselves and letting it take root in the flow of images. In this sense, Syndromes and a Century presents itself as the quintessential metacinematic work of the Thai filmmaker, initially conceived to recount the director's family memories, and then becoming a meditation on the healing power of the seventh art.

The unwary viewer or one not accustomed to Weerasethakul's style will soon find themselves wondering what the narrative thread is. The first half of the film is set in a hospital in the middle of the countryside: the characters succeed one another without logic, the scenes conclude without resolution. However, everything is permeated by a dreamy serenity; nature is as omnipresent as music; reincarnation, passions, affections, and, why not, superstitions are lightly discussed. The direction lingers on the scenes and sometimes leaves the characters off-screen to focus on the natural elements: a large tree swayed by the wind, a lush field, a solar eclipse. What exactly is the director trying to tell us? It's still unknown, but personally, I had the vague impression that this film was staring at me.

Just when perplexities begin to creep in, a sudden temporal shift catapults us a few decades later (a century?), without warning or explanation. The same hospital, the same characters, and more or less the same scenes, but different shots and an antithetical setting: we are in a modern, technological, sleek, aseptic city. The people perhaps have the same problems, feel the same emotions, and haven't completely lost their sense of humor, but the way of relating has changed, especially the diseases have changed along with the spirit of the time: traffic has replaced the chirping of crickets, music seems no longer important, dentists no longer converse amiably with patients during cleanings, nurses move in compact groups like little soldiers, people are poisoned by carbon monoxide, the mutilated can console themselves with prosthetics, and so on.

On a superficial analysis, if not obvious, one might think of Syndromes and a Century as an ecological film. The two halves contrast, it's true: nature and spirituality on one side, cold modernity on the other. It makes sense, but just when we think we've finally given a shred of meaning to this film so far tedious and even banal, a key scene comes that still gives me chills. A pleasant lady lays her hands on a sick boy and tries to heal him with chakra. Meanwhile, the camera slowly pulls away, and a woman stares at us immobile with a straight look at the camera. What's happening?

What was once just a vague impression now becomes a certainty: yes, this film is looking directly at you, the viewer. And it is clear that the author's intent is to relive the memory of the first part, with its idyllic purity; to make us desire it as if it belonged to our past, perhaps from another life, but still intimately and inexplicably ours. This is not an ecological parable, but a path of rebirth, thus it's up to you to accept the healing power of cinema-illusion, or to reject it with cynicism, like that poisoned boy who walks away exhaling.

Shortly before the end, a black and threatening tube, a sort of artificial eclipse, appears on the screen (once again, our gaze is returned to us) and sucks everything away. Void, reset. Heartbeat. Finally, we witness a bizarre and joyous scene that, always in the contextual perspective of the work, looks like a celebration: a large group of people gathers in the park and... dances! Just like that, everyone dances to the rhythm of music, and I think there is no better way to start a new life.