Pain of Silence

Three years gone by, no gig. The pandemic lockdown has plunged traditional performance arts into a coma, with many accomplished Isan musicians forced to take up construction jobs. The star is Boonma, a blind Isan phin master who taught himself from hearing others play. He has to be carefully led to a red plastic chair on a makeshift stage, but then plays like an angel from heaven. We see him perform seated on a junk cart pushed by his not young wife; the COVID mask has scrounged up his face, giving him a sour and bewildered look as he fists up the coins at an intersection. We see a mermaid puppet swim in air among ancient ruins. All interviewees are wonderful, the real thing, in this award-winning beautifully-shot labour of true love that dives headfirst into the meaning and purpose of art. Where is the Ministry of Culture in all this? In a priceless scene an official at the Cultural Promotion Dept details his massive workload: cultural promotion of course, royal ceremonies as well, and “contemporary art is important too—we can’t just stay the same.”