A Thai film director goes to the theatre to see what has been billed as Bangkok’s most boring play of the year, in which half a dozen elderly women live their usual uneventful day in a care home for the aged. That may sound like a very dull premise for a novel, and perhaps it is, but deliberately so. Time earned Korbjitti his second SEA Write Award, and to find out why means ploughing through two hundred pages of rather mundane dialogue mixed with some minor personal crises. There are some winning passages in which Korbjitti gets people to look at their own lives in relation to what’s being acted out on the stage; these are the novel’s most interesting aspects as the sheer dullness of these ladies’ existence – as people essentially discarded from Thai society – makes for tough reading because there is so little in what they do that will engage a reader. We often don’t expect to encounter such uninteresting everyday activity in a novel let alone on a stage, so it’s only the varieties of circumstantial self-reflection and analysis that Korbjitti puts a few of his characters through that will give Time any value. Does he succeed? Within such a deliberately uneventful book it’s the journey’s end here that matters, and I doubt I will read a book this year that has a better ending. Its conclusion was so unexpectedly moving, as well as being downright clever, that it left me speechless, making me pause for five minutes before I could do anything else. Time may have an empty vacuum at its heart, but it’s a worthwhile and rewarding experience and – after some further introspection – only a superficially hard journey getting there.
Chart Korbjitti-- supposedly one of Thailand's greatest modern novelists, and highly recommended to me by a Thai man trying to get in my pants at a Bangkok dive bar. While he didn't persuade me to switch teams, he did persuade me to read Time, so he at least scored one win.
And I was duly impressed. This is Thailand's answer to Samuel Beckett, a decrepit room full of decrepit people, some of whom are screaming about stolen money and monks and mentally retarded children and lost golden youths and the silver shadow of a lotus. The ending is one great question mark/joke-y something, and I still have no fucking clue what it means, but I know that I like it.
The story with an interesting structure - we watch a theater performance about one day in the lives of older people, who are placed in a hospital ward, and for various reasons forgotten by their relatives. The story is told by unnamed film director, who - while watching performances, goes back in his memories to some of the key moments of his life, and he thinks about death, aging and what it means to be a parent. Uneventful, mundane life is reduced on the moments from the past, and ... on waiting for a death. The narrative style is almost simple, purified, without excessive pathos and melodrama, but still, the story hits with full power and provokes readers' feelings and thoughts about their relationship to the parents and children, about the transience of life. An interesting idea, solid executed and absolutely worthy of attention.
A Thai filmmaker attends the performance of a play about the inner feeling of the elderly in his 60s. This play sets in the ward of an old people's home. Sheesh... kindda gloomy, ey?
I get a mixed feeling when I read the first pages. Those pages remind me of Beckett's Waiting for the Godot! They started out of no where and lead no where too. The only exception is that Korbjitti's characters show their feeling and pour their hearts out vividly.
The desperate old woman on stage which is voiced by a man in a cell who keeps shouting at intervals "There's nothing. There's absolutely nothing," is the example.
What I like the most from Korbjitti is clarity in conveying his message to the audience - which people may not see at the first glance in Beckett's Waiting for the Godot. His message is clear and loud: most part society turns a blind eye on these senior citizens who lost their youth, health, families, happiness, while waiting for their time to leave this world.
The book starts with the rise of the curtain and ends when the curtain falls. A perfect ending to complete the gloomy story and the uneasiness. Like what Korbjitti philosophically says;
This is a pretty good book about a Thai filmmaker in his 60s who attends the performance of a play about “the inner feelings of the elderly” set in the ward for ailing people of an old people’s home. The book starts with the rise of the curtain and ends when the curtain falls and alternates between a detailed presentation of what happens on stage, the movie director’s reflections on his own life and his ideas of how the scenes on stage would translate into a movie.
Summed up by critics as “the most boring play of the year”, the performance conveys a feeling of desolation through long moments of inaction, mundane activities like washing, feeding, sleeping, the upsetting smell of urine, the irritating tictacking of a clock. The hidden desperation of the old women on stage is voiced by a man in a cell who shouts at intervals “There’s nothing! There’s absolutely nothing!”. Sometimes a relative pops in and breaks the monotony, but for the most part society turns a blind eye on these people who lost their youth, health, families, happiness, and all they’ve got left is time.
Not a book that reaches the greatest heights of psychological exploration of old age, but far from a wasted effort.
At the core, this book is a play performance about a nursing home full of aging women, so there is already some built-in possibility of obvious didactism on mortality and life regrets. But the writer conjures up quite an audacious, engaging, productively unmooring structure of three point-of-views to tell it: 1) first-person pov of a midlife film-director watching from the audience and trying to relate to this play (with reminiscence of his own life), 2) film screenplay, from that director imagining how he might direct this play as a film himself, including camera movement instructions, and 3) third-person omniscient pov inside the play's story, plunging in depth the characterization and conflicts of the people in that nursing home. The whiplash between intimate pov and distancing effect from this structure proves very effective. Coupled with recurring cryptic but intuitive bits throughout (a son's rambling; an unseen male patient in his own safety cage alongsides the women's beds, who keeps yelling out at intervals), it builds to quite a haunting conclusion of both structural playfulness and bleak inevitability. 4.5/5
This book is innovative in how its written. It's largely from the perspective of a film director watching a play which has been described as 'the most boring play ever written'. He gives his opinion on what is happening in the play and even offers insights into how he would shoot it if he were in charge of converting it to the big screen. But it also fully immerses you in the unseen thoughts of the characters on stage as well to add a couple of narrative layers.
The play itself is about a group of old women in a terminally ill ward at the old people's home. It's mostly just them and 3 workers in the entire novel. It is interesting to get a view of an environment that most of us don't see (at least until we are older) and live a day in their daily lives. However, as the most boring play ever written, nothing much happens in the entire play and novel.
Read this book for the unique narrative layers, if you're afraid of death and old age, and to become aware of the inescapable hands of time.
I guess no one reads Thai literature (in English) because its the most outstanding in the world. We read because of an interest in Thai culture and society. This is a tedious story and the insights into Thai society are few and far between. Fascinating when you find them - but still few and far between. Similar to Chart's other book The Judgement (and similar to so much of modern day Thai attempts at story telling in the movies and TV) - the interesting themes are buried deep in unnecessary repetition, obscure dialogue and divergent unconnected themes.
This is a blow by blow account of "the most boring play ever written," itself detailing the minutiae of the lives of a group of dejected old ladies and the staff who look after them. The narrator is a film director, and the account is interspersed with his reflections on life, death, tragedy, loneliness, and his thoughts on how he would shoot the play as a movie.
Somehow, the ingredients above make a very compelling novel. I really enjoyed it.
A Thai film director goes to the theatre to see what has been billed as Bangkok’s most boring play of the year, in which half a dozen elderly women live their usual uneventful day in a care home for the aged. That may sound like a very dull premise for a novel, and perhaps it is, but deliberately so. Time earned Korbjitti his second SEA Write Award, and to find out why means ploughing through two hundred pages of rather mundane dialogue mixed with some minor personal crises. There are some winning passages in which Korbjitti gets people to look at their own lives in relation to what’s being acted out on the stage; these are the novel’s most interesting aspects as the sheer dullness of these ladies’ existence – as people essentially discarded from Thai society – makes for tough reading because there is so little in what they do that will engage a reader. We often don’t expect to encounter such uninteresting everyday activity in a novel let alone on a stage, so it’s only the varieties of circumstantial self-reflection and analysis that Korbjitti puts a few of his characters through that will give Time any value. Does he succeed? Within such a deliberately uneventful book it’s the journey’s end here that matters, and I doubt I will read a book this year that has a better ending. Its conclusion was so unexpectedly moving, as well as being downright clever, that it left me speechless, making me pause for five minutes before I could do anything else. Time may have an empty vacuum at its heart, but it’s a worthwhile and rewarding experience and – after some further introspection – only a superficially hard journey getting there.