UNITY THROUGH CULTURE. Watertown (MA): Documentary Educational Resources [distributor], 2011. 1 DVD (59 min.) US$219.00, Institution use; US$19.95, Home use. In Tok Pisin, Tok Baluan, and English dialogue with English subtitles. http://www.der.org/films/unity-through-culture.html
STORI TUMBUNA: Ancestors’ Tales. By Paul Wolffram, producer/director/cinematographer; story devised by Patrick Toarbussi, et al; Handmade Productions Aotearoa presents. Watertown (MA): Documentary Educational Resources [distributor], c2012. 1 DVD (90 min.) US$245.00, Institution use; US$24.95, Home use. In English, Tok Pisin and Siar-Lak with English subtitles; closed-captioned in English. http://www.der.org/films/stori-tumbuna.html
Indigenous populations around the world have long self-consciously identified ancestral “traditions,” along with cognate terms such as “custom” and “culture,” as the foundation of their identities in a globalizing world. “Tradition” is often portrayed as the cultural David standing in brave opposition to the Western values undergirding globalization that threaten to homogenize cultural diversity. Yet projects intended to defend and strengthen indigenous traditions often subtly—and not so subtly—succumb to a related homogenization: a flattening of the distinctions between different local groups as they conform to regional stereotypes of “culture.” The two films under review here reveal different facets of tradition projects in two Papua New Guinea communities. Less directly, but just as importantly, they illustrate the ways that foreign researchers and film makers are themselves engaged in the process of affirming “tradition” in the face of the erosion of cultural distinctiveness.
Unity Through Culture deals with the tricky themes of tradition and change directly. It documents a six-day cultural festival organized on Baluan Island in Manus Province between Christmas and New Year’s in 2006. Cultural shows displaying local dancing and art forms date back to the early years of the colonial administration, usually in celebration of the opening of public buildings, church feast days or national holidays. The long-running Goroka Show in the Papua New Guinea highlands demonstrated the potential of cultural festivals to draw tourists as well as to engage young people with the more colourful aspects of their traditions and have been popping up across the country in recent years. The Balopa Cultural Festival is the brainchild of Soanin Kilangit, an enthusiastic advocate for the resurrection of local culture not only for its sake alone but as a way to attract outside attention to the region and, over time, entice tourists to visit. The festival has the full backing of the Manus provincial government including the Governor, who opens the festivities. The organizers are thrilled to have a Danish film crew present to promote the festival to Europeans.
The film includes wonderful scenes of festival dance and drumming performances as well as a lovely choral piece celebrating local heritage in the closing credits. The excitement felt by the young performers, many of them school students, is enthralling. Yet Otto and Suhr make it clear from the beginning that they are not interested in providing a simple promotional video. Indeed, the documentary is consistently, if gently, subversive. Early in the film, we are introduced to Pokowai Pwaril, a village elder who draws a sharp distinction between “custom”—which comes from the ancestors—and “culture,” which comes from the West. His complaint is given some validity as we learn how the various dances have been modified for the festival in part because no one clearly remembers how they are to be performed but also to make them more exciting for the audience. The film visually underlines the point: dance groups performing on a mounted stage before a panel of judges, awnings advertising Pepsi in the background, and (especially) a discomforting beauty pageant featuring young bare-breasted girls speaking into the microphone about their embrace of culture. In one of the most poignant moments of the film, a string band sings a warning to the promoters of culture not becoming “slaves of tourists.”
Keenly aware of the complaints, the festival promoters argue that to survive, culture must adapt and change. They are speaking in defense of the “improved” dances which have angered some elders and, for different reasons, church pastors. Yet the film reveals the continuing innovative operation of “custom” at less self-aware registers. Pwaril suffers an accident which he and others attribute to the ancestors being unhappy with tensions in the village; a spat between organizers that threatens to derail the festival is dealt with by a compensation payment of a pig followed by a public shaming and reconciliation ceremony; care is taken to make sure all dance groups and candidates for Queen receive prizes and that the gap in prize money between the winners and everyone else is minimal. While the performances at times take on the features of ubiquitous Pacific Island floor shows, the film depicts a story that could only unfold in its particulars in a rural Melanesian setting.
Stori Tumbuna: Ancestors’ Tales takes a very different approach to the theme of tradition and change. Unabashedly romantic, it presents the story of a young New Zealand ethnomusicologist who has traveled to live for three years among the Lak people of southern New Ireland, “one of the most isolated and unique corners of the earth.” In the opening minutes, Paul Wolffram speaks of being “welcomed into the lives of these remarkably generous and curious people.” The narration then takes an onerous tone: “I also became enmeshed in events that resulted in bloodshed, death, and threatened the existence of the entire community. What’s more, I was held responsible.” For the next fifteen minutes or so, we follow Paul as he participates in ordinary village activities, records traditional stories and music, and travels along the coast to witness the famed mortuary ceremonials of this area. But soon a dark note enters the story. An old man has disappeared in the forest, leaving only his bag behind. Villagers are convinced that he’s been taken by the “Song,” a wild man of the forest. Paul is skeptical, but impressed by the seriousness with which the Lak consult their elders and customary knowledge to work out what has happened and what needs to be done, he becomes obsessed. His determination to capture the Song on video leads to a climatic confrontation in a hidden jungle valley in the dead of night.
Spoiler alert! While the mythology of the Song is real and common in much of rural Papua New Guinea (albeit with many local variations), Paul’s adventure is purely fictional: a contrivance worked out between the film maker and his hosts so that audiences can experience “their mythology the way they wish you to understand it.” And this underlines a larger theme. The gifts of the ancestors—song, dance and mythology—infuse the lives of the people. The culture is living.
It’s a good message and a clever means of delivering it. And the film itself is quite lovely with lingering shots of the gorgeous countryside, lively people and beautiful wildlife (particularly insects), all set to a compelling soundtrack of local music. I suspect, however, that it works best for people with little knowledge of Papua New Guinea. On the first viewing, I found the unfolding story increasingly implausible—not that Lak people believe in the existence of the Song but that they would risk engaging with it as they do in the film. The denouement didn’t come as much of a surprise. On the second viewing, I found myself bothered by how much of the film is dominated by Paul’s story. There is no doubt of his admiration for the Lak people and their way of life, but we learn surprisingly little about even the core subjects of Wolffram’s research: their music, oral traditions and rituals. Finally, I wonder about the exoticism of the film. By Papua New Guinea standards, southern New Ireland is not all that remote and signs of “modernity” can be spotted throughout the film, although mostly ignored. One is left to wonder how the “living culture” of the Lak people articulates with the world of money, schools, churches, healthcare, the lure of the towns, extensive clear-cut logging in the region and other challenges of modern life.
Stori Tumbuna presents an engaging if somewhat simple introduction to rural Melanesian life which should appeal to undergraduates. Unfortunately, at 83 minutes, it is too long for many classes. Unity Through Culture presents a more sophisticated and complex picture of the contradictions entailed in the celebration of cultural heritage by and for Indigenous peoples. It would work well in classes focused on the Pacific as well as courses dealing with heritage, economic development and globalization.
John Barker
The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada
pp. 389-392