Monks, doctors and dentists float in and out of Thai director Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s acclaimed Syndromes and a Century, but the point of it all (if there is one) never becomes clear
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Syndromes and a Century opens with a beautifully paced exchange between a doctor and a young soldier who’s hoping to get a job at the hospital. Apparently, whether you prefer squares, triangles or circles, and if you know what DDT stands for, determines your success as a doctor.
The film then becomes a series of lackadaisical scenes around a country hospital, where the sterile atmosphere of the hospital contrasts with the rich, green countryside. The monks seek salves for their joint pain and hope to ease the doctors’ weary minds with homemade concoctions of their own. A dentist spends his evenings singing Thai country music and seeks spiritual advice from a monk. Characters stare blankly at each other. Later, the film turns in on itself and follows a nebbish doctor in a city hospital (who, in one hilarious scene, seems overjoyed and shocked that he gets an erection from making out with a girl). Here, human relationships take a hit amongst the machinery and smog.
However, to say that Syndromes is about the soul-crushing realities of the city would be generous. Courtship, loneliness, guilt and any other modern trapping you can think of — it’s all in here, but I suspect that half of what the director intended made it to the screen, and the other is still stuck in his head.
The film is loaded with symbolism, often repeating the same images (just in case you didn’t catch them the first time), but continually fires a series of metaphorical blanks. It’s easy to be distracted by shots of an eclipse and Buddha statues, but it’s more a sleight of hand — a trick when the characters become too lost and the film doesn’t know where to take them. The gorgeous landscape does most of the director’s work, and the ponderous scenes of city life (markets, flower shops, people exercising outside) are fascinating.
To what end? To director Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s credit, he doesn’t seem concerned, but the film begs for some release. What’s going on seems at once blaringly obvious and irritatingly cryptic. For a film seemingly concerned with the soul, its own is ineffectual and absent.
