Mouly Surya’s Marlina the Murderer in Four Acts opens on a wide shot of a windswept hillscape. A lone motorcyclist rides towards the camera as an equally lonesome trumpet sounds its lament on the soundtrack. Only the traditional drum keeping time suggests that we are somewhere other than the American west.
As a guitar kicks in, channelling Ennio Morricone, the motorcycle moves across the landscape towards a modest cottage, where its rider dismounts. He enters the cottage without invitation and tells the woman he meets inside, Marlina, that he’s the advance party of a group of bandits. They want her money and livestock, he says, and “if we have time, to sleep with you”. Would she be so kind as to cook for seven? Chicken soup will do. It isn’t until we’re well into the scene—think John Ford shot by Yasujiro Ozu—that we realise the woman’s mummified husband is sitting upright in the corner.
By the end of the film’s first titular act, his won’t be the only dead body in the house, and Marlina the murderer will be trekking across the Indonesian island of Sumba—bare and uninviting, so unlike what comes to mind when we think of the archipelago—to turn herself in to the authorities. She’ll be carrying the motorcyclist’s head with her as material evidence.
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Read the full article in The Weekend Australian.
