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“A Human-Ghost Relationship Perfectly Fits Within a Queer Framework”: Ratchapoom Boonbunchachoke on his Cannes-Premiering A Useful Ghost
A Useful Ghost Ratchapoom Boonbunchachoke’s Cannes-premiering A Useful Ghost is a multilayered cinematic extravaganza (and feat) that manages to seamlessly combine several deep themes: toxic pollution, soulless capitalism, the perils of prioritizing self-interest over the good of the community, and the beauty of unconventional romantic relationships. And that’s all while doing so in the guise of a love story equal parts poignant and bonkers involving a man named March and his recently deceased wife Nat, who has now taken the form of a very sleek vacuum cleaner.
Just prior to the film’s Cannes’ Critics Week premiere, Filmmaker caught up with the Bangkok-based writer-director to learn all about crafting a film that also takes on Thailand’s bloody colonial and postcolonial history (as well as the erasing of that history) while leaving ample running time for a knock-down-drag-out fight between haunted household appliances.
Filmmaker: I read that your initial inspiration for the story was the legend of Mae Nak, which centers on a ghost and her living husband, and which has a lot of cultural significance in Thailand. You also point out that, “Dust here doesn’t only mean airborne particles but also means people who lack voices or power to determine their own lives, who are easily swept, moved, and wiped off at the ruling class’s will.” Given these extremely insider aspects, not to mention the film’s references to a local dialect and the 2010 massacre, I’m curious to hear if you envisioned this for a Thai audience or whether you even had a specific viewership in mind.
Boonbunchachoke: I think the ideal viewer for the film would be someone who is passionate about vacuum cleaners (kidding!) I actually believe the audiences that would comprehend the film most deeply — its sociopolitical subtext and humor — would be people who enjoy weird unconventional films and also follow or know about Thai politics. So you’re either Thai and enjoy independent films, or you’re a non-Thai cinephile who’s interested in the country — both could work well. Or even if you know nothing about Thailand but simply enjoy watching strange films, you might still connect with it.
I always picture myself making a film as if creating a supermarket where there’s everything for all customers. A customer doesn’t need to take every item from every shelf (no shopping cart would be large enough anyway), they just take what appeals to them and go home. That alone makes them happy. I don’t think audiences need to take or “get” everything in the film for them to enjoy it, connecting with just a small part can be enough.
As a filmmaker from a country whose modern history isn’t widely known internationally, it’s challenging to decide what to explain and what to leave implicit. Of course I want the film to be appreciated by international audiences as well, but at some points over-explaining would become tedious. I remember watching films from countries whose history or politics I knew nothing about, but if I was sufficiently engaged I would research more afterwards. If not, I’d simply let it go. I think something similar could happen with my film. With its main character’s journey, along with its formalist aesthetics and playful structure, international audiences could enjoy it without necessarily understanding the Thai context. And if they connect with it, they might be inspired to research later. I believe world cinema truly compels us to discover more about our world.
Filmmaker: Could you discuss your artistic influences? The film’s aesthetics seem familiarly Western as well.
Boonbunchachoke: I’m influenced by global cinema in general, but Western cinema has had a significant impact on me. I’m particularly inspired by filmmakers whose works are often described as dreamy – like Manoel de Oliveira, Jacques Rivette, João César Monteiro, Otar Iosseliani, Raúl Ruiz, Eugène Green and Chantal Akerman; and younger queer directors like Alain Guiraudie and João Pedro Rodrigues.
I’m particularly fond of how radical and intentionally uncinematic Oliveira’s and Monteiro’s films can be. I recall reading that Monteiro would occasionally sabotage his frame composition just to make his shots not too perfectly cinematic. I like that way of thinking. I also remember the first time watching I’m Going Home by Oliveira — I was stunned that this was made by someone in his 90s. It still felt so fresh, unique and youthful!
Apart from these European directors, East Asian filmmakers have also had a profound influence, particularly Hou Hsiao-hsien, Nagisa Oshima and Shuji Terayama.
Filmmaker: The film is refreshingly subversive in that it focuses on a hetero man forced to undergo electroshock treatments to keep him from his late wife, who’s now in the form of a vacuum cleaner – basically queer characters, in the unusual sense of the word, being condemned for their forbidden love. (Indeed, the man’s gay younger brother’s relationship is actually less queer and more acceptable to the family due to the fact that his partner is Australian and thus financially “useful.”) Which makes me curious to hear, especially since you’ve spoken of filmmakers as ghosts’ “allies,” able to give them words and form, if you think of ghosts as part of the LGBTQ+ community, or perhaps as a further marginalized class.
Boonbunchachoke: Yes, of course, a human-ghost relationship perfectly fits within a queer framework. I’m glad you mentioned this. Ghosts represent marginalized people since they are victims of past injustice who refuse to disappear.
The scene where March is forced to undergo electroshock treatment reminds me of what many “sexually deviant” people endured in the mid-20th century. They were subjected to electroshock therapy in hopes of “conversion” — similar to March’s situation, where the goal is to sever his relationship with his dead wife.
This is one of the ideas I wanted to explore. The parallel between queer and supernatural transgression runs throughout the film. Both can occupy positions as either the oppressed or the oppressor. I think we’re living in a time where some segments of the LGBTQ+ community are being co-opted into positions of normativity, becoming part of the mechanisms that help produce suppression. Similarly with ghosts — there are ghosts who still scare and haunt people, and also others who help the living erase other ghosts.
Filmmaker: In addition to your own personal projects, you also write for commercial features and TV, work as a film critic, and teach film theory and scriptwriting to college students. Have you faced government pressure in any of these roles.?Can you make films that, say, criticize the military and still retain your university position?
Boonbunchachoke: I’m actually a guest lecturer and not a full-time teacher. My educational career is very small compared to other professors. And to be honest, film teachers are really not their target. I mainly work as a screenwriter with part-time teaching on the side, so it doesn’t really affect me.
In fact, there are many university professors who openly and directly criticize the government while maintaining their positions. A certain degree of freedom is permitted in academia, though we remain aware of the possibility of political repercussions that some professors might face.
Filmmaker: This film is part of a series you’re working on that investigates the “colonial history and post-colonial situation of Thailand.” So could you talk a bit about other elements you’re hoping to unearth? How far along is the project?
Boonbunchachoke: I think A Useful Ghost might be the last film of this project and I will move on to something else, but I’m still intrigued by how the regime deploys its power whether colonial or not.
Talking about the colonial history of Thailand might be a bit strange as the country always prides itself as the sole non-colonial country in Southeast Asia. Yet even though the country was never a formal colony of any Western empire, it was nevertheless heavily embedded in the imperial colonial network of the 19th century, which left profound cultural and political impacts. So we can hardly claim to have passed through colonialism unscathed — not to mention the American imperial influence during the Cold War era, which still strongly resonates in contemporary Thailand.
There are actually several specific terms among Thai studies scholars to define what happened in Thailand: crypto-colonialism, semi-colonialism, quasi-colonialism, etc. But my choice, which for me best captures this sense in the country, would be internal colonialism. It’s not an outside power that holds the most power but the local ruling class.
