Features – Advisor

Branching from the roots

Sebastien Adnot lives, breathes and oozes reggae. With his lax stance and heavily accented, languid tongue, he could easily have teleported direct from Zion itself. Except that Adnot was, in fact, born in France and is now a proud Phnom Penh expat. Despite being located several thousand miles from the motherland, Adnot is considered by many to be the father of reggae in the Kingdom. Best known as the bassist of Dub Addiction, Adnot is now exploring all new terrain, both personal and musical, with Papa Dub, the recently formed collaboration with percussionist Kacem (KCM) Nayabinghi.

While keeping true to the broader musical genre of the eponymous DA, Papa Dub strips it all back to a more minimalist sound, accompanying live performances with hypnotic visual projections. In this sense, the band could almost be described as the inverse of DA, whose shows are a visual performance within themselves, thanks to their innumerable, animated onstage band members.

“When you go to see Dub Addiction, you expect a show of seven or eight people on stage. We have the mentality of keeping it as massive as possible,” Adnot says. “Papa Dub shows are much more intimate, and reflect my own sensitivity and my vision of Cambodia.”

The camaraderie between bassist/vocalist Adnot and percussionist Nayabinghi is tangible during their live shows. It’s a connection that undoubtedly contributes to the pair’s ability to conjure a room full of harmonious energy and mellow vibes.

“Kacem is one of the few people I call ‘brother.’ We’ve know each other for more than 10 years now, since we met in Marseille. Having a brother next to you is a must,” Adnot says.

A reggae virtuoso to the core, Adnot champions the ideal of peacemaking and good-vibe-spreading. It’s a mentality that pervades all facets of his and his band mates’ lives, from musical composition to personal relations. It therefore comes as little surprise that the conception of Adnot’s solo venture last September was embraced with nothing but warmth and encouragement by the DA crew.

“We always give full support to each other. So, for my first Papa Dub solo concert at Equinox, all the team was there to give strength and positive vibes,” Adnot says. “Papa Dub was actually my nickname in Dub Addiction, and I’m still technically the bass player with the band.”

Since forming DA around four years ago, Adnot has gained enough hindsight to reflect astutely upon his personal and musical growth since the band’s early days. Interestingly, his most immediate observations are perhaps more resonant among longstanding expats than musicians, specifically.

“I formed Dub Addiction in 2011. At this time, I was living in the Kingdom for one year. So the major improvement since then is my greater understanding of Khmer culture, which naturally affects my personal and professional life,” Adnot says. “As a musician, I learned to be more patient. That’s a precious step for all barang here.”

Perhaps contributing to his comprehension of the culture is Adnot’s affinity with the Rastafari movement. When asked to draw fundamental parallels between Rasta and Khmer culture, Adnot doesn’t hesitate to launch emphatically into an exhaustive list. This clearly isn’t the first time he’s thought about it.

“Everything [is similar]! Climate, behaviours, sounds, systems – even the tuk tuks, boats and buses here are green, yellow and red,” Adnot says. “In Rastafarian religion, green represents the homeland and it is a call to action and a reminder that the Earth needs nurturing and protecting. Yellow represents the sun, light and warmth. The light of Rastafari similarly shines on all of us, providing a source of one love, one light for everyone to share. Red symbolises the blood. Red is a cry for equality and fairness that stems from oppression and struggle. Land, love and community. Reggae carries good vibes and values: Khmer people are Reggae, they just don’t know it yet!”

Adnot believes this notion is demonstrable at Papa Dub shows, which continue to attract a sizeable crowd of interested locals.

“Papa Dub is still a more intimate project, but I can see that Khmer audiences react far better than the Barang ones during shows. That’s my biggest reward.”

Having enjoyed touring with DA at various venues and festivals within the Kingdom and beyond, Adnot believes performing locally in both bands involves its own unique set of benefits and challenges.

“Playing in Phnom Penh is comfortable because the audience knows me and I know the venues. Plus, I’m not far from home and my family after the gig .The most challenging part is renewing your music and keeping it fresh, so the people don’t get bored after a couple of shows.” Adnot adds, “Performing everywhere is the same, though, in the sense that we, as musicians, should play for everyone the best we can.”

The low maintenance ragamuffin clearly practices this principle. Even with his pick of Southeast Asia’s best venues at his fingertips, Adnot would just as happily play to enthusiastic passersby: “I enjoying playing everywhere, but the street is my favourite,” he says.

After further musing, he adds, with equally modest reasoning, “I would like to perform at the Cambodian Music Festival in Los Angeles. I think it means something to be invited to perform in the US for any musician around the world, and it means something else to be chosen to represent the Kingdom.”

Adnot’s loyalty to his adopted country punctuates his outlook on almost every matter of concern. It’s a mentality that’s understandably accentuated when it comes to Phnom Penh’s music scene. Having watched it grow since he arrived, he remains optimistic that it will continue to do so.

“The music scene [here] exploded since I first arrived, from five to 80 bands. The new Khmer generation of musicians are learning fast and growing in numbers very quickly. Meanwhile, more and more skilled foreigner musicians pass by or settle here,” Adnot says. “Phnom Penh has got a unique potential of creativity because of its own history. It will become the “Pearl of Asia” again, I have no doubt about it. This is the place to be.”

It certainly seems Adnot has found his yard here in the Kingdom. With a strong devotion to a growing musical culture, Papa Dub appears to be in for the long haul. This year, the duo plan to spread their rasta love and smooth vibrations to intimate audiences, delivering stimulating audiovisual live sets and a few new releases.

“I’m currently working on my Papa Dub 2.0 version, expected to be released in September. Until then, I will release a couple of new tunes to give a sip of the new flavour,” Adnot says.

Until then, the duo will continue to gig around town, with their upcoming gig at Sharky’s involving the use of “sound, sight and smell.” The sight and sound is explicable enough. But smell? With no further explanation given, fans will just have to wait until the night to find out whether or not this is just a PC way to introduce newcomers to the whole rasta experience.

Speaking of high (what?), Adnot wraps it up with a sentiment that’ll make you cheese from ear to ear.
“Papa Dub is the dream itself. Taking on a challenging solo project is the biggest high.”

Papa Dub performs at 9pm, Friday June 26 at Sharky Bar, #126 St. 130.

Portrait of a wasteland playground

Wandering through the art-filled streets of the Boeung Kak precinct, it’s hard to ignore the immense, artificial sand plain lumped dissonantly in the backdrop. Awkward-looking, but ominous in its meaning, the barren stretch of land is a result of the 99-year lease that was signed to private development company Shukaku Inc. in 2007. The lake proceeded to be filled with sand in the following year, resulting in heavy flooding of the area and the eviction of thousands of locals from their homes. Yet, in the shadow of a recently erected skyscraper in a nearby neighbourhood, children “lucky” enough to remain in their hometown today play happily in the giant sandpit, while older siblings motocross in the dunes.

Four photographers capture the incongruous landscape and the impact of development on the Boeung Kak community and its social dynamics in a new photographic exhibition at Bophana Centre. Three Lives of Boeung Kak illustrates three key aspects of the area’s ongoing transmutation, as seen through the lenses of photographers Julie Bardeche, Vincent de Wilde, Elinor Fry and De Shreng Lim.

An incongruous landscape

Community efforts have proven somewhat efficacious in regenerating the neighbourhood after severe water damage. Organised cleanups and an injection of art and regular music events continue to draw visitors back to the once lively backpacker area. However, the precinct hasn’t entirely shaken the ghetto vibe it adopted since the filling of the lake and mass exodus of the community, with many locals still clearly living an impoverished existence in its wake.

French-born Bardeche explains, “The ‘three lives’ title represents the three angles through which the four of us look at the lake. It’s also evocative of the past, present and future times – I wanted to create a linkage between visual and time dimensions. Vincent’s photos mostly feature life along the railway, to the Southwest of Boeung Kak: a past or soon-to-disappear aspect of that part of town. De’s focus is mainly on the present life on the lake and the sand dunes.”

Bardeche and Fry’s third angle initially intended to focus purely on the street art that has emerged in Boeung Kak in the last few years. As they spent more time in the area, however, she found herself becoming immersed in the lives that lay beyond the graffiti-sprayed facades.

“My photos were first focused on the interactions between the street art and the inhabitants. Nevertheless, as I walked around the lake, I became increasingly interested in life in the sand dunes,” Bardeche says. “In particular, I was struck by the contrasts between the simplicity of the residents’ lifestyle and the growth of high-rise buildings in the background, which foreshadow the future of the area.”

Consequently, the photographers all highlight the stark contrast between the life of the lake residents and the rapid development of the nearby town to some degree within their work. Many of Bardeche’s photos centre around children who play in the sand with smiling faces and torn clothes – cranes and skyscrapers all the while encroaching on the horizon.

Lim encapsulates this incongruity further as he describes his interactions with the young men featured in his Boys of Boeung Kak series.

“I asked them about what it was like living there, and what it was like before the lake was filled. Many were unable to answer. Perhaps they had forgotten what it was like living next to the lake. Perhaps they had become used to the barren landscape that was now their playground,” Lim says. “But some were able to conjure up thoughts and memories of better times. One boy, Panet, age 16, said to me, rather despondently, ‘I don’t have money, because of empty water.’”

And yet, 20-year-old Yong Savon answered, pointing toward the cranes in the distance, that he wanted to be an engineer. “I thought it was poignant that [he] aspired to be that generation that would build Cambodia,” Lim says.

Poignant, perhaps. Though, if anything, the response seems unexpected – if not completely disparate – to that which you’d expect from an individual whose livelihood has been severely threatened by the implementation of such development practices.

Bernache, meanwhile, spent her time predominantly among the older residents who were relocated within the area. Most are parents of the children who now play in the very foundations of their family’s enduring despair. Old enough to remember the gritty details of the relocation process, the outlook of these individuals is justifiably more harrowed than that of their kin.

“They lost their business and struggle to earn a living,” Bernache says. “They feel injustice, sadness and worry about their future and that of their children and grandchildren. “I believe that they mostly have not been able to adapt to their new situation yet. Some initiatives seek to provide the residents with alternatives – education, housing, legal counselling, jobs and ideas. But it is a slow process and it’s also dependent on how the constructions will evolve.”

United by art

Bernache’s time spent shooting the activity and interactions of the sand dune kids and their parents has paradoxically allowed her greater insight into the significant role played by her initial subject of interest.

“Street art has become an increasingly important part of the life around the lake, as benevolent artists seek to revive the area and attract attention to the neighbourhood,” she says. “This raises funds for local NGOs, which in turn seeks to secure the future of the lakeside area.”

While Bernache does not speak for all locals in the area, many have demonstrated their appreciation of the economic injection and increased traffic afforded by ongoing creative activities. Bernache adds that increased involvement of local artists could add further value to the initiatives.

“I believe in this initiative, especially since it has involved quite a few Khmer artists already. It has certainly attracted positive attention to the lakeside area and the issues faced by its residents,” she says. “Quite a few people did not know about it until they came to an urban art event there. I just hope that more Khmer people will get involved, as the crowd is mostly international. This is, I suppose, just a matter of time and capacity building.”

Simone Art Bistrot is an exemplary model reflecting the growing efforts to regenerate the area through tasteful street art and inclusive music and art events. French owners Ludi Labille and Marj Arnaud were key players in the clean-up efforts following the initial major floods, while their bistro-gallery has earned its crust as a creative mecca both within the neighbourhood and beyond.

Both Lubille and Arnaud have already noticed a rise in local artists who are involved in the beautification of the walls surrounding Simone Art, as well as increased participation in their events. The recent Art in Solidarity festival, designed to unite the community through positive and creative action, saw a mix of local and international artists bearing spray cans and sharing original ideas.

“Solidarity is necessary for us to evolve as a community,” Labille says. “We are collaborating with many different artists and supporters who share this vision and we have plans for future collaborations that will help develop the community and encourage art. It’s about developing art and being human. If we come together we can do great things.”

Three Lives photographer de Wilde echoes the significance of solidarity in his photographs of life by the railway.

“With my photographs, I want to show those glimpses of life and positivity beyond the appalling poorness of this community and the changes occasioned by the filling of the lake nearby,” he says. “Against all odds, for those who remained along the railway, there is somehow a quality of life there, likely due to solidarity, unity and intense social life, like in some Cambodian rural areas.”

De Wilde’s photos focus on maintaining compassion, hope and optimism in times of intense turmoil.

“If viewers look at the community living along the railway with more humanism, empathy and positiveness, I would be happy,” he says. “My photos aim at being both aesthetic and positive. I dislike ‘miserabilism’ and prefer reflecting reasons of hope even in the most sordid conditions.”

While Bernache shares this view, she makes it clear that this should not detract from the grave reality reflected through her series.

“I hope that [viewers] will get a feel of the uncertainties surrounding the future of this area, highlighted by the flaky and ephemeral happiness of the activities and art depicted in the photos,” she says.

Three Lives of Boeung Kak opens 6:30pm, Friday June 19 at Bophana Centre, #64 St. 200.

DIY or die

Riz Farooqi, vocalist for the Hong Kong hardcore band King Ly Chee, should have more chips on his shoulder than a poker table at Naga World. Riz is Pakistani by ethnic heritage and his parents are devout Muslims. Yet, despite being Pakistani and growing up in China, English is Riz’s first and native language. He has never fit into the society in which he grew up, and he’s used to having to struggle with people who don’t understand him.

It is no mere coincidence that his band recently released an album titled CNHC. The CN stands for China, the HC stands for – you guessed it – hardcore. It’s a hardcore affectation that’s been scrawled as graffiti on bathroom walls or merchandised at shows as t-shirts. It was used first (or if not first, then most famously) in New York as NYHC.

Hardcore is a musical genre that formed as an offshoot of punk. It still shares some commonality with traditional punk, but over the years it mutated and evolved to the point where it had its own distinct sound. By the late ‘80s there was a definite metal influence on hardcore’s style of guitar-playing, as well as its haircuts. Today, hardcore has its own family tree of sub-genres, some of them arguably more popular than hardcore ever has been. Metalcore, for instance, likely has a lot more current listeners than traditional hardcore.

King Ly Chee has been an active band since 1999, with four albums out and a number of tours of Asia under its belt. When the group started out 16 years ago, there was no awareness of hardcore in Hong Kong, and very little going on generally with underground or alternative music. Riz first got into hardcore when he attended the University of Massachusetts at Amherst in 1994.

In that same year, I was in America, running an all-ages DIY venue for punk and hardcore shows with the singer of the band Bloodline, which headlined that first show I’d attended. I was a bit precocious, without a doubt, but hardcore is a participatory culture. It requires its fans to be the creators of the music or the organisers of the shows, because if they don’t take it upon themselves to do it, nobody else will. There’s no real money in it, and it has little mass appeal or commercial potential. DIY as an ideology isn’t about home improvement. The Do It Yourself ethic is about having an independent streak – about creating instead of just contemplating – and it is often accompanied by an anti-capitalist conviction that music (and art in general) should be created for the sake of self-expression, not just to make money.

With that in mind, how exactly does one go about growing a music scene into something vibrant, exciting, and sustained by the efforts of the fans? Riz shared his thoughts on what he believes is necessary to develop a more active underground music scene in Cambodia. He’d be the first to tell you that he hasn’t achieved the total results he’d hoped for in Hong Kong to date, but his 16 years of experience nonetheless give him a great deal of insight into the subject.

1. We need more bands.

“The best thing to do is to get more bands started,” Riz says. “Then those bands will inspire even more people to start their own bands. The more bands you get going the more they will want to get better than the next band as a way of friendly competition and that helps improve songwriting and raises the standards. As these bands play shows together, over time, a community forms around them.”

When Riz asked for my help in setting up King Ly Chee with a show here in Phnom Penh, my first thought was: who the hell do I get to play with them? While shows with bands from disparate genres can be fun and are a good way to cross-pollinate the fan bases of those different genres and groups, the most effective way to get people to show up for a touring band that they aren’t familiar with is to give them strong local support in the form of a local band that already has a following. And, in order to maximise the possibility that the local band’s fans will in turn become fans of the touring act, they should have a similar sound.

For this reason, I asked Sliten6ix to open as they are, if not hardcore precisely, the most well-known “heavy” band in Cambodia. They have also been more or less defunct for over a year now, after they parted ways with their original guitarist. In the intervening year, the bassist also left to join another band. Sliten6ix, in order to play, needed a bassist and guitarist. We managed to get it done, but having to bring a band out of retirement just to put a bill together for a show speaks volumes about the current state of alternative/underground music in Cambodia.

2. These bands need to write and play their own songs. Covers should be a fun rarity, not the entire set list.

“Cover songs are not your songs,” Riz says. “No matter how much you can connect to someone else’s song, it’s still someone else’s song. So when you’re playing someone else’s song and the crowd is going wild, you have to realise how much cooler it would be if the crowd was going wild screaming the words to a song whose words came from your heart, based on your feelings and thoughts.”

Cover bands do not encourage the growth of a music scene in the same manner as bands playing their own original music. They can be fun to watch and entertaining and all that, but some kid isn’t going to watch you play a Beatles tune and think to themself, “I want to be like THAT guy!” They are going to think, “I want to be like John Lennon, and so does that guy!” They come away with the impression that live music is for rank amateurs who don’t even know how to write their own songs. They aren’t watching John Lennon perform live, they do not get to meet him after the show and talk about other bands that John Lennon likes, and it doesn’t matter how note perfect your cover is, because you aren’t him or Paul McCartney or George Harrison. Hell, you’re not even Ringo. Not even close. Those guys are all still remote as the Gods perched on Mount Olympus to a bunch of kids looking to be inspired. And in order to inspire kids to form their own bands, we need to do so ourselves.

3. Should teens be hanging out in dive bars? Even in Cambodia?“

Once you’ve got bands going you gotta find a place to play,” Riz says. “Then book your own shows, put out your own music, get it up online and spread the word. There’s a reason people outside of Cambodia don’t know anything about Cambodian heavy music – and it’s up to YOU guys to change that.”

Teenagers who are 18 years old can go wherever they like. But it’s better if they are exposed to the live music scene a few years earlier than that, if possible. The existence of a safe, clean, welcoming, and wholesome all-ages music venue willing to let bands play, whose music is none of the above, is perhaps an unachievable pipe-dream. But with the number of NGOs operating here, you’re telling me that not one of them has any kind of community centre that they’ve opened in Phnom Penh? Nothing like that? Perhaps somebody could start an NGO, solicit donations internationally, pay themselves a salary out of those donations, and use the rest to open a community centre that has a performance space where bands could play, including teenagers’ newly formed bands. Just a thought, if anybody out there is tired of teaching.

4. What kind of bands do we need more of?

“The ‘sound’ doesn’t matter as much as the heart and attitude,” says Riz. “I’ve seen some pretty amazing bands in the States that absolutely were hardcore at heart, if not in their sound.”

It would be nice to see any kind of bands forming, so long as they’re playing original songs. Personally, I would like to hear and see more music from the extreme or alternative genres being played. But ultimately, as Riz says, it doesn’t matter so much what a band sounds like, rather, how the band thinks and how they do things. Are they independent? Passionate about what they believe in and their music? It doesn’t matter so much whether the music generated by all of these young pioneers is hip hop or hardcore. It’s more important to the future of arts in the city that it be original and – hopefully sooner rather than later – actually good.

King Ly Chee will play at 8pm, Wednesday June 17 at Show Box, #11 St. 330 with Sliten6ix as part of their Asia tour.

Taking the ride down Fury Road

Who killed the world?

Do you regularly ask yourself, “Where’s the world heading?” Friends and family may tell you that this is morbid, pessimistic or that Earth is doomed anyway, so why bother? But if you are asking yourself this question you obviously give a damn and maybe, just maybe, you are being – god forbid – unashamedly optimistic.

While we are currently being ravaged by war, genocide, drought, famine, ice storms, extinction and the rapid depletion of our natural resources, there is, way off on the horizon, a glimmer of hope. A hope that perhaps we will find a way to survive and surrender to nature and Mother Earth before it’s too late. Mad Max: Fury Road, the highly anticipated post-apocalyptic action film by George Miller, takes us to a world where we did not listen, where we got greedy and didn’t bother to ask where we were headed, and instead leaves us asking, “Who killed the world?”

Challenging preconceptions

If you haven’t seen Fury Road then you better hop to it. This is the biggest film to hit the screens in 2015, if not this decade, and possibly this century. It will blow your mind. It’s a sensory overload that will leave you both wired and tired. Be prepared for tense butt cheeks, don a supportive bra and bring a warm cardy.

Personally, I had no idea what 4DX was, but I was keen to try it out with a mate. After all, I have been waiting 30 years for the next Mad Max installment and thought it deserved to be seen in all its glory. What better way to experience 4D than with an action film? We thought our chairs would swivel around a bit and that a few blasts of air would tussle our hair. I’d studied Mad Max at university, as well as The Terminator and Blade Runner, and I couldn’t wait to see what the legendary George Miller had in store. I have to admit, however, I was a little skeptical of Tom Hardy playing Max, the movie living up to its 10/10 hype, and this thing called 4DX.

Well, ding dong, I got it wrong. Within seconds of sitting in our chairs we were transported to another place. Vibrating and shaking in our seats, blasts of mist in our face, legs whipped by rubber tongues and flashing lights immediately made our senses come alive. We had entered 4DX, a world like no other. We had also entered a world where black gold, or “Guzzoline” (oil), had been depleted and “Aqua cola” (water) was a precious commodity. We had been transported to life post-apocalypse, where the world as we now know it was, well, dead. But, my god, what an amazing world it was.

Mad Max: the legend

Now is probably the time to fill in a few details for those who may have been living under a rock or not even born. Many of you may be asking, “Just who the hell is Mad Max?”

Mad Max came to life in 1979 starring the then little-known actor Mel Gibson. The movie was the dream child of Byron Kennedy and George Miller. Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior, followed in 1981 and Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome hit the screens in 1985, starring Tina Turner (who remembers belting out We Don’t Need Another Hero?).

Max Rockatansky is an ex-cop in post-apocalyptic Australia who has been thrown into war, fighting for critical resources depleted due to gluttony and greed. Max’s wife and daughter are murdered by a bikie gang and Max decides to take revenge as a road warrior in his infallible car, the Interceptor, a signature black 1974 XB Ford Falcon Coupe.

In the fourth film in the series, Mad Max: Fury Road, we find Max (Tom Hardy) in The Wasteland wandering alone. However, this suddenly changes when he becomes embroiled with a group fleeing the Citadel dictated by the warlord Immortan Joe. In a War Rig racing across the plains, Imperator Furiosa (Charlize Theron) has taken something irreplaceable from the Citadel. She initiates a pursuit by the War Boys, resulting in a high-octane road war that will have you gripping your seats.

The first three installments made Mad Max famous all over the world. As George Miller himself puts it, “I realised I’d unconsciously tapped into that classic mythological archetype,” he says. “In Japan, they called Max a lone Ronin Samurai. In France, they saw the film as a ‘Western on wheels’ and Max as the lone gunslinger. In Scandinavia, some said Max reminded them of a solitary Viking warrior, wandering the harsh landscape.”

The film also stars a range of talented actors, while the 150 cars, trucks and bikes, all hand-crafted for Fury Road, are also true characters in the film.

Ten years in the making

Fury Road was a long time coming. George Miller tried to get it off the ground in 2003 with Mel Gibson cast as the lead but it ran into production problems.

Location scouting began again in 2009, and the quest to find the stage for Fury Road was nearly as epic as the production itself. The team ultimately decided to return to Broken Hill, but after two years of record rainfall, the Australian desert had come alive with wildflowers, somewhat detracting from a dystopic vibe. Production was delayed until 2012, when the whole set was moved to Namibia, which provided the perfect climate for The Wasteland.

With over 400 hours of footage resulting from 3,500 storyboards, Fury Road is an editor’s masterpiece – we have the award-winning Margaret Sixel (Happy Feet) to thank for that.

The film was finally released on May 15, 2015. Unfortunately, age caught up with Mel Gibson in the delay, so British actor Tom Hardy stars in his place giving Max a fresh edge.

Furiosa is born

“We are not things!” – the Wives.

Not only are movie-goers introduced to a new Mad Max (and, to his credit, Tom Hardy does a stellar job filling big shoes), Fury Road introduces us to Imperator Furiosa, played by Charlize Theron. Furiosa will make most women want to pump their fists in the air – she is simply badass.

Some have even said that Max is a supporting actor in the film of his namesake, but Furiosa is there to reinforce the almighty role that women and Mother Nature play in our society. Furiosa is a leader and a mentor. We don’t know much about her except that she came from the Green Place and has a prosthetic arm. Furiosa stands for freedom in a post-apocalyptic world dominated by men and where women are treated as objects.

Theron undertook significant strength training, primarily upper-body yoga and inversions, to fulfil the role. She has been quoted as saying she looks like a footballer in the movie but she didn’t want a scrawny girl taking on a man and winning.

Apparently, Miller has enough material to make two more films in the series: prequels, which are rumoured to be called Mad Max: The Wasteland and Mad Max: Furiosa.

Cambodian chrome

One question you are left asking at the end of the film (aside from the aformentioned “Who killed the world?”), is: Why do the War Boys spray themselves shiny and chrome when going into battle?

A stand-out scene in the film is when War Boy Nux spray paints his mouth chrome and chases Furiosa and the War Rig through a dust storm. The War Boys are prepared to die for their master Immortan Joe and go to the gates of Valhalla in continuous kamikaze thrall, throwing up the consequences of religious fundamentalism and dictator rule.

According to Miller, there was a specific reason behind it. “I saw a documentary where young [Cambodian] soldiers would go into war, they had little jade deities, and before they ran into battle, they put them in their mouths and just held them with little straps.”
It seems that Miller has thought about every last detail, and this is what makes the movie so incredible. It is simply flawless. The stunts are unreal (Miller even engaged Cirque du Soleil to perform the role of the pole cats), and I’m pretty sure action film producers are now quietly shitting their pants. Game on!

4DX Excess

The 4DX experience is simply a must and one you won’t forget it. However, as Mad Max is two hours of non-stop action (at one point I was secretly wishing for a break) it is like a roller-coaster ride, so be prepared. Those with weak hearts or bladders may want to watch it the old-fashioned way.

Motion chairs and environmental effects such as wind, light, bubbles and scent work in synchronicity with the action onscreen. I struggled to smell the scents the first time around, as I was so overwhelmed with everything else going on. However, the second time I could smell the smoke and burning rubber.

I even took my trusty tuk tuk driver along for the ride and he loved it. A 30-year-old guy obsessed with bikes and cars, he was the perfect demographic. He had no idea who Mad Max was, but now he’s telling all his mates and can’t wait to buy the DVD. I think he also got the message that we can’t continue to guzzle gasoline forever. He is hoping for a solar-powered tuk tuk soon.

Choosing sides in the battle for change

Long before Cambodia was engulfed by war, Phnom Penh was known as the “Pearl of Asia.” It was a garden city of such charm that Lee Kuan Yew, Singapore’s prime minister, congratulated King Sihanouk during a visit in the 1960s. “I hope, one day, that my city will look like this.”

But while Singapore prospered, the Khmer Rouge turned Phnom Penh’s schools into torture prisons. Later, mismanagement and greed changed the face of the city.

Boeung Kak, a lake nestled in the heart of the capital, survived the turmoil of Cambodia’s history, and by 2005, it had become a home to the poor. To put food on the table, the residents set out into the middle of the lake, their wooden longboats passing the reflection of their stilt homes. Soon, their handmade nets would be filled with flapping fish, and their woven baskets would brim with bundles of freshly cut morning glory.

Backpackers had discovered cheap accommodation around the lake, which also led to a lawlessness fuelled by drugs and alcohol. On the southeast side, guesthouses and small souvenir shops flourished, but much of the Boeung Kak area was little more than a slum, no longer the idyllic gem of yesteryear. Located between the Council of Ministers, the Royal University and the offices of the Prime Minister, the shantytown of stilt homes on the banks, prone to flooding and set amid floating trash, seemed out of place.

July 27, 2012 - Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Camko city, an urban development project three kilometres north of central Phnom Penh. The high rise buildings and town houses in the satellite city were largely built on land reclaimed from natural lakes. © Nicolas Axelrod / Ruom — July 27, 2012 – Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Camko city, an urban development project three kilometres north of central Phnom Penh. The high rise buildings and town houses in the satellite city were largely built on land reclaimed from natural lakes. © Nicolas Axelrod / Ruom

Some had visions that Boeung Kak could be developed into a sophisticated leisure destination, ringed by parks and promenades. As often with visions of the future, it wasn’t meant to be. In 2007, the municipal authorities granted a 99-year lease of the lake to Lao Meng Khin, a lawmaker for the Cambodian People’s Party (CPP) and owner of Shukaku Inc., an obscure real estate company that would forever alter the city’s makeup. Shukaku’s vision for Boeung Kak was drastic: under its development plan, there would be no lakeside, nor much of a lake. Nearly the entire body of water, a major reservoir which helped offset the annual monsoon flooding, was earmarked for removal. So were the more than 4,000 families who lived around its shores.

In August 2008, the first blast of sand and slurry surged into the lake. In due course, enough of the mixture would be pumped in to fill the 90-hectare area, preparing the reclaimed land for Shukaku’s mixed-use residential and commercial development.

“They sold the land beneath our homes and we are expected to politely disappear,” Tep Vanny, one of the most vocal Boeung Kak residents, told a human rights organisation in 2013. Vanny has spent years pleading for a liveable future at her home on the former lakeside. She refused to give way to the excavators, and fiercely fought for the lake’s future.

June 30, 2014 - Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A group of women look at fried chicken on display at Aeon Mall. Aeon Mall is Cambodia's first mega-mall, the inauguration was attended by the Cambodian Prime Minister Hun Sen, groups of residents from various economic backgrounds were trucked in to attend the event. © Nicolas Axelrod / Ruom — June 30, 2014 – Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A group of women look at fried chicken on display at Aeon Mall. Aeon Mall is Cambodia’s first mega-mall, the inauguration was attended by the Cambodian Prime Minister Hun Sen, groups of residents from various economic backgrounds were trucked in to attend the event. © Nicolas Axelrod / Ruom

Dozens joined in the battle cry. From housewives, they turned into full-time protesters, dauntless and bold. As time passed, they learned how to play the media. They burnt effigies of officials and waved the star-spangled banner in front of the US Embassy. To dramatise the fact that every creature needs a home, they even walked the streets of Phnom Penh with bird nests on their heads. At best, the media acknowledged their protest, and authorities ignored them. At worst, they were beaten, detained and jailed.

Five years after the sand came surging into Boeung Kak, a non-profit organisation invited Vanny to Washington DC, where she received an award for her leadership.

“To protest is not the Cambodian way. The Cambodian way is to be patient, to smile and to tolerate. But that’s not democracy,” she said.

The international award was a slap in the face for the Cambodian authorities. But by the time fashion icon Diane von Fürstenberg, draped in a sparkling black gown, presented the award to Vanny, the fight for the lake had already been lost. From the lavish Washington ballroom, Vanny returned to Boeung Kak. The water, and most of the community, were gone. What remained was a tiny, 12.4-hectare area where some residents would be allowed to stay. Today, a high concrete wall separates the few surviving guesthouses from an unfurling wasteland so dusty and deserted it’s hard to believe it had ever seen water.

Jan. 27, 2014 - Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Radio station owner, Mom Sonando (not pictured) and his supporters clash with riot police during a demonstration demanding the government expand his radio's reach and allow him to open a TV station. Television stations are largely controlled by the state, though foreign newspapers and some radio stations are allowed to operate independently. © Nicolas Axelrod / Ruom — Jan. 27, 2014 – Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Radio station owner, Mom Sonando (not pictured) and his supporters clash with riot police during a demonstration demanding the government expand his radio’s reach and allow him to open a TV station. Television stations are largely controlled by the state, though foreign newspapers and some radio stations are allowed to operate independently. © Nicolas Axelrod / Ruom

Non-governmental organisations estimate that 500,000 people in Cambodia have experienced a similar fate, from ethnic minorities, to farmers, to whole urban neighbourhoods. But at Boeung Kak, an unbelievable 20,000 people were evicted. Only the Khmer Rouge had ever forced the relocation of a larger number of people, one organisation said.

It was a pertinent remark, given that many land disputes have their roots in that era. Forty years ago, on April 17, 1975, the ultra-Maoist regime seized power and, as one of their first acts as leadership, forcibly evacuated Phnom Penh. Thousands perished during the mass exodus. The uprooted population was deprived of all rights to ownership. Money was banned, the National Bank blown up, and all documents – including land titles – were destroyed. The past, the Khmer Rouge believed, was an obstacle standing in the path of a radiant future.

When the Khmer Rouge fell to a Vietnamese invasion in 1979, Phnom Penh became a refuge for emaciated bodies and beaten minds. With no food or protection in the countryside, hundreds of thousands of survivors flocked to the city to squat in deserted houses. Often, the original owners didn’t return, and thus squatters became inhabitants.

But land titles? In the aftermath of the Khmer Rouge, and during the civil war that followed, such pieces of paper weren’t a concern. It wasn’t until 2001 that Cambodia passed a new land law that tried to better regulate ownership.Under the law, any person who can prove use of unclaimed land for a minimum of five years could claim ownership. In reality, however, the poor often lacked proof for their claims, and neither their nor their neighbours’ word was sufficient.

June 05, 2014 - Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Kunthea and her son Panha (right) travel in a tuk-tuk with her cousin in central Phnom Penh. Kunthea is a single mother, working as a cleaner for four different expat families. © Nicolas Axelrod / Ruom — June 05, 2014 – Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Kunthea and her son Panha (right) travel in a tuk-tuk with her cousin in central Phnom Penh. Kunthea is a single mother, working as a cleaner for four different expat families. © Nicolas Axelrod / Ruom

After decades of war and upheaval, the need for development is unquestionable. But as Surya Subedi, then the United Nations’ special human rights envoy, noted in 2012, the country’s land deals are often opaque: “It is often unclear who is benefiting financially from land used for urban development, economic and other land concessions, and large-scale development projects.”

It’s certainly not the evicted communities.Forty kilometres from Phnom Penh lies Oudong, a former capital of the glorious Khmer empire. Atop Oudong mountain, kings and queens who ruled 400 years ago have found their resting place in golden stupas. One is even said to contain remains of the Buddha. In modern-day Cambodia, these honoured remnants of the past are separated by 500 steps from the shame of the present. At the foot of the mountain, thousands of urban evictees have been dumped over the years.

Among the first evictees at Oudong were members of Dey Krahorm, a densely populated urban community in central Phnom Penh, close to the National Assembly and Prime Minister Hun Sen’s villa. The police and gendarmes were sent in on a grey Saturday morning that hadn’t seen the first sunbeams yet. Armed with tear gas, metal batons and fire-truck hoses, authorities brutally drove 150 families from their homes at Dey Krahorm to make way for a housing development.They had been warned, but few managed to grab more than their family members as they fled their scrap-wood shacks.

“It was terrible. I’ll never forget it. They fired tear gas and my house was completely destroyed,” said Sophal, one of the evicted residents. She grabbed her child, but lost all of her belongings.

On arriving at Oudong, she was greeted by a large, expanse. The barren settlement had no infrastructure, no water, no electricity and no shelter. Men and women bathed themselves in filthy puddles, scooping out water to be boiled. Behind tiny shrubs, they dug shallow holes – the closest they would get to a toilet. From garbage and other refuse, they fashioned makeshift tents to protect themselves from the rain and sun. Most moved back to Phnom Penh, to live as squatters.

The launch of the Transitioning Cambodia photo book will be held on 8pm, Thursday May 28 at Meta House, #37 Sothearos Blvd.

The craft of the laugh

Remember that awesome international comedian who came to Phnom Penh about three years ago and had the entire room in stitches? If so, I guess you were fortunate enough to catch him in the boarding queue at Phnom Penh airport, probably en route to a gig in Bangkok or KL. Lucky you. The rest of us, meanwhile, were sat patiently cringing in a poorly lit, noisy room wondering how the shit a few haughty drunks with a microphone managed to pass themselves off as a comedy act.

This scene may be unfamiliar to those only now venturing out to comedy nights – an understandable choice, frankly, because until a couple of years ago, there wasn’t any real impetus to do so. In December 2011, recognising a demand for quality live stand up comedy within the country, promoter Dan Riley – with the help of Australian comedy guru Jonathan Atherton and Singaporean comedy promoter Andre Chalson – conceived the Comedy Club Cambodia. Since then, the CCC has grown to create opportunities for rising talents to hone their skills through courses and structured open mic nights. More recently, Comedy Bookers Cambodia (founded in 2014 by Riley, Siem Reap-based comedian Steven Halcrow and Phnom Penh-based Scotty Muldoon) has successfully sourced and secured internationally acclaimed comedy acts for countrywide gigs.

Early Days

Like many nascent art forms, the comedy circuit has undergone a tumultuous journey in order to sustain a viable and esteemed position within the city’s contemporary culture. Now, with several primary host venues having recently closed, coinciding with the impending departure of much-loved CBC Co-Founder and Verbal High open mic founder Muldoon, the comedy circuit faces a whole new set of hurdles. Having worked from the bottom up, however, the lads are no strangers to a challenge. Halcrow explains exactly how one begins building a legitimate comedy scene almost entirely from scratch:

“I met Dan two and a half years ago when the scene only consisted of a couple of guys (Dan, Scotty and [forthcoming Verbal High organiser] Sam Thomas),” he says. “I then returned from the UK to Cambodia a year and a half ago and there were a bunch more guys and girls giving it a go and nicely packed rooms (Equinox will be sorely missed!). I learned a lot in the time I spent gigging in the UK from observing audiences, professionals and fellow open spots alike, and when I arrived in Cambodia I was suddenly in a position where I could apply what I had learned to the fledgling scene here, which, at the time, needed a bit of structure: it was basically a lot of long shows, very raw acts, loud audiences, zero etiquette, and a general lack of awareness of any of the above.”

Realising that international comedy acts were integral to the steady growth of the CCC, Halcrow, Riley and Muldoon joined forces to develop the CBC last year. Shortly after, Muldoon introduced Verbal High open mic nights at Meta House under the CBC umbrella group.

Nu-wave Comedy

Over time, the team has been duly rewarded for the dedication, faith and touch of insanity necessary to guide their vision to fruition, with continuous expansion and new waves of quality homegrown and international acts.

“The comedy scene has definitely grown – we’ve all gotten a little fatter,” Muldoon says. “And since [CCC] began, the city has seen a lot of [international] comics pass through and inspire the local scene to flourish: local expats are able to improve their game by learning from the pros who we are so lucky to have come here, and who are kind enough to share any tips and advice.”
Riley adds, “The expat community has grown to a sufficient level to not only produce enough people able to perform live comedy regularly, but also enough people to demand regular gigs and fill out venues. Sure, I’d like more to turn up for the Comedy Club shows, as we have a lot of costs, but I like the fact that our two monthly open mic nights are usually nicely packed. Outside of Phnom Penh, The Comedy Club Kampot was set up in December last year, and we’ve done three shows already. Sihanoukville is making its debut this month with Martin Mor, and now Full Metal Comics is an established monthly open micer at Sundance.”

Proud Crowds & Methods to Madness

Beyond physical expansion, however, perhaps one of the most important developments within local comedy has been the influx of new informed and devoted audiences. This attribute – though frequently overlooked by the sporadic gig-goer – is one that can be critical to the success of a single event, as well as the continued growth of the art form (and yes, comedy is an art form. Get used to it).

“The audiences are a lot more comedy savvy now and arrive expecting a comedy show as opposed to a drunken ramble,” says Halcrow. “This is testament to the acts that make up the scene who are more committed to writing and not just getting inebriated, standing onstage and winging it in the hope of a cheap laugh. It is developing at a very organic pace and acts are getting better all the time. Acts and audiences are becoming more educated in what stand up is about.”

In this sense, a long-term, almost symbiotic relationship between show value and audience quality has evolved within structured comedy shows. Subsequently, when developing his first Verbal High open mic nights, Muldoon was faced with an all new dilemma: to attract and sustain a previously unfamiliar audience to shows that couldn’t provide drawcard headliners nor consistency in performance quality, but still needed to make a buck or two. His solution? Elephants.

Muldoon explains, “[Many] people just didn’t wanna pay $10 to see an international comedian – that’s crazy cheap. So then it was just about getting bums in seats. A smaller venue was chosen and some free open mic nights were put on. That solved that problem,” he says. “But in doing so it created another: chatty audiences. We couldn’t understand it – you’re at a show, listen/watch the show. Eventually, over time, people started to ‘get’ it and what we were trying to do. When I started Verbal High I decided to charge a dollar entry because then people feel invested in the show and any profits made go to the EARS [Elephant Asia Rescue and Survival] foundation. The crowds have matured alongside us and have grown into full, attentive audiences.”

No Cheap Laughs

The country’s comedy circuit evidently treads the familiar financial tightrope of its creative kin, continuously aiming to achieve a balance between providing quality (and accordingly costly) performers, while creating enough revenue to sustain a long-term scene.

Riley says, “Recently, I’ve had to turn down quite a few guys that are around, purely because we can’t pay their expenses. The model I’ve been forced to work with for Phnom Penh now is having no more than one international headliner per month. If others are willing to come on their own budget, then we’ll gladly host them if they are properly vetted.”

Riley nevertheless empathises with comedians who choose to skip Cambodia while touring the region, having worked closely with several comedy promoters based throughout Southeast Asia.

“There’s a lot more money going around Singapore and Malaysia, so the ticket prices are accordingly higher and they can afford multiple professional comics on the same bill,” he explains. “We have reduced our costs significantly to maintain a really low ticket price – nearly 10 times less than a show in Singapore, for example. The comics who come here are taking considerable pay cuts compared to their usual rates in the region. Thankfully, they still agree to come. A few even return, such as the sensational Glenn Wool, slated for a return this October.”

Cultural Clashes

Regional economic discrepancies clearly influence the prospect of attracting international comedians to the country, which in turn directly affects the growth of the local comedy scene.

However, capital is not the definitive explanation for the comparative success of comedy in surrounding countries. Having already stated the importance of creating a dedicated crowd following, Riley points out that attendance of locals may be an integral factor in doing so – something which is perceptibly higher in neighbouring Southeast Asian comedy clubs.

“Singapore and Malaysia particularly thrive because their audiences are comprised of both expats and English-speaking locals,” Riley says. “I’m not saying that expats are worse than locals as audience members, but I’ve always heard good things about the shows there – high energy and appreciative – and I think that the locals are a contributing factor to their success.“

That’s not to say that regular locals are non-existent within the crowd. It’s just that if you don’t include the bartenders, the comedians’ girlfriends, or the randoms who just happened to be in the venue that night, you could probably count them on one hand. Though undoubtedly multi-faceted, the most obvious reasons may involve the prevalent language barrier (heightened in the presence of a touring Scotsman with a thick accent and colloquial tongue), and contrasting humour. Anyone who’s watched popular Khmer comedy TV will be familiar with its classic slapstick clowning and OTT caricatures (noobs, YouTube Bayon TV Comedy). In the West, on the other hand, the most successful comedians tend toward their own extremities: either subtle, self-effacing wit, or explosive socio-political commentary (offset by the occasional strategically timed dick joke, of course). It’s not difficult to see where lies a divide.

So, to paraphrase almost anyone who’s ever worked within the local contemporary arts scene, how can that gap be bridged? Perhaps the most practical answer is through the encouragement and support of Khmer comics on the circuit. Riley’s finger is on the pulse, pronouncing Vatthina Tola, Phnom Penh’s only practicing Khmer comedian, as one of the city’s most promising rising talents. “I’d really like to see our only Cambodian comic take his unique act further afield.” Riley says. “I’m working on that…”

Halcrow agrees, adding, “[Thina] is a comic who gigs regularly and is an enthusiastic proponent of comedy in Cambodia.”

Learning From the Pros

Halcrow, who continues to MC for headlining acts across Southeast Asia, believes that on a long-term basis the growing popularity of comedy throughout the continent will ultimately work to the advantage of the localised comedy scene.

“Southeast Asian comedy in general is growing very rapidly: there’s comedy pretty much seven nights a week in KL, Singapore, Hong Kong and Shanghai as well as the Comedy Club Bangkok and shows in Hanoi, Ho Chi Minh and Yangon,” says Halcrow. “Our aim is to work together with scenes all over the region to bring the best comedians from all over the world to our audiences. Tours of Cambodia, like the one we have set up for Martin Mor this month, will hopefully become a regular thing and will give the local guys the opportunity to gig with some great comics and learn from watching them. The better the local acts are, the stronger the local scene will be and this will lead to a better standard of show.”

Phnom Penh-based performers are already demonstrably reaping the benefits from first-hand performances and training with internationally acclaimed professionals in the field. Upcoming organiser of Verbal High nights, Sam Thomas, perhaps best reflects this in his comedic trajectory. Since taking Irish comedian Aidan Killian’s Comedy Crash Course alongside Muldoon in 2013, the 25-year-old stand-up comic has steadily crafted his own unique performance style and now regularly performs at Verbal High nights, supports various international comedians at CCC shows, and workshops material with anyone keen to join.

“Most people would suggest Sam Thomas as someone who could go pro,” Riley attests. “He’s certainly impressed a lot of guys with his performances, and his dedication to improving both himself and other comics based here is laudable.”

Misbehaving & Farewell Waving

After having spent six years in the country, half of which has been dedicated to comedy, Muldoon confidently passes the open mic reigns to Thomas next month. Though admittedly woeful at his exodus, Muldoon prefers to focus on the accomplishments made and whimsical memories he’s collected along the way.

“There are too many moments to pick from (most being inappropriate to print or even share!),” Scotty says. “One incident involved [comedian] Glenn Wool and I inventing a cocktail shooter, the C-52. Basically a B-52 with the added ingredient of codeine. Was an interesting night after knocking back a few of those!”

On a more sobering note, Scotty adds, “[I’ll miss] all of it, but mostly the supportive community we’ve built up around the scene. I shall look back upon this period with pride and fondness. Thank you, arkun, and muchas gracias. Without an audience there can be no show.”

Give Scotty a hug goodbye at the Comedy Club Cambodia’s upcoming show presenting internationally acclaimed headlining comedian Martin Mor at 8:30pm, Friday May 22 at Show Box, #11 St. 330. Supported by Vatthina Tola, Scotty Muldoon and Steven Halcrow as MC. Read more on Mor on page 15.

Finding the tattoo warrior

There was no speedometer. The brakes were as responsive as boiled vegetables and the wing mirrors flapped in the wind. How fast was I going? Hell, I couldn’t even remember if the hired Honda Baja had five gears or six. The world blurred. Scooters and cars fell away. This was too fast. Visions of accidents appeared in my mind, the road strewn with blood and stumps. Must focus. Use all available brainpower. Divert maximum attention to the road. Apart from the small amount of attention needed to headbang to Clutch’s Blast Tyrant album that was being piped into my head at an ear-maiming volume. It was the only way it could be heard over the squealing wind as I drove to Siem Reap to find the Sok Yant tattoo master.

Then the engine cut. No roar, no rattle, just a powerless, dead hunk of metal hurtling through the heartlands of Cambodia. I hit the brakes. Must get this thing off the road before a truck flattens me. I stood looking at the engine as cars flew by. Some kind of vapour was rising. Black oil pooled on the tarmac below.

Fucking, shitting bastard. Or some similarly brutal words echoed from the dry, scrubby trees. A truck tore by, stinging my eyes with miniscule stones. If you had been in a passing car you would have seen a single man, crow-black against the sun and yellow dust, dancing a fiendish jig with the purpose, one can only assume, of trying to bring back to life his stationary, oh-so-stationary, motorbike.

The mechanic arrived two hours later, riding my replacement bike and grinning like a maniac. I didn’t return his grin. It was nearly 3pm, which meant I would ride the final hours of my journey to Siem Reap in the dark on one of the most treacherous, poorly-lit roads in Cambodia. The replacement was a similarly large 250cc dirt bike with squishy suspension and a beefy, liquid-cooled engine. The only trouble was that the headlights were significantly smaller than the Baja, which didn’t bode well. Still, nothing for it but to saddle up. I waved to the mechanic, pressed my thumb to the ignition and snapped the small plastic nob like a Sabbuteo figure. I looked at the mechanic in exasperation. He sighed and began unscrewing the ignition box.

It was dark. I aimed the bike between two slightly lighter shades of dark which I took to be the edges of the road. There were no motorbikes. No one was stupid enough to ride in these conditions. There were only enormous trucks with blinding headlights. When separated from the safe confines of modern civilization, it’s amazing how quickly one reverts to atavistic superstition. I had been praying to the god of dogs having narrowly avoided two brutal collisions with road-crossing canines. Just carry on, I repeated, squinting into the blackness as silent sheets of lightning slapped the sky.

The bike choked, coughed and rolled to a stop. I would have known it was running low on petrol if there had been a gauge. But there was no time for rage, just a sense of being worn down and defeated. I was praying again. It must have worked. Emerging from a shack on the opposite side of the road came a smiling family bearing bottles of petrol. They filled it up while rabbiting in Khmer, curious of the foreigner and his giant, broken-down machine.

Thanking them, I sped away. I had barely gone a mile when I realised the petrol was of such inferior quality it might ruin the engine. The bike started up its tuberculotic coughing almost immediately. I twisted my wrist and forced more power into the engine. It wasn’t going to last. Then, a real petrol station emerged from the blackness. Between me and the attendant we drained the sick, village petrol and replaced it.

By the time I arrived in Siem Reap, I was singing the first few lines of Ini Kamozi’s Here Comes the Hotstepper over and over again in an attempt to keep the creeping sense of dread from gnawing at my guts (my cheap earphones had packed in and been cast into the dust somewhere around Kampong Thom). It had been hours driving blind on a road to nowhere. It must have numbed by mind because the fear was that I would never reach Siem Reap and I would be cursed to travel this dark road for eternity.

Finding the tattoo master the next morning was comparatively simple. I had already been given his phone number by an American occultist I met at a Phnom Penh meditation group. He was into magic tattoos, acupuncture and studying Taoist grimoires. I called the master and found him outside a large shed among Siem Reap’s quaint, almost Mediterranean backstreets. He wore baggy Thai fishing pants and his muscular body was a mesh of sacred tattoos. His brown skin glowed with sweat in the midday heat. He fixed me with a clear, proud gaze. He had cultivated a moustache that flared up either side of his curled lips like a pantomime villain’s. He took a strand between thumb and forefinger and twirled it.

While it is not difficult to find a tattoo artist who can inscribe mystical symbols on your skin, it is not easy to find someone who practices the whole magical tradition of which tattooing is just one part. “I travelled all around Cambodia,” said the master. “I learned tattooing, mantra and meditation from two main teachers: an old monk and a hermit in Ratanakiri.” He refused to divulge further details. Indeed, he seemed perturbed by my photographs and probing questions. “We want to keep the magic arts secret,” he said.

The ancient art of Sak Yant is a mystical tradition that some say has its roots in pre-Angkorian warrior culture. The symbols used are a mix of Vedic gods and incantations in old Khmer script. When a master tattoos the skin he transfers magical power into the symbols. The most common charms bestow protection, persuasion and sexual magnetism. Take a look at any older Cambodian man, anyone who fought in the war, and you’ll more than likely find faded charms woven into the skin in the belief that it makes the wearer impervious to bullets.

By now, three students had arrived. Fit young men covered in tattoos, some blurry and messy where they had been practicing on each other. “I want to keep the tradition alive,” said Sim So Tum, a young man with a tassled head of hair whose chest bore a line-drawing of the Buddha with spells tumbling out in the eight mystical directions. “My grandfather had the knowledge and power and I am inspired to carry on his work.”

The master pulled out a book of spells that he had created himself, amalgamating the knowledge he had learned on his travels. He and his students pored over the pages. I could have chosen my own design, but it is culturally more appropriate, when dealing with a master of magical arts, to defer to the teacher.

He pulled out the gun and started inking my back. He could have used the traditional bamboo method – where the skin is pieced with a sharpened bamboo needle. But that would have taken longer and been less accurate. He assured me that the power would be the same. “It’s all transferred from the master,” he said.

The return drive back to Phnom Penh was better. In the daylight it’s easier to avoid dogs and see potholes coming. Both shoulders stung with the new tattoos. The symbol for the divine mother was on the left side, the side associated with compassion, while the father symbol was on the right side, associated with wisdom. The archetypal power of the mother and father flowed through my arms and into the bike. I flew home.

Tumbling to a new beat

Before 2013, SLR-laden tourists and backpackers from around the world flocked to Siem Reap for one major reason. Since its conception a little over two years ago, however, Phare, the Cambodian Circus has provided culture-seeking visitors an additional point of interest outside the ruins of Angkor. Now, the number one non-temple attraction in the city, the nightly indoor shows by a troupe comprising students and graduates from Phare Ponleu Selpak Association – an NGO arts school in Battambang – has grown to attain international recognition and acclaim.

Ten years before Phare, the Cambodian Circus – an annual touring circus show involving national and international performers – was conceived by Phare Performing Social Enterprise and PPSA. Known as Tini Tinou International Circus Festival, 2015 will mark its 9th year of touring, during which it will stop through Phnom Penh, Siem Reap and Battambang between May 7-16, presenting workshops and parades as well as themed circus shows.

Despite running for just short of a decade, Tini Tinou Festival organiser Melissa Fornaux admits that it didn’t get to this point without having endured some major hardships along the way, following a plotline familiar to many who have attempted to cultivate an artistic venture within the local environment. “It started in 2004, mainly as a way to promote and develop the Cambodian art scene. Unfortunately, it was cancelled in 2010 due to funding limitations,” Fournaux says.

Thanks to a combination of good timing, a tonne of talent and resourcefulness, and a perhaps a spot of good fortune, however, Fournaux and her team were afforded an opportunity to take a second stab at reviving their vision. “Last year, Phare artists were invited by the European Delegation in Cambodia to perform for the Europe Day. PPSE and PPSA saw an opportunity to revive the festival, with new financing and a brand new format. The two nights in 2014 were a success, so we’re back this year.”

Last year’s comeback festival ran over two days in Phnom Penh, featuring all Cambodian troupes. With more experience to draw upon and some careful long-term planning, this year’s Tini Tinou has exploded into a 10-day festival across three cities, featuring two Cambodian troupes (Battambang’s PPSA and Phnom Penh’s National Circus School of Cambodia) and four international troupes from Taiwan (Formosa Circus Arts), Vietnam (Heritage Social Ho Chi Minh City), France (O Ultimo Momento) and Switzerland (Les Papillons).

“For this edition, our goal was to have a very varied show, each showing the specificity of a country,” Fournaux says. “All international artists as well as the National Circus School of Cambodia have designed new shows specifically for Tini Tinou. This year’s festival will involve circus acts – juggling, acrobatics, diabolo, Chinese pole – but all of them performed with different techniques. One troupe also performs magic tricks (Heritage Social Ho Chi Minh City) and another one rythmic gymnastic (Les Papillons). Phare’s circus show features circus acts, theatre, dance and live music.”

But Fournaux says the Tini Tinou mission runs deeper than just showcasing a variety of different performance arts and their cultural variations. “The goal of the Tini Tinou Festival is to enhance cultural exchange between performers and development through the arts, which is also one of the missions of Phare,” Fournaux explains. “We’re trying as much as we can to create an atmosphere of sharing: each troupe shares its own experience of art as well as its different techniques through workshops. We believe that everyone has their own way of understanding the arts, so sharing is also a way to broaden one’s horizons and to personally develop.”

Artistic Director of Phare, the Cambodian Circus, Bountheun Houn agrees that personal development is a major objective of both the festival and the circus school itself, the achievement of which he believes is frequently reflected among his own students.

“I’ve known the artists for a long time and I’ve seen many of them change. Their personal behaviour has definitely changed,” Houn says. “They have developed the skills to pursue other things over a long time. Many have become more independent and, in fact, now like to work more privately, rather than in groups.”

This raises an important question regarding the future prospects of the students after they have completed their training at PPSA. Having received such specific training, what options are there for those who either do not wish to perform in the circus at the end of their training, or reach the point where it is no longer viable to continue performing due to their age, ability or competition from younger entrants?

Fournaux assures that, due to the carefully considered, holistic syllabus of the school, options for graduates of PPSA are many and varied. “Most of the artists who stopped performing are now circus teachers at our mother NGO Phare Ponleu Selpak,” she says. “Performance art is a very specialised domain, but Phare Ponleu Selpak is also a school. It means that the circus artists didn’t only study circus, but also received traditional education. Some of them also tour internationally, in Europe and the US, which gives them ideas and opportunities to develop.

“Phare also created a Career Development Programme and organises various training courses related to artistic and non-artistic fields, in order to give artists more opportunities to develop in their personnal and professionnal lives,” Fournaux adds. “Our main goal at Phare is to give artists the keys for self-development and to manage their own lives.”

Houn himself is a real-life example of this model. “Before [becoming Artistic Director at Phare] I used to be an artist and circus teacher. I performed in [Phare circus shows] Sokha and Putho, in which I was an acrobat and clown. Then I started managing artists, working with the artists at the school to perform at small private events around the country.”

Sreyleak Noi, a young contortionist and handstand specialist in Tini Tinou, joined the PPSA when she was nine years old and went on to join the circus school when she was 13. Before this, she sold cakes with her mother and sisters in her hometown in Battambang.

Noi says that her decision to join the circus school was, in fact, based largely on the graduate opportunities which the PPSA had to offer. “The circus school was different from the other programmes offered at the school. I saw the older generations of circus performers from Phare earning money and traveling abroad and I wanted that for myself too,” she says. “I was able to go to public school for free and to learn circus performing as well. Later, I could attend workshops and travel, always learning new things. The best thing is always being able to learn.”

At age 25, Noi has travelled to 10 different countries in Asia, Europe and Africa to attend workshops, perform, and to teach other international performers. Whether while traveling or through being involved with Tini Tinou Festival, Noi reiterates the importance of learning through interaction and exchange with performers from around the world.

“I learn a lot from meeting international performers and seeing them perform,” she says. “Everybody’s technique and styles are different. I sometimes keep in touch with them too.”

With continuous learning and development clearly a key motivator for Noi, she hopes to one day share her knowledge with younger generations. “I want to continue to perform as long as I can keep learning new things,” she says. “But I would also like to create my own show, maybe shows for children.”

If Noi is representative of other PPSA students and Tini Tinou performers, it appears that the PPSA and Tini Tinou organisers are indeed accomplishing their mission in terms of student learning and development through the school and festival.

Fournaux hopes that on a wider scale the festival will also serve as an inspiration for the growth and rejuvenation of the Cambodian arts scene.

“The goal of the festival is also to inspire Cambodian youth; to share art with the Cambodian community where access to it is reduced. That is one of the reasons why we’re inviting children of NGOs and communities,” she says. “The Cambodian performing arts sector is still in a rebuilding state, so I hope that the festival will allow the interest for circus and performing arts among Cambodians to grow.”

Fournaux is quick to emphasise, however, that, while it stems from an NGO with a long-term social mission for its students and the wider arts community, Tini Tinou is still, at its heart, a festival, a central purpose of which is to engage, amuse and inspire.

“It’s important to remember that the festival is entertainment – we want people to have fun. What I personally hope is that every person coming, children as well as adults, will be inspired by all the talented young artists who will perform.” Fournaux adds, “And of course, I hope that this edition will be as successful as the last, to allow us to organise a bigger and more amazing Tini Tinou next year!”

Tini Tinou International Circus Festival will perform at the National Circus School of Phnom Penh, National Assembly Street, from 6pm, Thursday May 7-Saturday May 9. See www.pharecambodiancircus.org for ticketing and programme information.

The Advisor eats Kampot

Entree

There’s something going down in the Funan town of Kampot. Once just the home of rice, fish and durian – never the best combination – Kampot is undergoing a culinary renaissance. Japanese, Italian, French, Spanish, Khmer or simply good food cooked well, Kampot has become a dining destination. It all has the feel of Phnom Penh 10 years ago, when people with a passion for the country, rather than the dollar, looked at what they could do to engage with and live in the Kingdom. Answer: open a restaurant. As a result, many of these businesses are truly family affairs; something that conjures a certain warmth when eating in the town. And because Kampot is a “heads” town, the spirit is strictly layback, unlike like the meth-addled urgency of its bigger southern cousin. Exhausted by the capital’s dining options? Take a culinary road trip with The Advisor as we explore 12 dining opportunities that will make your trip south worthwhile.

Main Course

Mak Srey Keo BBQ – “The local”
Corner 710 & 726
Across the street from Java Bleu is a unexceptional-looking Khmer eatery, which would be easy to miss given all the other options in Kampot. But for a worthwhile trip into local food, MSK is a treat. Popular with Khmers and local expats alike, in the evenings it can be a challenge to find a table (they do a call-up and take-out service for those in a hurry). But getting a table is worth it, as there is a certain Graham Greene charm about the place, which enlivens the dining experience for the Indochine romantic. Options, many of them gloriously misspelt on the menu (“flog,”anyone?) range from the standard (fried rice and noodles) to the exotic (grilled oyster chili and fried beef with ant). But a personal favourite is the whole wok-fried fish with spices. This dish costs $2.50 and with most other items on the menu similarly priced, you should get away with spending $4 for food, drinks and a welcomed tip for the staff.
Go for: “The Quiet American” vibe.
Ask for: The wok-fried fish with spices.

Café Espresso – “Coffee Mecca”
Street 731
With the best coffee in the southwest, Café Espresso’s roasted and ground beans emphasise what Kampot is all about – the simple done well. The owners, Gus and Kiara, left Australia three years ago and opened up the café. Since then, Café Espresso has become the coffee destination in town. Its unreconstructed Chinese shop-house/hole-in-the-wall ambiance means that you could be on the Paris Left Bank of yore, but its sensible prices remind you that you’re not. The café offers quality food to go with your coffee – everything from Portuguese chicken wraps to pumpkin loaf. But it’s the sacred bean that will have you coming back again and again. You can even leave with a bag of their house blend, Rumble Fish.
Go for: Left Bank ambiance meets Brisbane chic.
Ask for: Anything of a coffee persuasion.

Japanese Restaurant – “Yes, that is its name”
River road, near the Old Bridge intersection
The recent explosion of Japanese restaurants in the Kingdom has spread and now Kampot has its own edition offering its take on Nippon cuisine. Owned and operated by a Japanese (Saitama)/French (Lorraine) couple, the food covers a range of Japanese favourites: korokko (potato cakes), karanga (fried chicken), curry, sushi, okonomiyaki and ebi kakiage teishoku (crispy pancakes), while all mains are served with rice, miso soup and pickled vegetables. My Japanese partner, Hiromi, attests to the quality of the restaurant and asks to go there whenever she is in town, so it must be of a certain high quality. Meanwhile, it is reassuring to know that there is now a place in Kampot where you can enjoy an ice cold Asahi or Sapporo. Located near the Old Bridge and overlooking the river, the view isn’t bad, either.
Go for: An ice cold Asahi as you look out over the river.
Ask for: Okonomiyaki, Osaka style.

Street Bakery – “Some like it hot”
Street 731 (look for the pile of wood)
So non-descript that it passes many visitors by, over the road from Café Espresso is a Chinese shop-house whose upstairs appears to have been gutted by fire. But no, this is one of Kampot’s best-kept secrets: a traditional Khmer wood-fired bakery. Baguettes fresh out of the oven cost only 1,000 riel and are as scrumptious as they are hot. Purchase one and take it back to your accommodation, cut it open and cover it with butter and jam (you can purchase these from the shops surrounding the Durian circle, the town’s main roundabout). Complement this with a coffee and you have a breakfast that harks back to provincial France. Just make sure you get there before 9am, as the hot bread disappears fast.
Go for: A traditional Khmer bakery experience.
Ask for: A 1,000 riel hot baguette.

Kampot Pie and Ice Cream Palace
“There’s something about Mary’s” Street 720
Mary Rose, proprietor of “the Palace,” is a shining light and one of those “special people” who make Kampot the kind of town that it is. Self-taught and with help from her family and friends, she bakes all of the Palace’s delights, from apple pies to coconut cookies and a host of goods in between (the name really does say it all). But one thing shines above all else: the Mary Rose BIG breakfast. It may not win any Heart Foundation awards but it will set you up for the day, guaranteed. For the reil you’ll spend, it’s the best fried breakfast this side of the Kingdom.
Go for: Mary’s welcome.
Ask for: The Mary Rose BIG breakfast.

Java Bleu – “Last chance to eat?”
Corner Street 710 & 726
I stay close to Java Bleu, a restaurant situated in a beautiful French provincial-style building in the heart of Kampot’s colonial district. Each morning around 7am, I can find Jean Claude sorting through the freshly delivered fish that will cover his menu for the day. Fish, cooked with French style and flare, is the focus of Java Bleu’s menu, together with quality wines and desserts. It’s always worth savouring its outstanding dishes in a beautiful corner location – a position as yet unconfirmed for the future.
Go for: A possible last chance to sample Java Bleu at its present location.
Ask for: The swordfish or the seafood platter.

Rikitikitavi – “Watch the boats”
River road, corner Street 728
Situated on a prime site on Kampot’s riverside, RKT offers a higher end dining experience, but at reasonable prices. With Khmer and Western favourites (amok, lok lak, curries, fish and chips, kebabs, BBQ ribs, vegetarian burritos) RKT covers the food bases. The meals are excellent and the service outstanding: Denise and Dom put a lot of effort into staff training and it shows. The best feature of all, however, is the 2-for-1 cocktail deal between 5-7pm. Tank up on mojitols, Singapore slings, caiparinhas and a host of other mixed drinks and you may well see the rest of your night disappear in a blur. Even better, time your visit around 6pm and watch the departure of Kampot’s fishing fleet as it heads out for its evening trawl.
Go for: Quality riverside dining.
Ask for: The 2-for-1 cocktails between 5 and 7pm.

The Green House – “An out-of-town experience”
Road to Kampot Zoo
Last decade, Snow’s (or Maxine’s) over the other side of the Tonle Sap River was a Phnom Penh institution (hell, Dengue Fever even recorded live there). Redevelopments along the river put pay to the bar but not to the building, which was taken down, packed up and resurrected by Marco and Dave on the banks of the Kampot River (one kilometre before the Kampot Zoo, 700 metres beyond the sign-posted turn-off).
Now sans Dave and with some significant improvements, including a recently enlarged outside deck and a new menu, the Green House has raised the bar for West Bank fare. In particular, its take on the regions favourite native – pepper – provides a unique twist to its various dishes (swordfish fillet with red Kampot pepper butter and lime sauce, for example). But it is the restaurant’s location on the river, with its laidback charm that truly sets it apart from the rest. Just make sure to bring some mosquito spray and cover up – you come to dine, not be dined on, and those guys can be feisty once the sun disappears.
Go for: Pepper menu twists, twilight and sunset.
Ask for: Red Kampot pepper and chocolate cookies.

Epic Arts – “Soul Food”
Street 724
You notice it when you enter: a quiet and peaceful atmosphere, which transfers across to the food and coffee. This is not surprising – Epic Arts provides support to people with disabilities, including the hard of hearing, many of whom prepare and serve the restaurant’s food and drinks. Open early and closing at 5pm, Epic Arts is dedicated to breakfast and lunch options, including muesli, toasted bread, baguettes and paninis. Meanwhile, for those requiring a caffeine fix, Epic Arts does an excellent plunger coffee, as well as a range of shakes and smoothies. It also has a nice line of baked goods that you can take away.
Epic Arts is about more than food and drink, however, and forms part of a comprehensive programme empowering the less able through music, drawing and vocational training. Venture upstairs and you can check out some of this work.
Go for: Good intentions.
Ask for: Cheese and tomato panini and a plunger coffee.

Divino – “Family Values”
Street 724
Kampot attracts many people to its riverside location. That it has attracted Marco and Alessia, a couple devoted to reproducing the food of their Southern Italy homeland means that the town now plays host to one of the finer Italian restaurants in the Kingdom. It is less a “hole in the wall” and more a “table in the front room” establishment; the bambino sleeps on the nearby chair, the staff run their hands through her hair, all adding to the charm and authenticity of Divino’s family spirit. From pastas to risottos, to pizza and gnocchi and wonderfully baked homemade bread, there is sure to be something that will satisfy your Italian food urge. Moreover, many of the ingredients are prepared on site, meaning that the “from the packet” approach that passes for Italian food at some establishments is avoided. Also check out the wine sourced from the family vineyard back home in Italy – it offers the perfect complement to your main course.
Go for: Family charm.
Ask for: The five cheeses gnocchi.

Kampot Cooker – “Going to the dogs”
Corner 710 & 726
The Kampot Cooker is owned and operated by Johnny and Yan and offers a distinct take on street-side food. Johnny has brought years of cooking experience from the US and France to create a menu range that, although not extensive, is exciting and innovative. Yan and her family, meanwhile, ensure that your order and other needs are well taken care of.
Menu-wise, one favourite is the Kampot Dog, comprising ground, fresh pork, Kampot red pepper, lemongrass, shallots, a slaw of green mango, papaya and cabbage, served in a fresh baguette and coated in homemade Baba sauce. It may not reduce the town’s irritant canine population but it is a welcome addition to Kampot’s wider menu options. Other choices include Johnny’s special fried rice and his grilled bratwurst with onions and salad in a fresh baguette. On the side of virtue, meanwhile, every meal sold at KC provides support for feeding two children in Phnom Penh through Buckhunger, a local NGO established by Johnny to help feed hungry street families in the capital (www.buckhunger.com).
Go for: Simple and innovative food.
Ask for: A Kampot Dog or the grilled bratwurst.

Street Food – “It’s not Vietnam”
Riverside, Street 700 & Street 730
Cambodia has never been able to carry off the same street food appeal of Thailand and Vietnam. That said, Kampot offers as good a place as any to try the Khmer take on streetside fare. The riverside is a good place to locate corn (ensure you get the steamed yellow variety and not the barbequed white kind), spam in a baguette and sugarcane juice. Street 700 is the home of the deadly sweet fruit shakes (look out for the long lines of tables with the display fruit and blenders). Beyond Rikitikitavi, on Street 730, you can find numerous fried skewer sellers who, for 1000 riel, offer crabmeat, tofu and ground meatballs, which they will fry in front of you and serve with leafy greens. Seating is offered on tiny outdoor plastic chairs and tables.
Go for: Inexpensive and local.
Ask for: A crabmeat skewer with a cold Cambodia (the fresh corn isn’t bad either). Hot baguettes, great value big breakfasts, roasted house blend coffee, fresh gnocchi, riverside cocktails, sushi and more: Kampot is in the middle of an epicurean explosion. Even as we speak, new culinary establishments are being built at an exponential rate, so it’s well worth the trip to check out what more the former “sleepy city” will have to offer by that stage. Yet, while things move quickly and establishments come and go with an alarming regularity in the Kingdom, there is a reassuring solidity about the Kampot food scene, particularly in its ubiquitous home-cooked style and quality.

More than a facade

Taking a quick break from his latest painting project – a giant naga winding up the wall of the Institut Francais – street artist Theo Vallier wastes no time reeling off the events, challenges and objectives involved in the upcoming Cambodian Urban Art Festival, curated by him and fellow street artist known as Chifumi.

In a paint-spattered T-shirt and adrenalin-fuelled, but carefully articulated speech, Theo explains, “On April 23rd there is the opening party [at Institut Francais]. There will be all different things: one exhibition of Chifumi and my artworks in the gallery on one side; on the other there are big murals painted by the artists involved; Skateistan has an exhibition of hand-painted skateboard decks, all made in Cambodia; then the KlapYaHandz show will be in the garden.”

Pausing to point out a name and image on the festival brochure, Theo continues with contained excitement, “We also have Alias, who is a light painter. He does what we call ‘light graffiti.’ He sets up a long exposure camera in the dark and he works in front of walls with graffiti. He uses light to draw things in the air in front of the graffiti, and with the long exposure, it sticks on the photo like a drawing. He can’t see what his picture will look like until after it is captured. He will be showing his series of photos using this unique technique.”

Running from Thursday April 23 to Sunday May 17, the first Saturday of the festival will include a tuk tuk tour of several prominent murals around the city, painted by selected artists in the lead-up to the event.

“There will be around 30 tuk tuks and it’s free admission. These artists will have a wall to paint around the city,” Theo says, holding up a flyer including familiar names such as Lisa Mam and Peap Tarr, as well as newcomers, including 17-year-old locals Davido and Koy.

Theo explains the event and the process of gaining permission to paint with a hint of urgency: at the time of speaking, with only 13 days until the tour, authorisation is yet to be formally acquired.

“We will be starting soon. The thing is that we are working with the government on that project, the municipality. We have to ask permission to paint the wall on the street so we don’t get into any trouble from police. So we had to ask the artists to send a sketch of what they wanted to do – colours, design, everything – send them all to the government municipality, and wait for their answer. We finally got a ‘yes’ a week ago, but until then we were quite stressed. But we don’t have the official letter from them yet. Most of the places to be painted are very high exposure, so we can’t start without that. Within 13 days, we need to get that letter and the artists need to start and finish all their work.”

Both Theo and co-curator Chifumi are no strangers to the complications involved with painting publically, particularly in a city in which street art is still a relatively nascent concept. To further drive home the point, Theo receives a phone call only moments after chatting, informing him that the authorisation he had previously received to paint one of the public walls has been retracted.

Theo remains optimistic, however, focusing on the flip-side of pioneering an industry whose accessible, emergent nature affords the perfect opportunity for creative innovation and growth.

“Painting here is different from other cities. There are not a lot of artists, there are not a lot of painted walls around, so it’s easier to find free walls. Our idea for this festival is really to bring more creativity together in Cambodia. To show the young generation we can also paint on the walls and do nice things. This is also the message we want to send to the municipality: it’s not vandalism, its art. Real art. So we are bringing colours to the city, for everybody, for free.”

Theo adds, “It’s a lot easier for most people to access street art than to walk in the gallery – most [locals] will never pass the door of a gallery. Most Cambodian people don’t really even know where contemporary art is or why, or what it is about. The good thing with street art is that it’s free for everybody and that it’s easy to access.”

The confidence Theo maintains despite administrative setbacks is perhaps at least partially related to the comparative ease with which the entire project was made possible in the first place, thanks to ongoing help and support from the Institut Francais.

“They have been helping us from the beginning. It’s a lot easier to establish contact with the municipality since we are French artists in Cambodia doing it through the institute. If we went to knock on the governor of Phnom Penh’s door and just said, ‘Hey we want to paint on some walls,’ he’d be like, ‘Go away, please.’ It has been a lot easier to work with the French Institute. They have helped us a lot and it’s what’s made us able to do this as big.”

The concept for the festival, which Theo and Chifumi aim to repeat and develop annually, began way back when the artists began collaborating two years ago.

“We wanted to really try to create something within the context of Cambodia in terms of art and creativity. We want to show the young generations here that they can take their own culture and rework it in a more modern way,” Theo says. “All the work I’m doing with the Khmer patterns like the naga and Chifumi’s apsara hands are exactly that: it’s the idea to make the old culture more modern. It’s really not to look at what’s happening overseas, bring it here and copy it. We would really like for people here to appropriate this old style of Khmer art practice – because this culture is just super rich –to create something new and all their own.”

With an aim to promote all forms of local urban art, the festival will not be limited to painting, additionally including a hip hop performance and skateboard art. While these art forms are deeply rooted within an urban culture originating in America, Theo believes the urban art scene represents an important underlying mindset and attitude which is just as applicable and relevant to the emerging Cambodian youth culture.

“From the very beginning, graffiti was part of hip hop culture. Artists of both kinds really connected, always working together, and that’s way back at the very beginning of hip hop in the US,” Theo says. “[The art forms] still have that link, and skateboarding fits well with the two, especially here in Cambodia. I think it’s good to bring these kind of underground cultures and people together in Cambodia. It’s a way to be different, especially with skateboards now, because here they attract a certain way to dress differently, act differently and grow your mind differently too. You can see it happening through all these things among Cambodian youth, and that’s a great thing.”

Having now lived and painted in Phnom Penh for more than seven years, Theo believes that, with continuously increasing support for local modern art and design, as well as improved accessibility and communication with artists worldwide, the face of Phnom Penh’s contemporary art scene is undergoing a metamorphosis more rapid and significant than ever before.

“I’ve seen a lot of changes. At the time I arrived, I didn’t see any other kinds of graffiti in the city. But now it’s developing and changing,” Theo says. “The new generation is already more creative. There are more schools for design and graphic design, so they are more into that kind of thing, and now with the internet they can look more around the world into what is happening. So with all the underground communities like hip hop and skateboarding they’re getting more and more information on what is happening overseas and they can create their own thing. It’s only going to grow.”

The Cambodian Urban Art Festival opens 6:30pm on Thursday April 23 at Institut Francais, #218 St. 184.

Category: Features