Margot Cohen, Jakarta – Forget Batman, Spiderman, and even Rambo. Indonesia's new celluloid superhero bears the name Fatahillah, and he's bringing a Muslim Holy War to Theaters Near You – thanks to the enthusiastic backing of the Indonesian government, bent on reviving the nation's moribund movie industry.
Jakarta officials are urging citizens to rush to see "Fatahillah," which opens today in 23 cities across the archipelago. In August, the two-hour film will sweep Brunei, Malaysia, Thailand and Singapore. Even wider distribution beckons, judging from the letters of interest from the US-based Samuel Goldwyn Company, Star TV in Hong Kong, and Japan's Tokyo Broadcasting System. Indonesian television will also air "Fatahillah" as a 13-part miniseries during the Idul Fitri Muslim holiday next year.
But jihad and popcorn may not be a comforting combination for a country like Indonesia, where Muslim-Christian relations have grown decidedly strained in the wake of recent church burnings and desecration of mosques. Ironically, "Fatahillah" undermines Indonesia's own previous efforts to promote Islam as a gentle, tolerant faith.
"I won't recommend this film to my non-Muslim friends. I wouldn't want them to feel hurt," said one Indonesian Muslim journalist at the June 11 premiere. Although Vice President Try Sutrisno and other political heavyweights offered flowers and kudos, other observers quietly concluded that the film adds a militant edge to the Islamic revival now underway in Indonesia, home to the world's largest Muslim population.
The problem is that the movie's anti-colonial theme gets mixed up with an us-versus-them approach to religion. Set in the 16th century, "Fatahillah" tells the story of a charismatic, educated Muslim cleric who mobilizes soldiers from the islands of Java and Madura in order to defeat Portuguese invaders. The film climaxes with a chaotic battle scene at the port of Sunda Kelapa, entryway to the capital subsequently named "Jayakarta," or "City of Victory." Despite their superior firepower, the hapless Portuguese are sliced, battered, and roasted alive during a surprise attack.
"God is great," cries Fatahillah and his barefoot soldiers, as the screen flashes a quotation from the Koran advising war against "infidels and hypocrites."
On the long road to the battlefield, Fatahillah must contend with Javanese who have not yet converted to Islam and remain ambivalent or opposed to his holy war against the Portuguese. The script does offer some snippets of tolerance, such as a reminder that "God does not permit forcing others to embrace religion." Yet such lines are lost in a sea of suspicion toward those who are not Muslim.
It wasn't easy for Indonesian directors Imam Tantowi and Chaerul Umam to select an actor for the starring role. A familiar face would have been risky, given the sensual fare churned out by local producers. "If he played in a sex film after this, it could be very dangerous," says Mr. Tantowi.
Luckily, they convinced novice Igo Ilham to tear himself away from his studies in accounting to fill the role of 38-year-old Fatahillah. Well-versed in Arabic prayer, Mr. Ilham projects a humble grace that serves to anchor the confusing plot line. His dark eyes smolder at thoughts of the Portuguese, but they soften in approaching a teary wife opposed to his perilous mission. "Sometimes family matters can be more complicated than facing a dangerous enemy," murmurs a wise elder.
The production itself was a highly complicated undertaking, between managing a colossal cast of 2,500 people, creating 16th century costumes and sets, and filling in historical gaps in the superhero's biography. "We know virtually nothing about the man," says Adji Damais, director of the Jakarta History Museum. "We've been afflicted with the desire to make epic films, Hollywood-style, forgetting that Hollywood has some hard evidence about history."
Perhaps the greatest challenge was meeting political deadlines. Government patronage did not come without strings attached. The movie's 3 billion rupiah ($1.2 million) budget–the biggest in Indonesia's movie history–was largely financed with taxes on cinema tickets, and Jakarta governor Surjadi Soedirja was named as the film's producer. Mr. Soedirja was determined to see the film finished in time for Jakarta's 470th birthday on June 22.
That meant shooting during the December-to-February rainy season, which in turn caused many costly delays. One extra who played a Portuguese soldier was supposed to perish in two days. Instead, it took two weeks. "I just want to die and collect my salary," groaned Willy Bule, on location in Cirebon, West Java. A sudden storm destroyed one life-size replica of a Portuguese ship, and another ship disappeared altogether. Even the horses went a little stir crazy. Waiting for the rains to stop, the directors were forced to shoot much of the film in the middle of the night, leaving moviegoers to squint at shadowy figures on screen.
"Fatahillah" lacks the sense of humor that enlivened "Nada dan Dakwah," a Muslim musical released in 1992, and neither the dialogue nor the cinematography match the poetic power of the 1988 classic "Tjoet Nya Dhien," a portrait of an Acehnese Muslim heroine forced to succumb to Dutch colonizers.
But whatever the film's shortcomings, it has undoubtedly triggered fresh interest in combing the archives for cinematic inspiration. Heroic tales from West Sumatra, Riau and East Java are now in the works, with government support. State censors will likely have a hand in these patriotic projects, however. And if "Fatahillah" is any indication, the burden of political backing may deprive Indonesian movie-goers of the nuanced screen treatment their history deserves.