Review: Photocopier (2021)

TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual abuse

96/100

In Photocopier (original: Penyalin Cahaya), our protagonist is Sur, a kind-hearted college student who is also the tech girl of the peer performing arts group Mata Hari (translates to "Sun"). Giddy, giddy, giddy... boom. She loses her scholarship, as she had apparently posted photos with alcoholic drinks. However, as more oddities appear, Sur learns that this is more than just her being under the influence. It is a complicated, and unbelievable, case of sexual assault.

But also, someone else is involved in this film. The film's creativity is solely credited to Wregas Bhanuteja (who did a stellar job for a debut), but it was the work of another person as well: Henricus Pria, who was discredited upon sexual abuse cases. It was an intense revelation, a unique case of layered irony. Despite the universal acclaim, a Letterboxd critic called it trauma porn. Netflix, who acquired the rights for the film, said its release is uninterrupted. I'm not gonna dive more; this is not an investigative piece. But what I am going to write will be controversial: I think Netflix is doing a tremendous decision, one beyond the human mind.

The reason this film is called Photocopier is because of the object's notable presence. As Sur gathers more evidence on what had happened to her, in chef's-kiss neo-noir color-grading galore, she photocopies these evidences, which even includes herself (I'm not spoiling, alright? 90% of international viewers knew of the film from its trailer). This is when the conflicts truly arise to full glory, when the audience begins to feel a wind of emotions nearing. Everything from anger, investigation, to sadness... they don't come from the audiences, instead it ravages them, like a cold winter to a man with a T-shirt.

But another part of that wind also comes from the roots of the film, one we don't get to see onscreen. Pria. He becomes a ghostwriter... wait, I was about to say, he is like the ghost of this film. He haunts us. However he does none of the directing; he merely co-wrote the screenplay. For context, a screenplay is just text.  Yet Bhanuteja is able to, unknowingly, translate the eerie air of Pria into the camera. The green becomes not just haunting to Sur, but also haunting to us. The film becomes an eye-opener.

And I'm not talking about this as in "Pria assaulted women and his co-written script becomes a work of art and oh do I enjoy it!" If the Photocopier team really mean it with the screenplay, they could've just retracted the film. But no, they decided to just put it on Netflix, who never discloses viewership counts or earnings. Instead, what Netflix is doing here is being a lawyer. This film is an expose of Pria. And now I understand what it feels like to be an audiences on a court case. With electrifying performances, the film gradually provide us with new exhibits, and it becomes spiritually interactive.

The film is not without its limitations. A scene involving Sur performing a monologue is dull and out of emotion, the tone of the film for a moment shifting without context. But in between that monologue scene, Bhanuteja (and Pria, I guess) amplifies the sense of doom in Sur, which ultimately coated my skin throughout the film. The goosebump-inducing photocopier neon green lights symbolizes feeling, how it can illuminate us, how it defines us. Photocopier is semi-predictable, but what makes it riveting is that we are force-fed its emotion. This is an emotional recreation of sexual assault. Pria gave hints for these evocations in the screenplay, and so this feels like an interesting study on abusers. He is doing voluntary imprisonment, but the tracks he left are valuable to have its importance denied.

I am a firm believer in cinema as a reflection. Taking this one case and dilates it to an aesthetic and euphonic experience, allowing for a psychedelic trip through real life, and an exaggerated awakening to a certain movement. But as the credits roll, you also learn to appreciate the film's realism. Photocopier is a good example of such a film, a rarity in the Indonesian film industry where demand seems to gear towards cheap jumpscare horror flicks.

I am in no way standing for Pria. I believe that his awards should be retracted. But one can enjoy something, without definitively enjoying it. I am not kidding: the first time seeing Photocopier, I got an intense fever that my strength just dropped. The film left me mentally nauseous too. But this is a radical redefinition of cinema. I think Pria succeeded in humiliating himself here. This is his self-humiliation. And as they say, to make fun of Hitler, we should laugh at him. This is the way I laugh at Pria.

Photocopier is available on Netflix.