In a remote region of Thailand, on the banks of the Mekong River, a group of soldiers haves been struck by a mysterious illness that causes them to fall into an endless sleep. As she takes care of one of them, Jen (Jenjira Pongpas) delves into his dream, revealing haunting visions of past conflicts. In the final scene, she sits on a bench and observes a wasteland where children play while excavators turn over the ground. She displays a strange expression of terror, and… end of movie.
Apichatpong Weerasethakul leaves us pondering Jen's gaze. Is she merely observing the scene or glimpsing something beyond reality? Does she see the shocking cycle of military violence that has taken place since Ayutthaya and the 1960s-70s? Is she about to fall into the strange sleeping sickness? Does she see a form of the future that terrifies her? Certainly a bit of all. The director refrains from giving a clear answer, leaving it up to the viewer's interpretation.
This thought-provoking moment prompts reflection on the film's narrative and visuals. Apichatpong is not accustomed to filming so close to faces. Therefore this image, highly incongruous, prompts one to inquire into what has changed not only in the narrative but also in the visual economy of the film since the soldier's dreamlike journey. Concluding with Jen's eyes wide open, reduced to a mere spectator, ‘Cemetery of Splendour' invites all viewers to ask themselves: What have we truly just witnessed?
The disruption of the film's rhythm, the doubling of the audience's position, the abruptness of the end credits, the strangeness of the field-versus-field connection, and the haunting emptiness of Jen's gaze linger in our minds, forcing us to contemplate the ineffable. In this ambiguity lies the essence of Apichatpong's cinema – a simple yet resonant image that inspires contemplation long after the movie has ended. It underscores the transformative power of cinema, leaving us with an enduring quest for understanding amidst the mysteries of life.
