Parking where you're not supposed to: a treatise on Imaginur

I have to confess; I am usually not swayed by praise for regional films, not least after the film Mat Kilau had effectively shattered any preconceived goodwill I have for them. Imaginur too threatened to follow a similar path but there was a marked difference with regards to the reception it received within the social circle I had woven myself into. Some waxed lyrical, giving the film its flowers while others posited that they were indifferent or unmoved by its overarching themes, or wished that they had watched John Wick III instead. I was intrigued by this non-consensus, and soon I made my way to the theatres not once, but twice, to catch this film.

Helmed by director Nik Amir Mustapha and starring the versatile Beto Kusyairy as Zuhal and Diana Danielle in her return from hiatus as Nur, the story itself is told in a non-linear manner, crafting its narrative through a sequence of repeated events with minute changes at every instance. The fact that Zuhal's memory was slowly failing him starts to dawn upon the viewer; the quick cuts from the train station where he seemingly gets into an accident at, to the hospital to the supermarket suggest that he has gaps in his memory, culminating in a scene where he has a panic attack upon encountering his former fiancee who he does not remembering separating from, and forgetting to bring his Alzheimer's-ridden father home together with him. The initial premise was for Zuhal to seek treatment for his mental health issues at Hypnotica, a clinic he was recommended to by a mysterious lady at the hospital, but upon meeting the resident doctor, Dr. Ramli and encountering a familiar face from his dreams at the clinic, we are pulled into a journey of discovery.

Imaginur deals with a lot of heavy-handed themes but the most prominent ones appear to be the concepts of loss, grief and the persistence of memory. Although not entirely a novel concept explored, with films like Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind and Inception dealing with themes like memory and grief, Imaginur does it in a way that feels tangible and contextualised to the local viewer, that this could be happening within their own shores, among their own people. The viewer is forced to discern which memories are the more plausible ones as the movie progresses. Nur, the woman he initially encounters at a burger kiosk and falls head over heels for immediately, soon plays a pivotal part in every memory he has from then on. From retrieving his engagement ring at his old fiance's home to appearing at his father's funeral, Zuhal is confronted by Nur's almost omnipresence and has trouble figuring out where and how she fits into his life which leads into one of the central themes of the film: memory.

Memory is a faulty mechanism. Often clouded by its prejudices or tinted in whatever emotion we may be perceiving it at any given moment, the film explores memory with all its faults and quirks. Dr. Ramli expresses it succinctly when he mentions that memory is funky and paradoxical; your emotional and mental states play a crucial part in determining how you perceive a particular memory. We are pulled into the journey Zuhal undertakes, through suggestion and willpower, to decipher the fragments of memory he unwillingly misremembers. The motifs that we see repeating; Zuhal in his car by the train station, the hospital waiting area he unwittingly finds himself in every time he tries to reach the mysterious woman are a manifestation of that.

Zuhal's struggles also draw parallels to his father's own struggles with Alzheimer's; his grief unwittingly conflating his own experiences with his experiences in taking care of his father. The guilt and grief he feels at his perceived shortcomings in taking care of his father is beautifully addressed in a scene between father and son, in which the son is reminded that what one feels in his heart and mind is more significant than the "objective" truth. The manifestation of forgiveness also provides Zuhal the impetus to slowly move forward and accept what it entailed, like loss and grief.

Grief repressed is grief unexplored, and the fear that when you are done with grieving you lose a tangible part of that which you grief is a valid fear in itself. The fear of losing whatever sweetness he has had by denying the grief of losing Nur manifested itself in the predicament he and his father found themselves in and when left unaddressed, is passed on to his sister who ultimately succeeds in getting her beloved brother to confront his reality despite the amount of money and time it took. There is a wisdom in grieving that we may not be privy to at its onset that only reveals itself after some time; in moving forward you do not shirk their memories but instead you honour them by learning to live with the memories they have given you, sweet or otherwise, and in Zuhal's case allowing him to move forward with the love that Nur has always had for him.

There is a particularly poignant line towards the end of the film where a parking attendant informs Zuhal that he isn't allowed to park in a certain spot at the train station which mirrors the opening scene but with context adds another layer into the story about the phases of one's life and where one is supposed to be. Grief is neither linear nor absolute, and sometimes it requires a little bit more coaxing of the heart and mind to be where one is meant to be, tears and all.