The bonds between mother and son have always provided fascinating and rich cinematic material. More so in Tumpal Tampubolon’s debut feature Crocodile Tears, where such a family dynamic is explored within the confines of a crocodile park in West Java, Indonesia, complete with the ever present ‘menace’ of its reptilian residents. It is an altogether curious affair, both pitch black in comedic moments, tender in others, but venturing into the supernatural too, making for intriguing viewing.
Mama (Marissa Anita) and her adult son Johan (Yusuf Mahardika) seem to have all they need in their unusual world of caring for crocs in a remote setting barely visited by the public. They eat together, sleep together and care for each other and their animals daily. Except with the wider world at his finger tips on a phone, this is clearly not enough for Johan – as the opening scene demonstrates. He wants to explore what life has to offer and connect with his peers beyond the amusement park’s gates. However, ‘mother knows best’, and although Johan is free to come and go, he is socially awkward and his mother’s emotional blackmail clips his wings and keeps him tethered – as does the mystery of what happened to his father.
A karaoke bar girl call Arumi (Zulfa Maharani) with no family ties enters Johan’s life and a relationship blossoms. Arumi comes to live with Mama and Johan after they discover she is pregnant. Just how this new person will affect the status quo is the catalyst for the second half of an initial slow-burn tale.
With little playing out though, Tampubolon aptly introduces us to his characters in the first half, so that we have an understanding of their pace of life and personality traits. From this we witness the unravelling of their inclusive existence, which in all intents and purposes might be the key to a harmonious lifestyle, but the ever encroaching spectre of modern-day living always threatens to disrupt. The nocturnal, ‘supernatural’ moments are fascinating but also fill in the gaps about both mother and son’s mental wellbeing, as does the curious presence of a white crocodile that seems have Mama under a spell.
The filmmaker uses both the visuals of the crocs’ watchful eyes and the sound of growls and gnashing of jaws to symbolise both mother’s grasp, but also foreboding and imminent change. It is waiting for the latter that keeps us bound to the park life like Johan, as well invested in the mystery of the white croc. Both Anita and Mahardika give wonderful, nuanced performances that climax as mother breaks down and control is lost. The symbolism of life and death shown side by side is equally powerful, as well as the natural chain of events of mother being the provider, then needing care before death.
Some might argue that Tampubolon exploring the supernatural realm of mother becoming beast by moonlight is squandered in this. However, it actually keeps things anchored in reality because it acts as a gauge as to how far the characters spiral into madness or ‘fight or flight’ mode. Either way, it is an illustration of their minds, rather than suggesting anything otherworldly is happening.
Crocodile Tears marks a really exciting feature debut from Tampubolon that sadly could miss its rightful place at the box office, outside of the film festival circuit. That said it offers great expectations and vision from The Sea Calls For Me writer-director who can sink his teeth into any film genre to come.
