| By YENI | Saturday, February 12, 2011 |
In one of his bitingly sarcastic routines, Burmese comedian Zarganar tells the story of an “international boasting competition.” The Americans, he says, were confident of victory when they claimed their man could reach the peak of Mount Everest even if he had no legs. The British, however, rose to the challenge by predicting their champion could swim across the Atlantic Ocean without any arms. “But the Burmese boasters just smiled at these western pretenders to the boasting crown,” Zarganar says. Then they stepped up and took first prize by boasting that “Our leader ran the country for over 20 years without a brain.”
Zarganar is not only Burma's most famous comedian—he is also a popular film actor and director, as well as a fierce critic. But for the last two years, the man who once entertained Burma's oppressed masses has only had an audience of fellow prisoners. For the “crime” of cracking wicked puns against the inept and corrupt junta while working as a volunteer providing disaster relief aid in areas of the Irrawaddy Delta that were ravaged by Cyclone Nargis, Zarganar was arrested, convicted of "public order offenses” and sentenced to 59 years in prison—later reduced to 35 years.
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Slide Show (In Bloomstein's authoritative and fascinating film, German stand-up comic Michael Mittermeier serves as narrator in an exploration of the personality, motivation and talent of Zarganar—the man who describes himself as the “loudspeaker” for the Burmese people who have suffered under military dictatorship for nearly 50 years.
The film project began in 2007, before Zarganar was arrested, when the comedian agreed to be interviewed and filmed by Bloomstein following the Burmese junta's deadly crackdown on the peaceful, monk-led “Saffron Revolution” demonstrations that Zarganar sympathetically participated in.
Over the course of two days, Bloomstein filmed an in depth interview with Zarganar in his Rangoon flat, and also went outside to document the cinemas that are prohibited from screening his films, the bookstalls that are not allowed to sell his plays or poetry, and the makeshift studio where Zaganar's fellow comedians perform but he is forbidden to tread.
This rare footage remained unused for two years, until the time Bloomstein heard that Zarganar had been arrested and sentenced to decades in prison.
Then the British director—who said human rights has been one of the major themes of his work—became determined to make a film that would share Zarganar's story with the world.
The result is a documentary that provides unique insight into the Burmese entertainer's thoughts and feelings and tells the story of his arrest and imprisonment, including his ordeal of torture and five years of solitary confinement.
“I wanted the world to experience his humility, his identification with the ordinary people of Burma and his fearless opposition to the generals,” Bloomstein said in a statement. “I also wanted people to hear his response to the years of persecution he had suffered at their hands, when he turned to me on camera and said, ‘My enemy must be my friend.’”
The 50-year-old comedian's troubles with his enemy, the Burmese regime, date back 30 years to the time when he was a third-year dental surgery student registered under his real name—Maung Thura. Even then, Maung Thura was a natural comedian who performed in shows at Burma’s universities. And after completing his dentistry studies, he took to the stage full-time and adopted the name Zarganar, which means “Tweezers” and was taken from a Burmese slogan that was popular during the struggle against British colonial rule: “If you have hairs that stand up when you are afraid, pull them out with tweezers.”
In the film, Zarganar revealed why he chose to be a comedian. “A dentist can open a person’s mouth,” he said. “But the comedian can gape everyone’s.”
In 1986, he formed the Mya Ponnama Anyeint troupe, which frequently performed at secular and religious events and even appeared on state-run television. Anyeint shows were traditionally performed by one or more female dancers who would dance and sing playful songs with a troupe of comedians providing comic relief. Before Zarganar came along, the popularity of Anyeint shows had long been in decline, especially in urban areas, but the then-budding entertainer helped revitalize the art by turning the format upside down and focusing on the humor.
By using this humor to push the envelope against government censors, Zarganar's shows generated immense interest among Burmese of all backgrounds, and in the process attracted new generations of fans. His troupe entertained delighted audiences with their satires on late dictator Gen Ne Win's one-party ruled, military-controlled socialist government and its corrupt ways. He even got away with a highly popular play, “Beggars’ Conference,” which ridiculed the People’s Parliament that was designed and controlled by Ne Win and his cronies (the play still feels current and draws laughter among the Burmese people, who see sadly striking similarities between the legislature Zarganar was mocking more than twenty years earlier and the new Parliament recently convened in Naypyidaw).
Zarganar soon became a household name. But after the military coup in 1988, the ruling generals did not laugh at his jokes as their predecessors had done. Instead, they sent him to prison—after the coup he was arrested, accused of being an “instigator” in the uprising, interrogated for eight days and then locked up in Insein Prison for nearly a year. Then at the time of the 1990 election, he was again arrested for giving political speeches.
Zarganar's late father, the writer and artist Nan Nyunt Swe, was also politically active, as was his late mother. Nan Nyunt Swe once spoke in Burmese democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi’s house during National Day celebrations and he was subsequently banned by the regime’s censors. Zarganar’s mother, Kyi Oo, ran as an independent candidate in the 1990 polls and defeated her opponent.
After his release from prison in 1994, Zarganar was allowed to participate in video productions and worked as a producer, director, scriptwriter and actor.
But the censors and military intelligence closely scrutinized his work, and Zarganar finally ran afoul of the authorities in 1997 for a movie he worked on. After being banned from show business for three years, in 2000 he was once again allowed to make films but was still prohibited from performing live comedy shows. But in May 2006, Zarganar was banned indefinitely from all forms of performance for giving an interview to the BBC—this time even his name was not allowed to be printed in any Burmese periodical.
Despite incurring the wrath of the regime and being oppressed for virtually his entire career, Zarganar said he has never regretted using humor to criticize the ruling authorities.
“Zarganar is an example of courage, humanity and creativity,” said Mittermeier, who was impressed by his fellow comedian's willingness to risk his own life by using his humor and satire to stand up for humanity and democracy.
When Mittermeier heard the story of Zarganar and saw the footage Bloomstein shot in 2007, he decided to go to Burma with the filmmaker and help show the world the prison conditions to which Zarganar was subjected.
Bloomstein and Mittermeier visited the same locations where Bloomstein met Zarganer in 2007: the comedian's flat, the cinemas and bookstalls, the stage where he was banned from performing. Then they flew to Myitkyina, the capital of Kachin State in Burma’s northernmost region, where Zarganar is imprisoned. Using video cameras small enough to be quickly concealed under dangerous circumstances, they captured their exciting approach to the prison in blurred and shaky images. They managed to get close enough to film the outside of the prison and even managed to smuggle hand-written notes to Zarganar through local mediators.
“This Prison Where I Live” is a moving and stimulating film not only because of the story it tells, but also because of the perspective it offers on the role that humor can play in the fight for humanity and democracy against a ruthless authoritarian regime. The film demonstrates that Zarganar's jokes and satire are not only his artistic vocation, they are also a serious weapon against oppression.
As veteran Burmese journalist Ludu Sein Win wrote in an article for The Irrawaddy when the publication chose Zarganar as one of its “People of 2006,” Zarganar is more than just a comedian: “Zarganar is laughing with tear-filled eyes on behalf of his people. He is a Charlie Chaplin for the Burmese people. He is a social critic, and he is a voice of the people.”
“This Prison Where I Live” is a film that reveals not only the inspiring nature of a comedian who dares to joke in the face of brutal tyranny, but also the cerebral struggle of the suffering but still smiling people of Burma. And the crucial documentary is an important step towards ensuring that the world will not forget the imprisoned Zarganar or his oppressed fans.