Before, Now & Then: The Act of Looking, by David Bax

Kamila Andini‘s Before, Now & Then is an historical drama adapted from a chapter of a novel based on the story of a real woman living in mid-twentieth century Indonesia. Nothing in that gnarled lineage would imply a single note of the horror genre. And yet, there are moments in Andini’s film that are deeply chilling and legitimately frightening, starting with the opening depiction of a decapitation.

Our protagonist, Nana (Happy Salma), survived a mass killing of communists that took her husband and son from her. Now she’s found refuge as the neglected wife of well-connected rich man. She lives a life of inert luxury with nothing but time to reflect on her grief and her survivor’s guilt. Of course Before, Now & Then feels like a ghost story. This is a haunted woman.

Andini extends the trappings of Nana’s well-appointed life to her entire aesthetic approach. Before, Now & Then is a rapturously beautiful and sensuous objet d’art. The production design and costumes are folded into the multiple layers of light in every shot of Batara Goempar’s textured cinematography.

Meanwhile, the score from Ricky Lionardi (whose IMDB page suggests he’s contributed to music to nearly every film to come from this part of the world for the last fifteen years or so) is longing, melancholy and nostalgic, the perfect accompaniment to the grief-tinged memories with which Nana lives. At times, it’s almost like a waltz, a romantic dance with the dead.

Finally, as far as the craftspeople go, commendations must be made to the film’s sound design, credited to Nakron Kositpalsal and Suchada Supromin. Every whisper (of which there are many), every drop of rain, every stroke of a brush across the hair is captured and highlighted so specifically that Before, Now & Then could qualify as a feature length ASMR video (and that’s meant to be a compliment, to be clear).

Plot summaries for Before, Now & Then found across the internet and in promotional materials often seem to go out of their way to highlight the fact that Nana is a beautiful woman. That might seem odd until one has seen the film and understand that her stunning visage is as much a part of the film’s gorgeous tapestry as all of the aesthetic contributions I’ve laid out above. But it must also be pointed out that Salma is not present only to provide us a lovely face to look at (although you could do a lot worse at the multiplex than looking at a beautiful person for a couple of hours). Her performance, quiet and restrained yet bursting with internal sadness and radiating with external pain, is a thing of beauty too.