Cinespot : From Singapore with Love

From Singapore with Love

The Guilty Pleasures Of Climbing Imaginary Stairs.

Wishing Stairs intrigued me to no end.

For one, I cannot deny its obvious achievements in art direction. Case in point, the wooden floorboards in the girls' dorm corridors. They were so clean. I wondered if brooms or vacuum cleaners were used to attain that spotless sheen. I also wondered what would be the appropriate maintenance frequency to keep those surfaces so dust-free. In addition, my faith in good old fashioned carpentry was re-affirmed. Just look at the sandpapered smoothness of those floor boards. Its evenly matt-finished aesthetics also threw up suspicions that much care was put into its layered, "along the grain" paint job. I would not have minded watching those paints dry. And most astoundingly, I could not stop ogling at the masterful alignment of those hammered-in wooden planks that made up the floor boards. The workmanship of the unsung artisan, whoever he might be, thus floored me (pun unintended). Yes, by the time I chanced upon the sheer understated beauty of that wooden groundwork underfoot, I could not stop crying.

On the thematic front, this film packed an even bigger wallop. For I was cut deep and humbled by its empathy for one of my most insecure weaknesses - my inability to count. Though I had been very successful in hiding it so far, this scholastic challenge had crippled my self-esteem for as long as I could remember. Watching this film was thus a very painful personal experience, for I literally had to face my greatest fear head on; to count from one.....to "29". (which was actually the exact number of steps on the wishing stairs to fulfil the film's protagonists' wishes) So imagine my surprised feelings of catharsis when the talented actresses in this heartwarming film took me by the hand. With their invaluable guidance and infinite patience, we worked through this arduous counting exercise step by step, number by number. Grateful I would be for all of eternity. I could finally count up to 29.

Allow me to also declare the therapeutic gifts Wishing Stairs bestowed upon me. For not only did it not condescend upon my "counting inadequacies", it also subconsciously helped in unleashing my previously untapped talents. During its 5 hour running length(I didn't bring my watch), I realised that if I concentrated hard enough on the film, I would be able to mentally log down my following week's work schedules, balance my checking account imbalances and pontificate on the meaning of life (if any). And guess what? Turned out I would still have time to spare after that. So I started to guesstimate on the exact number of people in the cinema hall who shared my sentiments (Yes, my guess was capped at "29", in case you were wondering).

My experience with Wishing Stairs was so unforgettable, I wished I could have shared with all some more of my innermost thoughts. But it's very late now. And I am getting increasingly scared witless by this film's audacious deconstruction of all things scary about scary movies. Case in point, a scene of an auditioning ballerina (one of the film's main characters) leaping and landing on her toe to the strains of some ominously foreshadowing music. Not wanting to reveal too much before or after that scene, most of us in the theatre were in hot anticipation of a coming violent foot fracturing. It never came. Granted, I am somewhat sadistic in hoping to see some nasty "bone piercing out of skin", "blood geysering onto roof" and "screams exploding my ear drums" type sequences during that scene. But in reconciliation, I think the director must have envisioned a groundbreaking anthropological essay/ experiment to test the audience' threshold for deliberate subversion of expectation. In fact, the level of suspense pent up in those scenes might have permanently stunted my nervous system. Go ahead, try pricking me with a needle at the beginning of a movie next time round and I will only scream "Ouch!" at film's end.

In retrospect, Wishing Stairs needs to be seen to be believed. Kudos hence need be accorded to its director. For the sensitivity imbued in so many of those masterfully "teasing" horror sequences felt like sex with just the foreplay. I repeat, "...it never came". In fact, films like these are bound to leave some people gasping for air. But folks, if death by pleasurable asphyxiation is your cuppa, please go see Wishing Stairs. You will be mortally rewarded.

Written by Sinnerman