麻豆传媒

Mika Rottenberg and聽Mahyad Tousi

On limited release

FROM her high-rise in a future Kuala Lumpur, where goods flow freely, drone-propelled, while people stay in their apartments, Unoaku 鈥� in a brilliant, almost voiceless performance by Okwui Okpokwasili 鈥� ekes out her life.

There are herbs on her windowsill and vegetables growing in hydroponic cabinets built into her walls. If she is feeling lazy, a drone will deliver a meal that she can simply drop, box and all, into boiling water. Unoaku鈥檚 is a world of edible packaging, smart architecture, living rugs that she spritzes daily 鈥� and profound loneliness. She lives by herself, and so does everybody else.

Though Remote was filmed during the covid-19 lockdowns, it would be a mistake to consider it just another 鈥渓ockdown movie鈥�. Unoaku鈥檚 world is by no stretch a world in crisis, still less a dystopia. Her vibrant apartment 鈥� I want her wallpaper and so will you 鈥� is more refuge than prison. Its walls move to accommodate Unoaku, giving her at least the illusion of space. If it hadn鈥檛 been for the covid-19 pandemic, we might well be viewing this woman鈥檚 life as a relatively positive metaphor for what it would be like on a long space journey. One imagines lunar or Martian terraformers settling for much less.

Hers is, however, a little life: reduced to self-care, to hours gesturing at a blank wall 鈥� she is an architect, working in virtual reality 鈥� and to evenings in front of Eun-ji and Soju, a Korean dog-grooming TV show. Soju is the terrier and Eun-ji (Joony Kim) is its ebullient owner.

Things start to go very slightly wrong. Unoaku鈥檚 pan is returned dirty from the cleaning service. Eun-ji turns up drunk to her live show. Unoaku notices the goofy clock on Eun-ji鈥檚 wall has started to run backwards. When she points this out on the programme鈥檚 chat platform, she triggers a stream of contempt from other viewers.

Unoaku is far more fragile than we thought. Now, when she leans out of her window, bashing her cooking pan with a wooden spoon, celebrating, well, something 鈥� maybe just the fact of being alive and able to hear other human beings 鈥� she is left shaking, her face wet with tears.

Soon, other women contact her. They, too, have been watching Eun-ji and Soju. They, too, can see the clock going backwards on the dog groomer鈥檚 wall. Bit by bit, a kind of community emerges.

Commissioned by UK non-profit organisation Artangel and a consortium of international galleries, Remote is that rare thing, an 鈥渁rt movie鈥�. It belongs to a genre streaming has made economically unviable and that has been largely forgotten.

Mika Rottenberg, one of twoco-directors, is an artist working in upstate New York, best known for short, cryptic video works, such as Sneeze, in which well-dressed men with throbbing noses sneeze out steaks, light bulbs and live rabbits. The other director, Mahyad Tousi, has a more traditional background: he was an executive producer on CBS comedy United States of Al, and is now writing a sci-fi adaptation of One Thousand and One Nights.

We can鈥檛 expect Remote to revive the art movie overnight, of course, but it offers an excellent argument for making the attempt. Like a modern Japanese or Korean short story, Remote explores the tiny bounds of an ordinary-seeming urban life, hemmed in by technology and consumption, and it surprises with a world of deep feeling that is bubbling just beneath the surface.

Simon Ings is a novelist and science writer. Follow him on聽Instagram @simon_ings

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