Joe

My partner is upstairs banging on the floor. He likes to copy David Byrne's dance moves from the live performance of "Once in a lifetime," at Wembley in '82. I go upstairs and promise to do the dances with him as long as he comes with me to watch a triple bill of Weerasethakul Apichatpong movies at our local arty cinema. He agrees. Off we go.

You might say a triple-bill is a big thing to give to a gay, Thai, part-time architect of tender years. But you're forgetting that he just won the Palme D'Or silly. This is our cinema's way of giving him a party. After seeing those films I'd want to give him lots of parties.

I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it. I've never been so struck by the sound of the movies. Each film, Blissfully Yours, Syndromes and a Century and Tropical Malady, each has this background hum of insects right across the whole soundtrack. It feels like you're in a bath. At least that's how I remember it. Meanwhile the the shyly smiling voices of the shy protagonists, hardly creep above the sound of the cricketing. Very quietly they tell each other that they love each other.

In Apichatpong movies, people love each other very quietly, and very much. And the sex scenes are so honest so tender, that its difficult not to think of them as anything but wholesome, sort of hopeful. Tropical Malady makes you forget that people ever thought homosexuality was bad, that people ever could. The heartbreaks are quiet and polite. In Syndromes and a Century, Mr. Chai explains to Dr. Prasarn that he is in love with her, but listens patiently as she recounts the moment she fell in love with another man. Even the conflicts (like the doctor patient conflicts that begin each film) are brushed away with tact and smile.

And they smile. People smile in Apichatpong movies. And little bad things happen. Cows die and people get rashes. But I don't think any big bad things could really happen.

The visual composition is the same: Soft and unassuming and green and meek and quietly moving. The characters gaze at the treetops and at the scorching Thai sky, and you gaze with them. You look at peoples faces for minutes, but it doesn't feel fair that you can't touch them, comfort them. And its all like pea green, pea green, pea green.

This is the overriding affect. You know the way you feel that exciting, voyeuristic ripple when you watch a Haneke film, the feeling that you shouldn't really be seeing all of this? The opposite affect comes from Apichatpong movies. There is this quiet, naive honesty to them, like standing next to a very shy, very lovely person, who is quietly explaining to someone that they are in love.

On the way out of the cinema my partner makes jokes about the unpronounceability of his name (is it "Achtung Ouijaboard?") I'm just excited to see this latest one. I mean its supposed to be his best film yet. Its sure to be lovely. Just lovely.