Singapore is for the fast and the furious. But as the rest of this country forges ahead in a rat race, local film-maker Royston Tan seeks his comfort in ‘the old days’. What you will not find in the squeaky-clean transit terminals and urbanised metropolis of Singapore, you will discover through Tan’s lens’an intimate look into the backyards of Singapore. Tan was catapulted into international spotlight for two of his films, 15 (2003) and Cut (2004), both of which rocked the censorship boat of media strict Singapore.

Tan’s latest film 4:30, which departs in terms of style and controversy, is a quiet film of urban isolation; observing the mundane, lonely existence of 11-year-old Xiao Wu who becomes fascinated with his equally melancholic tenant, 31-year-old Jung. Their relationship is laced with deliberate ambiguity, fusing imagination, a father’son connection and homoerotic tension into one. ‘I try to portray a human side to Singapore,’ says Tan, ‘which is not all synthetic and unreal.

‘Everyday something old that is part of our heritage is destroyed in Singapore,’ Tan says; hence his drive to ‘immortalise’ these images. Indeed 4:30 is crammed with the authentic’each scene a carefully composed mise en sc‚àöÔøΩne of the old. From the collapsible garment wardrobe, the ubiquitous green Telecom phone in the ’70s to the ice cream motor cart, early Singapore is showcased with nostalgia.

Born in 1976, Royston is perhaps not a relic, but draws his acumen for the old from traditional Chinese Wayang (Street Opera). Watching theatre, what he fails to decipher inspires him, he said; and it might be argued that the unique style of MTV editing prominent in Tan’s works, in fact, pays homage to this vanishing street spectacle.

Tan professes colours excited him, ‘Every word translates into a visual for me.’ It was one sentence that triggered his first feature-length film 15. ‘It won’t hurt if you don’t think about it.’ This single sentence was translated by him into a gritty social documentary of Singapore’s problem youth; a film that received a total of 29 cuts from the Censorship Board and was subsequently banned nationally. This was followed closely by Cut, Tan’s token protest to censorship, which activated some 15-hundred artists from the around the country, contributing to a humorous satire of Singapore censorship laws.

‘The censors are paid so much that you have to torture them a littleÔøΩƒ∂’ says Tan. ‘It’s really funny when you see their censorship surveys’ÔøΩÔøΩDo you think the violence affects the community? Yes/No,’ ‘Do you think sex is bad? Yes/No.’ÔøΩÔøΩ

A man for whom the grey regions between black and white ‘have always been’, Tan had lived on the periphery of the lives of his young charges in 15, withholding his judgement as he befriended them. ‘If I ever had a secret agenda for the film, it would be to show them what they’ve experienced,’ Tan says.

For Tan, who believes that art mirrors life, the big screen is a cathartic reflection for the realist in him. ‘Maybe I am not a very happy person, that’s why I seek comfort in film-making’to portray harsh reality and then be able to sugar-coat itÔøΩƒ∂ It gives me a second chance at life.’

Being an icon of rebellion or a harbinger of artistic freedom are only temporal labels to Tan. The label of the ‘Asian Hero’, it seems, ultimately appeals less to him than his identity as a Singaporean. ‘My works are a reflection of the way I see Singapore and of the things I believe in,’ he says, ‘I won’t be tamed.’