Paradigm shift

Bro rented Pleasure Factory, a movie which generated quite a lot of talk when it came out with an R21 rating last year in Singapore. Inspired by true stories, Pleasure Factory gives a tender look at the reality behind the openly secret and suitably colourful world of prostitution in Geylang.

Jerome has always wondered why anyone would offer something so personal with such nonchalance along the streets. Every night, the red-light district bustles with a curious air of eroticism: ladies dress provocatively and flaunt themselves at beer-bellied, middle-aged uncles, and the latter return approving looks before both parties disappear into the dimly lit rooms of unnamed hotels in intimate pairs.

Oddly enough Jerome had such a conversation with Coach a couple of weeks back when Coach drove the zebra through Geylang to get to the nearest MRT station after gym training. Jerome pointed at the scantily clad ladies and asked, with probably an over-righteous tone, why anyone would demean themselves with such a job. The consensus of this brief discussion was that most of them must have heart-wrenching stories to tell; stories that explain why they were forced into this unpleasant predicament. Those who sell their dignities for the sake of branded apparel probably make up only an insignificant minority.

Indeed, Pleasure Factory looks beyond sleaze as a commodity and exposes the raw emotions behind 3 of such “pleasure providers”. These people do not derive enjoyment from their brief encounters with strangers from the streets. It is, but only, a means of living. They are after all still human, and they seek true love, a relationship based on mutual trust and understanding, and not one motivated by lust or shameless lechery.

What made Jerome weep was the story of a prostitute mother and her daughter, the latter whom was initiated reluctantly into the shady business because of unfavourable family circumstances. As a busker croons the heartrending lyrics from月亮代表我的心, the mother looks forlornly at her daughter. She didn’t have to speak. All her emotions have been rightfully represented by the lyrics.

你问我爱你有多深，我爱你有几分。
我的情也真，我的爱也真。
月亮代表我的心。

They hugged, with tears in their eyes. A simple scene carried by an old song, but demonstrating the powerful, fundamental emotions of true love.

True love comes in many forms. Besides the affection between a mother and her child, Pleasure Factory delves into the emotions between an uncertain teenage army boy and his fellow buddy, a scene that was unfortunately removed from the DVD so that it can be distributed with a sanitised M18 rating. (Found out about this after checking out some forums.) Jerome shall not gripe too much about censorship here for it will warrant a separate post in itself.

Jerome now understands the industry along the streets of Geylang better. The next time he heads down for 豆花, he shall not scoff at the lonely figures loitering at hotel lobbies anymore. Instead, he will try to empathise. Jerome is using “try” here because, after all, it is a paradigm shift for him.

Truth be told, after the movie, what puts Jerome off are the ah peks with alcohol breaths who saunter down the streets with lustful smirks on their wrinkled faces, and hang around Yangtze cinema to fantasise on movie posters of meaningless R21 screenings.

Yet, ironically, they are the ones who drive the industry.

This world, if you hadn't realised, is full of contradictions.