[WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD]
The Society Loves its Horror
How does the story about the trauma caused by a terrorist attack reflect, challenge and enlighten the Indonesian public?
Siksa Kubur (Grave Torture) opened on 11 April 2024 in Indonesia, where horror movies are arguably the most popular in the market. The movie is a special treat for fans of horror movies who love having their intellect engaged by what they see on the widescreen. Its chief theme of repentance also seals the Ramadhan experience this year, which concluded just two days before Siksa Kubur was released.
Audience may find this cinematic experience thought-provoking, borderline nihilistic but also relatable, considering many of its components are derived from our mundane daily life. It is a blend of religious and psychological horror that is highly unusual for Indonesians, a deeply mystical society who love to be spooked by ghosts and monsters but may not necessarily grasp the terrible terror of the afterlife. Joko Anwar penned its script and helmed its direction, creating a flawed story that continues to haunt our psyche days after credits roll.
Though not without criticism, the movie strives to enrich the public’s discourse on contemporary socio-cultural topics. It carries a strong premise about grave torture for the sinful in Islamic tradition, while also being supported by an oppressive atmosphere, stellar performance by some of its cast as well as its more subtle messages that present themselves as riddles.
For these reasons and its reflection as well as critique of the Indonesian society, Siksa Kubur is a must watch, even if its narrative structure still falls victim to questionable logic that more often than not plagues Indonesian moving pictures.
This piece attempts to explore some of the themes and messages that are scattered throughout this dark movie.
Sita Challenges Religion
In short, Siksa Kubur depicts the traumatic lives of siblings Sita (Faradina Mufti) and Adil (Reza Rahadian) whose parents were killed in a suicide bombing attack outside their bakery.
Each sibling manifests the pathos differently. Elder Adil succumbs to a lifelong depressed state, while younger Sita wages a war against religion and God. By burying herself next to the corpse of a most sinful person, Sita hopes to prove that grave torture, religion and divine power are mere societal myths.
It may appear blasphemous, but her motivation appears humane. She was forced to put a blame on something after her traumatic experience in order to help her rationalize it (which, in her case case, religion). Sita turns further away from religion after the rich owner of the pesantren they go to rapes Adil.
Putting aside the absurdity of the pesantren rape plot point (back-to-back atrocities seem punishingly nihilistic for two protagonist children), Director Joko Anwar tells a story that demotes horror from the metaphysic to the mundane, one born out of social ills and heinous crimes. He showcases that personal horror does not have to be caused by ghosts and ghouls, but by simply falling victim to a terrorist or a rapist in pesantren, the latter becoming an alarmingly frequent phenomenon in Indonesia. This way, he grounded Siksa Kubur in reality.
But he goes further than that. Siksa Kubur is his latest and most ambitious attempt at bringing dialectic to the discussion about Islamic concepts and practice through desacralization, which he has dabbled in before (e.g., both ustadz in both Pengabdi Setan [Satan’s Slaves] movies are murdered by demonic presence). In Siksa Kubur, this is shown through three instances.
First, Islam is depicted as having been twisted by its followers through the terrorist attack and the pesantren rape incident.
Second, religious characters appear irrelevant or outright despicable. Videos of ustadz discussing about grave torture are dismissed by adult Sita. Meanwhile, a weirdly-accented, despicable ustadzah (Jajang C. Noer) at young Sita’s pesantren is hell-bent on punishing Sita for breaking rules, but readily accepts the rapist owner’s proclivities because “he has helped other students”.
Third, by interrogating the very nature of grave torture, the filmmaker downgrades its presence from the absolute realm (i.e., perceived as a factual truth in Islamic tradition) to the audience’s subjective interpretation. Even that explosive ending does not offer much closure, as audience are encouraged to interpret whether the visceral depiction of grave torture is real or a result of chemical reaction in her brain.
By depicting these, Joko Anwar successfully reproduces the internal anxiety faced by Muslims in Indonesia. These are questions they probably have had to face and received no conclusive answers for (e.g., why some Muslims become terrorists; whether religious figures today are inviolable and; what comes after death; etc.). The movie is a reflection of questions, doubt and skepticism harbored by Indonesian Muslims as they practice their faith in the growing conservatism of the country. This is an important nuance for observers of Indonesian Muslims, showcasing that the religious group is richer than just their rituals, tension with outgroups or voting pattern.
Desacralization has triggered public curiosity and outright backlash before. However, Joko Anwar cleverly employs this device to induce the audience into thinking critically about how Islam is practiced and subverted by its followers in Indonesia.
Unfortunately, for all its sublime genius in provocative imagery, Siksa Kubur falls short as a philosophical treatise. It excels in provoking the audience through images and symbols, but disappoints when it explores the debate that transpires. A particularly low point is the central confrontation between Sita and Pak Wahyu about the nature of grave torture. In it, Pak Wahyu’s renunciation of spiritual torment in grave simply rests upon his opinion that ustadz everywhere do not discuss about it. It is an example of shallow arguments that mar the more critical conversations throughout the movie.
This puts Siksa Kubur in contrast to religious horror masterpiece Midnight Mass, which scrutinizes religion and affirms faith unashamedly. Alternatively, Joko Anwar’s restraint might also reflect Muslims’ own reluctance at confronting religion with critical questions, which is also another source of internal discomfort among the community.
Siksa Kubur is rife with thought-provoking religious symbolism without having to go full-blown Islamic, even if it does not invite us into a philosophical ride.
Adil Subverts the Stereotypes
Siksa Kubur is also not hesitant to challenge common gender stereotypes that prevail in Indonesia.
Character-wise, Sita is presented as an antithesis to a tired horror trope that frequently portrays women as an antagonistic ghoul. This patriarchal and exploitative approach is common in Indonesia’s horror repertoire, such as Joko Anwar’s own Pengabdi Setan, Suzanna: Buried Alive and KKN di Desa Penari (Community Service at the Dancer’s Village).
Her arc is unique. She may have been victimized early in the movie, but she draws on her trauma to pursue a life goal (i.e., waging a war against religion) as a rational, breathing woman. In other movies, she probably needs to die and comes back as a vengeful, cackling ghost before her objective can be achieved.
Since the first minutes, she has been portrayed as the more dominant of the two siblings, making difficult decision and charting the path that she and Adil must tread. She does this despite being the younger of the two and a woman, which challenges a common cultural expectation that see men as a leader and more rational gender.
Stereotypes are further subverted by the reserved Adil. Between the siblings, the latter is arguably more miserable: 1) he could have prevented his parents’ deaths; 2) he is raped by the pesantren owner and; 3) he feels emasculated next to his very capable sister. Whereas Sita is empowered by her anger, Adil’s trauma wrecks his life, strains his relationships (his wife leaves him) and plunges him into endless depression.
He may be trauma personified, but as a character he challenges the societal assumption that only women are susceptible to mental health problems. He shows what trauma and depression does to a man in a believable way, thanks to Reza Rahadian’s scene-stealing performance. The palpability of his anguish nudges us to also ponder upon the pain endured by real-life survivors of terrorist and rape incidents, including boys and men.
Even toxic masculinity is not spared. Siksa Kubur encourages us to empathize with non-conforming men who are not hesitant to display strong emotion. Adil is consistently exhibited as having qualities that may not be expected in an alpha male: 1) compassion (he offers warm water to a thirsty customer, who minutes later kills his parents); 2) sensitive (he is aware of his flaws as the older sibling) and; 3) level-headedness (he is cautious of the potential fallout of Sita’s scheme). Adil also expresses his emotion more openly compared to Sita with her stoic defiance, visibly crying at various points in an apparent display of grief.
Siksa Kubur wants us to confront our prejudice and asks if we judge these characters, even if they do not comply to the societal standards that we subscribe to. Case in point: when Adil gets indecisive and confused in a particularly stressful scene, the girl seated next to me blurted, “I really hate this Adil.”
Pak Wahyu Screams in His Grave
The central story of Siksa Kubur alone is packed with messages and provocations despite descending into a bizarre haunting plotline in its second act. However, what makes this movie truly dazzling is its existence as a metaphor of a journey towards acceptance and healing.
Throughout the film, Sita and Adil are almost exclusively seen indoors, suggested to be their trauma response to the danger that lurks outside (their parents are killed outside their bakery). Things shift after Pak Wahyu’s suicide, as the they start finding problems indoors too. Sita is harassed by a black apparition (implied to be either one of the angels Munkar and Nakir) and Adil was attacked by a walking corpse. These may symbolize their festering trauma that starts to cause problems to their psyche as they fail to address it.
The key to this indoor vs. outdoor riddle lies towards the end, when Sita embarks on a psychological journey into herself, ending up in the same tunnel she used to escape from the pesantren years ago. After getting harassed by restless spirits, the black angel and the demonic version of Pak Wahyu, Sita soon finds herself in her family’s bakery with her parents outside, all-smiles and waving goodbye to her before peacefully disappearing.
This is the most critical scene in the story, as Sita – who is crying at this point – is seemingly informed by her parents that she needs to accept their death and let go of her anger. She must find her way outside from the prison of trauma that she builds and encloses herself within. It is one that offers a completely different interpretation of what the movie conveys – a psychological journey of healing instead of an outright horror.
This theme is further reinforced afterwards, with Sita helping a spirit of Pak Wahyu’s rape victim to pass on to the afterlife, suggesting her acceptance of the metaphysics after spending years rejecting its possibility. As Sita wakes up next to Pak Wahyu’s corpse moments before it is tortured in the most unspeakable way, she screams out for help and finally seeks for forgiveness and help from God. Her arc is completed here, having transformed from a person who blames religion and God for her pain to one that accepts God’s greatness and the strange mysteries of life.
Sita’s horrific journey is a symbolism of the arduous process that individuals suffering from mental health challenges must undertake to heal. In a society where conversation about mental health is still frowned upon, the severity of the issue compounds. In 2018, more than 12 million Indonesians aged 15 and above suffered from different stages of depression, but less than 3% actively sought professional help. Meanwhile, in 2022 it is estimated that 12,250 Indonesian adolescents were afflicted with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), the same issue endured by Sita and Adil.
Siksa Kubur is a window into the daily suffering of those who live with unresolved trauma and internal conflict, as well as the terrible consequences of not addressing them. If we can find ourselves identifying with Sita and Adil, then it should not be difficult for us to build compassion for victims of traumatizing experience in Indonesia as well, which includes armed conflict, bullying, terrorist attack, domestic and sexual violence, accident, natural disaster, and many more. A simple Google search will inform us of the variety and frequency of social ills amidst the Indonesian society today, potentially giving birth to hundreds if not thousands of Sita and Adil every day.
Sita may find her resolution at the end of the movie, but we cannot expect real-life Sitas and Adils to suffer through a similarly punishing ride before finding their peace as well. A pertinent question thus arises: do perpetrators of violence, abuse, crimes and other social ills believe in the existence of grave torture before committing deeds that leave others traumatized?
Man Robbuka?
On a personal level, Siksa Kubur is a profound story that compels one to introspect on their life, wrongdoings and virtues. It is effective both as a psychological and religious horror, even if it loses its footing in the middle and fails as a philosophical argument. Its brilliance, however, lies in its ability to reflect the realities of the Muslim society in Indonesia, challenge prevailing norms and standards, as well as pinpoint the issues that deserve more attention in Indonesia. If not for its shortfalls, it could have been Joko Anwar’s masterpiece, surpassing even Perempuan Tanah Jahanam (Impetigore).
