‘Crocodile Tears’: Toronto Review

Dir/scr: Tumpal Tampubolon. Indonesia/France/Singapore/Germany. 2024. 98mins

Mother always knows best in Crocodile Tears. Tumpal Tampubolon’s low-key debut feature charts the unhealthy relationship between a young man and his overbearing mother, gradually shifting from family drama into more supernatural territory. The central dynamic and the setting of a crocodile farm add intrigue to a slow-burning, sometimes cluttered mix that should attract attention from festivals tracking emerging talent from Indonesia following its Toronto Centrepiece debut.

Favours restraint over excess, atmospherics over explanations

Tampulbolon’s short The Sea Calls For Me (2021), winner of Best Asian Short Film at Busan, dealt in part with lonely boys and absent fathers. There are similar themes in his first feature, which is set on a down-at-heel crocodile farm in West Java run by Mama (Marissa Anita) and her son Johan (Yusuf Mahardika). The slithering multitudes of crocodiles provide plenty of visual opportunities for cinematographer Teck Siang Lim who shows them thrashing around, clambering over each other, mouths agape, before wolfing down the whole chickens hurled in their direction.

Tampubolon seems enthralled by those crocodile eyes: close-ups show them  flicking open like the shutter of a camera lens and night scenes gleam with dozens of eyes watching in the dark. It seems obvious that the crocodiles will play a crucial part in the story but initially the focus is on the uncomfortable bond between mother and son. Working together, the duo are everything to each other. Mama showers her boy with kisses, demands shoulder massages and holds him close in her arms as they share a bed. There are no boundaries and no privacy. The question of what happened to Johan’s father is one that runs throughout the film, sparking speculation and rumours.

Mahardika and Anita effectively capture that awkward mother/son bond through body language and looks. Johan seems uncomfortable in his skin; squirming, defensive, trying to keep calm in the face of exasperation and sexual frustration. Mama sports a look of eternal reproach, especially when she washes Johan’s stained underwear.

The catalyst for change is Johan’s meeting with Arumi (Zulfa Maharani) and the sweet romance that slowly develops between them. She is an orphan, working in a local karaoke bar and has none of the close family ties that bind Johan. As the couple grow closer, Mama starts to see the threat in Arumi. The viewer can only ponder what attracts Arumi to move to the crocodile farm when any sensible soul might run a mile in the opposite direction.

The symbolism of the crocodiles becomes ever more obvious as we learn that they are prone to eating their own eggs. The film remains intriguing as we are encouraged to imagine how Mama will respond to her son’s moves towards independence, and to imagine what part the powerful jaws and gnashing teeth of the crocodiles will play in her response. Mama seems to have an inexplicable symbiotic connection with a cherished white crocodile that has an enclosure to itself. A rumble of distant thunder on the soundtrack is all it takes to signal events are coming to a head and, as the plot unfolds, the film strays into the territory of Jordan Peele’s Get Out (2017). 

Crocodile Tears has all the elements for shlocky B-movie fare but Tampubolon keeps his focus on the central relationship, favouring restraint over excess, atmospherics over explanations.  The ultimate reveal about the true nature of the white crocodile may still be a stretch too far for some viewers.