The other side: The crack in May's wall animates her.

27 Steps of May shows that trauma is a brittle thing.

Leonard Cohen, the late singer-songwriter, once gave a rare explanation of a much-lionized quote from his lyrics — “there is a crack in everything/that’s how the light gets in”.

He said the light symbolizes a “resurrection” and “that’s where the return, that’s where the repentance is. It is with the confrontation, with the brokenness of things”.

Director Ravi Bharwani, along with screenwriter Rayya Makarim, toys with the idea of this brokenness, this resurrection and this light.

Their film, 27 Steps of May, is a stellar exploration of the trauma that accosts a woman who was raped in her teens. Damage in the film feels permanent and not at all amorphous. It feels final, like a bottomless abyss. It robs the woman, May (Raihaanun), of her will to live.

Enchantment: A magician (Ario Bayu) interests May with new magic tricks.

It also robs her of her voice. Living in a small house with her dad (Lukman Sardi), she’s become mute after eight years of living with that trauma. Her only lifeline is her routine: waking up, ironing the same pastel dress, wearing it and knitting clothes and making ornaments to be attached to naked dolls.

When we first see her, she always eats the same colorless food (white tofu, perhaps), while her father’s meal brims with color.

27 Steps of May doesn’t avoid color in its gorgeous opening scene, which finds May enjoy her time alone at a fair. The film wisely takes the audience into May’s rape with no fanfare — it quickly ends with her entering her house silently.

When her memory fails her, she resorts to self-harm: She slits her wrist but stays far enough from puncturing her veins. She jumps rope to stimulate her brain, then she goes to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

27 Steps of May spares the audience the hardship of May and her father’s subsequent few years after the rape. We’re left with the reality that has exhausted May’s father of all means of help — he’s tired, but not quite ready to stop punishing himself, so he sticks with her routine, becomes complicit in her silence.

Hear me out: May’s father (Lukman Sardi) sticks to her routine and becomes complicit in her silence.

“I am her father,” he tells Verdi Solaiman’s character, a friend of his (he takes the dolls every day, presumably to whoever sells them).

This makes 27 Steps of May an excellent character study. Damage has reconfigured the reality in May’s orbit: Nobody can ever enter their house. Beset with anger, Lukman’s character boxes every night, only to be kicked out of the game for nearly killing everyone he fights. He has to let off steam somewhere, and a silent daughter won’t do.

And it’s such a wonderful achievement that the characters here are uniformly, masterfully sketched.

A scene that best encompasses this is when May’s father tries to get her out of the house because of a fire nearby. A physical altercation ensues — May won’t leave the house; she holds onto everything within her reach. It is a scene worthy of remembrance in years to come.

But then there’s a literal crack on May’s wall. Through it, she’s able to peek into Ario Bayu’s character, a magician. Suddenly, May finds herself animated, as the magician shows her new magic tricks every night; suddenly, there’s color in the room.

A day out: May (Raihaanun, second left) enjoys her time at a fair.

But 27 Steps of May makes sure that trauma is a brittle thing —it never leaves May’s corner. This makes her reintroduction to life all the more believable.

While 27 Steps of May elegantly succeeds in symbolism (through the blocking, lighting), it wouldn’t be anything if not for the actors.

Lukman, the self-loathing father, is terrific — his range is wide, his dedication to his character is pure. Ario’s character, spared the knowledge of May’s rape, is a gentle figure. Verdi provides a stabilizing conscience for Lukman’s character. And perhaps, in the hands of anybody other than Raihaanun, May’s trauma would feel rote — there’s so much contained in her silence, her dimmed spark.

I have yet to see an Indonesian film that loves its characters this much. Ravi not only understands them but loves them as well. Though the ending is a little abrupt, he makes sure that it is such a dark room that May sleeps in everyday — that is, until the light gets in.

Venting: May's father, tired of grappling with his daughter's trauma, resorts to boxing.

— Photos by Green Glow Pictures

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