TIFF25 REVIEW: Amoeba [20XX]

Rating: NR | Runtime: 98 minutes
Director(s): Siyou Tan
Writer(s): Siyou Tan

How do we get out of this aquarium?

Siyou Tan’s Amoeba is a ghost story … just not the one you think. Because despite opening on the lo-fi night-vision footage of Choo (Ranice Tay) and Nessa (Nicole Lee Wen) attempting to capture the specter that’s been haunting the former’s bedroom, this entity is less plot point than catalyst for the friendship formed. Choo is the new kid in school and it’s her ghost that fascinates Nessa into introducing herself and her best friends Sofia (Lim Shi-An) and Gina (Genevieve Tan) to her. And it’s together that they dare to exist for themselves rather than their nation’s demands.

The real ghost is therefore Singapore itself and the reality that it’s been torn down and rebuilt so many times by its own government that one would have a difficult time pinning down its exact history. That’s why the girls’ private school’s main motivation seems to be creating “good citizens” rather than good people. Much like how American schools base their curriculum on what’s necessary to prepare the next generation for a capitalist labor market, teachers like Adeline Lim (Jo Tan) are tasked with ensuring their wards become easily governable wives and mothers who willingly give themselves to the greater patriarchal good of the country’s prosperity.

All four of these characters understand the game being played both because they’re cognizant enough to see it and free-spirited enough to instinctively want to fight against it. They’re kindred spirits who needed an outsider like Choo to finally cement the confidence necessary to rebel. It was one thing to merge the forces of money (Sofia), athletics (Nessa), and class clown antics (Gina) into an unlikely trio, but it’s another to find a true revolutionary unfazed by the consequences of standing her ground to inspire and lead them simply by virtue of not being too afraid to say what they rest are thinking.

Choo becomes the group’s idea man. It takes Sofia’s resources, Nessa’s legitimacy, and Gina’s fun to get them off the ground, but Choo is the one who gauges the collective mood and pushes them forward. She’s the one who suggests they start a gang—not to wreak havoc (although the romanticization of doing so isn’t lost on them), but to lend their tribe permanence regardless of there being no guarantee they’ll see each other again come junior college next year. The time is now to blow off steam, cuss out their school’s oppression and hypocrisy, and flirt with the idea of actually upending the status quo.

Enter Sofia’s affable driver Mr. Phoon (Jack Kao) and his desire to play along with their aspirations by teaching them what it really takes to be a gang. Does he actually know? Does it matter? Whether Phoon is a former gangster or not, he recognizes that they’ve chosen to live beyond the constraints of indoctrination. He understands they deserve the choice to be whomever they wish. So, he talks about brotherhood and loyalty. He shows them a ritual to bond themselves for eternity. He provides them the room to be kids when every other adult in their lives reprimands them for letting one strand of hair get out of line.

Tan talks about how Amoeba was born from her own experiences growing up in Singapore and the closeted misfits she gravitated towards in detention as “brothers” rather than “sisters” if only to flip off the establishment. So, it’s not surprising this world feels so authentic in its depiction of how insane this form of repression becomes when there’s no wiggle room or compromise. I love the scene where the girls’ camcorder is confiscated and the school weighs whether to call the police after seeing them singing a “gang” song. The earnestness of this terror astounds. It’s like they’ve never had fun in their lives.

But this isn’t just a generational contrast. It’s also a byproduct of Singapore reimagining its past as a myth. It’s proof of how effective the education system is at stripping away individuality and upholding the conservative traditions of a ruling class desperate to maintain control. Tan presents the dynamic for the girls (and us) to laugh at this absurd reaction, but it’s also to contextualize what comes next. Because this is their final year at the school. Decisions must be made about what’s next. And while it’s fun to rebel and speak your truth in private, the fear instilled by their culture’s expectations to do so publicly is debilitating.

Don’t therefore dismiss the film’s first two-thirds as a cutely familiar coming-of-age lark. It might play like that to an American like me, but the gravity of the situation is much direr. Cue a wonderful scene of Choo meeting Phoon’s old friends to add depth to the “gang” aspect and the reality that youthful promises aren’t easily kept. Cue final exams and the point-of-no-return as far as picking truth or fantasy. That last part really helps Tan’s message stand apart because “truth” and “fantasy” are subjective. Choo’s truth is to be uncompromising. To the others, however, that might be the fantasy.

It’s why the final sequence packs such an emotional punch despite it being the most static piece of the whole. Tan shows us all four girls sitting separately opposite the camera as a stand-in for their exam proctor. The question posed is the same and their collective plan for how to respond has already been agreed upon, betrayed, and tenuously agreed upon again. But none of that matters anymore. This isn’t a union seeking solidarity like Phoon’s story or a sports team seeking a championship. It’s time to look inside and choose for themselves. Succumb to the propaganda or fight.