MICK MALTIN, Marsha Porter, and Leonard Maltin need to visit Indonesia, especially to check out its cinema universe, or, to be even more specific, the television cinema—whether it is the series, serial films, or one-off movies. Mick and Marsha edit the annual Video Movie Guide (Ballantine Book, New York), while Leonard writes the (also yearly) book Leonard Maltin’s Television and Video Guide (New American Library, New York). In these books, with slight differences here and there, films or the cinema are categorized into: action, adventure films, children’s viewing, comedy, documentary, drama, horror, musical, mystery or suspense, fantasy or science-fiction, western à la the cowboys, and foreign-language films.

In the books by the Mick-Marsha duo and by Leonard, there is no category of ‘religion cinema’—something that makes an appearance in all television broadcasts in this whole great country that is Indonesia. How can we draw a conclusion from this? It can very well be that Mick-Marsha’s and Leonard’s books are not comprehensive enough. That is the first assumption. The second deduction is this: the Indonesian category of ‘religion cinema’ is simply superfluous. Which brings us to this: one of the conclusions must be incorrect. Which one is the right one; which also means: which one of them is wrong? Or perhaps the Indonesian society has a stronger religious atmosphere compared to the United States—the area whence the Hollywood cinema hails, the cinema that constitutes the main content of the books by Mick-Marsha and Leonard?


THAT RELIGION IS A COMEDY
What kind of show, then, which has been dubbed as the ‘religion cinema’? The earliest example could be seen on the broadcast of the Televisi Pendidikan Indonesia (TPI), in the series of Rahasia Ilahi (Divine Secret) and Takdir Ilahi (God-given Fate). I say the earliest, mid-March 2005, as these programs would prove to be a trend-setter, or a point of reference for the other television stations in producing and making programs of the so-called religion, or religious, cinema.

Rahasia Ilahi and Takdir Ilahi have a similar pattern, which tells of a range of things that are generally seen as illogical, for example: a body cannot be buried because the grave shrinks and/or the body expands, even when it is still in the coffin; or a gambler is buried alive as the earth swallows his body; or a buried body still exudes some horrible smell although mounds of soil have been poured into the grave, and strands upon strands of fragrant flowers have been scattered upon the grave; or someone who has actually died comes to life again because he or she still have promises to fulfill.

Another TV station, Surya Citra Televisi (SCTV), every week since March 28, 2005, airs the series Astaghfirullah (God, Forgive Me), which it deems a ‘religion cinema,’ too. With H. Misbach Yusa Biran as scriptwriter and the masterful Chaerul Umam as director, the narrative pattern of Astaghfirullah is analogous to Takdir Ilahi and Rahasia Ilahi.

Subsequently, TPI, on March 31, 2005, aired one of the episodes in the series Tuhan Ada di Mana-mana (God is Omnipresent), which told of a man whose stomach wound exuded a foul stench, spreading all across the village. The village paramedic—representative of the medicinal world—was unable to heal the wound. The decaying wound that disturbed the village community could only be cured by a concoction of herbs that had been mixed and given blessings and prayers by a religious leader. Not only did the stench then disappear, but the wound that had eroded his stomach and provided for scores of maggots also completely healed. Cured, too, were all his culpable, wicked acts for which he had been known, because the man now turned pious—as his act of penitence.

To put it simply, the narrative weaving is thus: evil powers will perish if one fights it with virtuous powers, which are depicted by means of such figures as religious leaders or ulemas, citing holy Koran verses. With such a narrative pattern, stories of Dracula, vampires, and their kin actually have much in common with the Indonesia-made ‘religion cinema.’ The difference is that the virtuous powers in the Hollywood cinema are represented by figures of priests or—in Hong Kong or Mandarin cinema—sinshe or warriors proficient in chanting mantras. The priests use the Cross or holy water that has been blessed as the medium for good powers, while the Chinese medicine men use symbols, chanted and drawn (usually in red) on yellow pieces of paper. Van Helsing (Stephen Sommers, 2004), Dracula (Francis Ford Coppola, 1992), Dracula 2000 (Patrick Lussier, 2000), television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Fran Rubel Kuzui, 1997), and Mandarin movies such as Mr. Vampire (Ricky Lau, 1998), Dating a Vampire (Clarence Fok Yiu-leung, 2006), and Vampire Family (Eric Tsang Chi-wai, 1993) are few examples, out of heaps of other titles.

Well, if we still want to list them further, we can mention several other titles, for example: The Omen (Richard Downer, 1976), The Exorcist (Willian Friedkin, 1973), The Exorcist II: The Heretic (John Boorman, 1977), including some past versions of Dracula (Tod Browning, 1931; Dan Curtis, 1973; John Badham, 1979).

If the narrative and dramaturgic patterns are similar, and the difference lies merely in the figures that serve as the medium for the virtuous powers—the films with Moslem figures, Koran teachers, or ulemas are seen as being in the category of ‘religion’, while the ones with priests or sinshe or Chinese medicine men are seen as residing in the horror genre—then how naïve is such a categorizing! Or, because the ones chanting the holy verses are the true-authentic-genuine articles, i.e. real religious teachers such as Uje a.k.a Ustad Jeffry, Ustad Yusuf Mansur, as well as Ustad Ilham Arifin, appearing in cameos, while the religious leaders in the Hollywood films and Mandarin cinema are merely actors playing their parts and thus oh so not real… well, is that what makes the Indonesian version ‘religious broadcast’? Hmmm… well, this is not naïve, but, I should stress this again: very funny!

Then, the question is: Are the proponents of the term ‘religion cinema’ merely making things up? Being nonsensical, just as the term ‘FTV’ (from ‘film televisi’ or ‘television films’) for one-off television cinema, to distinguish it from the ever-continued serial films? That term seems to have been created with the mere purpose of setting it apart from the ‘sinetron’ (short for electronic-cinema, the moniker for Indonesian soap operas). If it truly is a nonsensical and superfluous act—with the objective to make it easier for the TV managers to put the shows in a certain box and to enable potential advertisers and TV managers “speak in the same language”—then to me it is truly funny. Really: funny in the sense that it makes me laugh just as comedy or humorous programs do, ones that have actually been intended to tickle your funny bone. Funny, in its true and real sense, not in a cynical, mocking, or derisive sense.

I use as a gauge what Teguh S, the leader of the laughter factory that is Srimulat,[1] has once pointed out as a trigger to laughter: something becomes funny when the logic has been turned upside-down. One concrete example is this: a servant poses as the master and treats the real master as a servant—meanwhile, the audience is aware of the true relation between the two people, which one is the boss and which one is the attendant, and therefore a form of metacommunication is formed among the audience, finding the logic in the existence of a servant who has upgraded himself as a master.

In certain aspects, the humor is only oh-so-slightly different from sadism. A clichéd, obvious example is the laugh elicited from seeing someone falling into a gaping sewer hole. In the logic of Srimulat (on the stage): the audience is well aware of the fact that a vampire is standing behind the servant who acts as if he is fearless in the imaginary fight against satan-demon-ghoul—whether it is to impress the female maid he is chasing after, or to impress the master so that he can have a raise—all the while oblivious to the “ready-for-use” vampire figure behind him, prepared to catch his neck and give him a peck of death. And the audience laughs because of it.

There are situations of which some parties are aware (the gaping hole, the ready-for-use vampire), but which some other parties remain oblivious about and assume that that-thing-which-we-know-exists is non-existent. This is akin to the current situation among the managers or programmers of TV stations: assuming that there is no such thing as ‘horror cinema,’ only ‘religion cinema,’ the managers and programmers keep on using the term of ‘religion cinema.’ All this, naturally, tickles one’s funny bone. Even harsher than merely assuming that there is no horror cinema, that only ‘religion cinema’ exists, is the presumption that the audience or consumers have no brain, and thus the managers and programmers produce terms all they want, as if the terms owe their existence to these TV managers after collaborating with production houses, which in turn have underhanded agreements with advertisers, who colluded with advertising bureaus, which are in cahoots with rating agencies—all of these do not only tickle one’s funny bone, but also trigger the mechanism of another nervous system that makes us shed tears as we laugh out loud. (It is worth noting that there is another mechanism that makes us shed tears—i.e. the one triggered by sadness.)


RUMOR IS HUMOR
Apart from being full of smiles (which has nothing to do with comedy), Indonesians are actually generous—or extravagant, even—with new terms. “Religious cinema” is one example. Another case is the term of “infotainment,” which actually means information about the entertainment world. The showbiz world. Meanwhile, if we use the term ‘edutainment’ as our reference, which means “education packaged in the form of an entertainment,” then the term ‘infotainment’ should actually be defined as “information packaged in the form of an entertainment,” or information in an entertaining form. What happens, however—the evidence of which we can see on our TV screen in the programs broadcast by the entire TV stations in Indonesia—is this: the so-called infotainment broadcast is packed with information about the showbiz world, the world of the entertainers themselves, and, more specifically, the tittle-tattle about these entertainers. For example: has the comedian Tora Sudiro secretly remarried after having officially divorced his wife? Purported evidence is thus gathered, among others: with whom he is having lunch, going to concerts, or to which city he goes, and which woman is going to the same city within the same period.

Or: can it be that the model and actress Artika Sari Dewi has actually separated from Baim, her musician husband? The evidence being the fact that she went alone to a fashion show, no Baim in sight, while Baim himself was not busy with some music concert, and neither was he ill. Or: the singer Pasha Ungu intends to go out with the actress Alyssa Subandono, who came when Pasha’s band, Ungu, held a concert, and Alyssa was carrying a bouquet for Pasha, who had been recently divorced. Meanwhile, the actress Rahma Azhari is not only moved by Ungu’s songs but also crazy about Pasha. And so on and so forth.

Artika went alone to a fashion show, yes, it is a fact; that she arrived without Baim was actually indisputable, too. However, is the only possibility is that she has separated from her husband? The ‘infotainment’ shows are not open to the possibility that Artika and Baim are both busy people, and Baim trusts his wife wholeheartedly and allows her to do her activities alone without being accompanied by him, her husband. Meanwhile, Rahma Azhari has indeed said once that she liked Pasha and his songs, but that was a spontaneous expression, which did not necessarily mean that she was crazy for Pasha. That, however, was how the ‘infotainment’ shows saw it: so many people are crazy about Pasha, including Rahma!

To explain it further: the ‘infotainment’ shows have no intention to distinguish between nuts and nectarines (read: between facts and fictions) simply because both can look rather rounded!

Not only have they created a faulty term, but they are also too lazy to distinguish between nuts and nectarines. Furthermore, they also treat information about the world of showbiz and entertainers on a level pegging with the information about “public figures”—a term that invariably remains in its original English form, perhaps to make the shows sound more sophisticated. Meanwhile, “public figures” are, I believe, those who due to their positions of authority are able to formulate policies—textual or verbal—that regulate public life. State officials exist in this category. Informal leaders, including ulemas, religious teachers, priests, and others in that kin, are also present in that category. If there are lawyers with multiple roles as entertainers—or the other way round: entertainers who become members of the legislative assembly—then their existence as public figures is present in their position as lawyers or lawmakers. Their role as artists does not give them the position as public figures; rather, it simply makes them celebrities.

As the media misconstrue the meaning of ‘public figures,’ les célébrités also follow suit, calling themselves ‘public figures’ as well, as if they have formulated policies that affect public lives. Are these celebrities or stars being narcissistic? Nope. They are playing a droll role. Truly annoying, but funny at the same time.

It is such identification of celebrity figures as public figures that makes the infotainment crew feel they have the right to take to bits everything pertaining to these celebrities: not only do the infotainment crew dig up the contents of the celebrities’ purses, wallets, and bags, but also everything that the infotainment crew deems as facts that must be disclosed to the public, the society at large. This seems to be the essence of the ‘freedom of information’ ideology as they see it. It does not matter that what the public actually needs is the sociological, factual information that might be useful for the people as they go about formulating ideas pertaining to the sociopolitical public lives rather than to the personal, psychological lives; it does not matter that the public does not actually need the personal information about those so-called celebrities.

Information regarding the personal lives of these celebrities simply meet the personal, psychological needs of people: if one is not aware of certain personal information about the celebrities, one would somehow feel left behind, missing things to gossip about. This is unlike factual information about true public figures, politicians, lawyers, state officials, political officials, and the like—whose track records should really be disclosed to the public. Such officials include, for example, candidates for the executive positions at the Corruption Eradication Commission, or ministerial candidates, or aspirants to regents, et cetera. We need information on such figures so that we can be certain that we will have a clean government.

That is similar to the need for information on the track records of the presidential and vice-presidential candidates—which is not limited to merely the nominal values of their riches (or, should we really need such information, the emphasis is this: from where they have acquired and piled up such riches)—so that we do not make a wrong choice because they will head the ship that is Indonesia in the next five years, which certainly bring impacts in many years to come.

There is, however, no use crying over spilled yoghurt. The infotainment crew are absolutely certain that the exposé of celebrities’ sex scandals is on a par with the disclosure of graft scandals, human right crimes, and the like, so much so that when a certain star refuses to be interviewed or to talk about their personal, private problems, she is immediately given the label of “Miss No Comment”—as what happened to the actress Desy Ratnasari.

Desy Ratnasari did not only acquire that moniker—which was not intended to be funny—but also received hostile treatment, formal or otherwise: when Desy went on stage or was on a podium, long “boooo…” jeers were duly provided, which in a certain sense could mean the distancing of news about Desy. This is the funny side of the media and journalists: on the one hand they want their freedom to acquire news be protected in the name of fulfilling the people’s right to information; on the other hand, they proceed with this one-way act to boycott certain information without bothering to ask first whether or not the public would be duly served with the boycott. The journalists thus deny the moniker that they themselves have been sporting as “kuli tinta” or, literally, “ink coolies”. Workers of the ink. Coolies! As “coolies,” the journalists—or members of the press in general—are servants to the public, who owns the right to information. Therefore, freedom of the press is not merely something given, granted to the journalists and general members of the press, but something that necessarily protects the people’s right to truthful information. The fact that they no longer used quills or fountain pens but rather thumb discs or USB-flash drives—and the articles do not have to be printed out using ink—or directly on the computer, via movie makers and a set of sophisticated information technology, the fact remains: journalists, news presenters, and media managers are coolies, servants to the public!

This does not mean that I wish to stress that members of the press have forgotten about their roots, failed to recall their humble origin, or disregarded the ideology behind the origin of the media. No, it is none of those things. Rather, I wish to emphasize upon the fact that they are playing the fools—whether they realize it or not.

The showbiz world is indeed full of comedies. The faulty term notwithstanding, there is also the mistaken attitude of intermixing personal, psychological information with the sociological one, therefore mistaking the real public figures who are truly responsible to the public with simply famous people with public appeal. Then there is still the absurdity in the use of the word “investigation”—whose true meaning is this: the unearthing and disclosure about something that is related to, and affects, the public life; something that is often previously hidden from the public eye.

An actress who chooses not to give information regarding her love life or break up can certainly not be boxed within the category of “concealing facts,” especially because the break up is personal in nature and will not make the country go bankrupt as the public is not aware of the whys and wherefores of her break up. Meanwhile, the infotainment shows often deem investigative the scrutiny regarding a number of actress and actors with some similarities, for example, all of them are not yet married, or have on-again off-again relationships, or have non-Indonesian partners, or have enduring relationships after having fallen in love on (shooting) locations.

It seems that the use of the term ‘investigation’ makes the show programmers sound more impressive than if they use a more appropriate term of ‘in-depth reporting’ or ‘deep reporting,’ i.e. reporting that is not limited to providing passing information or high-lights. This is akin to the bravado act of the Srimulat’s servant, professing to be ready to fight the vampire while the vampire himself is already behind his back, absolutely ready to stick his teeth into the servant’s neck—and we giggle because of that scene.

If we liken the vampire figure with the truth, then we can say that the programmers of the infotainment-shows-claiming-to-be-investigative-reports are like the servants and maids who have no inkling about the truth that is definitely not far from them—only because they are not using their eyes, hearts, and sensitivity, but rather their necks and buttocks. Still: we laugh out loud because of it.

Who knows, perhaps they are not aware of the differences in the terms and definitions of ‘investigative reporting’ and ‘interpretative reporting.’ Like the retainer who has no idea that before him stands his real master, whom he mistakes for a fellow servant, or like the one who fails to distinguish between a vampire with real fangs and the wayang performer playing the role of Buta Cakil,[2] whose fangs are a part of the mask.

And our belly quaked and ached as our funny bones are tickled to death, sending tremors all over the body.

Having guffaws as one watches the Indonesian television is not merely caused by the faulty or mistaken terms, but also by the shows themselves. One of them is the soap opera titled Cewek Badung (“Naughty Girl”, SCTV, Thursday, April 9, 2009, 10 a.m.). One of the scenes depicted a young man waiting for god-knows-who (or what), standing next to his hoodless car on the road side. As he saw a young woman (indeed: the naughty girl in the title) being chased by a crowd, the young man wanted to help the girl escape. It turned out, however, that the crowd was chasing the girl because they caught her in flagrante delicto, stealing from someone’s pocket. And, aha, as soon as the girl left the young man who had helped her, the young man—well, the boy, really—just realized that the girl had also taken his wallet. And where did the boy place the wallet? On the dashboard of his car. And his open car at that! There was no explanation as to why the boy dumped the wallet there. Or why his trousers had been pocketless.

Furthermore, there is also no explanation—much less a believable one—as to why when the boy, in another occasion, wanted to stop for the girl, using with the same car, left the car key right in the ignition switch, while the boy had no intention to trap the girl to steal his car just as she had previously stolen his wallet. All along the entire story, there was no mention of the boy’s careless attitude. The important thing was: after the girl stole his wallet and his car, she stole his heart, too. Very funny, indeed.

It is very funny, because clearly the TV managers and the creators of such programs think that Indonesians are all foolish (although those selfsame managers and creators have graduated from London), or want it all easy-peasy (albeit having graduated from schools in Utrecht), or have stilted, stuffy logic (despite having studied in universities in Massachusetts). It is such simplistic assumptions that are truly funny, in its truest sense, without our having to act cynically.


OH DARN THE ADVERTISEMENTS, BUT THE IBC IS THE INDONESIAN BILLBOARDING COMMISSION
The dumbing down, the intermixing of terms, the defiance of logic, and the lot, all lead to this one and only thing: the rating! It is then truly absurd to expect, or even demand, Indonesian TV stations to help the nation becomes smarter; well, you see, the original intentions of these TV stations are to collect and garner advertisement monies, which is in the order of billions of rupiahs. It is the advertising money that serves as the guiding principle, the piety even, of TV show productions—this is after the broadcasting of ads that tell the audience to be wary of commercial shows has been banned from the Indonesian National Television (TVRI) since April 1, 1981.

What it all means is that it is those advertisements that are the root cause why a range of TV broadcasts—as well as everything else in that realm: production houses, stars, rating agencies, advertising agencies, and so on and so forth—have become this comical. The public is nowhere to be found in their calculations, except as mere numbers that they claim to represent! Therefore, the observation on the feats of such broadcasting stations must be related to how they amass funds from the advertisements.

Conventionally, the ads have so far been broadcast in between shows and within the shows themselves. The Broadcasting Act (or, to be precise, the Act No. 32 in the Year 2002 of the Republic of Indonesia on Broadcasting) delineates the percentage for advertisement and non-advertisement shows. It does not explain, however, that the ads can make their presence felt in a variety of non-conventional ways, for example through backdrops, running texts, sponsorship, etc., including the “ghost ads.”

I have never heard the Indonesian Broadcasting Commission (IBC) calculate the percentage for backdrops, running text, and the lot, much less discussing what would be considered as “ghost ads.” At least that is what I know about the official regulatory body for the broadcasting institutions, which is—as mandated by the act—the Indonesian Broadcasting Commission or the IBC.

So far, the IBC, which was established in 2004, has issued, among others, IBC Regulation No. 02 of 2007 on Broadcasting Codes of Conduct and IBC Regulation No. 03 of 2007 on Broadcast Program Standards, which as far as I know do not talk about advertisement compositions, either.

The act regarding the percentage of ads and non-ads programs is clearly intended to prevent TV stations from becoming a mere mouthpiece for advertisers. More important, however, is this: only a few broadcasting stations have been assigned broadcasting frequencies—this is unlike the abundance of printed media whose distribution channels are not limited by any acts—therefore the regulation regarding the percentage allocated for ads is intended to protect the public so that they can receive more information not dominated by ads, which certainly are publicity stunts.

Just to name an example: in the Dahsyat (Great) program (RCTI, Thursday, April 9, 2009, 9 a.m.), after Olga Syahputra sang, the model-cum-actress Luna Maya, who was the presenter of the show, commented that Olga’s voice was indeed expressive, but “not as expressive as XL Expressive for text messages.” XL is the name of a mobile phone operator. Clearly, Luna Maya’s comment constituted an ad.

The same case is found in Insert show (Trans TV, Friday, April 10, 2009, 11 a.m.), which discussed about the general election for the legislative assembly, about star couples, and other things that we can consider as actual. At the end of the show, however, there was“news” which was rather timeless, reporting about the actor Teuku Wisnu who was always so busy and therefore prone to muscle cramps. Teuku Wisnu managed that risk by always carrying Cream Analgesic Stop X. Clearly, that was an ad, which we generally call ‘advertorial’—advertisement in editorial form, or advertisement that appears like news.

Thursday, May 20, 2009, 10 a.m.: Trans TV broadcast the show titled Ceriwis (Chatty). Nearing the conclusion of the show, the presenter, Vanda, complained about her stomach ache. The plot being: Vanda needed some medicine. Ruben, her fellow presenter, promptly provided the medicine: Polysilane. God knows how many minutes were spent for this scene. Added to such ads are all the conventional, formal advertisements, plus the running text: Can we be certain that such “propaganda” shows do not exceed the percentage limit allowable for advertisements?

A manager of some infotainment-show provider told me (during a conversation in May 2009) that these days almost all infotainment shows have such “news-but-ads.” It would be funny if the audience did not realize that they were ads; and even funnier if the TV managers were certain that the audience would not realize that they were ads. Had I been able to use emoticons here in this text, I would chose the one that did not merely depict a smiling face, or a laughing face showing all the teeth, but rather the one showing a head with gaping, guffawing mouth and a body rolling on the floor laughing, failing to contain the tickles in the funny bone.

A similar case was seen in Wisata Kuliner (Culinary Travel) with the food critic Bondan Winarno: He took from his pocket a package of drugs for treating stomach pains. Compare this with the cheese ads that tell of children who are bored with their cheese-containing meals. The cook Bara Pattiradjawane then appears, a savior that helps the children out of their boredom. Bara subsequently offers certain recipes involving cheese of a particular brand.

What is thus the difference between Bara and Bondan? Bara clearly appears in the context of an ad, while Bondan seems rather bashfully advertising the product. This latter case was called a “ghost ad” in the past, previously found in the Indonesian National Television, the TVRI. It was an ad, but not formally considered as one because it was forbidden for the TVRI to broadcast ads; not deemed an ad while it was actually one; seen not as an ad because there was no fund channeled into the official coffer of the TVRI, which needed to pay the creators who could use some extra money, no accountability report necessary.

For a comparison, we might well use the case of another electronic media, i.e. the radio. In a broadcast by Gen FM Radio, Jakarta (April 6, 2009, 6 a.m.), with a sorrowful atmosphere as the Situgintung dam in South Tangerang, West Java, just broke down and killed many people, the announcer Ade said about the tragedy in this vein: “We shed tears for the Situgintung tragedy. Tears… Talking about tears, by the way, brings us to Tessa tissue.” (Tessa being a brand name of tissue paper.)

In terms of unconventional ads, I honestly do not understand where the IBC stands: are they still busy competing for authority with the Department of Communication and Informatics in issuing broadcast permits, or focusing on the comedian Tessy Kabul in female clothes with balloons as breasts, or listening closely to ribald comments made by another comedian Tukul Arwana who speaks of his beautiful and sexy guests? There is nothing wrong with the IBC’s supervision on the contents of the shows, which will certainly give rise to debates, discussions, and controversies. However, as they often ignore a variety of ad forms, which are actually easier to define, I often mistake the IBC for the Indonesian Billboarding Commission.

Listening to IBC’s response about their lack of resources—the ready made answer that they have been giving to people who ask: why did the IBC send a warning to this show and not to that one, while that one is worse that this one—is truly tickling one’s funny bone.


THE REAL HUMOR IS TUMOR
So, do not bother looking for special comedy shows on our TV stations if you wish to laugh out loud. All the shows, from the beginning of the broadcast to the end, can serve as a fertile field that is never fallow, always full of flora that can make us laugh or even guffaw.

What about the shows that, by design, have been intended as comedy? Hmmm… well, you are aware of the scary thing called ‘tumor’, aren’t you? It is far better to contain ourselves not to laugh as our funny bones are tickled, than being forced to laugh as we watch something that is completely not funny, or fails to be funny. Some say the latter case could lead to tumor. How can that be? Well, I’ll explain that in another essay. Excuse me.




Jakarta, July 2009
Translated by Rani Elsanti




VEVEN SP. WARDHANA was born in Turen, (South) Malang , and studied at the Faculty of Literature, Gadjah Mada University, Yogyakarta. He graduated in 1984 with a thesis about the subculture tradition in the modern Indonesian literature, with Prof. Dr. Umar Kayam as his consultant. In November 2004, he resigned from Kompas-Gramedia group and in December 2005 joined the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Technische Zusammenarbeit (GTZ) GmbH, a ministerial institution of the German government, as a senior advisor for the Good Governance in Population Administration (GG PAS) program. He has published several books, among others: Dari Barbar sampai Timor Timur: Mengeja Budaya Massa (From Barbarity to East Timor: Spelling Out the Mass Culture, 2002), Televisi dan Prasangka Budaya Massa (Television and the Presumptions of the Mass Culture, 2001), Kemelut PDI di Layar Televisi: Survei Jurnalisme Televisi Indonesia (PDI Predicament on the TV Screen: A Survey on Indonesian Television Journalism, 1997), Kapitalisme Televisi dan Strategi Budaya Massa (Television Capitalism and The Strategy of Mass Culture, 1997), dan Budaya Massa dan Pergeseran Masyarakat (The Mass Culture and Societal Shifts, 1995).