Present Confusion Reviews | Heart Attack (2015)

 

After an extended stay in academia, it was time for me to embark on my first real job and contribute to society, my family and myself. Aside from the worry that no one will take me in, I also had to decide if the job was suited for the life I eventually wanted to live. Admittedly, such thoughts are a privilege, since many do not have the luxury of choosing. Between the stability of a salaried, regular job and the freedom of freelance work, I was attracted to the latter. There's something enticing about the prospect of working at your own pace and your own time. That flexibility, at least in theory, allows one to chase after personal pursuits. 

But this ideal setup is a pipe dream, reserved only for the rich and lucky. Capitalist society has corrupted the freelance system, taking advantage of it to allow companies to commodify time as a function of labor. You may have more "free time," but that "free time" can be spent making more money, so people are inevitably drawn to work more instead of resting (and this is a scenario ripe for exploitation). In my case, I had to take on multiple "rackets" or freelance work on the side, or risk not being able to pay the things I need (much less want.) In the end, I had a lot of work and no time, realized that was a bad idea, and eventually settled for a regular, salaried job to keep me financially secure.

Nawapol Thamrongrattanarit's Heart Attack takes that idea to its logical extreme. Yoon (Sunny Suwanmethanont) is THE freelance graphic artist, working multiple sleepless nights to deliver work to clients in record time. Time is a constant presence throughout the film; shots of a ticking clock are a constant reminder to Yoon (and to us) that he is working on a tightrope - one misstep and it's a missed deadline and a potential lost job. 

Yoon consistently submits excellent work, but he overworks himself to the detriment of his health: a mysterious rash begins to appear on his body. This is the strain on his body made tangible, and the film also keeps track of the number of rashes on his body, itself an indirect measurement of his stress levels and overall work-life balance.

The film presents us with a conundrum by introducing the character of Imm (Davika Hoorne,) a soft spoken medical resident who helps Yoon deal with his condition. Yoon knows that he will get better if he follows Imm's advice (and given her terrible track record as a healer, Imm would benefit from that as well), but that eventually means that he will stop seeing her once he's okay. At the same time, Yoon's efforts at taking a break come into conflict with his old workaholic life, and he starts to make mistakes.

That paradox reveals the tragedy of Yoon's character: he lives in a society that encourages workaholics like him, and as a consequence, this a society that does not foster meaningful human interactions and relationships. His relationship with Imm is a start, but even that is a transactional relationship; had he not been sick, Yoon would never have met Imm at all, and it is uncertain if he could meet Imm outside of the walls of the clinic if he gets better. He doesn't have any friends outside of that (at least, to him), because he simply doesn't have the time to sit and talk. This is explicitly seen when Yoon attends a friend's funeral, only to spend the majority of that funeral working from his computer. Yoon soon imagines his own funeral, and he accepts the fact that only a handful of people will be there to attend. This is the worth of a life under such an oppressive system: left alone, forgotten and unloved.

The character that becomes a mirror image of Yoon is Je (Violette Wautier,) Yoon's handler. At first she is trapped within the same oppressive system where the pressure for deliverables is constant. It might appear at first that she, like those above her in the corporate ladder, is exploiting Yoon for her own benefit, but it is clear that she is a dear friend and looks out for Yoon in her own way. Her work life balance is shifted in the opposite direction of Yoon's when she receives a marriage proposal and she chooses life over work. She eventually finds a balance and becomes instrumental in helping Yoon get out of his situation.

The ending is trademark Nawapol; it's giddily uncertain, like one holding a breath in anxious anticipation. It posits: we may be islands in an open sea, but we are all oases to each other. We are, each of us, secluded beaches where others can settle down, look at the setting sun, and exhale.