DILARANG Masuk (No Unauthorised Entry). Those words in bold are enough to deter most people from venturing beyond the gates. There’s not a soul around and a quick peep through the gap between the faded green zinc sheets reveals a similar situation across the divide. The time on my watch indicates 2.10pm. I double check the message from Chris Wong on my phone and the address plate on the gate. Yes, I’m at the right location but my friend is nowhere to be seen.
It’s no easy task getting permission to visit the former Shaw Malay Film Production Studio. So imagine my delight when Wong informed me several weeks earlier of his success. “Come here next month. Rosie Othman, Shaw’s Malay Films and Distribution Executive has finally given us the green light,” he said, words tumbling over the phone.
Just as I’m about to give up hope, a taxi pulls up at the entrance. “Sorry we’re late. There was a traffic jam at the Ayer Rajah Expressway,” Wong says apologetically as he alights with Rosie. Without wasting time, she places a call to the caretaker and asks him to open the gate.
My steps are cautious, and conscious of treading on hallowed grounds, I give my sensory receptors free reign, willing them to “feel” and “record” this momentous visit to this place where countless Malay film greats had once worked. Compared to the surrounding high rises, the 1950s-style low rise buildings in front of me appear trapped in a time warp. I can easily imagine this place during its heyday. It must have been filled to the brim with production crew, stage hands, make-up artists and of course, the movie stars.
As we reach the end of the single storey Block A, I sense Wong quickening his steps. “Come and see this wall!” he beckons. The back portion of Block A is plastered with a myriad of Malay movie memorabilia with P. Ramlee, our Seniman Agung, having the lion’s share. Unable to contain his enthusiasm, Wong begins regaling us with tales about Ramlee’s career and personal life as he slowly walks us through each photograph.
THE LEGEND
Born Teuku Zakaria Teuku Nyak Putih on the first day of Hari Raya in 1929, Ramlee assumed his stage name when his father registered him in school as Ramlee Putih. Most of his life in Penang centred on his interest in music and love of football. He began playing with several local bands near his home at No. 4A Counter Hall Road (now Jalan P. Ramlee) in George Town when the Japanese occupation interrupted his studies. His first band was Teruna Sekampung while the later ones were the Mutiara and Rindu Malam.
Ramlee continued to pursue his musical career after the British returned to Malaya in September 1945. The jamming sessions with the bands helped boost his self confidence. When his budding talent became obvious, Ramlee’s friends and relatives encouraged him to participate in local singing competitions. Two years later, he topped a vocal contest organised by the Penang Radio for North Malaya. It was during this competition that he added the initial “P” (for Puteh) to his name for the very first time. That name stuck to him for the rest of his life.
His big break came unexpectedly on June 1, 1948 when he was spotted by B.S. Rajhans. The-then big-time movie director working with Shaw Brothers happened to be at the agricultural fair in Bukit Mertajam where Ramlee was performing his self composed song about a beautiful maiden named Azizah. Rajhans was so taken by Ramlee’s ability that he immediately offered the 19-year-old the opportunity to join the year-old Shaw Malay Film Production Studios in Jalan Ampas, Singapore. The offer to provide background music for the film Cinta as well make an appearance in the same film was too good for Ramlee to decline.
Two months later, on Aug 8, Ramlee left his island hometown for another island in the south. At that time, he did not know that it would be his very first steps into the annals of immortality.
TICKET TO STARDOM
Rummaging in his oversized sling bag, Wong eventually fishes out a square blue parchment and points to Block A. “Ramlee would have been issued this pass on his first day at work here. Do you know what he brought with him at that time?” The questions posed to Rozie and I are met with a shrug of the shoulders.
One of the foremost authoritative figures on cinematic history in Malaya, Wong steers our attention to a photograph of a young Ramlee holding a violin. “On that day Ramlee had to sit for a screen test. He used his own violin that he brought all the way from Penang to accompany his rendition of Azizah.” Slowly, I turn to an open window at Block A hoping that the wonderful song would suddenly emanate just like when Ramlee performed it more than 70 years ago. Sadly, only the sounds of sparrows chirping can be heard.
During the brief walkabout, it dawns on me how this place must have seemed like Hollywood to the young Ramlee. “He realised that this place held his ticket to stardom and he immediately set about learning as much as he could about the film industry. Ramlee was diligent and was willing to do everything around the set including menial odd jobs,” adds Wong as he points to several film projectors near Block C. “Who knows, perhaps Ramlee could have helped carry those during his early formative days.”
The timing couldn’t have been better for Ramlee. According to Wong, Ramlee arrived at the Malay Film Production Studio during a time when the Malay film world was looking for someone they could nurture into a “star of stars”. What the young, skinny and acne-covered Ramlee lacked at the beginning was made up for with his strong and natural screen presence. Those rare qualities stood him in good stead over the decades, earning him successive roles in countless movies.
GOLDEN JOURNEY
Despite countless successes in film making, it was music that featured prominently in Ramlee’s life. Ramlee wrote more than 500 songs throughout his illustrious career, many of which were used as soundtracks in his 62-odd films. His signature hit Azizah, the song that propelled him to stardom, was used in his directorial debut, Penarek Becha, a story about a hardworking but impoverished rickshaw puller who falls head over heels for a beautiful girl who is way beyond his league. Like many of his subsequent movies, it was the small man who ended up winning the heart of the fair maiden at the end of the day.
Penarek Becha (1955) quickly became an overnight success. It was voted the best film by influential entertainment magazine Utusan Filem Dan Sport, an accolade that helped boost his image as director and filmmaker. Ramlee’s dominance in the Malay filmmaking industry was cemented when he was richly rewarded for his work at various Asian Film Festivals. The 1956 award for Anak Ku Sazali in Tokyo was the first of many to come.
Noticing our growing admiration, Wong cautions that Ramlee’s phenomenal success didn’t happen overnight. Especially during the early part of the 1950s, the showman often felt unsure about himself and occasionally questioned his own abilities. His confidence wavered whenever he felt lonely or when unfair criticisms were hurled at him by fans, co workers and members of the media. Fortunately, Ramlee managed to contain those undesirable episodes and keep them under wraps. Only those who were close enough to him would be privy to his rather fragile psyche. “I guess overcoming those trying moments made Ramlee a much stronger person. They certainly helped to prepare him for the challenges later in his life,” adds Wong, solemnly.
LATER LIFE
In 1964, Ramlee returned to Malaysia and began work in Merdeka Film Production based in Ulu Klang, Selangor. He hit the ground running and came up with his first film, Si Tora Harimau Jadian which was released in cinemas on Nov 27, the same year. Over a span of eight years, Ramlee directed a total of 18 films at Merdeka Film Productions with Laxmana Do Re Mi as his last in 1972.
Misgivings and loss of confidence began resurfacing during the last days of Ramlee’s life. This was aggravated by his inability to raise funds for his films. He felt betrayed that for all he’d done for the industry, the financiers seemed to have fallen out of love with his magic. Ironically, this very same magic resurfaced with a vengeance after his untimely death from a sudden heart attack on May 29, 1973. Ramlee was just 44 years old at that time. Right up to that tragic moment, it must have been a bitter pill for him to swallow when he realised how fickle his fans really were.
As I turn to have a last look at the place where Ramlee’s genius once reigned mighty, the caretaker winds his vintage gramophone and the song Di Mana Kan Ku Cari Ganti fills the air. We all stand rooted to the ground. This song, sung by Ramlee himself for the film Ibu Mertua Ku, remains one of his greatest evergreens. The lyrics “Di mana kan ku cari ganti, mungkin kah di syurga” could very well be about him. It has been 44 years since your demise, P. Ramlee. Where can we find someone just like yo. In heaven, perhaps?