Janur Ireng — Sewu Dino the Prequel - A Missed Opportunity

En the vast and dark jungle of Asian cinema, where marketing executives decide that a prequel is the magical solution to squeeze the last drop of a dying franchise, Janur Ireng: Sewu Dino the Prequel emerges as a cinematic abomination that reeks of desperation and cold office coffee. We find ourselves in the screening room of Claqueta Ácida, with the seats creaking under the weight of our cinephile despair, as the screen lights up with the first frames of this Indonesian production that promises to be «the cinematic event of the year» —according to the poster that someone forgot to update since 2019—. But does it achieve its goal? The answer, dear readers, is as complex as the script of a Turkish soap opera written by a Netflix algorithm: no, but at least it gives us material to laugh until we shed tears of cinematic acid.

The career of Kimo Stamboel, that Frankenstein of Indonesian genre cinema, is a perfect example of how the industry can turn a promising director into a franchise slave. With titles like Headshot (2016) and DreadOut (2019) in his filmography, Stamboel proved that he could handle poetic gore and supernatural horror with a style that oscillated between the visual excess of Takashi Miike and the sickly melancholy of an ASMR video for insomniacs. However, Janur Ireng: Sewu Dino the Prequel reeks of a commissioned project, one of those movies that you're forced to make when the studio tells you: «Either you make this prequel or you'll be left without a budget for your next personal project». And so, between sighs and instant coffee, this abomination with pretensions of rural epic was born.

The shooting, according to the Reddit threads we've tracked like celluloid bloodhounds, was a low-budget hell with blockbuster aspirations. With a budget that didn't even reach the cost of buying the rights to a background song, the team was forced to shoot in locations that seemed taken from a documentary about poverty in Southeast Asia, but with the aesthetic of a K-pop music video filmed in a garage. The anecdotes are as juicy as a rotten mango: from actors who improvised dialogue because the script didn't arrive on time, to action scenes choreographed by a choreographer who had only seen Jackie Chan movies on YouTube. And, of course, the CGI, that eternal joke of modern cinema, shines here with the grace of a PowerPoint made by an intern in a hurry.

But let's talk about the cast, that army of actors with a face of few friends who seem to have been recruited in a quick casting call at a Jakarta shopping mall. At the top of this mountain of cardboard stone is Rio Dewanto, an actor who in other circumstances could be the Indonesian Ryan Gosling, but who here seems a mannequin given a string to recite lines with the emotion of a GPS. Alongside him, Marthino Lio and Nyimas Ratu Rafa desperately try to inject life into characters that the script has left more dead than an episode of The Walking Dead in its eighth season. The chemistry between them is as non-existent as coherence in an M. Night Shyamalan script, and their performances oscillate between the overacted and the catatonic, as if they were interpreting zombies who have forgotten how to be human.

Analysis of the Script: A Feast of Clichés and Missed Opportunities

The script of Janur Ireng: Sewu Dino the Prequel is, without a doubt, the most putrid corpse in this movie's closet. Written by Kimo Stamboel and his team of screenwriters with impostor syndrome, the plot tries to be a mix of The Godfather and The Raid, but ends up being more predictable than an episode of Aquí no hay quien viva. The story follows a group of Indonesian peasants who, after discovering an ancient Malay ritual, become involved in a clan war that seems taken from a manual on how to write a prequel without dying in the attempt.

The dialogue is as forced as a smile at a funeral, and the characters seem skeletons without flesh, moving through the plot like marionettes with broken strings. There's a moment when one of the protagonists says: «The past always returns», and we can't help but burst into hysterical laughter, because, seriously? Is that the level of depth we're going to get? It seems like the screenwriter fell asleep in Narrative Structure 101 and dreamed of a Naruto fanfic.

But the worst part is not the lack of originality, but the feeling that this movie could have been something more. There are glimpses of wasted genius: a scene where the characters dance a traditional dance under a red moon (yes, like in Only Lovers Left Alive, but with less style and more folk from a fair), or a blood ritual that seems taken from a student's short film with Hereditary ambitions. But these moments are drowned by a montage that seems edited with scissors and adhesive tape, and by a rhythm that alternates between the soporific and the chaotic, as if someone had mixed the frames in a blender and spat them out on the screen without order or concert.

Direction: Kimo Stamboel or the Art of Losing the North

The direction of Kimo Stamboel is, at best, a survival exercise. The man tries to keep his composure while the ship sinks, but the result is a movie that debates between rural thriller and low-budget slasher, without ever deciding on a clear tone. There are sequences that try to emulate the style of The Witch (2015), with long shots and photography that plays with shadows and natural light, but then comes an abrupt cut to an action scene that seems filmed with an iPhone 4 and edited in Windows Movie Maker.

The photography by Patrick Tashadian, that anonymous hero of Indonesian cinema, is the only thing that saves this movie from being a complete disaster. Tashadian, who already demonstrated his talent in DreadOut, manages to create here an oppressive and poetic atmosphere, with a color palette that oscillates between the rotten green of the jungle and the blood red of the rituals. There's a shot where the camera slowly approaches Nyimas Ratu Rafa's face while the light of a bonfire draws dancing shadows on her skin, and it's so beautiful that it hurts. It's as if Tarkovsky had directed an episode of Supernatural, but with less budget and more mosquitoes.

However, the montage is the great villain of this story. The transitions between scenes are as abrupt as a slap in the face, and the rhythm drags like a zombie with arthritis. There are moments when it seems like the movie has fallen asleep, and others when it wakes up with a start to scream a cheap jump scare, as if the editor had confused the play button with the panic button.

Performances: A Parade of Emotional Zombies

The cast of Janur Ireng: Sewu Dino the Prequel is a perfect example of how cinema can turn talented actors into soulless automatons. Rio Dewanto, who in other movies has proven to be a charismatic and versatile actor, here seems a mannequin given a string to recite lines with the emotion of a news anchor. His character, a clan leader with a traumatic past, is as flat as a storyboard without drawing, and his drama scenes are as convincing as a politician in an election campaign*.

Alongside him, Marthino Lio tries to give life to a secondary character that seems taken from a manual on how to write an archetype in five steps. His performance is as forced as a telenovela villain, and Nyimas Ratu Rafa is the only light in this tunnel of mediocrity, who at least tries to give depth to her character, a woman trapped between tradition and modernity. But even she gets drowned by a script that doesn't give her space to shine, as if someone had told her: «Just look at the camera and make a sad face, that sells».

Technical Section: When the Budget Shows (and Hurts)

The production design of Janur Ireng: Sewu Dino the Prequel is a homage to creativity in times of crisis. The locations, from rural villages to abandoned temples, have an authentic and decadent air, as if Andrei Tarkovsky had shot on a set of The Raid. But then comes the CGI, that eternal reminder that money doesn't buy happiness, and everything goes to hell. The digital effects are as cheesy as a The Sims 2 mod, and the action scenes are as choreographed as a drunk tiktoker dance.

The soundtrack by Aghi Narottama and Bemby Gusti is, at best, forgettable. There are moments when the music tries to create tension, but it ends up sounding like the ringtone of a 2005 Nokia phone. And then there are the silences, those uncomfortable moments when the movie seems to have forgotten that sound exists, as if the sound designer had gone to grab a coffee and not come back.

The costumes and makeup are, perhaps, the only technical aspects that save face. The traditional Malay costumes are well-designed and executed, with fabrics that seem taken from an ethnographic museum, and the ritual makeup has a gothic and disturbing air, as if Guillermo del Toro had designed the outfits for a The Craft cosplay. But even here there are glaring flaws: in one scene, a character bleeds from a wound that seems painted with kindergarten tempera, and in another, a ceremonial costume seems bought at a Halloween costume store.

The best

• The photography of Patrick Tashadian: An oasis of beauty in the desert of mediocrity. His shots are so hypnotic that they almost manage to make you forget you're watching an unnecessary prequel.

The performance of Nyimas Ratu Rafa: The only actress who tries to give soul to this movie, although the script puts more obstacles than a parkour in Assassin’s Creed*.

• The production design: Despite the low budget, the locations and costumes have an authentic and decadent air that transports the viewer to a rural and mystical world.

Some tension sequences: There are moments, like the blood ritual under the red moon, that manage to create a disturbing atmosphere, although the movie then ruins it with a cheap jump scare*.

• Kimo Stamboel's direction in the long shots: When Stamboel forgets he's making an action movie and focuses on capturing the beauty of the jungle and the actors' faces, the result is almost poetic.

The worst

The script: A feast of clichés and missed opportunities, written with the depth of a tweet* from an influencer. The characters are flat, the dialogue forced, and the plot predictable.

• The editing and montage: A chaotic disaster that alternates between the soporific and the abrupt, as if the editor had mixed the frames in a blender.

The CGI: So cheesy that it seems taken from a The Sims 2 mod. The action scenes are choreographed with the grace of a drunk tiktoker*.

• The lack of chemistry between the actors: Rio Dewanto and Marthino Lio seem two strangers forced to share an elevator for three hours, and their dialogue scenes are as uncomfortable as a Tinder date.
• The soundtrack: Forgettable and generic, like the background music of a shopping mall at Christmas. There are moments when it seems like the movie has forgotten that sound exists.

The rhythm: So irregular that it alternates between slow motion and fast forward*, as if someone was playing with the remote control. The cheap jump scares: So predictable as an episode of Aquí no hay quien viva*, and so effective as a joke by Chiquito de la Calzada in 2024.

The Verdict of Claqueta Ácida

Janur Ireng: Sewu Dino the Prequel is the definitive proof that franchise cinema can be as lethal as a poorly executed Malay ritual. With a script that seems written by a Netflix algorithm, performances that oscillate between the catatonic and the hysterical, and a montage that seems edited with scissors and adhesive tape, this movie is a painful reminder that money can't buy talent, but it can buy the silence of critics. However, not everything is lost: Patrick Tashadian's photography and some well-executed tension moments manage to elevate this prequel from the low-budget hell to the purgatory of forgettable cinema. In short, a movie that promises to be the cinematic event of the year and ends up being the bore of the century. Claqueta Ácida gives it a 4.5/10, and recommends watching it only if you have insomnia or if you're paid to do so. 💀