Dewi
Della Dartyan
Dewi
Pulang
“Stuck between ego and reality when love still exists”
2022
1 Season • 6 Episodes
Drama
Director: Sergius Sutanto
Overview
Dewi, the only child of Intan and Rahmat, has a dream to live in Canada. When she succeeds, her life in Canada comes to a halt when she is diagnosed with a rare disease: Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease (CJD), a chronic disease that makes Dewi's life short. The doctor advised Dewi to contact her family, and then she remembered the incident that kept her from coming home for seven years of Eid. He learns that his father, Rahmat, is secretly married and has another family. Dewi's mother, Intan, had died and made Rahmat the last person she wanted to meet. When Dewi returned, Rahmat was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. With the rest of their lives soon, will a deeply traumatic father-daughter relationship be able to become one family again?
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Trailer
Trailer Resmi | Pulang | Della Dartyan, Dwi Sasono, Putri Ayudya, Cok Simbara, Ira Wibowo, Rangga N.
Cast
Reviews
✦ AI-generated review
The Robot Who Cried in the Slums of Johannesburg
There is a specific sort of melancholy that hangs over Neill Blomkamp’s work, a persistent feeling that the future has already rusted through. *Chappie*, released in 2015, is perhaps the loudest, most chaotic expression of this anxiety. It is a film that shouldn’t work—a Frankenstein fable mashed into a neon-drenched crime caper in Johannesburg, starring a childlike robot and the South African rave-rap duo Die Antwoord. And honestly? It often does not work. Still, when it does, it captures something profoundly uncomfortable about what it means to be a "parent" to technology.
Blomkamp, having already established his brand with the gritty, documentary-style apartheid allegory of *District 9*, seems to be grappling with something more intimate here: the nature of consciousness. Or, maybe more accurately, the nature of upbringing. Chappie, the titular droid, is essentially an empty hard drive born into a world of petty criminals and corporate warmongers.
The film’s central friction is the tug-of-war for Chappie’s soul. On one side, you have his "maker," Deon (Dev Patel), a stuttering, idealistic coder who views the robot as an artist, a philosopher, a chance to prove machines can transcend their programming. On the other side, you have Ninja and Yo-Landi, the gang members who kidnap him, who view him as a tool, a weapon, a "bitch-boy" to help them pull off a heist. It is an odd, abrasive dynamic. Ninja, playing a version of himself that is essentially a cartoonish villain, is all jagged edges and aggression, while Yo-Landi offers a strange, maternal warmth that is surprisingly the emotional anchor of the film.
Critics at the time didn't quite know what to make of it. Writing for *The New York Times*, Manohla Dargis hit the nail on the head: "Chappie is a mess, but a mess that, unlike so many polished, hollow blockbusters, feels alive." She wasn't wrong. There is a "mess" here, largely because the film cannot decide if it is a philosophical inquiry into AI or a loud, guns-blazing action movie.
The most striking visual motif is Chappie’s physical evolution. He begins as a discarded, decommissioned police scout, and Sharlto Copley—performing via motion capture—does incredible work here. He gives the robot a tentative, twitchy physicality, a "newborn" clumsiness that makes him painfully endearing. Look at the scene where he is trying to learn to draw; the way his metallic fingers struggle with the crayon, the hesitation in his posture. It is not merely tech; it is a performance of innocence being chipped away by the world around him. Copley, who has been a staple in Blomkamp's films, has a knack for playing characters who are on the verge of breakdown, whether it is the bureaucratic unraveling of Wikus in *District 9* or the glitchy, childlike wonder of Chappie.
Then, there is the counterweight: Hugh Jackman’s Vincent Moore. If Deon is the naive optimist, Vincent is the jaded, jealous engineer who wants to replace the nimble, autonomous robots with his hulking, manual-controlled monster, "The Moose." Jackman, usually cast as the stoic hero or the charismatic lead, is given free rein to be absolutely petty and unhinged here. He stalks through the office in short shorts and a mullet, radiating a sort of corporate malice that feels painfully real, even if the execution leans into camp.
The film loses its footing in the final act, when the philosophical questions of consciousness are pushed aside for a spectacle of heavy artillery and explosions. It is a familiar Blomkamp trap: he sets up these complex sociopolitical scenarios—poverty, police militarization, the ethics of AI—and then eventually decides that the best solution is to just blow things up. It is frustrating because the quiet moments are where the movie breathes.
Does Chappie have a soul? Is consciousness just data transfer? These are the questions the film flirts with, but never quite has the patience to answer. Instead, it leaves us with the unsettling image of an artificial being trying to find a home in a world that is fundamentally broken, raised by criminals, and built by flawed men. I am still thinking about it—not because it is a masterpiece, but because it plays like a genuine, weird artifact. It is a film that tries to be a bedtime story and a cyberpunk riot at the same time. You have to admire the ambition, even if you are slightly exhausted by the noise.
There is a specific sort of melancholy that hangs over Neill Blomkamp’s work, a persistent feeling that the future has already rusted through. *Chappie*, released in 2015, is perhaps the loudest, most chaotic expression of this anxiety. It is a film that shouldn’t work—a Frankenstein fable mashed into a neon-drenched crime caper in Johannesburg, starring a childlike robot and the South African rave-rap duo Die Antwoord. And honestly? It often does not work. Still, when it does, it captures something profoundly uncomfortable about what it means to be a "parent" to technology.
Blomkamp, having already established his brand with the gritty, documentary-style apartheid allegory of *District 9*, seems to be grappling with something more intimate here: the nature of consciousness. Or, maybe more accurately, the nature of upbringing. Chappie, the titular droid, is essentially an empty hard drive born into a world of petty criminals and corporate warmongers.
The film’s central friction is the tug-of-war for Chappie’s soul. On one side, you have his "maker," Deon (Dev Patel), a stuttering, idealistic coder who views the robot as an artist, a philosopher, a chance to prove machines can transcend their programming. On the other side, you have Ninja and Yo-Landi, the gang members who kidnap him, who view him as a tool, a weapon, a "bitch-boy" to help them pull off a heist. It is an odd, abrasive dynamic. Ninja, playing a version of himself that is essentially a cartoonish villain, is all jagged edges and aggression, while Yo-Landi offers a strange, maternal warmth that is surprisingly the emotional anchor of the film.
Critics at the time didn't quite know what to make of it. Writing for *The New York Times*, Manohla Dargis hit the nail on the head: "Chappie is a mess, but a mess that, unlike so many polished, hollow blockbusters, feels alive." She wasn't wrong. There is a "mess" here, largely because the film cannot decide if it is a philosophical inquiry into AI or a loud, guns-blazing action movie.
The most striking visual motif is Chappie’s physical evolution. He begins as a discarded, decommissioned police scout, and Sharlto Copley—performing via motion capture—does incredible work here. He gives the robot a tentative, twitchy physicality, a "newborn" clumsiness that makes him painfully endearing. Look at the scene where he is trying to learn to draw; the way his metallic fingers struggle with the crayon, the hesitation in his posture. It is not merely tech; it is a performance of innocence being chipped away by the world around him. Copley, who has been a staple in Blomkamp's films, has a knack for playing characters who are on the verge of breakdown, whether it is the bureaucratic unraveling of Wikus in *District 9* or the glitchy, childlike wonder of Chappie.
Then, there is the counterweight: Hugh Jackman’s Vincent Moore. If Deon is the naive optimist, Vincent is the jaded, jealous engineer who wants to replace the nimble, autonomous robots with his hulking, manual-controlled monster, "The Moose." Jackman, usually cast as the stoic hero or the charismatic lead, is given free rein to be absolutely petty and unhinged here. He stalks through the office in short shorts and a mullet, radiating a sort of corporate malice that feels painfully real, even if the execution leans into camp.
The film loses its footing in the final act, when the philosophical questions of consciousness are pushed aside for a spectacle of heavy artillery and explosions. It is a familiar Blomkamp trap: he sets up these complex sociopolitical scenarios—poverty, police militarization, the ethics of AI—and then eventually decides that the best solution is to just blow things up. It is frustrating because the quiet moments are where the movie breathes.
Does Chappie have a soul? Is consciousness just data transfer? These are the questions the film flirts with, but never quite has the patience to answer. Instead, it leaves us with the unsettling image of an artificial being trying to find a home in a world that is fundamentally broken, raised by criminals, and built by flawed men. I am still thinking about it—not because it is a masterpiece, but because it plays like a genuine, weird artifact. It is a film that tries to be a bedtime story and a cyberpunk riot at the same time. You have to admire the ambition, even if you are slightly exhausted by the noise.