Whether intentional or not, Pous Kono’s “Paradise of Thorns” is a delightful drama about betrayal and family secrets; it’s also a political assertion of same-sex marriage in Thailand. The law legalizing same-sex marriage was approved in June but is still awaiting royal assent, making the need for such protection all the more urgent to investigate.
“A Garden of Thorns” is about a gay couple, Thongkam (Jeff Suttor) and Sik (Pongsakorn Mittarikkanon), who are married in every way except the final paperwork, and live together in a sprawling orchard. But when Sik falls from a durian tree while tending to his livestock, his death leaves Thongkam vulnerable to harsh inheritance laws, and family members are eager to take away what the couple has built.
The orchard, though spiritually owned by both men, bears Sik’s name. This leads to complications after his death when his ailing mother Sik (Sreedha Papimole) and her adopted daughter Mo (Engefa Waraha) arrive to claim what they believe is theirs, with some family mysteries yet to be solved. However, before this cold war over the property erupts, the film allows the devastating grief on both sides to fester, allowing both factions to feel irrevocably human before things get worse.
This helps greatly in avoiding an over-the-top caricature, given how closely the story is tied to Thongkam’s point of view. Through his eyes, he sees Saeng and Mo as evil invaders, laughing at the mere thought of inheriting such a vast swath of land. Saeng even sleeps in Thongkam’s bed, and to add insult to injury, urinates in it. But this is a result of her disability—she can only move if Mo pushes her wheelchair—and behind Thongkam’s back, Kono creates a sense of sympathy for both women as well.
But they’re still bad guys for most of the film, even kicking Thongkam off his land. But in order to get what’s rightfully his, Thongkam devises his own plan to win their favor: a cunning, slow-burning revenge plot that’s surprisingly fun, given how duplicitous Thongkam is. He’s essentially a classic Disney villain, with a heart of gold and a justified spite, and Sator rounds out the character in ways that are both slippery and touching.
Kono laments the tragedy of character recognition through documentation, but at the same time delivers the kind of high drama that makes this message digestible for mass entertainment (perhaps in corners that may still need convincing). His quieter themes tend to accommodate the central plot of the screenplay. At one point, Thongkum offers a romantic, face-to-face conversation that further amplifies the film’s scope of gay repression, but this directness—with its functional visual approach—comes at the expense of his more flamboyant, explosive conflicts.
Balancing these contradictions is sometimes difficult, though the film’s LGBT politics must go hand in hand with its gay culture—a clichéd, cliched dramatic style. And while these styles don’t blend perfectly, Kono’s playful melodrama sits comfortably alongside his more serious praise of equal rights, making “A Garden of Thorns” enjoyable enough.
