The Malaysian authorities quietly presented the director Amanda Nell Eu with an ultimatum: They would submit her film “Tiger Stripes” to the 2024 Academy Awards only if scenes they deemed inappropriate were cut for local audiences.
“Tiger Stripes,” which follows a rebellious girl who gets her period, was riding high after winning the grand prize at the 2023 Cannes Critics’ Week. It needed a theatrical run in Malaysia of at least seven days to become eligible for the Oscars. So Eu agreed, reluctantly, but publicly denounced the domestic version.
Eu, 39, said in a recent interview that her film is about a young girl’s fight for the freedom to express herself, and that the cuts for the domestic release destroyed its essence.
“That joy, that beauty of the film, was gone,” she said over coffee and cigarettes in Kuala Lumpur, the capital.
Her experience points to an awkward paradox: Even as the Malaysian government lauds local films that win praise and prizes abroad, some of the most-celebrated ones are either not shown in domestic theaters or are heavily censored.
Domestic and foreign movies screened in Malaysia are subject to review by the Film Censorship Board, which sometimes demands significant cuts or changes, especially to scenes related to topics it considers sensitive, such as race, religion and sexuality.
Last year, the board’s rules were expanded. Among other changes, movies shown at embassies, festivals and other venues were placed under the same restrictions as those in theaters.
Neither the Film Censorship Board nor the Film Development Corporation, a federal agency that oversees Malaysia’s film industry, responded to inquiries. Both report to the government of Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim, who leads a coalition that is under pressure from conservative Malay political forces.
Malaysia’s ethnic Malay majority, mostly Muslim, accounts for more than half the country’s population, and there are sizable non-Muslim Chinese and Indian minorities.
Khoo Gaik Cheng, an expert on Malaysian cinema, attributed escalating film censorship in Malaysia partly to efforts by some politicians to link Islam with ethnic Malay identity.
“It’s never not connected to ethnic-slash-religious identity, and it’s always Muslim because they’re the loudest bloc,” she said.
The threats to filmmakers are not hypothetical. The director and producer of “Mentega Terbang” (“Butterfly” in English), a 2021 indie film about a Muslim girl who is curious about other religions, were charged with blasphemy last year and could be imprisoned for up to a year if convicted.
The possibility of censorship helps explain why some star filmmakers, like Eu, look abroad for funding and to international festivals for exposure — and why local moviegoers often don’t expect to see provocative films on the big screen.
On a recent evening at a Kuala Lumpur theater, three friends discussed the Malaysian films they had seen on YouTube, Netflix and other platforms.
“Stuff that pushes buttons won’t be in cinemas,” said one of the friends, David Soh, a musician.
One of the films they discussed was “Pendatang” (“Immigrants”), a dystopian, Cantonese-language movie about racial tensions in Malaysia. Its director, Ng Ken Kin, said in an interview that it was financed entirely by crowdfunding.
Not everyone in the industry is overly concerned. Amir Muhammad, a veteran director whose 2006 movie “Lelaki Komunis Terakhir” (The Last Communist”) was among the first Malaysian films banned at home, said he saw censorship as an “occupational hazard” and a creative challenge.
“If you just want to hit your head against the wall, it’s quite naïve,” he said.
Some films have thrived in Malaysia even after heavy censorship. “Snow in Midsummer” (2023), about racial riots in Kuala Lumpur in the 1960s, became a sensation even after it was released with multiple cuts. Amir said the censorship made some audiences even more curious to see it.
The censors have not always been heavy-handed. Amir said that Malaysia’s submission for the 2025 Academy Awards, “Abang Adik” (roughly “older brother, younger sibling” in English), a critically acclaimed film that includes undocumented people dealing with police harassment and features a transgender character, was released uncut.
Raihan Halim, the director of “La Luna” (2023), a rom-com about a lingerie shop in a conservative Malaysian village, said the cuts to his film did not compromise its integrity. One example: The audio in a lovemaking scene was altered slightly to make the sex less obvious.
But the authorities have clamped down on others, including “Tiger Stripes,” which was screened in Malaysia without its original, exuberant ending.
Private screenings of “Maryam Pagi Ke Malam” (“Maryam From Morning to Night”), a 2023 film that was shown at overseas festivals, were stopped, people in the industry said privately, requesting anonymity because of the sensitivity of the issue. The director of that film, which is about a Malay woman who wants to marry a younger man from Sierra Leone, did not respond to an interview request.
The director and producer of “Mentega Terbang,” Khairi Anwar and Tan Meng Kheng, expect to get a ruling on their blasphemy charges from Malaysia’s High Court in February. Their film, shot over six days with a budget of $1,000, was never meant for Malaysian theaters. But interest grew after it was screened at film festivals in Indonesia and later uploaded to Viu, a streaming platform.
And the threat was not just legal. As the accusation that “Mentega Terbang” insulted Islam spread on social media, the director and producer received death threats. Anwar’s car was splashed with acid, and his friend Tan’s work as a drama teacher fell off as some clients kept their distance.
Some in the film industry have urged the two men to apologize, they say, but they have refused. They deny that “Mentega Terbang” was intended to insult Islam.
“If we apologize for the film, it feels like we’re ashamed of the film,” Tan said, sitting at a conference table with Anwar at the film studio where his friend works. “And honestly, I’m still very proud of the film that we made. I feel like it’s so really, truly Malaysian.”
