A Night Kacau Balau
Lucas Haynes on chaos, permission, and the house that became a stage
Interview by URAKAN Editorial
Photography by Faiz Pujo Jatmiko
On 21 April 2025, a house in Yogyakarta was filled with fireworks, power drills, and more performers than anyone could schedule. A Night Kacau Balau was the latest iteration of 3monkeys Bioskop, a space that began as a DIY cinema and has become something looser and louder. Its host, Melbourne-born filmmaker and curator Lucas Haynes, ran the night like a DJ set. We talked afterwards about chaos, permission, and why a house party might be the right frame for performance art.
3monkeys Bioskop began as a DIY cinema. What is it now?
It started as a DIY cinema and became more of an open performance space. It’s always been underground, spread through WhatsApp and word of mouth. Now it’s open to queer artists, experimental musicians, anyone who wants to play. It’s not focused on one group, it’s open to every group. Diverse experiences condensed into one.
How did A Night Kacau Balau come about?
We were hosting Thomas Henning, another artist from Melbourne who’s been living in Indonesia for five or six years. We’d been collaborating with a lot of performance artists on films, and we wanted a screening that included the performers we were working with. Then we thought, let’s invite every performance artist we can possibly think of. We ended up with too many people to manage.
So we decided to mix the night like a DJ set. No set times, no run sheet, no idea who would play with who. We’d see a musician start and think, this person would be great right now, and go grab them. Then Wayang Polah needed a slot, and suddenly they were improvising with a couple of other performers, worked out on the spot.
Mix the
night like
a DJ set.
Were you looking for something specific in the performers?
It was a kind of spiritual curation. We knew the people attracted to the event would be the right people, so we put it out broadly, with a loose vibe of what the night would be and how crazy it might get. Everyone was given permission to do anything and use the space however they liked, and people used it to process things in their lives.
Dirandra’s performance was about their transition, killing the old self and rebirthing the new, so they wanted a birthday party and a funeral. I feel like every performance was a processing thing, because people were given the space and the permission.
Who did you want in the audience?
I don’t want it limited to any group, age bracket or type of person. I want the events to be queer events, but not only for queer people, so those outside the community can experience it too. I like bringing different scenes together to release some energy and enjoy it together.
I find events boring when it’s one crowd, one scene, one type of music. Communities and safe spaces are really important, and so are events for specific people, but I like mine open. Open in a safe way, where we’re looking out for everyone. If you approach the night with love, respect, and a certain intensity you hold the audience to, it creates a safe space.
You were running around all night. Was there a moment that stayed with you?
I was running around like crazy, finding performers and working out what happened next. Then I’d stop for a moment and see something amazing. Someone doing acupuncture on their face. Someone smashing a bottle on the floor. A power drill on a stop sign. It felt unlimited, how wild it was becoming. I didn’t really get to stop and talk with anyone.
Tell me about the space. Why did it feel the way it did?
Space is really important to me. I see it as the frame for the artwork, the gallery the work sits in. DIY and punk spaces have a lot of energy, but there’s no immersive, intimate space where you feel like you’re inside something, a living thing. Those spaces are always tied to cafes, bars, places built around spending, and I find that alienating when I’m trying to watch noise music or performance art. The context doesn’t match. So we made it as intimate, compressed and intense as possible. A dark, gloomy house party. House parties aren’t really a thing in Jogja.
There was one funny moment. Someone standing behind the stage asked if they were allowed to be there, thinking it was the VIP section, like in fancy clubs where all the cool people stand at the back. That’s exactly the opposite of what we’re going for. Anyone can be anywhere. Everyone can be at the back, everyone can be at the front.
There is
no front
or back.
What does it mean to you to organize a queer space here?
It’s a really lacking thing in Jogja, largely because of safety. I don’t know if there’s a positive way to use white privilege in the city, but the community judgment or punishment a local Indonesian might face for being caught doing a queer screening doesn’t apply to me as much. That’s tricky to navigate emotionally.
But if I can host these events, with local artists and filmmakers playing in spaces I run, I’ll take the bullet. I’m completely happy to. When I came to Indonesia I wanted to work with queer artists here, like I do in Melbourne, and it’s nice to give them a space and a home.
You performed too, with Thomas. How did that happen?
Thomas needed a musician. I’d never done a set, ever. He said, you’re involved in this project, I want you to do it. I rehearsed all day, gathered the cables, programmed the drum machines. I asked to do a noise set, because whatever Thomas does is going to be crazy. Then I got there and all the cables were gone. Someone had taken them after the previous set. So I improvised the whole thing. I turned it up very loud and tried to be as noisy and crazy as possible.
I couldn’t actually see what Thomas was doing. I saw arms flailing around the corner, paint splashing, and the audience’s reaction to him. That’s what I was feeding off. It was amazing.
The name promises chaos. Did you know it would be?
We had 14 or 15 people on the lineup, and we figured even if by some miracle every performer turned up, the house would be full of people anyway. We were just excited to give people the space to do whatever they liked. We had fireworks going off on the dance floor, in the house.
What more
can you
Want?
What’s next?
Every event has happened organically, organized a week or two out. This one was planned five days before. I’m sure things will keep happening that way, which is how the city rolls. We’ll keep it an open space and host other people’s events that align with it.
Personally, I want to do more screenings and host more resident artists. I’m talking to artists from Thailand about a series of queer Thai films. I hope it inspires more of a house party and DIY feeling in Jogja, and spaces outside bars, clubs and cafes. Not that there’s anything wrong with those, but doing it in alternative spaces can be more interesting.
Performers pictured
Amber Kuang, Byakta Babam, Dirandra Sendyakala, Lucas Haynes, Sean, Thomas Henning, Wayang Polah, XUE
