Despite all his accomplishments, his name has remained—what this generation might call—an “if you know, you know” kind of legend. When I saw Berlinale’s tribute post on Instagram and an article on Deadline.com reporting his passing, it felt unreal. Like someone whispered, “This is not a drill.” And even now, I still don’t fully know what to say.
John Badalu’s career was anything but ordinary. He worked across the creative spectrum—from major advertising campaigns to co-founding an international-level film festival. As a producer, his films reached global audiences, including one that competed for the Short Film Palme d’Or at Cannes (Basri & Salma in a Never-Ending Comedy), and many more that earned critical acclaim. He served as a jury member at the Berlin International Film Festival—and if I’m not mistaken, also at Cannes.
Oh yes, he walked that magnificent red carpet, too, without clout chasing.
He came from Makassar, far from the usual centers of influence in Jakarta. Yet he found his way into international circles—by staying true to his values and his craft.
I met John around 2019. I was in my third semester of college, and to your surprise, he was one of my lecturers. Later, I found out he was the founder of Q! Film Festival. When they opened volunteer applications, I signed up. I loved film, and this was my chance to be part of something meaningful. I ended up staying with the organization for five years.
His class was about films too, of course. And it was something. He used to play short films at the end of each session, and we’d discuss them. I never knew how fun it could be to talk about a film you just watched—openly, thoughtfully, without pretension.
John was ahead of his time. He was the kind of lecturer who refused to burden students with outdated requirements—printing unnecessary handouts, wearing full makeup and formal attire just for class presentations. He valued substance over style and clarity, over ceremony.
Pocketing all the unimaginable accomplishments, he showed me life that I never thought possible: he had an amazing life in suitcases without romanticizing it on Instagram. Once, we even talked about having property, as I always have an inclination to have my own place as home base. “Maybe I would never own my own house. I live moving countries and cities; I don’t think owning a house would work for me,” he said. That’s how courageous and practical he was.
He changed how I see films. His critiques were sharp, yet empathetic. His feedback never belittled anyone, regardless of their background. He taught through his presence—quietly modeling humility, resilience, and a fierce belief in the power of art to challenge systems.
As Indonesians who love their country being mentioned, being over-proud without weighing its proper substantial impact, his name is still largely unknown to the public. And yet, he never seemed to care about recognition or headlines. He just kept working and pursuing, right until the end.
But John deserves more. He deserves to be celebrated the way social media defends its idols—with unapologetic, loud admiration (and a twist of nationalism, perhaps). This country owes him thanks for what he fought for: for Indonesian films, for the underrepresented, and for voices that needed space.
Pak, I hope I make you proud.
Even if I didn’t last long in journalism or advertising. Even if I’m no longer in film. I will always love cinema.
Thank you for everything. For the stories, the letters of recommendation, and the lessons—spoken and unspoken.
Yes, we need more John Badalu.
(And everybody, this is not a drill).
