‘The Sleeping Dictionary’: A Lesson In How Not To Tell Indigenous Stories

By Lara Kramer  •  11 Mar 2025 in Features

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TIL Jessica Alba played a native Iban woman in an ‘indigenous romance’ film, and that’s not even the most problematic part of the plot.

Ah, The Sleeping Dictionary (2003)—a film that ostensibly seeks to explore the complexities of love and cultural exchange in 1930s colonial Malaysia but instead entangles itself in a web of racial insensitivity, misguided casting, and narrative superficiality.

Let’s dissect this cinematic misadventure, starting with the decision to cast Jessica Alba, an actress of Mexican-American heritage, as Selima, a native Iban woman; a glaring example of Hollywood’s historical indifference to authentic representation.

While Ms. Alba’s beauty is undeniable, her portrayal lacks the cultural specificity and depth required for the role. As one astute viewer observed, “Alba didn’t seem like a resident of Borneo. She in many ways seemed like a wise ass girl from East Los Angeles.”

This casting choice not only undermines the film’s credibility but also perpetuates a long-standing tradition of erasing the identities of marginalised communities through inappropriate casting. Sometimes being tanned and hot just isn’t enough.

The film’s premise—that British colonial officers are assigned “sleeping dictionaries” to teach them the local language and customs—teeters precariously between historical curiosity and pure orientalist fantasy.

Instead of offering a nuanced exploration of this practice, the narrative opts for a sanitised, romanticised portrayal that sidesteps the more uncomfortable implications of such arrangements. It’s as if the filmmakers attended the “Out of Africa” school of colonial storytelling, where the complexities of imperialism are glossed over in favour of picturesque love stories.

The depiction of the Iban people is superficial at best, reducing a rich cultural heritage to a series of exotic backdrops against which the star-crossed lovers can frolic. The Iban characters serve primarily as narrative props, their lives and traditions overshadowed by the melodrama of the central romance. As if the attractive white man is all there is to think about when your state is undergoing the risk of permanent cultural erasure.

This reductionist portrayal does a disservice not only to the Iban people, but also to audiences seeking genuine cultural representation. If you think this film can at least teach you actual Sarawakian history, please don’t hold your breath.

Apart from its main Iban character being a white woman, The Sleeping Dictionary takes extreme liberties with historical accuracy, particularly in its depiction of colonial Sarawak and the Iban people. While the general setting—the British colonial administration in 1930s Borneo—is based on historical fact, almost everything else is either romanticised, distorted, or outright fabricated.

As mentioned, the film’s entire plot revolves around the supposed tradition of a “sleeping dictionary,” where local women are assigned to British colonial officers to teach them the language and culture through both conversation and intimacy (ew).

However, there is no substantial historical evidence that such a practice was a widespread or institutionalised system. While relationships between colonial officers and local women did occur, they were often informal, complicated by power imbalances, and not part of any structured programme.

The movie presents this as a somewhat accepted and even noble arrangement, sidestepping the deeper colonial dynamics of exploitation, coercion, and racial hierarchy.

See how the film becomes more and more of the expression of a very specific, very disturbing fetish? A handsome creepy white dude is still a creepy dude.

The Iban people are one of the largest indigenous groups in Borneo, known for their warrior traditions, longhouses, and sophisticated agricultural and spiritual practices.

However, the film treats them more as decorative background characters rather than fully realised people with agency.

While some elements, such as communal living and tattooing, are correctly referenced, their representation is heavily romanticised. The movie leans into the trope of the “noble savage,” where the indigenous people are either hypersexualised, mystical, or simply naive, existing primarily to aid or challenge the white protagonist’s journey.

Thus the film paints a relatively benign picture of British colonial rule, focusing more on personal relationships than the broader political realities of imperialism. Historically, British control over Sarawak was complex, first ruled by the White Rajahs of the Brooke family, who maintained a mix of direct governance and collaboration with local leaders.

The film’s protagonist, played by Hugh Dancy, is a stand-in for a well-intentioned but naïve British officer, but the larger realities of colonial oppression, economic exploitation, and indigenous resistance are almost entirely omitted. Instead, the conflict is reduced to a melodramatic love story, reinforcing the problematic notion that colonialism was more about cultural misunderstandings than systemic dominance.

The script offers characters whose motivations flip-flop with the consistency of a weather vane in a storm, leaving viewers more bewildered than engaged, altering their goals and motivations with barely any explanation.

This lack of coherent character development renders the narrative emotionally hollow, making it difficult for audiences to invest in the protagonists’ journeys. Again, being hot doesn’t fix everything.

The thing that stings the most about watching The Sleeping Dictionary is realising it’s a film that had the potential to bridge cultural divides, but instead reinforces them through misguided casting, shallow storytelling, and a reluctance to confront the thorny issues inherent in its premise.

With a $12 million budget, it’s hard to believe that the filmmakers could not afford to fly out and hire an actual Malaysian, and use the change to purchase a history book on the way.

Let this film be a reminder that when it comes to portraying diverse cultures, authenticity should be more than just an afterthought. Keep your white man fantasies on Wattpad, and keep our history out of it. 🤢

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