Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, June 4, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Will Hollywood apologise to Iran
Shortly after a breathlessly hyper Ron Rosenbaum declared Stephen Daldry’s The Reader to be one of the worst Holocaust films ever made, comes a piece of news, if not directly, then indirectly related. According to news reports, the Iranian officials have asked Hollywood to apologise over the ‘insults and slander’ of the Iranian people evident in their films over the last 30 years.
Read the complete article here.
Read the complete article here.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Killing Margaret Atwood's work
Perhaps one of the most reductive, not to mention badly written, and absolutely un-researched pieces I have read about a writer. The victim this time is Margaret Atwood. Sadly it was carried out by The Hindu Literary Supplement. Click here to read.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Bachchan-Boyle-blog saga; or the Slumdog story
Danny Boyle’s little film, Slumdog Millionaire has made it big. With four Golden Globe wins including major ones like Best Film and Best Director have made it an Oscar favourite. As was expected, a film like this would have encouraged yawns from the Indian masses and at best would have received critical nods and intellectual appraisal at film festivals. But then Rahman went and won a Golden Globe and we went a tad berserk that an Indian received an international award, and dreams for India’s first actual Oscar (Satyajit Ray’s was an honorary one, and Aamir was always a non-starter) have resurfaced at an embarrassing level. For some reason the Oscars appear sacrosanct to us, the superior awards to the lowly, Third-World, manipulations evident at the Filmfare etc. Since we have taken to worshipping Aamir Khan, his word against popular awards is the word of god and his weird preference for ‘untainted’ Oscars makes them holy.
But Aamir aside, Slumdog is unique in the reception it has received more than a fortnight before its release. Agreed that it is the most pirated films of all time, but I do wonder if the all-knowing, opinionated public has really watched the film, or is the public just judging it for the inevitable indignation that is considered politically correct behaviour from any Third-World citizen. I am most curious to find out if Amitabh Bachchan, the most “disgusted” of the lot has actually seen the film.
What Bachchan said: “If Slumdog Millionaire projects India as a third-world, dirty, underbelly developing nation and causes pain and disgust among nationalists and patriots, let it be known that a murky underbelly exists and thrives even in the most developed nations. It’s just that the Slumdog Millionaire idea, authored by an Indian and conceived and cinematically put together by a westerner, gets creative global recognition.”
Bachchan acknowledges that the film is based on a book by an Indian but doesn’t quite realize that that contradicts his statement. Even if one is to agree with him about the Orientalist view of Danny Boyle or any white man for that matter, this is a unique case as the meat for the film comes from an Indian.
The cast of Slumdog was vehement in its defense of the film. Actor Irrfan Khan said, “The film is based on (a work of) fiction and it takes a cue from what Vikas Swarup narrates in his book Q&A. It is not that Swarup wrote the book in the backdrop of Mumbai's posh south Mumbai locality and Boyle deliberately set his film against the background of the city's slum in order to run down India's economic progress…Anyway, why get jittery about India's poverty and try to hide it? Because, the fact is, we are a poor country and poverty is there for all to see. Is there any harm if it is highlighted in a film for the sake of realism?”
No one quite expected the kind of backlash Bachchan’s statement invoked, the sharpest of them all coming from a blogger with The Guardian in UK. Nirpal Dhariwal said, “Bachchan is no doubt riled, as many other Bollwood no-talents will be, about the fact that the best film to be made about India in recent times has been made by a white man, Danny Boyle. Bachchan gave one of the worst English-language performances in cinematic history with his embarrassingly stupid portrayal of an ageing thespian in The Last Lear. Having failed miserably at cultivating a western audience, it must hurt him to be so monumentally upstaged by white folk on his home turf.
The bitter truth is, Slumdog Millionaire could only have been made by westerners. The talent exists in India for such movies: much of it, like the brilliant actor Irrfan Khan, contributed to this film. But Bollywood producers, fixated with making flimsy films about the lives of the middle class, will never throw their weight behind such projects. Like Bachchan, they are too blind to what India really is to deal with it. Poor Indians, like those in Slumdog, do not constitute India's "murky underbelly" as Bachchan moronically describes them. They, in fact, are the nation. Over 80% of Indians live on less than $2.50 (£1.70) a day; 40% on less than $1.25. A third of the world's poorest people are Indian, as are 40% of all malnourished children. In Mumbai alone, 2.6 million children live on the street or in slums, and 400,000 work in prostitution. But these people are absent from mainstream Bollywood cinema.
Bachchan's blinkered comments prove how hopelessly blind he and most of Bollywood are to the reality of India and how wholly incapable they are of making films that can address it. Instead, they produce worthless trash like Jaane Tu, Rock On!! and Love Story 2050, full of affluent young Indians desperately, and mostly idiotically, trying to look cool and modern.”
Meanwhile, the media quoted Boyle saying he respects the view of Bachchan. Though no actual quotes of Boyle saying this are available, perhaps him not defending the film was construed as such.
In the days that followed, Big B, as Bachchan is popularly referred to, has backtracked, (who wouldn’t in the face of unprecedented criticism that you are just not used to) and has once again used his most popular tactic till date – an amused criticism of the media. He has gone on about how headlines are picked and how it is morally incorrect and what have you. How he managed to convince people (and by that I mean Danny Boyle) that a headline like Big B rubbishes Slumdog, is not appropriate for his statement about the movie disgusting nationalists and patriots is anyone’s guess. Bachchan has also written an official letter to The Guardian saying that attacks on his person by reporters and bloggers of this paper display the “most extraordinary level of misreporting.”
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Thoughts on Revolutionary Road
There is no dearth of films on the darkness of suburban life in America. In fact we get at least one every year. As far as content goes, Sam Mendes’ Revolutionary Road is nothing new.
A young couple move to the suburbs after their first pregnancy, looking for a stable background for the life that is to come and for themselves. Few years and two children down the line, it hits them that they aren’t happy with their lives, and the stableness they once desired. The wife suggests moving to Paris – a long unfulfilled dream of her husband’s, where he can take some time off while she provides for the family. After some initial hesitation, the husband is on board. The couple, excited for the first time in years, make plans, announcements and dreams. As luck would have it, the husband’s meaningless job suddenly becomes more lucrative, forcing him to rethink, he does, and thus begins the crashing of dreams and a family.
The hollow emptiness that surrounds the lives of Frank (Leonardo Dicaprio) and April Wheeler (Kate Winslet) has been staple fodder in Hollywood for years. Think back to American Beauty, Donnie Darko or even the other Kate Winslet starrer Little Children. The emptiness eats people on the one hand, and gradually, the monstrous City—which stands in stark comparison to the suburbs—looks more colourful and more alive.
It is therefore not the story that makes Revolutionary Road special, but the characters who may live the lives of stock suburban figures in cinema, but embody greater detail in the way they’ve been built. As he narrates his one lasting memory of his father’s company, Frank says that the one thing he wanted was to not become like him, and here he is, working for the same company. The sense of superiority that was there in him when he sub-consciously distanced himself from his father’s way of life, stayed with him and we see glimpses of it in his very demeanor. He feels superior to his co-workers, to his neighbours and of course to his wife.
April on the other hand is no longer sure that they are in fact superior to the lot that lives falsely content lives in the suburbs. She is doing the dishes, looking after her children and exchanging gardening tips like any other woman. Her failed attempt at acting has only proven that she can no longer boast of being above the rest. Instead, it gives the riff-raff of her neighbourhood a chance to judge her. She reminds Frank of the man he used to be, who she thought was ‘the most exciting man (she had) ever met’, and wants to see that energy in him again. The confidence that was explicit in her body language in the snapshots of her pre-marital life has waned and she wants the edge back. In the guise of giving her husband the time to be the intellectual he has aspired to be, she is looking to gain control.
Frank laughs at the lowly, backward notion of his friend Shep when he expresses shock and contempt at the thought of April supporting him while he sits back, but it is ultimately the idea of control that becomes the deciding factor. Questioning Frank’s manhood is the recurring motif throughout the film – which leads him to try and prove it in the most traditional way – violence. The thought of earning more, going beyond the man his father was, one who can stand proud in front of his children because he has given them the perfect life is a temptation he can’t avoid.
The other recurring figure of suburbia is a mentally disturbed character. Michael Shannon plays John Givings the institutionalised son of their neighbour and land-lady. As is expected, he is the only person who ‘truly understands’ what they mean when they say they want to escape the hollow emptiness. They are happy to see he approves, as if it is a true indicator of his genius and the greatness of their plan. However, when he speaks the truth once again and questions Frank’s manhood, he is a crazed lunatic who should be shut up in an asylum where him and his views belong. In the suburbs, the mad are the sane.
The film does give in to hysteria every now and again becoming at points a little too shrill, but when it is contrasted with lasting silence—and Mendes does that at strategic points and with the control of a master—the silence becomes loaded with anticipation, frustration and hope, all at the same time.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Death of an actor…
One of the best publicity campaigns in the history of Indian cinema was designed for Ghajini. The anticipation for this film was like none other. Internet movie portals had a glorious December with page-views increasing ten folds each time they mentioned the word Ghajini. It was as if there was something magical about the word, that made people leave anything they were doing and lap up gossip, information, sneak peeks, pictures and trailers of the film. Brand partners of the film – Van Heusen, Tata Sky and Samsung too got a piece of the pie and pushed their products through their star – the one, the only Aamir Khan. His newly worked out look, the eight-pack that defeated Shah Rukh’s measly six-pack was the headliner at dinner-table conversations. The two girls of the film were royally ignored and no one minded that. The director was ignored and no one minded that either. After all, how many directors are there who are willing to tell the same, stolen, stale story twice. While we were busy giving ourselves embarrassed sighs over the dominance of remakes of Hollywood films, we didn’t see a more sinister trend coming up –remake of a remake of a remake. Plato and his Republic died all over again.
A R Murugadoss made the first attempt at copying Christoper Nolan’s Memento in 2005 with the Tamil Ghajini starring Surya Sivakumar, Asin and Pradeep Rawat. The version we see today has the same cast with the exception of Aamir Khan who has replaced Surya Shivakumar and Jiah Khan who has replaced Nayantara.
The story is of a man whose fiancé was killed and he was given a massive blow on the head that lead to short term memory loss. He plans to kill the killer, which is not an ordinary task given his 15-minute memory span. He makes notes and takes photos of things and people to remind himself of his agenda.
It’s a unique storyline, but the kind whose novelty wears off after the first time (which was Memento). The Aamir Khan starrer, being the third, has nothing new to offer and is therefore little more than a miserable copy. A film like this, which has a weak storyline does the predictable – and tries over the top methods of populating itself. Unnecessary and graphic violence was the means by which Murugadoss chose to overcome this lack. His characters were weak and poorly defined, take Ghajini for instance, played by Pradeep Rawat - an actor who hails from the South was forced to adopt a Harayanvi accent, something that he was ill at ease with and something that did not gel with his appearance at all, especially given that he slipped out of it every now and again (I wouldn’t call that perfection, would you?). He was clearly a man of influence, even publicly, but what exactly his profession was, was undefined. He attended college functions as the chief guest but also made regular appearances to kill people – personally.
The real disappointment is however, Aamir’s character – Sanjay Singhania. Unfortunately, the director and the writers haven’t quite figured out for themselves the stand they want to take about short term memory loss. His 15 minute memory span expands and compresses as per need of the moment. He can be in an act and not remember why but also reach from one end of Mumbai to the next without any memory loss problems. Continuity and logic have taken the toll badly in this film. There is an interesting moment in the film when we see the renewed shock of Kalpana’s (Asin) death for Sanjay when he takes his shirt off and reads the message. But Aamir Khan gets so busy showing off his body and admiring it himself that few would be fooled into believing he is reading devastating messages. His disorder is mixed up with bouts of madness (for people like him it seems it’s the same thing) as he lives in a state of animal rage. And by animal, I mean real, growling, jumping, snarling type of animal. He goes from making sounds and gestures like dogs, tigers and even King Kong for that matter. Sadly, this is the man who gave us the most incredible portrayal a character ever saw – in Rangeela. Even he, who is widely projected as a perfectionist, never bothered to understand the logistics of short term memory loss and follow at least something consistently. The renewed shock of a man over the murder of his fiancée can be a challenging role, especially if the aim is to prevent it from being run-of-the-mill and repetitive. Instead Aamir chose to snarl to show blind rage. Not novel, not perfect.
Meanwhile, Asin who made a bold statement saying she too is a perfectionist like Aamir, made a forced attempt at a bubbly personality. In her defense, she may have done it well the first time around and lost steam by the second. Anyone who needs to reinstate her ‘jadu ki chhadi’ status repeatedly is surely not confident of her charm and ‘magic’ reaching out to people.
Jiah Khan meanwhile was so badly cast that little else can be said about her. Her weird accent coming and going, her static expression and poor dialogue delivery did not help this crumbling film.
The people may go to the theatres out of sheer curiosity, but that just means the PR people behind this film were brilliant, not the film itself.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Review: Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Few would believe that the hyper Woody Allen has it in him to make a film like Vicky Cristina Barcelona. His films so far have been witty, fast-paced and likeable, especially when he isn’t in them because he can play but one character – himself. Vicky Cristina Barcelona however looks like it’s made by a wholly different person. One whose soul agenda is not to convey his great wit and intelligence to his audience.
The story is about two women, Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) who travel to Barcelona for a vacation. There they meet the sexually aggressive Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem). Cristina in her forced post-Modern outlook is immediately attracted to his predatory skills, while the overly balanced Vicky is more than cynical about him and ‘method’. His suave, European demeanour wins them over and they accompany him to his birthplace, also in Spain. This leads to a number of friendships, relationships, loves and betrayals, and that’s what the film is about.
We hear a constant narratorial voice that actually tells us the story, sometimes giving us information in advance leading to heightened anticipation, and sometimes withholding just the right amount - for shock value. The beauty of this story lies in its simplicity, or rather apparent simplicity as is enforced by the narrator, who is, like all good narrators, matter-of-fact about the story he tells. That we hear the most wonderfully bizarre story in the most traditional way of story-telling is interesting. The voice of the narrator is perhaps the single strongest force that ensures the smooth flow of the story. There is an ease with which the story is told that makes even a threesome seem like a spiritual, uplifting idea.
The characters are well built and contribute to the strange ride this film is. My personal favourite is Cristina, who is a painful mix of progressive and a forced progressive. Her studied attempts at being impulsive are hilarious, yet, when the straightjacketed Doug (Vicky’s fiancée) criticizes her lack of respect for ‘normal values’ as pretentious, the joke is on him. Similarly, Vicky, who starts out as the most stable, reasoning character of the film, turns into an emotional mess after one escapade with Juan Antonio. A good combination of the two is Juan Antonio himself, who embodies both these opposing forces.
A late entrant, Mary Elena (Penelope Cruz) brings in madness and a raw sexual energy that changes the tone of the film. The constantly touch-and-go relationships that she enters into are Woody Allen’s unique touch and her actual impulsiveness makes her the most attractive character.
The actors have helped Allen a great deal in realizing this little film. Unfortunately, Scarlett Johansson is not drastically different in this Woody Allen film than any other though she fits the role well. Javier Bardem plays out a great balancing act between the stable and not-so-stable aspects of Juan Antonio’s character. It is however, Penelope Cruz who steals the show.
No one who sinks into the film (as most viewers will) can miss the lovely background score that suits the film well and compliments the story being told.
You can call the film meta-normative, you can say the relationships occupy an alternative space, you can pitch the romance of Spain against the lack thereof of America and see the subtleties of moralities in it, but for me, Vicky Cristina Barcelona is just telling a story. It’s a great story and it is told well. And that is enough.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Review: Sorry Bhai
There were two good things about Onir's Sorry Bhai and these were Shabana Azmi and Boman Irani. Unfortunately, that was it.
I'm still puzzled about why this film was labelled 'unique', 'unusual' or any such favourable term. It is the most run-of-the-mill story of an engaged couple where the woman realises days before the wedding that she has in fact fallen out of love with her fiance and is now interested in his younger brother. There is the usual feat of parents around to object and to support and there is of course the happy ending.
The film, contrary to any claims of singularity, is a contrived coming together of cliches we had forgotten about. Be it the loving looks the actors give their Casablanca DVDs or the age-old repeat-the-name-three-times technique to demonstrate frustration. In a desperate attempt to appear 'modern', the middle-aged parents are happy to kiss in public, the young couple are happy to have sex before they get married and the best part of the film - suggestion of a live-in Sharman tells Chitrangada at one point, "Ma ne suggest kiya hai ki hum live in karein". It seems the film was trying to explore the undefined territory between the modern and the traditional by its incredibly drab plot and characters. That a young scientist can't play the fool after saying 'Maa kasam' is the point of this film. For me the struggle didn't come through, the silliness did.
Sorry Bhai has only suffered from Chitrangada Singh's mystical star status because the actress who played Gita in Hazaaron Khwahishen Aisi was a whole different person— one who could act. Every sentence she uttered in this film, every emotion she adopted looked forced, and as a result the character is hardly built up in any real sense. Not that I expected much from him, but Sajay Suri was more wooden than usual. The other real disappointment however, was Sharman Joshi. The shift he demonstrated in a few moments in Rang De Basanti was lost in this one. He tried to get away with smiling through every scene in this film, whether he was happy, sad, angry or frustrated. There was no chemistry or urgency in any of the relationships with the exception of Shabana Azmi and Boman Irani who were more charming than they were in Honeymoon Travels. Sadly for the young actors, the ease between Azmi and Irani highlighted the complete lack among the other relationships in the film. It doesn't move in any way and leaves an utterly bland taste.
The idea behind Sorry Bhai was never revolutionary but it could have been handled better. Half of their cinematography work was taken care of as a result of the beautiful locale, the other half was poorly shot. The overwhelming focus on the surroundings is a good give away of how poor the story is. The dialogues could have lifted this from an ordinary story to something a little more, but they only pulled the film back into a greater sense of the ridiculous.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Review: Oye Lucky Lucky Oye
To say that a new dawn is visible in Bollywood is a tad contrived, but somehow that is all I can think of when I think about Dibakar Banerjee, the director of Oye Lucky Lucky Oye. Banerjee’s earlier film, Khosla Ka Ghosla came at a time when small-budget films with relatively unknown or character actors like Parvin Dabbas, Ranvir Shorey and Boman Irani were still treading a tightrope between appreciation and rejection, and yet, the honesty of the film, its complete rootedness, pulled it through, and got Banerjee a National Award.
Oye Lucky... comes three years after Khosla... and it is visible that Banerjee is not sitting smug in the success of his last venture, but is out to deliver a story that is based on real events; it may be based once again in Delhi, it might once again be a combination of fact and fiction, but its originality puts it in a class by itself, and to compare it with Khosla... is actually an exercise in futility.
Oye Lucky... is the story of Lucky (Abhay Deol) a lower-middle class boy whose simple desires are thwarted by his father (Paresh Rawal), only giving rise to aspirations of a different, more affluent lifestyle. Surrounded as he is by bullies and thieves in the making, his desire pulls him towards petty crime and ultimately towards thievery of a much larger scale. He comes in contact with Gogi (Paresh Rawal), a singer with a backdoor business of supplying stolen goods to people. Lucky’s quick style earns him some demand in Gogi’s group, but his dreams are bigger; he isn’t made to serve anyone else, his only aim being profit and of course some fun. He meets the quiet Sonal (Neetu Chandra) through Dolly (Richa Chadda), Gogi’s dancer and begins a relationship with her. He goes on to meet Dr. Handa (Paresh Rawal) who, though initially fooled by his impressive lifestyle, soon puts two and two together and tries to swindle him.
The keen observation that builds this film is unprecedented. From the director to the production designer, we can see a complete and very controlled vision of Delhi. It is not overstated in its filth or affluence or gaudiness, instead the architecture of the houses with its small rooms but open verandahs, the easy access from one wall to the other, the iron doors of some houses are what are competently captured. Little details work wonders, like the red chillies set out on a newspaper in the sun, the clothes drying and of course the public walls with very Delhi ads and election messages. Characters use names on areas in west Delhi, but that is just an added bonus for Delhi audiences who can relate to Lucky’s joy at being able to take a girl from Amar Colony to Rajouri Garden.
A glimpse of the Delhi Police works as an oblique comment in the film. We are used to seeing their brutality, their corruption and an entire host of related things. Some of those things are there in Oye Lucky..., but they too are understated. It is the body language, the things around them, the appearance of police stations that is emphasized. The dark dingy rooms of the thana, inspectors in various stages of undress, the enmity yet a camaraderie between the police and the thief occupy this film, speaking to audience without shouting a message in our faces.
The actors are in sync with the director who has conveyed his pitch, soul and vision of the film to them perfectly. They depict every detail as if it comes most naturally. Abhay Deol is striking in his persona of Lucky. He takes on the anger and desires of the young Lucky and develops it just a notch as ‘he has grown up’. His romantic life serves as a good balance to his otherwise ambitious, somewhat aggressive outlook. It betrays hints of the young, awkward sardar that lives in the suave looking Lucky. The resentment with which he observes the rich around him is well-stated; he may be sitting in a coffee shop like the rich girls around him, but he can never occupy it with as much command as they do. And this is perhaps what draws Sonal to him. She is as accomplished as any of the girls in skirts, but she too resents their ease with clothes she can only aspire to wear. Hers is a touching character who is well aware of her 'sinful' surroundings - be it her sister and her occupation or Lucky and his. She tries in the most dignified way to disance herself from something that she is in close proximity with and that makes her all the more endearing.
Richa Chadda who plays Dolly was an apparent force in the film, one of the most visible comments made by the director. Her need for sympathy, attention and love are conveyed by the things that touch her. Rejection brings out a hardened side natural to anyone, and in particular an emotionally abused girl.
Archana Puran Singh was the comic strength of the film portraying the Delhi Punjabi aunty to the hilt. Mispronunciation, contrived relationship forging and an aspiration for what Delhi folk call ‘high life’ make this character. Agreed that she is something of a caricature compared to most other characters in the film, but she increases the comic quotient thereby making the film more endearing, not to mention the ‘being-able-to-relate’ angle that she brings in.
The only point of disappointment for me in the entire film was Paresh Rawal and that is surprising because I thought he would carry the film. Younger actors around him overshadowed his somewhat artificial performances in all three personae. Three roles and very little to write home about, Paresh Rawal sadly became the weakest point of the film.
Great visuals, actors, story, songs, and Dibakar’s keen observation are things we hardly see packaged together, and it is this that this hearteningly simple film will stand out for.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Review: Dostana
If you're looking for evidence of Bollywood coming of age, then please direct your glance somewhere far far away from Karan Johar. He has never claimed to be anything more than an entertainer, and that is exactly what he is. One wonders what it means when posters of a film say, 'Karan Johar presents Dostana. Directed by Tarun Mansukhani.' Is he merely a producer, or has he somehow stamped the film with the hoo haa Dharma Productions is famous for?
As is well publicised, Dostana, starring Abhishek Bachchan, John Abraham and Priyanka Chopra, is the story of two men in Miami looking for a flat. They find one, and it is perfect because it has two rooms to spare, but it is not meant for them. The landlady tells them only girls (baby-log) can occupy the flat as the third flattie will be her single niece. The two hatch the imperfect plan andpretend to be gay to win the lady's trust and a roof over their heads. They have to continue the pretence in front of the niece, who happens to be the stunning Priyanka, and then in front of some more people, and then some more and it goes on. Needless to say, they fall in love with her and life is all the more complicated.
Just because Bollywood has managed to say the word 'gay' out loud without being shut down, would be a massive change if the film wasn't the way it is. It walks a fine line between severe homophobia and an ability to get over it and look beyond. In spite of statements by Karan Johar himself, the film indeed does indulge in stereotyping at one level. For instance, the scene where Abhishek tells the two women their 'love story', the visual is of exaggerated effeminacy. There is however Boman Irani who plays M, the editor of Verve. Once I was over the stupendous job Irani did, I realised, here is an actual gay character, who might be a tad too colourful for the Indian male palette, but is also a grand success. He is the editor of Verve, and he leaves the job to become Editor in Chief of Diva. He isn't a perfect person, definitely not a saint, but he is also not a closet case, fighting society and sitting ready to die of AIDS, which is the only place homosexual characters have had in Bollywood so far.
This film isn't meant for the upliftment of the unfortunately suppressed and discriminated gay community in our country, in no publicity campaign has it claimed to be so. It does resort to some tried and tested jokes against gay people, and I am sorry to report that they work like magic with the audience, but I am determined to believe that it also looks forward in some very small ways, perhaps even unintentionally. First, because apart from the usual gay jokes, there is an underlying sense of humour in the film, which would worked for it even without its gay-angle. Second, and most significantly, the end of the film. There is a kind of ambiguity it leaves us with, which, given the masculin ideal of Bollywood, is radical. The thought, that even buffed up, sensitive, 'normal' people can be gay. We may not know it, and even they may not know it.
Dostana has a lot of elements associated in our minds with the undefined entity called 'western culture' - be it the roommate arrangement, the clothes, the career choices, the relationship choices, and of course the girl drinking beer in the middle of the day - and audiences seemed to have warmed up to it. The question in my mind is, will the film, with its mass appeal and a conscious decision to not preach, work as the ultimate 'lesson' and coming of age technique for Bollywood and consequently for its audience?
Friday, November 14, 2008
Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth
Jhumpa Lahiri never loses sight of who she is. An Indian, yet an outsider. It isn't an unusual thing to be, and many old NRIs yearn for their home soil and whatnot, but Lahiri's writing walks that thin line between something is dripping with nothing but nostalgia and one that is eager to forget its roots.
With The Interpreter of Maladies, a new identity emerged which has now taken definite shape with Unaccustomed Earth. There is a new Indian - who is not unfamiliar with India, but knows it in tiny details of that are more or less taken for granted. Be it the sabzi-sandwich she takes to school for lunch, or in the Indian, more specifically, Bengali terms of address she uses most mechanically. Unlike the confused hybrid that inhabit NRI writing, these characters are comfortable with their identities, mostly because their creator has come to terms with hers. She puts this part of herself in each of her characters, but then lets them develop as individuals with their own stories and their own struggles. There isn't a preoccupation with nostalgia, a static Indian-ness that dominates writing of this kind, but an acknowledgment of a world that is somewhere a part of each of the characters, which reveals itself in unusual ways.
There are few writers today who write with as much ease as Jhumpa Lahiri. Every word, every story engulfs you in a hauntingly quiet way. As always, her approach is gentle yet effective, and the stories won't leave you easily. With The Namesake, it seemed Lahiri had lost the absolute control and precision she has over her words. It was a moving story, but a tad rambling, and it seems to me now that it is the comparatively shorter life of a short story that she works better in. The novel seemed to guide her, while she is the master of the short story.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Musings on Hellboy and the superhero
With the fuss around the almost-superhero – James Bond, relooking at this much-loved genre becomes inevitable. A strange dichotomy faces us today, technological advances are at an all time high, to put it crudely, with James Bond all but flying, it looks like very few things are unachievable; and yet, the demand for fantasy is growing. Be it Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, or the any of the superhero films – the craze is unprecedented. The superhero films are particularly interesting, primarily because they provide the link between the human and the fantastical, with characters that look like you and me, but have that extra something that gives them the power to make the world a better, safer place.
Not unlike most superheroes, Hellboy (created by Mike Mignola, filmed by Guillermo del Toro) lives on earth, separated from his actual parents, and is lovingly adopted by someone he comes to think of as father. And like most, he too has a responsibility towards the people, one of keeping them safe. The question that arises at least once in every superhero film, ‘Does the world need xyz?’ is to facilitate the answer - yes, the world does in fact need a hero – and this is the case with Hellboy (Ron Perlman) as well.
In spite of all these similarities, there is an inherent difference with which Hellboy has been approached. The Hellboy films play a tricky game of in and out of the superhero genre – using the popularity when in, and reflecting on the genre when out.
Hellboy came into the ‘real world’ with the American attempt to destroy a portal made by the Nazis to conjure a power that would ensure their victory in the World War. Professor Trevor Bruttenholm, an American doctor, comes with a small army to stop the Nazis. Their attempt is partially successful, and they are left with a little red creature, with horns on its forehead – evidently not human, but also not animal. Bruttenholm adopts the creature and calls him Hellboy. Hellboy grows up to be a big red monstrous looking creature, but has the superhero-special sort of heart, courage and ability to save the world.
What, then, is Hellboy’s origin? Superman’s father was a scientist on Krypton, Spiderman was licked by a radio-active spider who inadvertently passed on his characteristics to Peter Parker — but where did Hellboy come from? He is a result of the darkest magic that was called upon to destroy the world, (actually to provide victory to the Nazis, but it’s the same thing apparently). The Americans found him in the most hellish times, and therefore, Bruttenholm names him Hellboy. The name is a constant reminder of the existence of a dark side, at least potentially, to this heroic character. It goes hand in hand with the horn stubs that are present on his face. In the first film itself, we can see that the dark side has merely been subsided by his constant interaction with ‘the good’ – the changeover being a matter of skill and strategy in the hands of Rasputin. There is a vision of what the world can be, and by suggestion, how safe it is right now.
There is a question waiting to be asked; del Toro leaves it to the audience to ask it – what is maintaining this balance? The answer is – Hellboy. Or rather his sense of right and wrong, that corresponds with ours. He uses his strength for what is right, but can be pulled into using it for what isn’t. The relatively unidimensional Superman stands in sharp contrast. The White man with neatly parted hair, cannot have a compromising side. This is perhaps the reason he is an iconic figure in a sense America itself – given the costume. Hellboy, with his capacity for evil will never be an icon, or a symbol of America, though he is raised there. He likes candy, swigs beer from cans like any average Joe, and cracks the usual ‘I would give my life for her but she wants me to do the dishes too’ jokes, but he can never be American. There is a particularly moving scene in Hellboy 2, when the public has started fearing Hellboy all of a sudden because the mother of the baby he saved thought he was trying to kill him. Just as Hellboy starts to discover his paternal capacity, he is accused of trying to harm the baby. Liz (Selma Blair) keeps trying to say, he’s trying to help, but no one listens. Of course, the moment could have been more powerful if Blair was a better actress, but the idea comes across fairly well. The people he considers his own, who he risks his life to save, suddenly decide he is a monster. Supernatural elements aside, there is a critique of American society that creeps up here, one that comes at an opportune moment.
The first Hellboy film saw del Toro’s fascination with the ugly, not just in the figure of Hellboy himself, but also in the figures of Abe (Doug Jones) and creatures like Sammael that Rasputin invoked. This art of reversing order and making the ugly attractive took definite shape in Pan’s Labyrinth, and reached perfection with Hellboy 2. The big, clumsy Hellboy and a slimy fish-like Abe are together the most effective duo that come to the rescue of human beings. They are contrasted with Tom Manning (Jeffrey Tambor), the Director of the FBI, the normal among the paranormal. He spends his time trying to deny the existence of Hellboy, and looks idiotic not just to the public, but to the Bureau of Paranormal Research as well as he tries desperately to exercise control, and fails (in both films). The figure of Sammael, the foulest creature in the film, is stretched to a limit in its grotesque appearance that you move beyond the initial distaste and start coming to terms with the scale del Toro has in mind. The emphasis on the grotesque creates a beauty that is, in some senses, removed from the Christian ideal of beauty. The troll market in Hellboy 2 is a good example of what I mean. In one film, there are two worlds visible – that of downtown New York, and that of the underworld, where the troll market is, and Hellboy looks visibly happy to be there – because everyone there is like him – no one stares and no one thinks he’s a freak. The complete vision of the troll-market is almost sublime, in a way where awful really is awe-full. The lack of a definite shape, and instead a kind of grotesque mass that pervades the Hellboy films, has a flowing quality, which gains significance when seen from the perspective of history. The first Hellboy deals directly with historical figures like Rasputin, but then push them beyond all sense of logic, time, space and death. The visual of the purple blood flowing everywhere, gives us a sense of excess, which defies the control of a traditional historical narrative. History then goes beyond the human. Its ugliness and animal-instinct provides a perspective to human history that is fast becoming del Toro’s trademark.
The sense that one goes back with, after watching Hellboy, or any del Toro film for that matter, is far from fleeting. Whether it is a fascination for the superhero, for history or just for sheer theatrics and a grand scale in filmmaking – with Hellboy, he has decided to please everyone.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Rocking is overrated!
I read some film critic calling Abhishek Kapoor’s Rock On, a worthy successor to Farhan Akhtar’s Dil Chahta Hai. I can’t think of a statement further than the truth. There is not a doubt in my mind that, being ‘a worthy successor’, or in less kind terms, ‘cashing in on DCH’s popularity’ is what this film aimed to do. But that doesn’t mean it manages. What it does manage, is to look like a far less competent, ‘inspired’ film, as Bollywood is prone to calling a number of its endeavors.
Here is why I say this, the basic structure of the two films is, a group of male friends as the centre, their wives or girlfriends lurking as side attractions, one major fight – to be more specific – a punch in the face, a broken friendship, changed personalities, and then the patch-up. Dil Chahta Hai came at a time when films about friendship were more or less non-existent in the Bombay film industry. It created this unique new space, a new relationship that is full of mischief, friendship, and nostalgia which is infectious. Some lousy films like Masti tried to recreate that, but were so low in their humour, their look, their acting and direction that they went down badly. To be fair, compared to a lot of muck being produced in Bollywood today, Rock On is a good film. My main complain about it is its lack of originality.
What it doesn’t learn from Dil Chahta Hai is the art of simple and effective story-telling, without compromising on the complexities of relationships between friends and between lovers (or potential lovers).
The structure of Rock On is one that goes nowhere in spite of a great deal of build up. As the film begins, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that there has been a falling out between friends, and that it has changed their lives. But we don’t get to know till three-quarters of the film is over, what the fight was about. And by then, the build up is so great, that almost anything would’ve anti-climactic. In Dil Chahta Hai, the comment that leads to the fall-out was below the belt, and unspeakable in Bolly-world. In Rock On, there is no build up to the actual fight. The tension between the Aditya (Farhan Akhtar) and Joe (Arjun Rampal) starts and ends when the music director starts giving more screen time to Aditya who doesn’t mind and Joe gets all worked up; a fight follows, and Joes punches Aditya. To sit for an hour and a half before you see this little detail, feels like you’ve been cheated.
Where Rock On loses out a great deal in comparison to Dil Chahta Hai is with reference to secondary characters. ‘The evil woman’ who wants to separate male friends was done away with fairly early in Dil Chahta Hai, because slightly unusual relationships were to take that space. I was particularly moved by the relationship between Akshaye Khanna and Dimple Kapadia. The sad turn that Debbie (Shahana Goswami) takes in Rock On is just reinviting the run-of-the-mill. She gets in the way of his reviving friendship, pushes him to do unexciting jobs etc. There is a hint of a woman who’s facing her changed reality, but she is so constantly unpleasant that it is easy to forget that and resent her.
So, yes, Rock On is like Dil Chahta Hai, but only because it is trying so miserably hard. And the only real commonality between the two is Farhan Akhtar, who was much much better in Dil Chahta Hai, as the director.
Lust, Caution
The opening titles of Ang Lee's Lust, Caution situate the film in the years between 1938 and 1942 in Hong Kong. There is the World War, the espionage, the student rebellion, the lust and the caution. But those are mere structures to support one of the most moving war-time films ever made. It digs into the personal sacrifice that shapes any revolution, be it bodily or even spiritual.
It is the story of a group of enthusiastic students who start identifying with the rebellious tone of the play they put up in college and decide to take their action beyond the stage. The group's leader, Kuang Yu Min (Wang Lee-Hom) pulls the group together and they decide to assassinate Mr. Yee (Tony Leung Chiu-Wai), who is a part of the government that has collaborated with Japanese fascist forces. The quiet and beautiful Wong Chia Chiv (Tang Wei) is chosen to seduce Mr. Yee, win his confidence so that he lets his guard down and the group can kill him. Kuang and Wong are attracted to each other, but it remains an unspoken truth, given the intensity of their project. Things go wrong and the group is forced to run away. Years later Kunag meets Wong again; he is now an official part of the secret resistance group. He introduces her to the mastermind and they decide to continue the affair where it was left off. And it does.
Perhaps this would have been a lesser film without the indescribable talent of Tang Wei. She gives a silently haunting quality to Wong, making the few words she speaks in the film the most meaningful and certainly the most powerful. Far from the wounded, but proudly upheld bodies of soldiers that occupy most war films, we see a critique of the idea that has inhabited feminist theory for a while - the woman's body as the space to define political achievements. The interesting thing is that both sides use Wong's body for very opposite reasons.
The resistance movement, from its amateur student stage, assumes that since Wong is the one chosen to seduce Yee, she will have to sleep with him if the affair reaches that stage. There is a poignant moment when she returns from their first date and announces that sex will be on the table the next time, only to realise that the group had hardly waited for her consent to decide that for her.
Even when she rejoins the resistance - now at a more profesional, national scale - the assumptions remain the same. The only difference is that this time, she is wiser and has assumed the assumption herself.
With Yee, the affair is hardly an ordinary one. The physical violence of the intercourse is disturbing, but not as much as the comfort it gives Yee. What surprises is the emotion behind the violence that is gradually commuincated. The desperation and powerlessnes of Yee's position comes through in his relationship with Wong. His actions in this very private sphere become reflective of his lack of power in the political sphere, where he may be part of the government, but it is ultimately a government that is dictated by the Japanese.
The change is Wong's character, from an enthusiastic student looking to change the fate of China - to a broken woman is developed at a masterful pace. She finally breaks her silence about the abuse in the quietest way imaginable - in a moment asking for hysteria, Ang Lee exercises commendable control and the film is all the superior for it. As far as Wong is concerned, it is as if the two groups work in tandem with each other; the resistance group expects and allows a violent sexual relationship to go on while Yee delivers. They are both as guilty of battering her body.
In the climactic moment of the film, we see that Wong and Yee actually serve the same purpose in their respective circles. They are both dictated, used people, who are in ultimate analysis, absolutely alone - as it made very literal in the final move to the jewelry shop when Wong looks around for her fellow conspirators, but finds every post unoccupied. Yee's group too knew of Wong's affiliations, but they never said anything, allowing him to face the risk when it comes. And when that realisation comes through, her 'loyalty' suddenly enters an undefinable space - from political to personal. 'Her people', in that moment, are not the resistance group, but one more like her - whose life is endangered for the cause. The irony is that the two causes are at complete odds with each other.
It has been sixty years and more since the World War, and yet most of us (and that includes most filmmakers) haven't been able to shed the most simplistic good guy-bad guy binary. Even the most celebrated films finally boil down to, or even cash in the sufferings of the Jews, the atrocities of concentration camps or the eternal Red scare. A bit of reflection beyond these hyperbolic tendencies is rare and desirable - and Ang Lee has achieved that and more with this one. Leaving even Brokeback Mountain - his Academy Awarder miles behind, Lee has done his bit to change war films, and maybe even films in general.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Ramchand Pakistani - Review
There's a lot about Mehreen Jabbar's film, Ramchand Pakistani, that can be appreciated. Syed Fazal Hussain, who plays Ramchand, is on the top of that list, Nandita Das is close to the bottom, and the film itself hovers somewhere in the middle.
To clear the air, it is important to mention that the balanced political standpoint of the film speaks to its credit. For once, an India-Pakistan film isn't about terrorism and the big bad guy across the border. And that is a huge relief. But that is almost all that is convincing about the film. It has moments with immense potential. Whether it is with reference to relationships that build up or even a comment on prisoners and their state, especially the fact of innocent people who have been thrown into jail for small mistakes, as is the case of Ramchand and his father. Unfortunately, they remain mere moments.
The story, as it might be evident already, is about Ramchand, a young, tribal Hindu boy living in Pakistan, his mother (played by Nandita Das) and his father (Rashid Farooqui). One day, the boy unknowingly walks across the border near the Thar desert, and his father follows, trying to stop him. They are both arrested and sent to jail in the Kutch region on the Indian side of the border. The mother tries in vain to locate them, she registers FIRs, makes endless rounds of the police station, but to no avail.
The jail Shankar (the father) and Ramchand are thrown into, would be any prisoner's paradise. The interaction with the police starts with suggested torture but for the rest of the film, it turns into an example of communal, social harmony. With the exception of one potential child molester, the inmates all get along famously, they help each other like family members and all is a little too well in jail-land. The inspectors, both male and female, are sympathetic, kind and concerned. Without any provocation, the head arranges for Ramchand to study and brings in a special female inspector for the purpose. The lady, who has some strangely mixed-Mumbaiya-cum north Indian speech, makes a few remarks about the boy, who is an untouchable, touching her utensils, but one little blurt from him pretty much silences her.
What I'm trying to point out here is the lack of a follow up of any potential leads that could give this film a strong base. There are a few stray interesting incidents, or potential relationships that, for all practical purposes, are in the pipeline, but they just don't develop. They remain connection-less episodes. An example: at one point, Shankar tells the inspector that they treated like dogs in the jail; and while that may be the reality of the actual situation, that is not what is communicated in the film. There is an assumed connection with the real world, and that doesn't work, not when what we see in the film is the very opoosite of 'being treated like dogs'.
There was also the beginning of another relationship, between Champa (Das) and a Muslim member of the community, Abdullah (Noman Ijaz). The tenderness of their relationship is moving and once again has immense potential, but all it takes is one little, almost matter-of-fact comment by a friend that has Abdullah pack his bags and leave the scene. The anxieties of these relationships could be many and they weren't explored in this film. And that is the case with the depiction of jail life as well. I was a bit shocked to realise that the Pakistani prisoners blend in that easily with the rest. No strife? I know people to people relations are good, but there are always malefactors. But they were wished away. Also, who is Ramchand going back to? It is a million dollar question, but it is packed off in one little statement. There is no room for exploration therefore. In fact, i would say that with these mistakes, the film digs its own grave because it chooses to crush the intensity of things in simple statements.
I am not saying, at any point, that everything should be literalised and made all to evident as it is in any run of the mill film. This particular case is more disappointing, precisely because there was so much possible within the ambit of the same film, keeping intact the sensitivity with which it has been approached.
To clear the air, it is important to mention that the balanced political standpoint of the film speaks to its credit. For once, an India-Pakistan film isn't about terrorism and the big bad guy across the border. And that is a huge relief. But that is almost all that is convincing about the film. It has moments with immense potential. Whether it is with reference to relationships that build up or even a comment on prisoners and their state, especially the fact of innocent people who have been thrown into jail for small mistakes, as is the case of Ramchand and his father. Unfortunately, they remain mere moments.
The story, as it might be evident already, is about Ramchand, a young, tribal Hindu boy living in Pakistan, his mother (played by Nandita Das) and his father (Rashid Farooqui). One day, the boy unknowingly walks across the border near the Thar desert, and his father follows, trying to stop him. They are both arrested and sent to jail in the Kutch region on the Indian side of the border. The mother tries in vain to locate them, she registers FIRs, makes endless rounds of the police station, but to no avail.
The jail Shankar (the father) and Ramchand are thrown into, would be any prisoner's paradise. The interaction with the police starts with suggested torture but for the rest of the film, it turns into an example of communal, social harmony. With the exception of one potential child molester, the inmates all get along famously, they help each other like family members and all is a little too well in jail-land. The inspectors, both male and female, are sympathetic, kind and concerned. Without any provocation, the head arranges for Ramchand to study and brings in a special female inspector for the purpose. The lady, who has some strangely mixed-Mumbaiya-cum north Indian speech, makes a few remarks about the boy, who is an untouchable, touching her utensils, but one little blurt from him pretty much silences her.
What I'm trying to point out here is the lack of a follow up of any potential leads that could give this film a strong base. There are a few stray interesting incidents, or potential relationships that, for all practical purposes, are in the pipeline, but they just don't develop. They remain connection-less episodes. An example: at one point, Shankar tells the inspector that they treated like dogs in the jail; and while that may be the reality of the actual situation, that is not what is communicated in the film. There is an assumed connection with the real world, and that doesn't work, not when what we see in the film is the very opoosite of 'being treated like dogs'.
There was also the beginning of another relationship, between Champa (Das) and a Muslim member of the community, Abdullah (Noman Ijaz). The tenderness of their relationship is moving and once again has immense potential, but all it takes is one little, almost matter-of-fact comment by a friend that has Abdullah pack his bags and leave the scene. The anxieties of these relationships could be many and they weren't explored in this film. And that is the case with the depiction of jail life as well. I was a bit shocked to realise that the Pakistani prisoners blend in that easily with the rest. No strife? I know people to people relations are good, but there are always malefactors. But they were wished away. Also, who is Ramchand going back to? It is a million dollar question, but it is packed off in one little statement. There is no room for exploration therefore. In fact, i would say that with these mistakes, the film digs its own grave because it chooses to crush the intensity of things in simple statements.
I am not saying, at any point, that everything should be literalised and made all to evident as it is in any run of the mill film. This particular case is more disappointing, precisely because there was so much possible within the ambit of the same film, keeping intact the sensitivity with which it has been approached.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Of ghosts and ruins: Mrinal Sen's Khandar
“I’m going to stop talking now,” said Mrinal Sen as he got up to introduce his film Khandar (1983) at the 10th Osian’s Cinefan Festival, where he is this year’s Lifetime Achievement Award winner. “Because if I don’t, I will contradict myself.” It is hard to believe this of a man who has been known for keeping steady on the path of radical political cinema. He created the Indian New Wave, and he still rules the roost there. No one before or after has had the courage to be the man, so many of whose films were, as he says himself, “popular failures at the box office.”
It seems that Mrinal Sen cannot possibly be content with simplistic emotions. Joy and tears are not nuanced enough to portray reality. Take Khandarfor instance, there is a story, and it has five important characters. The story doesn’t take a back-seat but it lets its characters grow. It is perhaps this aspect of it that made Sen grab it. What is evident is that he directed the actors in such a way that every emotion, every glance, and gesture is loaded. Those who speak the least communicate the most. Sadness doesn’t explain what Jamini (Shabana Azmi) feels when Subhash (Naseeruddin Shah) suddenly agrees to marry her, or when he finally leaves. There is instead a build up of desire, one that engulfs the happy and the sad, hope and curiosity etc etc. And it is the contradiction between an emotion this fluid and the attempt to freeze it that is at the core of this film. Yes, Khandar is very much about ‘the ravages of time’ the ruins it leaves behind. But it is also about the attempt to preserve what is left.
Photography is therefore key to the film. It opens with freeze frames of photos, Jamini’s photos. The pictures have a story behind them but at that point we don’t know that story. The events as they unfold give more meaning to the photo, and in the end when we see him develop it, it is almost as if it is a different picture. Because this time, we know the emotions it captured and in spite of being a photo, it tells the story of the whole film—maybe not the plot, but the crux of its emotions.
This restlessness has a link with the way in which the idea of the film came about. Sen narrates the anecdote, “Every time I completed a film, I passed through a crisis about what my next subject would be. Once, I woke up in the middle of the might and for obvious reasons could not sleep. I left my bed, walked around, ideas popping into my head…I went to my study, stood before a bookshelf and just pulled out a book of short stories by Premendra Mitra. I had read the story so many times, but that fateful night, I read it again and without my knowing how and why, suddenly I could read cinema in the lines, in every line, also between the lines.” Khandar has the dream-cast of almost any director, and they work wonderfully as an ensemble. The three stooges from The National School of Drama (Naseeruddin Shah, Pankaj Kapur and Annu Kapur) follow each other well and Shabana Azmi is like we’ve never seen her before, strong yet demure, exhausted and desirable, hopeful and yet without hope…this one can be called her best. Though it can’t be called Sen’s best…that place was occupied soon after his film career took off, and therefore, way before Khandar came about. It is still the scathing critique of society, of bureaucracy and the state that is classic Mrinal Sen. Satire, is a lost art today in Indian cinema, especially one that is political in nature. Stark realism gets ovations wherever it goes, but today it seems, no one has the wit and understanding to create a workable satire. Sen however, remains a staunch supporter of the genre, and takes on the task of defending it, “Not many, but happily quite a few of my films have satirical kicks, because it is a tremendous force…not just in literature and drama, but indeed in cinema as well. Think of Chaplin, he’s a master.”
And he hasn’t lost the will to fight for this ‘other’ in Indian cinema. “Social agendas and aesthetics go hand in hand, gracefully and powerfully,” he insists, brushing away all attempts to gather a preference for one or the other.
And who will follow his footsteps? He is philosophical, “Did I have footsteps at all?” he asks, then answers it himself, “ghosts don’t have footsteps.”
Friday, August 1, 2008
Krishnakanta's Will: Nothing Novel
I did it to myself. I had read the novel, not liked it, but curiosity got the better of me and off I went to watch Raja Sen’s adaptation of Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay’s novel, Krishnakanta’s Will. Did you ever watch The Mahabharata? Well this film seemed longer. In college, we were told this was a novella, a short novel. The film, however, bore no resemblance of this distinction.
A quick recap of the story. There is a patriarch called Krishnakanta Roy, who has disinherited his son, Harilal, for all sorts of reasons. Harilal decides to get a fake will made and with the help of a young widow, Rohini, he manages to exchange the real will for the forged one. Soon the young widow realizes that her action will disinherit the man’s cousin, Gobindalal who is a kind soul and has dealt with Rohini with understanding and affection. Rohini soon falls in love with Gobindalal who is already married. His wife, Bhramar, is jealous. Gobindalal gets attracted to Rohini. They elope. Soon after, Bhramar falls fatally ill while there is trouble brewing between the illicit couple thanks to Bhramar’s father who sought revenge.
It might be evident that it is a fairly stock story. Love, the other woman, jealousy, inheritance, villains, greed, death etc. What I’m struggling with at this point is whether I should even bother to write any more since that is the beginning and end of this film. It is tempting to be critical of Bankim Chandra’s novel because it reeks of his conservative stance in almost every chapter, but that would be unfair—not just because the novel has some unique, appealing features, but because the film didn’t bother with any of the nuances the book had to offer.
The most interesting aspect of the novel was its narrator. A playful, opinionated story-teller who made this simplistic series of events and relationships more connected and hinted an oral flavour. The two overt references to widow-remarriage are not the end of the matter. The novel is not about relationships, it is about women, more importantly, about widows and Bankim’s reservations (let’s be polite and call it that) on the idea of widows getting married again. The narrator hints at these social comments of the writer with much more depth than the actual characters do. And the film does away with the narrator. Just to think of how fascinating a film this could have bee had this voice been retained, makes me dislike it even more. Even while reading the novel, I remember being wary of this ensnaring narrator. One had to think with him and then beyond him. And it is that process that made the experience worth anything, not the story. For instance the character of Rohini. We have no choice but to listen to the narrator pass judgements on her character, but then we think of more erudite concepts like desire, sexuality and the possibility of innocence co-existing with these qualities. There was a point early in the film when there was a hint of this understanding. But the moment she falls for a married man, she is shunned to the dark side, and the director seems more than content with that action. The caring, soft-spoken Rohini turned into a devilish creature who decides to raise Bhramar’s envy. The ‘basicness’ —to concoct an obvious word— of the emotions portrayed is jarring. And clearly if the director is happy with these basic emotions, then the actors will not push themselves and will be happy to remain simple actors in a simple story.
Another telling feature of the novel is how it ends. Gobindalal is blinded by jealousy and realization of Rohini’s ‘loose character’ and thereby of Bhramar’s godliness. Both women die (Gobindalal kills Rohini), and a golden statue of Bhramar is erected. For all those who were in any doubt about the intention of this novel and its construction of the good woman and the bad one, this move changes everything. And the film doesn’t deem it important enough to retain. One can argue that being a man of the 21st century, Raja Sen was distancing himself from this literal deification of women. But if that were the case, Sen wouldn’t have picked this novel or rather this writer at all. What’s the point of basing yourself on a novel if you erase all traces of its uniqueness from your rendition?
What I do have to admit is the one sensible thing I saw in the film. The novel has a very vocal working class that is visible in the peripheries of the plot. A kind of social critique comes through with the various servants we encounter and Sen had the good sense to highlight them.
The greatest mystery however is the look of the film that prompted more than one person to wonder when it was made. The director clarified that it was made in 2007. It is difficult to explain what exactly I mean when I say that it seemed the film was made in the 70s. Try to recall the inherent superficiality of colours that is evident to us today when we watch the first few colour films. The colour seems super-imposed and far from natural. That is true of this film. There must be some secret formula Sen used for it because as far as I know, that quality is now so obsolete that it is impossible to achieve.
I don’t know what else to say. Maybe I won’t say anymore because there isn’t anything more to the film. The possibilities were immense and they were obviously not even in the vicinity of the filmmakers thoughts, and besides, the damage has been done.
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