Looks like, this is an extremely interesting year for the Hindi film industry. The last three movies I watched in the next door multiplex, in as many weeks were riveting without me having to dumb down my sensibilities. I hope I am not being carried away when I say they played out like meaningful European cinema from an Almadover or Kieslowski.
‘No one killed Jessica’ is a fictional narrative based on a real tragedy we are all familiar with and rides on the sheer power packed performance of Vidya Balan. Playing Sabrina Lall, sister of the murdered girl, Balan is a revelation. She communicates the anguish and turmoil of the character without resorting to any melodramatic gimmicks. There is a certain internalization she vests the character with and we sense her grief only through her silences and body language. Here is an actor who knows her craft and I found myself imagining her acting in that Bergman classic ‘Autumn Sonata.’ Balan would be perfect as the daughter.
Rani Mukherjee on the other hand is happy with the Shahrukh Khan brand of hamming and managed to grate on my nerves. No doubt, Filmfare would give an award to Mukherjee next year as the best supporting actor and reserve the critics’ award for Balan. I plan to skip watching the award ceremony on television this year, because of their ridiculous decision to hand the acting trophies to Shahrukh Khan and Kajol for that lame ‘My name is Khan.’ And to add insult to injury, Kareena Kapoor shares the acting honours in a supporting part for “We are Family.” Karan Johar is the ‘best’ director. Clearly the awards have been rigged as they have been happening for years now. When I read the TOI headlines about the winners, I found myself wishing that all future collaborations between Johar and Khan turn into the biggest box office duds. They deserve it for all their machinations to deprive the deserving of their laurels. After that peeved aside, let’s move on.
'Dhobi Ghat' is a lyrical and languorous tale of Bombay. Kiran Rao makes a stunning debut as a director. Her vision is uncompromising and the experience of watching the film is like being in the audience in a classical music concert by a maestro. You warm up gradually and by the end of it you are ready to swear that it has been one of the most divine experiences of your life. The film is subtle and the screenplay nuanced and layered. While the film purportedly narrates the tale of four protagonists, the subtext is all about the resilient city that offers dreams and disappointments in equal measure.
'Yeh Saali Zindagi' is an edgy mishmash of romance, thrills and ribald humour. It is clear that the director Sudhir Mishra had a lot of fun doing this one and so did all his actors. The film is a fairy tale set in the underbelly of Delhi, teeming with corrupt politicians, fixers, nightclub singers, cross dressing gang lords and plenty of wicked fun. And the best thing about the film is it ends happily ever after for all the thugs you feel empathetic towards.There is a Jim Carrey- Kate Winslet classic 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' that wouldn't work as anything but a screenplay. You can't reporoduce the plot in a short story, novel or even a play without losing most of the zing the film carries. This one is like that.
Now if every week had something like this to offer instead of Akshay Kumar’s ‘Patiala House.’
Friday, February 4, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
May her soul rest in peace!
I have always been a murder mystery buff and I am not ashamed to admit that as far the Aarushi Talwar case is concerned, I have always reacted to it as a fictional thriller than a real tragedy affecting real people. Nothing about the case seemed real anyway. How can a fourteen year old girl be murdered in her own room in the middle of the night without anyone breaking into the house while the parents were at home? And to add to the unreality, there were all those surreal images the television screen threw up.
A day or two after the death of the unfortunate child, one of the Hindi news channel (I think it was Aaj Tak) had this intriguing visual of the parents entering their building and being hounded by the television journalists for a byte and the mother pinching the father from behind so as to warn him not to say anything inappropriate to the waiting cameras. The channel kept on flashing the visual for a day and then it disappeared, never to be flashed again. For me, both the visual as well as its disappearance was a significant clue pointing to the fact that the parents were involved; either in the execution of the grisly crime or in the cover up.
It may seem a heartless thing to say but a tragedy of this scale also imposed a certain responsibility on those who were meant to protect and nurture the child. The grief they displayed had to feel authentic. Something about the way the parents were reacting after the tragedy was patently false. They seemed more interested in appearing proper and saying all the right things to the media rather than being overwhelmed by the loss of their only child. Admittedly, this is a two edged sword. Because if they had seemed too distraught, we may have felt they were acting and the conclusions most of us drew about their guilt would have been the same. So the Talwars were always in an unenviable position – hanged if they did and hanged if they didn’t.
But the sad fact is they placed themselves there. However harsh it may sound, it was the parents’ responsibility to ensure the safety and security of the child. It does not matter like in any other pointless crime as to who wielded the knife. For even if the murder was committed by someone else, Aarushi’s parents should have seen to it that their daughter was not put in a situation in her own house where she was vulnerable to violence. If you and I stepped out in the street tomorrow and were mugged, we would blame the authorities for not doing their work. Similarly, if a child gets murdered in her own house in the way Aarushi was, the parents cannot escape responsibility. It is as black and white as that. The government or the authorities cannot be expected to come inside our safe middle class homes and guard our children.
For once, my sympathies are with the CBI. They have done the right thing by closing the case. Now, it is up to the parents not to fall back on legal arguments but to come out clean about what happened that night. The onus is not on the CBI but on them to ensure the dead child gets justice and her soul rests in peace.
A day or two after the death of the unfortunate child, one of the Hindi news channel (I think it was Aaj Tak) had this intriguing visual of the parents entering their building and being hounded by the television journalists for a byte and the mother pinching the father from behind so as to warn him not to say anything inappropriate to the waiting cameras. The channel kept on flashing the visual for a day and then it disappeared, never to be flashed again. For me, both the visual as well as its disappearance was a significant clue pointing to the fact that the parents were involved; either in the execution of the grisly crime or in the cover up.
It may seem a heartless thing to say but a tragedy of this scale also imposed a certain responsibility on those who were meant to protect and nurture the child. The grief they displayed had to feel authentic. Something about the way the parents were reacting after the tragedy was patently false. They seemed more interested in appearing proper and saying all the right things to the media rather than being overwhelmed by the loss of their only child. Admittedly, this is a two edged sword. Because if they had seemed too distraught, we may have felt they were acting and the conclusions most of us drew about their guilt would have been the same. So the Talwars were always in an unenviable position – hanged if they did and hanged if they didn’t.
But the sad fact is they placed themselves there. However harsh it may sound, it was the parents’ responsibility to ensure the safety and security of the child. It does not matter like in any other pointless crime as to who wielded the knife. For even if the murder was committed by someone else, Aarushi’s parents should have seen to it that their daughter was not put in a situation in her own house where she was vulnerable to violence. If you and I stepped out in the street tomorrow and were mugged, we would blame the authorities for not doing their work. Similarly, if a child gets murdered in her own house in the way Aarushi was, the parents cannot escape responsibility. It is as black and white as that. The government or the authorities cannot be expected to come inside our safe middle class homes and guard our children.
For once, my sympathies are with the CBI. They have done the right thing by closing the case. Now, it is up to the parents not to fall back on legal arguments but to come out clean about what happened that night. The onus is not on the CBI but on them to ensure the dead child gets justice and her soul rests in peace.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Brand Busting
A friend was invited to the engagement party of a rising star in Bollywood. She came back after the celebrations, raving about the arrangements and the food. There was only one rider. She couldn’t click any pictures. Why? Because the actor and his family didn’t want any snaps that had him smoking. I found the whole thing rather absurd until she explained how all the film stars in Mumbai were positioning themselves as’ Brands.’ And the actor in question was clear he wanted to be projected as squeaky clean and politically correct in all respects. Any evidence of him engaging even in a minor vice was not something the public at large was privy to.
The X-Tapes are like the snaps my friend would have liked to click. If any of the public personalities involved in the 2 G spectrum mess had known the income tax department was taping the conversations of a certain Ms. Radia when they were on line with her, it goes without saying the sacrilege would have never been permitted, let alone find its way in the public domain. But some intrepid soul refused to play by the party rules and the damage has been to some of the most enduring brands of rising India.
We know now that our Prime Minister is not the honest and upright leader he was ‘branded’ as but a wimp. Just yesterday I read an article on him that described him as ‘effete.’ The tapes also tell us that the chairman of the leading corporate house in India looks down on anything black...be it the black tie affair or the dark complexioned Raja. He and his PR executive are caught giggling about Raja being able to blush despite the handicap his complexion poses.
I personally found that section very useful as it proved to me once and for all why that dubious product “Fair and Lovely” sells like hot cakes in our country. All the “Kaalas” in this country including me, would like to blush in certain situations and we want our blushes to be noticed. So the plan is we use a fairness cream. That should also improve our employment prospects considering such prominent corporate personalities like their ministers ‘fair’ and square.
We also know the dapper long distance runner Anil Ambani has inherited none of the business acumen of his legendary father and foolishly gone and lost all his wealth in the stock market. From one of the richest businessmen in the world, he has turned into a “Kadka.” When another friend heard me joking about this he chided “Even in his Kadka state, he has more money than you can ever dream of.” I retorted it didn’t matter as he was “Kadka” by his own standards.
Barkha Dutt is no longer the feisty journalist we knew her to be. She is found famously asking Radia “Tell me, what should I tell them now?” From the heights of Kargil to the depths of being an errand girl, somehow the fall of Ms. Dutt is rather Greek tragedy like. I am sure whenever she walks into a party of late, all the guests look at her from the corner of their eyes and snigger. As for the suave Mr. Sanghvi, the same media peers who envied him for getting invited to the best of hotels and spas in the world are now calling him a “Steno” and “PA” to Radia.
Niira Radia herself is no power woman and a feminist icon as I imagined her to be. Initially, when the scandal broke out, I was quite impressed by this woman who was stringing the most powerful men in India like puppets. But now we learn, she joined the ‘Big Boys’ club by being ‘very close’ to the BJP politician from Karnataka- Anant Kumar. So it is the same old story.
Karnataka politician reminds me of our own Yedurappa, and how despite impeccable credentials he did not figure in the tapes. But the aftermath certainly featured him prominently. His brand was the only one not to get busted.
He was and remains the clown beyond compare!
The X-Tapes are like the snaps my friend would have liked to click. If any of the public personalities involved in the 2 G spectrum mess had known the income tax department was taping the conversations of a certain Ms. Radia when they were on line with her, it goes without saying the sacrilege would have never been permitted, let alone find its way in the public domain. But some intrepid soul refused to play by the party rules and the damage has been to some of the most enduring brands of rising India.
We know now that our Prime Minister is not the honest and upright leader he was ‘branded’ as but a wimp. Just yesterday I read an article on him that described him as ‘effete.’ The tapes also tell us that the chairman of the leading corporate house in India looks down on anything black...be it the black tie affair or the dark complexioned Raja. He and his PR executive are caught giggling about Raja being able to blush despite the handicap his complexion poses.
I personally found that section very useful as it proved to me once and for all why that dubious product “Fair and Lovely” sells like hot cakes in our country. All the “Kaalas” in this country including me, would like to blush in certain situations and we want our blushes to be noticed. So the plan is we use a fairness cream. That should also improve our employment prospects considering such prominent corporate personalities like their ministers ‘fair’ and square.
We also know the dapper long distance runner Anil Ambani has inherited none of the business acumen of his legendary father and foolishly gone and lost all his wealth in the stock market. From one of the richest businessmen in the world, he has turned into a “Kadka.” When another friend heard me joking about this he chided “Even in his Kadka state, he has more money than you can ever dream of.” I retorted it didn’t matter as he was “Kadka” by his own standards.
Barkha Dutt is no longer the feisty journalist we knew her to be. She is found famously asking Radia “Tell me, what should I tell them now?” From the heights of Kargil to the depths of being an errand girl, somehow the fall of Ms. Dutt is rather Greek tragedy like. I am sure whenever she walks into a party of late, all the guests look at her from the corner of their eyes and snigger. As for the suave Mr. Sanghvi, the same media peers who envied him for getting invited to the best of hotels and spas in the world are now calling him a “Steno” and “PA” to Radia.
Niira Radia herself is no power woman and a feminist icon as I imagined her to be. Initially, when the scandal broke out, I was quite impressed by this woman who was stringing the most powerful men in India like puppets. But now we learn, she joined the ‘Big Boys’ club by being ‘very close’ to the BJP politician from Karnataka- Anant Kumar. So it is the same old story.
Karnataka politician reminds me of our own Yedurappa, and how despite impeccable credentials he did not figure in the tapes. But the aftermath certainly featured him prominently. His brand was the only one not to get busted.
He was and remains the clown beyond compare!
Monday, November 8, 2010
Savages
Diwali night inspired a resident of the building to set up an impromptu bar on the terrace and persistent invitations over the intercom forced me to join the gathering. We got into trouble with the ex-president of the association about the party the next day. But that’s another story.
As it usually happens in middle class apartment blocks, only the men found it comfortable to join the single malt party. The women wisely stayed away. And just as typically as in all male gatherings, the conversation was abysmal and stupid.
This time most of the drunks had a single point agenda. Let’s collectively take on our favourite punching bags- the Muslims. No prize for guessing. The gang was all Hindu. “Look at their history...they always came to power by killing their fathers and brothers,” pontificated one. Everyone present nodded their heads sagely.
Nothing new about that. We always do this. Rake up the history from the pre-Mughal times to illustrate how senselessly brutal people bearing allegiance to Islam can be. And from that silly starting point, it’s easy to make illogical leaps of faith and tar all Muslims as cruel, fundamentalist, terrorist etc.
Why do we Hindus forget that the immediate past of India is littered with enough and more Hindu families burning brides for bringing in inadequate dowry? Burning someone alive must count as one of the most barbaric and savage acts. And by all accounts, entire families are known to participate in this shameful ritual whole heartedly. And at stake is not even a throne, but a few hundred rupees.
But I guess since these brides are not “blood relatives,” they don’t count. Besides they are women. Why should their deaths, however senseless and savage count? They are not Babur or Shahjahan.
As for the charge relating to killing blood relatives, what about our own brand of honour killings? Do we spare our own sons and daughters if they marry within their own “gotra” or not within the same caste?
I contemplated putting across these arguments and then realized in talking about the blood thirsty nature of another community, the gang had started looking pretty blood thirsty themselves. I gulped down my drink and left.
Evil has nothing to do with a particular religious affiliation. Look at what we are learning about the good Christian deeds of the American army in Iraq thanks to the web.
As it usually happens in middle class apartment blocks, only the men found it comfortable to join the single malt party. The women wisely stayed away. And just as typically as in all male gatherings, the conversation was abysmal and stupid.
This time most of the drunks had a single point agenda. Let’s collectively take on our favourite punching bags- the Muslims. No prize for guessing. The gang was all Hindu. “Look at their history...they always came to power by killing their fathers and brothers,” pontificated one. Everyone present nodded their heads sagely.
Nothing new about that. We always do this. Rake up the history from the pre-Mughal times to illustrate how senselessly brutal people bearing allegiance to Islam can be. And from that silly starting point, it’s easy to make illogical leaps of faith and tar all Muslims as cruel, fundamentalist, terrorist etc.
Why do we Hindus forget that the immediate past of India is littered with enough and more Hindu families burning brides for bringing in inadequate dowry? Burning someone alive must count as one of the most barbaric and savage acts. And by all accounts, entire families are known to participate in this shameful ritual whole heartedly. And at stake is not even a throne, but a few hundred rupees.
But I guess since these brides are not “blood relatives,” they don’t count. Besides they are women. Why should their deaths, however senseless and savage count? They are not Babur or Shahjahan.
As for the charge relating to killing blood relatives, what about our own brand of honour killings? Do we spare our own sons and daughters if they marry within their own “gotra” or not within the same caste?
I contemplated putting across these arguments and then realized in talking about the blood thirsty nature of another community, the gang had started looking pretty blood thirsty themselves. I gulped down my drink and left.
Evil has nothing to do with a particular religious affiliation. Look at what we are learning about the good Christian deeds of the American army in Iraq thanks to the web.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Holiday Hangover
It was a long one, spanning eleven days and five destinations. Apart from air and rail, there was plenty of road travel thrown in too. Dipti tells me I don't know how to relax during long journeys by car. I am invariably found staring fixedly at the road ahead. That's true. I am petrified of the sight of the careless dogs run over by speeding vehicles. Apart from grossing you out, there is also something heartbreaking about the sight. This time the driver in Rajasthan had an unique insight. He told us when dogs are running across a highway and sense a running vehicle close to them, instead of speeding like other animals do, they turn around and inevitably get hit by a car or a truck coming from the other side. That's why you are bound to come across one badly mutilated dog in any longish journey you embark on a highway.
Jodhpur was the quintessential small town. There isn't as much of blue as one expected but from the top of the fort, you get an aerial view of the whole place and notice the colour is restricted to the old and the less affluent section of the town. Those who are accusing Arundhati Roy of sedition may like to pay some attention to the royal family of Jodhpur. The history they have proudly displayed in their museum in the palace seem to indicate the pre independence Majaraja was more loyal to the British than the British themselves and earned special privileges from them. Even now, most of the locals we came across referred to the current incumbent as "His Highness." One of the waiters in the hotel we stayed in told us sadly that he had to change his name once he came to Jodhpur because "Highness ka naam bhi wahi hai." The prince is getting married in November and the whole city is gearing up for it. Well, whatever grouse one may have about Indira Gandhi and her emergency, she did ensure India was left with just one royal family- the Nehru-Gandhis.
From Jodhpur, we went to a desert camp set up by Manwar Resorts. The camp bang in the middle of Thar desert offers five star stay at exorbitant rates. Yet, the experience would be worth it, if the staff hadn't been trained to be so blatantly racist. They are polite enough but clearly discriminatory, reserving their best for the white tourists. I dashed off a mail to the owner Mr. Moti Singh after a particularly unacceptable incident and his reply came all contrite and apologetic. He offered to refund the entire amount but I declined. All I asked for was a hard copy of the invoice be mailed. But that is yet to arrive. This seems to be a racket in Rajasthan. When you are booking, they ask you to deposit the amount in their bank account and you learn later that the account belongs to an individual rather than the organization. Afterwards they look puzzled at the reception when you request for a copy of the invoice. I am sure there is some tax evasion angle to all this.
Jaipur was just a night's halt and apart from the stay at another heritage hotel with an imposing door, all we did was visit Crosswords the next morning. I am sure if we had stayed longer, I would have encountered some more discrimination in my own country and gotten all worked up about it.
Our best experience in Rajasthan was in Ranthambore. The staff at "Pugmark" resort were simple and gentle folks. More importantly their service did not vary depending upon the colour of your skin. The jungle safari was good fun but we didn't spot any tiger and may have to go back for it some day.
We got back to Delhi and stayed with friends for a day. They took pity on us and took us the Delhi zoo where we finally saw the tigers!
The best part of the holiday came at the end, when we arrived in Landour from Delhi. The place is around 4-5 Kms from Mussoorie and has a breathtaking view of snow clad peaks. It is relatively unspoilt and thanks to the language school you find a lot of foreigners struggling over Hindi text books. It also has Ruskin Bond, a childhood hero of mine and we met him briefly.
On meeting Bond, I also remembered there is a pile of writing waiting to be done once I get back home. And that's what I am going to do starting today.
Jodhpur was the quintessential small town. There isn't as much of blue as one expected but from the top of the fort, you get an aerial view of the whole place and notice the colour is restricted to the old and the less affluent section of the town. Those who are accusing Arundhati Roy of sedition may like to pay some attention to the royal family of Jodhpur. The history they have proudly displayed in their museum in the palace seem to indicate the pre independence Majaraja was more loyal to the British than the British themselves and earned special privileges from them. Even now, most of the locals we came across referred to the current incumbent as "His Highness." One of the waiters in the hotel we stayed in told us sadly that he had to change his name once he came to Jodhpur because "Highness ka naam bhi wahi hai." The prince is getting married in November and the whole city is gearing up for it. Well, whatever grouse one may have about Indira Gandhi and her emergency, she did ensure India was left with just one royal family- the Nehru-Gandhis.
From Jodhpur, we went to a desert camp set up by Manwar Resorts. The camp bang in the middle of Thar desert offers five star stay at exorbitant rates. Yet, the experience would be worth it, if the staff hadn't been trained to be so blatantly racist. They are polite enough but clearly discriminatory, reserving their best for the white tourists. I dashed off a mail to the owner Mr. Moti Singh after a particularly unacceptable incident and his reply came all contrite and apologetic. He offered to refund the entire amount but I declined. All I asked for was a hard copy of the invoice be mailed. But that is yet to arrive. This seems to be a racket in Rajasthan. When you are booking, they ask you to deposit the amount in their bank account and you learn later that the account belongs to an individual rather than the organization. Afterwards they look puzzled at the reception when you request for a copy of the invoice. I am sure there is some tax evasion angle to all this.
Jaipur was just a night's halt and apart from the stay at another heritage hotel with an imposing door, all we did was visit Crosswords the next morning. I am sure if we had stayed longer, I would have encountered some more discrimination in my own country and gotten all worked up about it.
Our best experience in Rajasthan was in Ranthambore. The staff at "Pugmark" resort were simple and gentle folks. More importantly their service did not vary depending upon the colour of your skin. The jungle safari was good fun but we didn't spot any tiger and may have to go back for it some day.
We got back to Delhi and stayed with friends for a day. They took pity on us and took us the Delhi zoo where we finally saw the tigers!
The best part of the holiday came at the end, when we arrived in Landour from Delhi. The place is around 4-5 Kms from Mussoorie and has a breathtaking view of snow clad peaks. It is relatively unspoilt and thanks to the language school you find a lot of foreigners struggling over Hindi text books. It also has Ruskin Bond, a childhood hero of mine and we met him briefly.
On meeting Bond, I also remembered there is a pile of writing waiting to be done once I get back home. And that's what I am going to do starting today.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Two Love Stories
I have been devouring movies over the weekend, now that the elective I used to offer in IIM Bangalore on Saturdays is over, save the fifteen term papers I have to evaluate. The last two days have been particularly rewarding- “The Japanese Wife” on Friday night followed by “A Single Man” on Saturday. Both these films would now rank somewhere near the top when it comes to compiling my list of the best romantic films. They are suffused with such tenderness and ripe with such vivid imagery that I am finding it difficult to disassociate myself from some of the scenes that play again and again in my head. They are like poems captured with a camera.
Aparna Sen has this thing about endowing her characters with the right accent. So we had Jennifer Kendall doing a great job with the Anglo Indian diction in “36, Chowringee Lane” and then of course the otherwise talented Konkana Sen Sharma hammed it up as Mrs Iyer. Her Tamil laced English accent was more caricature than Mylapore. However both Rahul Bose and Chigusa Takaku get it right as the school master from Sunderbans and his Japanese wife. The quaintly worded 645 letters between them fly fast and breathless through the entire course of the film; tender and increasingly pathos ridden as the story progresses.
Imagine the suave and urbane Bose declaring over the phone to his wife that he struggles with his spoken English, but when it comes to writing he can pass muster thanks to the dictionary. The poignancy of the scene illuminates the innocence on his face with a strange glow, so much so that even a hardened cynic like me felt a lump in my throat. There is another gem. It has Raima Sen transforming herself from a timid widow to a self assured companion while on a shopping expedition. Inside the “cheap rice hotel,” she pushes her plate of fish curry towards her patron. “They haven’t realised I am a widow,” she remarks quietly and manages to pack an entire social commentary in that one statement. Sen is such a natural and only Bengali directors seem to have recognized her talent. What a pity that Bollywood is stuck with Katrina Kaif, Sonam Kapoor and Deepika Padukone.
The film ends with a shot of both the Indian and Japanese widow in the room of the dead school master and you know instinctively that the director is hinting at yet another love story. The acting is uniformly first class, but it is Moushmi Chatterjee as the loving aunt who manages to outshine all the others. The film, as all good films must, speaks a universal language but those who can understand Bengali, like yours truly, have an edge. It is easier to get into the sub text.
“The Japanese Wife” without doubt is the best film made by Aparna Sen, a rare treasure to be cherished for decades. I initially borrowed a copy from Habitat but after watching it, bought the DVD for my private collection. It is a film I would want my son to watch when he grows up.
“A Single Man” is based on a literary masterpiece by Christopher Isherwood just like “The Japanese Wife” derives from the delightful short fiction by Kunal Basu. The film has been directed by a first timer who is a designer by vocation. It is an intimate work, mostly confined to the interiors and yet one of the most aesthetically conceived and shot film in recent times. Colin Firth as the grieving middle aged gay professor makes you privy to his pain and anguish like he is your best friend and you have known him for years. By the time the film ends, the grief is all yours. Such is the empathy the actor develops with the audience.
Julianne Moore is also very good as the fag hag, lusting over an indifferent Firth. But for me the two characters who lingered on were the guileless Nicholos Hoult as the earnest graduate student who adulates his professor and the Spanish model Jon Kortajarena who makes a brief appearance as a hustler. They are both jaw droppingly handsome and have stunning screen presence. Kortajarena preens that he resembles James Dean in one of the many memorable moments in the film. “You look better,” Firth tells him and of course he is right. Some of the aesthetics of the film I am raving about owes to these two good looking actors.
Watch both these films. Go grab them from the nearby DVD store.
Aparna Sen has this thing about endowing her characters with the right accent. So we had Jennifer Kendall doing a great job with the Anglo Indian diction in “36, Chowringee Lane” and then of course the otherwise talented Konkana Sen Sharma hammed it up as Mrs Iyer. Her Tamil laced English accent was more caricature than Mylapore. However both Rahul Bose and Chigusa Takaku get it right as the school master from Sunderbans and his Japanese wife. The quaintly worded 645 letters between them fly fast and breathless through the entire course of the film; tender and increasingly pathos ridden as the story progresses.
Imagine the suave and urbane Bose declaring over the phone to his wife that he struggles with his spoken English, but when it comes to writing he can pass muster thanks to the dictionary. The poignancy of the scene illuminates the innocence on his face with a strange glow, so much so that even a hardened cynic like me felt a lump in my throat. There is another gem. It has Raima Sen transforming herself from a timid widow to a self assured companion while on a shopping expedition. Inside the “cheap rice hotel,” she pushes her plate of fish curry towards her patron. “They haven’t realised I am a widow,” she remarks quietly and manages to pack an entire social commentary in that one statement. Sen is such a natural and only Bengali directors seem to have recognized her talent. What a pity that Bollywood is stuck with Katrina Kaif, Sonam Kapoor and Deepika Padukone.
The film ends with a shot of both the Indian and Japanese widow in the room of the dead school master and you know instinctively that the director is hinting at yet another love story. The acting is uniformly first class, but it is Moushmi Chatterjee as the loving aunt who manages to outshine all the others. The film, as all good films must, speaks a universal language but those who can understand Bengali, like yours truly, have an edge. It is easier to get into the sub text.
“The Japanese Wife” without doubt is the best film made by Aparna Sen, a rare treasure to be cherished for decades. I initially borrowed a copy from Habitat but after watching it, bought the DVD for my private collection. It is a film I would want my son to watch when he grows up.
“A Single Man” is based on a literary masterpiece by Christopher Isherwood just like “The Japanese Wife” derives from the delightful short fiction by Kunal Basu. The film has been directed by a first timer who is a designer by vocation. It is an intimate work, mostly confined to the interiors and yet one of the most aesthetically conceived and shot film in recent times. Colin Firth as the grieving middle aged gay professor makes you privy to his pain and anguish like he is your best friend and you have known him for years. By the time the film ends, the grief is all yours. Such is the empathy the actor develops with the audience.
Julianne Moore is also very good as the fag hag, lusting over an indifferent Firth. But for me the two characters who lingered on were the guileless Nicholos Hoult as the earnest graduate student who adulates his professor and the Spanish model Jon Kortajarena who makes a brief appearance as a hustler. They are both jaw droppingly handsome and have stunning screen presence. Kortajarena preens that he resembles James Dean in one of the many memorable moments in the film. “You look better,” Firth tells him and of course he is right. Some of the aesthetics of the film I am raving about owes to these two good looking actors.
Watch both these films. Go grab them from the nearby DVD store.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Travel Bug
A corporate assignment had me travelling to remote locations like Saharanpur and Munghyr in Northern India. I had no clue about these places when I started. But once I landed up in these "hot" (I am deliberately not using "warm." Warm is when Bangalore turns 35 or more!)places, I was pleasantly surprised.
Saharanpur is known for artisans specialising in wood work as well as its carpenters. People from all over the country come here to get their furniture made. Munghyr is identified with Maoists now. But it also has the world renowned "Bihar School of Yoga." The town has the Ganga surrounding it on three sides and there's a place called "Peer Pahad" that houses a bungalow used by Tagore and Sarat Chandra as a writing retreat.
The long travel by air and rail also allowed me to catch up on my reading. One of the books I had picked up months ago "Lost Souls" by Michael Collins had me enchanted and enthralled. It was as James Hadley Chase as it could get but had the honour of being nominated for the Booker prize in 2004.
I wish I had read it before I wrote the piece for The Hindu on different types of writers. "Lost Souls" illustrates beautifully the point I was trying to make. The writing is pacy and effortless like Adiga's "White Tiger" and not as tiresome as these pseudo literary works by the "tele-marketeer" variety of self styled literary writers. Talking of whom, their shameless double standards were once again on display last month. The last issue of Caravan pathetically tried to sell a few more copies by announcing on its cover a blurb on Chetan Bhagat that read as if it belonged to "Stardust" rather than the literary status it wants to accord itself.
"Ekdum Bakwas magazine hai Sahab. Koi Nahin Kharidta," commented the disgusted news vendor when I bought my copies of the Outlook, Open, India Today and Tehelka from him.
I don't think the poor vendor would be burdened by this "non-selling" phenomenon for long. It's bound to disappear from the stands before folks realize it even existed.
Went for a matinee today. "Raajneeti" passes muster as a masala film but the hype is exaggerated. It keeps you entertained enough while it lasts but it doesn't come close to Benegal's interpretation of the Mahabharat. "Kalyug" was a masterpiece. This one is strictly time-pass.
Saharanpur is known for artisans specialising in wood work as well as its carpenters. People from all over the country come here to get their furniture made. Munghyr is identified with Maoists now. But it also has the world renowned "Bihar School of Yoga." The town has the Ganga surrounding it on three sides and there's a place called "Peer Pahad" that houses a bungalow used by Tagore and Sarat Chandra as a writing retreat.
The long travel by air and rail also allowed me to catch up on my reading. One of the books I had picked up months ago "Lost Souls" by Michael Collins had me enchanted and enthralled. It was as James Hadley Chase as it could get but had the honour of being nominated for the Booker prize in 2004.
I wish I had read it before I wrote the piece for The Hindu on different types of writers. "Lost Souls" illustrates beautifully the point I was trying to make. The writing is pacy and effortless like Adiga's "White Tiger" and not as tiresome as these pseudo literary works by the "tele-marketeer" variety of self styled literary writers. Talking of whom, their shameless double standards were once again on display last month. The last issue of Caravan pathetically tried to sell a few more copies by announcing on its cover a blurb on Chetan Bhagat that read as if it belonged to "Stardust" rather than the literary status it wants to accord itself.
"Ekdum Bakwas magazine hai Sahab. Koi Nahin Kharidta," commented the disgusted news vendor when I bought my copies of the Outlook, Open, India Today and Tehelka from him.
I don't think the poor vendor would be burdened by this "non-selling" phenomenon for long. It's bound to disappear from the stands before folks realize it even existed.
Went for a matinee today. "Raajneeti" passes muster as a masala film but the hype is exaggerated. It keeps you entertained enough while it lasts but it doesn't come close to Benegal's interpretation of the Mahabharat. "Kalyug" was a masterpiece. This one is strictly time-pass.
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