The Pursuit Of Happyness

The world of films has brought me some fantastic tales. I have watched relationships evolve from a million angles in two brief hours. A sad scene on an overcast day has transported wistful grey clouds onto my couch and impending rain into my brimming eyes, while glorious success stories have duly planted hope into my day. 'Pursuit of Happyness' is a film that brought me all of those things in the one moving memoir of a hardworking, honest man, a father and a dreamer, Chris Gardner, played by Will Smith.

There are people who smother their dreams with acute pragmatism and then there are those who use that very pragmatism to bring certainty to their dreams. Chris Gardner worked his way through poverty, homelessness and applied his limited qualifications towards accomplishing his goals not only as an ambitious and driven man but more importantaly, as a loving and nurturing parent, a balance that is very hard to achieve.

I have always associated Will Smith with movie characters that are a few notches above real. With this film, he could not have chosen a more real character to play than the one of Chris Gardner's. He has finally established that his boyish good looks and mischevious grin do not get in the way of his playing a middle-aged, struggling man in the pursuit of happiness. Little Jaden Smith in the role of Chris Gardner's five year old son was cast very appropriately considering that the bulk of emotion in the entire film rested on the delicate shoulders of this father-son relationship between the two characters. Thandie Newton nails the persona of a woman torn between her need to walk away from a harsh, stagnant life and the love for her son. I did feel however that her character was written with a very one-dimensional view that makes the film's bias in favor of Gardner a little too obvious. Her criticisms of Gardner and her frustration at having to work two shifts while her man pursued distant dreams was quite justified and was not reason enough to automatically portray her as the villain in Gardner's story.

Italian director Gabriele Muccino brings the kind of sensitivity to this film that doesn't sink heavy into melodrama but rises high enough to stare us in the face. Simple sequences involving banter between father and son depicts contrasting ideas when the little boy tells jokes and quips to a father distracted by his hardships.

Movies that showcase an earlier time period face the challenge of making their story relevant for the present generation. President Reagan's speech during this film shows a time in America's history when unemployment and economic instability was rife. Considering the current shifts in economy, this story brings true inspiration in the form of one man's struggle and ultimate success making it quite pertinent in today's time. By incorporating a phrase from the Declaration of Independence in its title, this film also attempts to revive the spirit of a hardworking and persevering nation.

My favorite scene was the one in which Chris Gardner turns to his young son after having belittled the boy's basketball fancies and tells him "Don't ever let somebody tell you you cannot do something". This film did not just alter the way 'happiness' is spelled, it changed the way it is perceived.

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring

Recently, I had the good fortune of watching a film that flooded my living room with much needed serenity. For those whose movie pallates require incessant zing or adrenaline highs, let me begin by saying this movie is not for you. There are pondersome moods that we all experience when we question the very essence of life and the reasons why we go through some of the most disturbing upheavals. This Korean film titled 'Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring' (Bom Yeoreum Gaeul Gyeoul Geurigo Bom) is a simple Buddhist fable, elegantly wrapped in the picturesque folds of cinematography that brings us some profound messages. Director Kim Ki-Duk has used nature to simplify life's lessons.

In the midst of a magnificent landscape is a tiny Buddhist monastry owned by a reclusive monk. His little protege is fast learning the lessons of life by experiencing all that defines human emotion and pysche. He is at the Spring of his life when foliage lends its untouched face to season. Here begins the journey of man, a series of novel experiences that brings him face to face with desires, hope, despair and ultimately salvation. Like the best of teachers, the old monk only nudges his pupil in the right direction, never tripping his stride or skewing his direction. And as this charming little boy learns his way, we learn too. What truly touched me was the helplessness of an older generation when they watch us repeating their mistakes and sinking blindly into the very pitfalls that taught them their lessons. But these lessons have to be experienced to be owned and all the old monk can do is watch, pick up the pieces of a crushed spirit and salvage what he can. It depicts the inner struggle of being a parent or a dedicated mentor.

Seasons have always brought us full circle and reminded us that our journeys are concentric. Among the many lessons that life teaches us, the one that makes most sense to me is that of Karma. Scientifically, energy does not cease to exist but only changes form and hence it is only concievable that negative energies will make their way back to the source, altered in form perhaps yet dangerously similar in magnitude.

This film has very few dialogues and most of the drama is restrained by the flow. Only those who can appreciate the art of a visually illustrated message should take the trouble of watching this movie since this film is not remarkable for its pace but for the lucidity of expression. As the film's tag line says "Life brings us lessons, one season at a time." And seasons cannot be rushed, can they?

Eklavya, The Royal Guard: A film by Vidhu Vinod Chopra

Vidhu Vinod Chopra has always had my respect. From 'Parinda', the compelling drama to the rib ticklingly funny 'Munnabhai M.B.B.S', he has always brought an altering genre to Hindi filmdom. With the exclusion of a couple of films, I believe all his movies contain a rare sensibility which is very difficult to portray alongside the rest of the Hindi movie package (songs, dance, romance). His screenplays are very well written and if ever his films bomb at the box office, it is either because the pace of the movie was slower than necessary or because the general public did not find the intellect essential to empathize with his cinematic philosophies. After a seven year hiatus Mr.Chopra finally brought his fans a much awaited feature that bore the stamp of his direction.

I avoid giving away the plot of a film while reviewing it because I would be doing the makers a great disservice by compressing their efforts into one blog entry.

Eklavya is a movie that definitely has a unique story. The cinematography is exquisite. Shot among the sand dunes and sunsets that cast golden hues over the deserts of Rajasthan, this movie reels in the tale of a royal family caught in a scandal and a series of murders. An estranged son (Saif Ali Khan) returns to the royal regime that has been plagued by unrest among the villagers and recently faced the death of their queen-mother (Sharmila Tagore).

Eklavya, the royal guard played by Amitabh Bachchan, has for years protected more than just the royal family. He is guarding a secret that has long been the bane of the king's existence. Revenge, jealousy and greed are explored without histrionics or fight sequences, simply and sufficiently by the plot. The implications of each plot and every revellation are carefully handled. Such controlled performances are very rare in Bollywood and hence worthy of appreciation. Saif Ali Khan has definitely won me over by his restrained renditions over his past few films. Vidya Balan is grace personified and the chemistry between the two actors is unmistakable.

In recent years, actors such as Amitabh Bachchan, Boman Irani and even Jackie Shroff have brought much attention to the formerly neglected character artist's persona in the Hindi movie scenario. Amitabh Bachchan having spent his heydays basking in the public's appreciation as a typical Hindi movie hero is now contributing his returns to the artistic world of cinema that deviates from glamor and focuses mainly on performances and storylines. Ultimately, I believe that he will be remembered by the array of characters he has played during his long tenure in the movie industry.

Although this movie is definitely worth a watch I will come to the area of the film I found most lacking: the pace. Whenever a dark plot is being illustrated, technical aspects of the movie such as editing and background score become crucial towards adding momentum to a plot that could fast become dull as every knot in the tangle comes loose and the audience don't have much to look forward to. For quite a while now, I have hoped that there will come a commercial movie that depicts a good, strong story in a small time span. The 'three hour rule' that has been plaguing the Hindi movie industry for so long should be re-evaluated. Attention spans of the genral public are getting shorter. The world is moving faster and gone are the times when the middle class made an entire day-out for a three hour matinee show at the movie theatre. If the story requires an hour of the public's time and is most entertaining within that first hour, why stretch it and have them believe that they are getting a three-hour long drama? It compromises the entertainment value of the film.

Among the actors, I felt that Boman Irani's get-up was extremely distracting and was not believable. He could have done without the hideous wig and the Maharaja costume. Jackie Shroff and Jimmy Shergill were wasted and could've been played by lesser known actors who might've added that much needed sense of evil that villains need to project. In a film that had so many quiet and listless moments, Sanjay Dutt's humorous character could've been further used to add energy. The story could have been made upto more contemporary standards so as to not lose out on the younger audience.

Sadly, the later half of the story defied all logic when the police officer (Sanjay Dutt) pitched in and falsely packaged two gruesome murders as suicides. How a man could stab himself to death and then proceed to jump before a speeding train is beyond my understanding. No matter who the good guys are in a movie, I can never relate to lawmakers joining hands with murderers even if it means giving up a typical Bollywood 'happy ending'. The name Eklavya has mythical relevance which was briefly addressed and then left hanging some where along the storyline.

I wonder if filmmakers watch their movie from the perspective of an audience once they make the entire film or as artists, do they fall in love with their own work to such an extent as to ignore some grave flaws? Either way, whenever the audience watches a movie there are points during which they sit up and actually take notice of certain key characters that add enigma or humor to the unfolding story. I believe it is only wise then to propel the movie's direction by incorporating more such gripping moments during the film to hold the attention of the fickle audience. "True Dharma, religion or consciousness of duty, is one that is dictated by intelligence" are the enlightened words of the protagonist in this film. And so I think, is true art.

Nonetheless, I hope Mr.Chopra will not leave his fans waiting for so long for his next directorial venture.

A Little Trip To Heaven

A dark thriller is never a good way to start the first weekend of Spring. But 'A Little Trip To Heaven' was worth the trouble. It is set in 1980s Minessotta and follows the story of the conniving world of people whose opus comes to life when death walks in, life insurance companies and those fraudulent few who sling their necks through the loops of this cold business.

The opening scenes evoke a gamut of emotions. The slideshow of bereaved families bamboozled by clever insurance agents when they have hardly come to terms with their losses and the petty scam artists who make it mandatory for these agents to survey devastation with doubt and insensitivity, renders it humanly difficult to assess who the victim is making them all just characters, their sensitivities shackled by the roles they play.

Mr.Holt is an insurance agent who goes through the procedures of his job with a grim faced neutrality made visible quite remarkably by actor Forrest Whitaker. A car accident brings to the forefront, a suspiscious insurance conspiracy. It is upto Investigator Holt to unravel this intricate plot and go beyond the ambit of his detached duties. Caught in this story are the blameless faces of Isolde and her son Thor, who bring conscience and sensitivity into a series of morbid events. To me these two characters embodied the woman and the child so often trapped by their vulnerabilities in the bleakness of a violent crime.

What struck me most about this movie was the direction and the carefully set pace of the storyline. It was very easy for this dark plot to have shifted into dullness. The cinematography is quite dingy since the story is set in a unfavorable economic setting where simply by virtue of circumstance it is difficult to sympathize with any one character. But the direction is what keeps this feature progressing. Several corners are turned during the film as the tortuous underbelly of something as coordinated as an insurance fraud is scrutinized. The story delves into the different dimensions of Investigator Holt's sometimes dubious and ultimately likeable character. Director Baltasar Kormákur has planted several deliciously subtle cinematic metaphors in the film (a ripped roof, a neon sign with an ominous arrow pointing downwards, images of fire, just to name a few), not to mention the meaningful background score composed by Icelandic musician Mugison.

"Why is heaven in the sky and hell on the ground?" little Thor asks his mother. "Because it is easier to lie down than it is to fly." is her startlingly profound reply. I hope in all sincerity that more filmmakers find the dynamic wings of such creative empiricism.

L'Uomo Delle Stelle: The Star Maker

L'Uomo Delle Stelle (known as The Star Maker but correctly translated as The Man of Stelle) was the Italy's 1995 entry for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. It was nominated in that category on the big night but didn't win. I didn't know these details until I looked up the movie online. So in short I watched the movie without any expectations on a dull rainy afternoon today in Ohio and for the first time witnessed a film that had countless characters, all relevant to the plot and each one explored quite exquisitely by Giuseppe Tornatore. Until today, I didn't think that was possible.

The movie begins with the gruesome sight of a dead body floating face down in a river. This scene cuts into Joe Morelli's arrival in a small village in Sicily where he puts up a white tent, a camera and some other recording equipment announcing that he is a talent scout who gave many of the famous names in the movie industry their very first break. In two scenes, this film juxtaposes the tense political situation in Italy at the time with the illusory world of movies.

"You could be the next one!" Joe Morelli claims. The people of war ravaged Italy are in dire need of hope. Joe Morelli brings them much needed reason to believe that there is a glamorous place faraway where they could be when they finally left their mediocre lives behind. With his plush tales and gift of the gab, he whisks stardust into the dimmed eyes of these villagers and draws in large crowds of gullible individuals for a screen test. Each test costs them money and every time the camera runs, it captures a story that comes to life, not by dramatic performances or background scores but by a simple narrative.

The people that sit down in front of the camera are all characters and their stories unfold in front of an unlikely vent. Their truths, their wishes, the small things that bring them pleasure, their dreams, all surface with the conversations they have with the camera. Some remarkable scenes include that of a war veteran who speaks for the very first time in front of the camera, the shepherd who looks into the camera and proclaims "Being a shepherd gives me the chance to gaze at the stars", an unmarried woman who at thirty finally spews the uncomfortable truths that have held her back from living her life. And when least expected, one sees undertones of humor.

Never before have I seen beautiful poetry etched into such grave monologues. The cinematography captures dusty hues of a countryside demolished by war. The camera moves at angles where a broken smile, wrinkled hands, a twitching jaw and weary eyes add character to the stories. My favorite scene was where shadows played parts out as light shone upon Joe Morelli's white tent. It looked like art in motion.

An orphan girl falls in love with Joe Morelli for giving flight to the fancies of starstruck crowds. And just as we are about to fall for him too, he turns out to be a conman.The honest eyes and disarming innocence of this enamored young girl follows Joe Morelli in his travel in stark contrast to his guile. For me the realization that the reel which bore witness to such arresting stories was just dead film all along, was a truly sinking feeling. But I realized that this movie is not about the black and white of human nature, it is about the grey nuances, the 'in-betweens' where flawed individuals make their own journeys, oblivious to the effect they have on people aroud them. Joe Morelli dents his own story beyond repair while duping those who gave up their own chronicles for his camera.

Ultimately we all want an unjudgemental eye to look into and profess; and that eye could very well be the unblinking one of a purring, coaxing camera. We want a clear mirror that sometimes lets us face who we are so we can then give into the stories that age our eyes. This movie holds one such magnificent mirror to life.

Black Friday-a film by Anurag Kashyap

Just as my friends and family were begining to wonder if I had turned into a cynic as far as movies were concerned, I finally found the opportunity to write a positive review.

Anurag Kashyap's Black Friday blew me away. It made me relive a time in Bombay's history I hadn't particularly wanted to revisit but probably needed to. Bombay has always been home, a safe haven; the sounds of the public and the traffic are like the sounds of a hovering mother, familiar and reassuring. The humidity and bustle of the city are like a security blanket, the absence of which I feel now, miles away in the arms of Uncle Sam. Black Friday brought back a time when Bombay looked in the face of unimaginable terror. But does the stark flashback alone hold this movie together? No. It has a lot more to offer...a story wrapped in the believable folds of reality. It has all the elements that I found lacking in a few other movies I reviewed in my earlier entries. It follows the story of the Bombay blasts in what can be described best as a journalistic chronicle that uses the slideshow of events from history but zooms in on an episode we hadn't thought of or pondered over before.

Whenever I think of the Bombay blasts that sieged the city one afternoon on March 12th 1993, almost exactly 14 years ago, all I remember is how suddenly eveybody became either Hindu or Muslim. Before the explosions they had been for me just the people of Bombay. Another episode branded into memory is that of my father disappearing amidst the chaos that followed. None of his colleagues knew where he could be reached and he had been seen last, near one of the buildings that had crumbled to the ground after a bomb explosion. Time has never felt so heavy again since then. The moments had crawled over our cheeks along with our anxious tears as we prayed for just a phone call while neighbours kindly made up numerous heartening scenarios as to why he might have gone missing. My father had suddenly appeared in the doorway, a large watermelon in his hand, which now, thinking back I find funny. He entered, scrutinizing the crowd that had gathered in his home, confused by why we would be panicking. "If something were to go wrong I would call you, wouldn't I?" he asked nonplussed and we didn't bother to correct him with what the alternatives could've been, as we laughed and cried with relief. But even before our own relief permeated, news started pouring in about our less fortunate friends, schoolmates and aquaintances who had lost someone in that horrific tragedy. Those were are our stories. The stories we lived in. The stories we knew and thought about.

Black Friday zooms in on the stories of people who made up the larger canvas of that catastrophe, of those who were involved in the hateful conspiracy and of those who finally found the ugly roots of the cackling fire that left our city scarred. It follows the journey of Rakesh Maria (played brilliantly by actor Kay Kay Menon), then assistant police comissioner, whose incessant efforts uncovered the details of the conspiracy. It follows the psyche of Badshah Khan (played by Aditya Shrivastava) who assisted this hateful crime in the name of religion and finally having realized its magnitude, confessed, revealing the kings and pawns of this plot. His confession is still regarded by Police Comissioner Maria (now Inspector General) as one of the most detailed and elaborate leads that helped them crack the case.

I watched this movie, riveted. I related to the pyschology of some of the characters and saw the subtle metaphors, director Anurag Kashyap has so wisely used to set the pace of the movie. My earlier entry "The Poetry of Cinema" addresses the use of metaphors in scenes where the pysche of the character cannot be portrayed by words or dialogue and is instead illustrated by external elements. A scene where Badshah Khan finally realizes that his underworld kingpin has left him running from pillar to post when the law comes knocking, is cleverly rendered by Mr.Kashyap, with the image of a dog doing tricks for a treat. Cinematographer Nataraja Subramanian has captured the most dramatic scenes without affecting the news-broadcast-like coverage of the events. Even the few stillshots of the bloody aftermath that followed the blasts evoke extreme emotion.

After days of empathic barrenness, finally, having watched this movie, my skin bloomed, into those much needed goosebumps that appear when you connect with a storyteller's philosophy. His vision and his characters then walk beyond the shackles of the silver screen and into our musings and discussions

****Disclaimer: This blog entry in no way supports or subscribes to the authenticity of the events portrayed in the movie and merely reviews this story as a film.****

Nishabd...speechless (??)

The sensationalist approach director Ram Gopal Verma has been taking recently brings me much dismay. The movie Nishabd (meaning: speechless) did, as its name suggests, leave me speechless but in no good sense of the word. I was numbed by the disconnected plot and incomplete portrayal of each character. I will not divulge details of the plot which are available on other websites as well as Wikipedia.

What I know about the characters: A misbehaved and rude 19 year old Jia with flimsy shorts making up most of her wardrobe. A pseudo-intellectual sixty-four year old Vijay going through a slightly overdue mid-life crisis, obviously unappreciated and easily flattered. And yes, of course, the matronly wife who seems like a good mother, a diginified character who has been married to Mr.64 for 27 years. Would one predict love story? Nah! But Ramu does it....why? So that we all are watching struck, our jaws to the floor, the men drooling, the women clucking their disapproval, the teenage girls aping the female protagonist. But is it good cinema? Nah!

Why would anybody take the Lolita concept and try to portray it as a love story. Lolita portrays the tragic consequences of an old man's obsession with a much younger girl and the sad downfall of innocence. If indeed Mr.Verma was going for the Lolita image he has not only failed miserably but insulted a classic.

Character development and background for the main individuals in the plot were seriously lacking leaving the audience not wanting to empathize or identify with any one of them. I do sincerely hope that India's current delusional youth, hell-bent on aping the West (which is deranged as it is) does not pick up on the "Take Light" tag line that is repeated by Jiah Khan to the point of provoking extreme annoyance and chagrin. "A star has been born" was the comment about Jiah Khan, on one of the reviews for this movie. I wonder how they knew....the camera was on her legs most of the time.

Mr.Amitabh Bachchan seems misplaced, uncomfortable and there are points during the plot where you just want to go "Aww, just let him be the dad she wants him to be and he so is!!" His body language and expressions are those of a father. For his sake and my own, I would have liked the story much better if the female protagonist were to be the young and confused seductress who misdirects her affinity for a father figure only to be treated by him as a child or a protege. If the story would have culminated into a more realistic depiction where the older man by virtue of his maturity would have guided the young woman's unconscious need for a missing father figure in the right direction one could've identified with both characters: a misguided and cocky youth and the nurturing essence of a father. But that wouldn't have allowed Ram Gopal Verma to exercise his trademark provocative sensationalism that I refered to at the very start of this review. He doesn't seem to realize that drawing attention is not difficult, keeping the viewer hooked is where the true challenge lies.

My biggest disappointment was Revathy's character (the wife). How shallow of Mr.Verma to project such a promising female character in a one-dimensional light. As a woman I find it upsetting to see an actor such as Revathy being cast in a role that illustrates the "poor, matronly wife" stereotype.

Worth mentioning here, are two previous contemporary efforts to showcase a similar concept that were a lot more effective sans the disturbing sleaziness of Nishabd: Sur and Jogger's Park. Those who belong to my generation might not recognize the movie that first introduced me to a relationship between a younger woman and an older man. This movie was Seema (1955, starring Nutan and Balraj Sahani). It developed the characters and their personalities so beautifully over the course of the movie that the culmination of that relationship was not only a welcome transition but an anticipated one.

I wish Nishabd would've brought me to 'speechless' and left me there...but it went a step further and added a bitter taste to my movie palate.

The Poetry of Cinema

I have been on a writing spree lately. After a hiatus I finally have a lot to say. For the past few days I was not well and spent some time writing or taking some much needed naps. I haven't felt this rested in a while. Moreover after having experienced in the past the wicked joy of writing when in turmoil, I am now enjoying the serene pleasure of penning down my leisurely thought-escapades.

During this time my roommate brought home movies practically every day to keep me entertained. Thankfully she did not discriminate in language while renting the movies and I got treated to some foreign films with excellent stories and directorial art. I could see a distinct difference in the way French, South American or Chinese movies are made. The backdrop is an obvious distinction but the way some of the main characters react to situations and their vulnerabilities were all so very different for each nationality. I had never before thought of human portrayal of human fallibilities being influenced by cultural disparities. I have watched foreign films prior to this but only those that had received international acclaim. The movies I watched over the past few weeks however were small budget movies with an original albeit slightly slow storyline that did not fit into the usual drama, romance, biopic genres and were just simple narratives. Somehow they reminded me of poetry and I decided to write this blog.

Over a course of time I have witnessed scenes in films where a galloping horse, the arms of a clock, a soaring bird or wheels in motion are used as symbolic references for unfolding plot, much like my favorite figure of speech, the deliciously crafty and implicit metaphor. A backdrop if woven around the storyline can be compared to the imagery that is employed so successfully in narrative poetry. If the backdrop were missing, the story would seem disconnected. Hence cinematography, colors and even seasons are often used as a means of setting the tone for a particular storyline. I don't know why, but every time I see rain, power outages or extended moments of silence in a film I feel I could almost cut the tension with a knife. But just like in poetry, it is easy for such illustrations to join the ranks of cliches (reference: the sudden frame shift to budding flowers or crashing waves that used to appear instead of what would've been a love scene in a Hindi movie). I sometimes wonder if censorship and obscenity were an issue, why didn't they find such symbolic substitues for the buxom, bosom heaving nautch girl who has been promoted to the lead in recent films.

Coming back to the experience of watching these delectable pieces of art over the past few days, I realized something about myself I hadn't known before. I found out how much I liked deciphering the sly metaphors tucked into a scene, how gratifying I find interpreting the symbolism that reveals so much more about the characters whose stories make up the plot.

The other day my mother and I were discussing art movies and at the end of our exchange I concluded that every person watching a movie finds in its characters someone that resembles them, somebody who they can relate to. This has led me to a theory as to what might just be a factor in determining the success of the movie and like every scientist, I have devised a cruelly mathematical way of putting it:

***I hypothesize that the success of the plot is directly proportional to the number of main characters that have been adequately or justly explored and hence inversely proportional to the total number of characters in the movie provided of course a minimum number of characters required to actuate the plot are included.***

When people watch the movie and walk away from it convinced or persuaded by the one character who they identified most with, they are more likely to have enjoyed the story (unless they sadly identified with the villain in a commercial Hindi movie). Character analysis must therefore form an integral part of the moviemaking process as it is in poetry.

My very early writing was extremely didactic in nature. I wrote about life, sorrows, goodbyes, friendship, nature and other such generalities that are seen most in what I like to call 'greeting card verse'. Of late I have noticed that the art of writing poetry like wine, matures with age. I add a touch of confessionalism to the poem because I have a lot more of my own experiences to give to those stanzas. Now the generalities in my writing have found a particular episode in my own story to belong to; those moments and frames have now taken the form of metaphors for the impalpable abstractions I so doggedly pursued through my teenage writing exploits.

Nonetheless, too much of the poet's or director's imagination in poetry or films respectively might not leave room for the fertile imagination of the reader or the audience. My early training in poetic technique was forged with the motto "To evoke and not to show".

The professor at my poetry workshop was once exasperated by a student whose every piece told you exactly what you needed to hear to understand the poem. The professor scratched his head manically alarming some of us and finally wrung his hands up in despair wildly exclaiming "For God's sake's, trust the intelligence of your patrons!" I wish some of our filmmakers could be made privy to that piece of advice.

I hope that if I ever had a choice between making a lot of money and becoming an esteemed part of art history, I choose the later. History remembers those who rose above mediocrity and did not allow their art to be defined by popularity. One of these days I might get to updating my blog with a list of what I think are the best employed poetic techniques in contemporary films as an ode to such artists. That should be a fun project. After all it is probably the subtle minutiae in a simple plot that makes it believable and appealing.

A colleague of mine who's not a huge fan of poetry once quite frivolously dismissed the profound art, brazenly declaring, "Poets should just hurry up and come to the point!"

I could think of a few dozen retorts (including a mean little "Well, we now know your views on foreplay") and instead settled the matter with: "Why come to the point when there is so much fun and exploration in detail?"

Living In A Fish Bowl

A couple of years ago a gold fish in our department secretary's office looked me in the eye and dropped dead and that scared the hell out of me. I am not sure if it was reading too much poetry that made see metaphors in ordinary events but the gold fish's short life and sudden death seemed ominous. I was suffering from a severe writer's block at the time and that may also have led to the connection I found between my mental inertia and the restricting globe, the site of that fish's sudden demise. The poem I wrote that night unleashed a rare streak of poetry writing and hence was special for me. However I wrote it with a sense of humor that seems to be lost on some of my readers who saw a sense of gloom in the stanzas. Although I admit that the comparison between the gold fish's insulated, stagnant world is a reference to my choking writer's block, the imagery was meant to add a certain wit. Those who have seen a gold fish wordlessly mouthing at them from behind a glass bowl will know exactly what I mean. I drew a little illustration to go with the poem in an attempt to draw out the undertones of humor in the poem especially since my gold fish looks more like Nemo than like a gold fish. Ha!...

Fish Bowl

I'm a gold fish,
Big eye-balled,
A finned, palm-sized baby,
Awestruck in permanancy, through time,
And my journey is concentric,
At best.

My world, a transparent globe,
A thought-bubble,
like a sleeping Earth,
That does not revolve.

My blood has turned white over time,
From forced neutrality and disconnection,
A cry is stuck in my gills like a stinging hair,
And age has knocked out,
The gritty teeth of aggression,
Down to a full-lipped, mouthy and yet,
Ever so soundless rebellion.

Don't knock on my bowl, I beg,
My walls though dense are brittle,
They echo with each thoughtless,
Strike of your knuckle,
And eddy my small yet precious,
Inscrutibilities.

Traffic Signal; A Personal Review

Traffic Signal; A Personal Review

Whenever I review a movie, I usually comment on how it influenced or failed to influence my own thinking and find it useful to put out a disclaimer that my views and opinions will not always agree with everybody else’s. Nonetheless I do hope that Bombay-ites read this review and at least relate to some of my views. I watched Traffic Signal last night and when the movie began I marveled at the cinematography and at some of the actors. I hope Kareena Kapoor very intently watched and took notes on Konkona Sen’s portrayal of Noori, the street-side prostitute. Ms.Sen has successfully demonstrated that walking ungracefully with a cheap sari and a dire lipstick shade is not an adequate illustration of a prostitute (now if you belong to the Kapoor family minimal efforts at acting are widely appreciated. Hint: Chameli).

Thirty minutes into the movie I was still rooting for the dialogue and the realistic portrayal. I nervously glanced at the watch after two hours of what seemed like a very in-depth coverage of the lives of people who make their living by selling goods and by begging at traffic signals. As a young girl living in Bombay I was involved in some social work. So unconsciously I was looking for some answers in the movie and was hoping to find them during the course of the story. What I didn’t understand after having watched the movie is why do some of the people at the traffic signal resort to begging or prostitution in spite of the several NGOs in Bombay that are striving to provide educational, vocational and even rehabilitation services for free.

Now I am no longer in India and my opinions are very unceremoniously dismissed as the ranting of a snobbish NRI. I have moved away from any active social work but as a Bombay citizen, watching this movie brings back the frustration I felt then at failing to understand why it is that we should feel sympathy or even empathy for people who choose to beg in spite of being given a functioning mind, limbs and good health that if put to use can do so much more. I have more sympathy for the coolies, the relentless middle class and the labor working class whose tenacious hard work has made Bombay the commercial capital.

This movie is enlightening only for those who have never looked outside their window and lamented the dearth of the city ironically juxtaposed against a backdrop of glitzy buildings and shiny cars. Being born and raised in Bombay I have not met a single person who has failed to notice that there are several hearty, healthy and able individuals who beg for no apparent reason and this movie did very little to explore why. The movie lacks culmination and does not have a story that hasn't been told before. The context might be different but corruption, bhai-giri, poverty, prostitution, meaningless assassinations of honest government officials are all ultimately plots we are familiar with. We have always known that these exist, haven't we? Repeated portrayal of these abysmal realities by filmmakers, no matter how authentic, have brought them critical acclaim but bring their viewers a sense of hopelessness when it comes to the condition their city is in. Politicians, police, lawyers even publics service workers have all let us down and the law breakers and law makers have joined hands in Bombay and we know it. The film producers might not realize this but we are the common people of Bombay; we know this life, it is right outside our windows. One can make several movies called ‘Railway Station’, ‘Bus Stop’ or even ‘Under the Flyover Bridge’ and show the same abject lives with so much as a video camera installed in a nook somewhere.

But when the common man takes his family to watch the very realistically depicted life of beggars, hawkers and prostitutes at a traffic signal, what does he do? When he realizes that the child he had been dutifully giving alms to, during his daily commute in spite of his humble salary, is just part of a flourishing industry that abuses people’s goodwill and sympathy, what should he think? Now I am not trying to suggest that moviemakers should bear the responsibility of social reform however I do sincerely believe that they should focus on an original plot and a novel storyline rather than capturing what a documentary film probably could, more effectively and without the parallel romantic angle. I think moviemakers in the Indian film industry have wrongly associated art cinema or directorial genius with gory depictions of everyday life. Harsh reality can bring a good story to life but a lack of a storyline fails to make a point no matter how convincing the backdrop is. The impact of candor, I think is evident only in its ability to bring about change. How will we ever have change by showing the public what they can already see?

Traffic Signal took me back to what my grandmother once said very simply after having watched an excessively long movie that ended quite abruptly, “If it is a movie it should have a story and if it is a story it should have some moral, shouldn’t it?”