Let's Be Fair!

The current online Indian matrimonial advertisements surprise me with their adherence to the age-old "Fair & Slim" requirement. Have they seen Bipasha Basu lately, I wonder. I don't mean to suggest that people should set "Dark & Overweight" as their standards. However, I do disagree with the instant labelling of fair as beautiful in Indian society. Over time, I have seen, beaked noses, thin lips, bushy eyebrows, lacklustre smiles and even a slight squint, being dismissed in the face of fairness, quite literally.

When I was eleven years old, browsing through the daily newspaper's matrimonial classified section caused me great anxiety. I was not fair and according to the 'Brides Wanted' column, was probably going to end up an old maid. Everybody wanted a fair bride!

Around this time a supposedly magical face cream called Fair & Lovely was sweeping the classrooms at my girl's school.
Television commercials for Fair & Lovely had led me to believe that my wheatish complexion would not only damage my chances at romance but could even hinder my career. According to the advertisements, being light skinned was a professional credential as well. Alarmed, I begged my mother to let me buy a tube of Fair & Lovely. But my well-established and customary argument of "Everybody uses it" was not good enough for my mother.

She pursed her lips and looked at me from above her glasses as she graded exams.

"Find three things about yourself that matter more than the shade of your complexion and write an essay on them" she commanded firmly, like the teacher she was, even as I groaned my reluctance.

"Do it," she said, "Someday you will thank me"

The following week, I gathered evidence to convince my mother of how buying Fair & Lovely was going to ensure my future happiness.

1. The matrimonial classified section was Exhibit A.

2. A pamphlet of Fair & Lovely that showed a gradual lightening of skin color in a very demonstrative picture was Exhibit B.

3. And of course, a few pictures of Bollywood actresses, were Exhibit C.

One by one, my mother steadily demolished my case.

"The matrimonial section is not the only place to find a groom and besides, that should not be reason enough for you to try and change yourself" she stated in one breath.

Exhibit B was thrown out faster than I could say Fair & Lovely.

"Skin pigmentation cannot be reversed" she scoffed, flicking the pamphlet aside.

Then came the Bollywood actresses. Honestly, as my mother looked at each of their pictures and commented, I felt less sorry for myself and more so for them.

"That", she said pointing an incriminatory finger at one of the pretty faces, "is war-paint!"

I could almost see the actresses' lips begin to quiver and quickly returned them to my drawer.

"I am not beautiful", I bawled, finally giving way to the tears I had been holding back.

"Yes, you are!" my mother said looking genuinely surprised at my sudden outburst, "And you don't need a face cream pamphlet or a classified section for brides to tell you that."

"But I am dark!" I protested vehemently.

"Dusky" she said, raising her eyebrows enigmatically, making it sound so much better than it really was.

A few years later, in the early 90s, Karishma Kapoor made her debut and all everybody could talk about was how fair she was and of course the light eyes were just gorgeous. This was also the year, in which I inadvertently formed my first independent opinion, irrespective of what of my classmates and chummies thought. Unfortunately, Ms. Kapoor, through no real fault of hers, was at the receiving end.

"I don't really think she's very pretty", I announced to the study group gathered at my house.

They were stunned. From the corner of my eye, I could see my mother begining to look in our direction with sudden interest.

"Well, my mother says she is fair and pretty", one of the girls added, in an attempt to influence my opinion.

"I think she looks like Randhir Kapoor without a moustache", I said, a tad cruelly and not willing to back down.

The girls exchanged glances.

"But she is so fair", one of them tried, puzzled by my obvious dismissal of her skin color while assessing her beauty.

I simply shrugged. The rest of the study session continued uninterrupted by the usual banter about films, actors and actresses.

After the girls left, sulking a little, my mother and I sat in our living room, munching on samosas and watching with growing interest as a sultry Sonbai became the object of a lecherous tax collector in Mirch Masala.

"So who do you find beautiful?" my mother asked her voice heavily tinged with curiosity.

"Her", I answered, gesturing towards the screen just as Smita Patil's kohl-lined eyes appeared.

I was over to the dark side.

Cinema, Cinema

Comedy is dangled,
A rare delicacy, when well done,
at the hungry mouth,
Of my humor;
Quirks, habits,
Small joys that crinkle eyes,
And the horrific truths that unravel faces,
Pull lose, the knots of my brow.

Childhoods, in flashbacks,
and the mothers,
that made these characters,
Make appearances often
In sessions with therapists,
As they lie on a couch, defenseless,
While I sit up, suddenly interested,
In this undeniable common ground.

The fiddle of a violin,
Ocassionally takes, a tricky, long drag
At the strings of my heart,
Only to be hooked, painfully,
On a throbbing vessel,
Mid-note.

Odd angles, fixated on
Jutting temples and relentless jaws,
Tears, wrinkles,
A single unsaid word, hangs uncertain
In the excruciating silence of my rapt regard,
Seizing and freeing my imagination,
all at the same time,

Orgasmic peals of abandon,
Rush, like blood, to my cheeks,
Failed experiments with love and sex,
All tumble out and take shape,
right here, in my living room,
In a palpable silver haze,
That falls on my face like a spotlight,
Bringing me their stories,
And somewhere in them,
My own.

It is then
that I am no longer looking at a screen,
But at the most spellbinding
Mirror of sorts.

The Shapiro Writing Festival In Snapshots

An evening in the midst of some of the most fascinating people one could find within an academic setting, was more than I could ask for when I was selected for a workshop at the University Of Toledo's Shapiro Writing Festival. At Libby Hall, the stone building with its old world feel, a fire smoldered in the back of the room, as the literary and creative minds at the University started arriving.

On the very first day at dusk, we were treated to a poetry reading by Mr.Tyehimba Jess. He read with passion and fervor, some beautiful poetry from his National Poetry Series award winning collection titled, 'leadbelly'. His poems traced the history of blues legend, Huddie William Ledbetter (Leadbelly) and the music that tempered his violent life. This was my first experience with 'performance poetry' where biographical allusion brought out the truth in each monologue making them as real as words could ever be. In particular, I was in awe of the monologues where Mr.Jess's poetry employed a woman's voice to recount some of the poignant events in Leadbelly's life. His tone, the unfeigned articulation of the dialect, made the poetry sublime and palpable at the same time, evoking goosebumps throughout the reading. Each poem was followed by resounding applause.

The second day, was an inspiring talk by Ms.Lisa Lieberman Doctor whose career as a development and production executive in Los Angeles at Universal Pictures, Warner Brothers and Tristar Pictures, brought eager students, some much needed insight into professions in the television and film industry. She read out pointers and letters outlining the pathway to success for budding writers, from her associates, all of whom are established executives and producers in the industry. Her warmth, approchability and experience, made the talk and the Q&A session, especially engaging.

The talk by Ms.Lieberman Doctor, was followed by an open mic poetry reading where I had the opportunity to read three short poems from an unpublished collection, that I will be sending out for publication in June. The feedback I received at the end of my reading was heartening and this experience also familiarized me with the styles of some of the other poets who read their work that evening.

The gala event hosted on Saturday saw snowfall in April. In the cozy ambience of Libby Hall, participants of the 24-hour Shapiro play-writing workshop performed their play for an open audience. The acclaimed actress and Interim Dean of Arts and Sciences, Ms.Sue Ott Rowland, performed a dramatic monologue titled 'Nostalgia'. Dinner was accompanied by the soulful music played by guitarist Ed Levy, the coordinator of the guitar program and Lecturer at the University of Toledo.

On Love, Marriage & Flannel Pajamas...

Does life ultimately teach us that the portrayal of love and marriage in films, is far from accurate? Yes, it does, cruelly so. But finally, we have a film that gives us that long overdue and honest look at relationships. Jeff Lipsky's 'Flannel Pajamas' does not stop at the 'girl meets boy and sparks fly' scenario and actually goes on to explore the uncomfortable albeit real dimensions of a relationship that are so often lost to romance in conventional cinema.

Director Jeff Lipsky sketches some very authentic characters who draw you in immediately and keep you intrigued till the very end. The script is remarkably interesting, considering the wordiness of some of the dialogues. Mr.Lipsky uses prejudice, religion and human flaws to temper and add believability to the romance. Interestingly, he uses as the story's setting, New York city, the birthplace of several Hollywood romantic flicks.

Stuart (Justin Kirk) and Nicole (Julianne Nicholson) meet on a blind date and their relationship follows the gradual culmination into a steady romance and then, of course, into marriage. While portraying a couple that is blissfully oblivious to their evident differences, the director has managed to provoke cynicism in the audience by putting out some very apparent issues that they are ignoring, blinded by emotion, just as we do, when we are the ones in the middle of the emotional circus and friends and loved ones are hollering at us to beware.

Stuart and Nicole have very different careers and temperaments; like all couples they come with their share of baggage. While Nicole is a homely girl whose many associations with friends and family define her, Stuart is a man who wants to protect her, live with her in an insulated world where he can be, in his own words, her 'knight in shining armor'. This works well, until of course, Nicole no longer needs to be saved, especially from the people who she loves to surround herself with.

He dislikes sharing her with her friends and she is bothered by the lack of emotional openness he so valiantly shrouds with voluble and self-descriptive monologues. When they first meet, Stuart is a guy who loves to talk about himself and is happy with his line of work. Nicole on the other hand is at a stage where she is dissatisfied with her present career but has some dreams she wants to pursue. This I found quite interesting. I believe, that as human beings we are not ourselves entirely until we find that niche in life, in term of careers, hobbies, friends, social lives, or anything that influences us fundamentally at a personal and emotional level. If these aspects of our life are still unripe, we change and the people who fell in love with us when we were twenty, are left wondering what the hell happened.

Self-actualization for a man is very different from that for a woman. A woman derives her confidence or self-worth from her accomplishments whereas men, I think, are able to compartmentalize and distinguish between material or personal investments. Hence, it might actually be a good idea, to say the least, for men to find a woman, who has in essence, achieved a majority of what she would like to do with her life.

This film made me think. Does giving a lot of yourself neccessarily ensure the success of the relationship? I also wondered about how people fall into relationships without having solid discussions regarding religion, children, home, lifestyle and careers. Stuart and Nicole display some identifiable reactions to some very probable circumstances. Their intimacy, their flaws and even their beliefs are all ones we can relate to. Watching their relationship metamorphosize through a range of complications such as emotional demands, a suicide in the family, parent's illnesses and a miscarriage even, suddenly brings home the responsibility and depth of marriage.

A friend of mine once commented that couples who meet when they are older, are more likely to have a successful marriage. She rationalized that since they have been alone and independent long enough, they would know what is important to them and hence are likelier to discuss these issues before the 'I Do's'. I wasn't convinced. It could also make them less willing to compromise, I argued. I found myself wondering why it is that we see people go through similar experiences and yet never seem to learn from them.

And then suddenly, it happened. I caught within this film, the cleverly inserted, poignant metaphor for marriage, in a seemingly simple scene. Looking out of a 36th floor window, Nicole's sister comments to Stuart about how beautiful the view of New York city is. "It is a contradiction", he replies, "the view from the 36th floor, versus what it looks like, standing in the middle of the street". This is when I realized that the view from within a relationship is quite different from that on the outside. As bystanders, we can all rationally evaluate other people's decisions and choices. However, once our emotions come into play, our reasoning somehow gets sadly but understably hindered.

I recommend this film for all those who plan to be in relationships that they hope will eventually culminate into marriage, for all those who have a starry-eyed view of love and might be setting themselves up for a rude reality check, for those who think of themselves as pragmatists but have a vulnerability that could steal that solid practicality from right under their rooted feet, for those who have borrowed their ideas of love and marriage from watching movies or their parents' marriages and for those who belong to none of the aforementioned categories but are looking to watch a story about love, that holds true in the real world. Now, that is essentially everybody, isnt it?

Watching 'The Namesake' in Ohio

This weekend, I happened to see a preview of 'The Namesake' and having read Jhumpa Lahiri's book I now wanted to see what the story looked like to director, Mira Nair. I skipped laundry on Sunday and at seven in the evening found myself in a movie theatre in Ohio watching the journey of an immgirant couple who arrived in the US after an arranged marriage in Kolkata, India. My friend, Seema, who was born and raised in California, accompanied me to the theatre and sat unaware of the effect this film would have on her. This entry is more than just a review it is a personal chronicle detailing my experience of watching 'The Namesake'.

The male protagonist of this film, Gogol Ganguli (Kal Penn), suffers from a common malady, an identity crisis. Born in the US, to Bengali immigrants, Ashok (Irrfan Khan) and Ashima (Tabu), he shirks from all that in reality defines him. Having witnessed Gogol Ganguli's journey of self-acquisition, I decided that I would not review this movie and instead would describe what it was like for me, as an immigrant to watch that film in a theatre surrounded predominantly by elderly white Americans and non-Indians. I felt like I was in a crash course where people were finally forced to learn a little about my culture. The love story of an arranged marriage, the immigrant struggle and the traditions that I so often get asked about were all there in one entertaining story.

I have lived in Ohio for almost five years now. Our city has one Hindu temple and three overpriced Indian grocery stores. Approximately two hundred Indian families reside in this small city and most of them are doctors at the University Hospital in town. Nonetheless, when United 93, the movie about the September 11th plane hijacking was released, I was dealt angry and bitter glances as I exited the movie theatre amidst comments about 'Arabs'. I was very confused and it took me a few minutes to realize that being brown and dark haired in Toledo, qualified me for being an 'Arab'. No matter how much I travel and how many people I meet, ignorance still startles me. I have always felt that experiences lose their relevance when spent on ignorant minds. Hence, I felt oddly exposed as the film reeled in Ashok's arrival as a graduate student in America, his quick arranged marriage to Ashima and their years of acclimatization to life in the US. I was afraid that the message in the film would be lost on the audience.

Irrfan Khan, Tabu and Kal Penn have each given real and honest performances leading the audience to believe that somewhere in New York is the Ganguli residence where these characters actually exist. To those who have read my earlier, entries, it is no secret that I regard Mira Nair as one of the most talented contemporary film directors. Her use of the airport digital displays and flash animation to convey metamorphosis was clever albeit overused. Her execution of applying the implicit to convey emotion was as always, flawless. But at the end of the movie, the one character that makes you laugh and cry with his intelligent portrayal of a reserved but sensitive man, was that of Irrfan Khan's. Through expressions and body language he brought a range of dimensions to the character of Ashok Ganguli.



Although, I thought the portrayal of Moushumi (Zulieka Robinson) was over-villainzed, compared to the one in the book, I believe it is a forgivable flaw considering a two hour film doesn't allow in-depth analysis of each character's psyche. Inspite of this limiting aspect of converting a book into a film, I thought 'The Namesake' did a fine job of exploring character pyschology without losing out on the pace of the movie.

Watching 'The Namesake' in Ohio was such a complex experience in itself, that I would not be able to review the critical and technical aspects of this film as thoroughly as I would like. I could, however, for the pleasure of the reader, describe in great detail, the enlightened expressions on my friend, Seema's face, as she recognized her own personal conflicts in Gogol's character. She laughed as she saw the quirks her parents shared with the Gangulis and cried uncontrollably as she recognized in their simple, hardworking and warm faces, the familiar ones of her immigrant parents. She walked out of the theatre aware and more respectful of the journey her parents had made long before her arrival on the scene.

Seema and I, were the only Indians in the scantily filled theatre and occasionally we could feel a glance or a stare cast our way. At other times, such a situation would've made me uncomfortable or conscious. But Gogol's journey has a message entwined in its story that even the most shallow ones among us couldn't have missed and having wrapped my thoughts around that message, I sat somewhat content and unaffected by any scrutiny. "The Namesake' made me feel like I was home for a while and as the film's tag line says, "The greatest journeys are the ones that bring us home".

Where Art Thou'?

Has anybody ever wondered, where that entire genre of offbeat Indian films disappeared with the advent of the nineties?

The protagonist of these films was somebody, I always felt, I had just met on a train ride in Bombay or had crossed paths with on the busy streets of the city. His love story was not set in the snowy hills of Switzerland and his love interest thankfully resembled somebody I actually knew or would most likely become when I grew up. Where did that common man go and why did he take with him that glorious period of what I liked to call 'the middle-class films'.

It was the late eighties and I was ten when Chashme Baddoor first made its way into the evening feature film slot. This was before the arrival of entire channels that ran back to back movies; it was when Saturdays and Sundays for the middle class meant an evening movie for the family. Doordarshan was the only channel and I can still see my family gathered in the living room as our endearing Crown black & white television set, brought us our precious weekend entertainment. Deepti Naval's homely appeal and Farooq Sheikh's exquisite Urdu coupled with the earthiness of the story's setting left its mark on my impressionable mind. But this was before the cable guys took over town.

Amol Palekar and Vidya Sinha in 'Chhotisi Baat' played out what could only be described as a middle-class love story from a time when arranged marriages were the norm and falling in love was something only actors did on the silver screen. The believable characters of Arun and Prabha brought hope to all the weary Romeos who pursued the objects of their affection on crammed buses during their daily commute to work.

In Golmaal, Amol Palekar quite deftly parodied the 'twin-brothers' (judwa bhai) story that had been hounding Bollywood for quite a while. Utpal Dutt brought the rare physical comedy to simple storylines and his moustached, pompous persona became a legend in these middle-of-the-road features.

Naseeruddhin Shah displayed a magnificent range from Masoom to Mirch Masala and even gave Hindi film history, its cult classic, 'Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron' tinged with satirical shades of dark comedy. Shabana Azmi as the betrayed wife in Arth and as the disloyal albeit vulnerable wife in Ankur, went on to receive attention in both parallel art cinema as well as commercial films, which makes me wonder why actors choose not to do both if it is possible.



There was a time when commercial actors did their share of films that weren't exactly art films but did deviate from the mainstream cinema of the time. For example, Anil Kapoor (Chameli Ki Shaadi), Rekha (Khoobsurat), Tina Munim (Baaton Baaton Mein), Parveen Babi (Naram Garam) and Sanjeev Kuman (Koshish) were all commercially established actors in unconventional roles.

And then there was the sublime Smita Patil who arrived on the scene and demolished the 'fair, light-eyed' stereotype of Indian beauty standards. With kohl-lined eyes, chiseled features and a dignified manner, she portrayed women in a stronger and independent light. She became the female protagonist and brought to Indian cinema, intellectual feminism.

Today, years later, sadly, we are back to square-one, as Aishwarya Rai's physical appearance somehow entitles her to portray the sensitive and articulate character of an Urdu poestess, Umrao Jaan. Her grey eyes and lacklustre smile have made their way into roles that could have been more powerful, had a less glamourous face actualized those characters. In the late 80s, Rekha's portrayal of this very character made her name one with that of Umrao Jaan Ada and Ms.Rai, though very pretty, couldn't have erased or displaced that essence.

Lately, I have had debates with friends and colleagues who argue, "Why should the Hindi film industry cater to Oscar standards?" My point is, what about the standards of the Hindi film industry itself. Let us for a few moments put aside Oscars or even International Film Festivals; how many of us feel comfortable with the portrayal of women and sex in Hindi films? We speak of censor boards and cultural lines, while bosoms are heaved and bottoms are gyrated on the big screen like there was no tomorrow. While the men play brave soldiers, the women are the weeping damsels left behind; while the men are crime fighting heroes, the women are dancing in costumes that leave very little to imagination. Where is the female protagonist? Shouldn't the art of a nation be indicative of its progressive times? Shouldn't we want to have timeless masterpieces that are known for more than just the catchy numbers or the pretty faces? The last time I checked, wholesome entertainment was not equivalent to titilation. One doesn't know who to blame, the filmmakers who don't consider it worth their while to make such entertainers anymore or the artists themselves who shirk art cinema for its richer mainstream counterpart. Is it not obvious that though commercial films bring attention and money, art brings immortality. When crores of rupees are being spent on sets and locations, wouldn't it be only fair for the eclecticists or the few film connoiseurs to be treated with films and stories that bring thought provocation to accompany the stirred senses?

I do believe that every genre has its charm; right from the the rib-tickling Govinda comedies to the masala movies with their tailormade love stories, but I am now realizing with growing dismay that a whole movie genre catering to the middle class, will soon be lost to time. We can only reminisce about films like 'Ek Doctor Ki Maut', 'Rajnigandha' or 'Katha' that dealt with such a gamut of issues but had two major aspects in common: realism and a good story. I long to watch a film that brings me a story I can finally relate to, a story that has the appealing, quirky and yet lovable faces like those of Amol Palekar, Farooq Sheikh, Smita Patil, Shabana Azmi, Deepti Naval and so many others, who entertained us during the 70s and the 80s. I have just about had enough of mega-starrers where the villain is a father opposing his son's/ daughter's marriage. Really? Are we still stuck on that issue?

For me this is more than just about entertainment. It is about role models and the influence of a nation's art on its younger generation. Our nation represents some of the best creative and technological intellect in the world. Then why does our film industry, the world's largest, refuse to cater to this intellectual audience? The portrayal of romance, marriage, love, relationships and people are skewed alarmingly towards the improbable in the majority of present Hindi films. Sure, we don't all look to the movies for advice in these matters and yes, the common man does go to the movies to escape his own life, but when it is so widely declared that art imitates life, who is to say that the converse wouldn't be true. Now, that's a scary thought considering the current popular film genres, isn't it?

***Having said that, I would like to acknowledge the valiant efforts of contemporary filmmakers such as Mira Nair, Aparna Sen, Farhan Akhtar, Vishal Bharadwaj, Onirban, Nagesh Kukunoor and a handful of others in bringing some unique perspective to Indian cinema.***

The Perez Family : A Film By Mira Nair

'The Perez Family' is a story delightfully packaged in some lush colors and spicy sensuality. The people who make up this story, all display in their traits, an array of realistic and interesting foibles whose dimensions director, Mira Nair, generously explores through her keen sense for culturally rich settings.

The film begins with an aristocratic Juan Raul Perez (Alfred Molina) watching his wife and little daughter drift through the ocean as a crab ominously clings to his foot. His reverie is interrupted and we find out that he is in prison during the Castro regime in Cuba in 1980. Juan Perez's sad life is about to change with the entry of Dorita Evita Perez (Marisa Tomei), a Cuban woman who longs for the John Wayne movies and Elvis numbers that fringe American culture. Their journeys converge on a boat to the US where they meet as political refugees heading for freedom. Juan Perez seeks to be reunited with his wife, Carmel (Anjelica Huston) and daughter after 20 years and Dorita Perez seeks the land of rock and roll. As Juan Raul and Dorita Perez feign a marriage to find immigration sponsors, there begins a fun romance with love triangles, mistaken identities and immigration frauds. The pace of the movie is pleasantly controlled without hampering either the flow of the story or the deliberate development of each character.

As always, I will refrain from narrating the whole story since I am hoping the little gist above will have piqued the reader's curiosity. Tomei's wildly sensuous performance coupled with Molina's suave and restrained persona, makes this love story absolutely worth a watch for those who like their romance sufficiently tempered by authenticity and realism. Mira Nair has been most artful in incorporating humor without the farcical buffoonery that plagues romantic comedies. The laughs in this film are summoned most often by the sometimes exasperating but mostly entertaining quirks of each superbly showcased character.

The cast is well-known and yet they bring earthiness to the personas that require it. While the guys will surely fall for the carefree and sentimental Dorita Perez, the gals will find it almost impossible not to swoon over the aloof Juan Raul. And to keep the ocassionally mercurial audience rooted, there are quite a few twists and turns during the course of this film. Mira Nair finds the nooks within a story where humor, drama, raw sensuality and soft romance, all find an appropriate place without making the film excessive and managing somehow to add more definition to the story.

It has been a while since I saw a romantic comedy which wasn't just another 'chick- flick'. So watching 'The Perez Family' was like hungrily biting into some delectable Cuban croquetas while the waves kissed my feet.

What Could Be More Important Than Cricket?!

I have always felt that a nation's mind lies in politics and its heart in its popular sport. Considering this analogy, cricket has always dominated the social scene in India and the players adored like family. Whenever a large populace is so passionate about a game, the players carry the weighty moral responsibility of living upto the expectations of these loyal but reactive enthusiasts. This year, the Indian cricket team bore the brunt of breaking the hearts of an entire nation with their recent ouster from the World Cup Finals. Having turned my back to the cricket scene after the 'match fixing' scandals, I was just starting to trust the game again and this loss was too much for my already compromised convictions about our team. So when I found a relatively unknown movie about cricket peeping from the shelves of a movie rental store, I was reluctant. Nonetheless, I don't know many Indians who could resist a film about cricket and I duly succumbed to those instincts.

Set in the 1960s, in London, 'Wondrous Oblivion' is a film that captures the rare friendship between the an eleven year old Jewish boy, David Wiseman and his new West Indian neighbours. The boy hails from a family of Jewish immigrants himself and upon watching a glorious cricket net being put up in his neighbour's yard, he is drawn towards their home, oblivious to the social issues brewing around him. His love for the sport takes precedence over the bigotry that is hounding his neighbourhood due to the arrival of this fun-loving and large-hearted Jamaican family in a largely white community.

As I watched, I realized that this film was not just about the sport, but more so about how man-made prejudice affects society. The sport was portrayed as the medium that induced the state of 'wondrous oblivion', which I believe has the power to prevent the ethnocentrism that marrs civilization. Moreover, this film was about the parallels in life. The little boy and his love for cricket were representative of the unbiased and indiscriminate acceptance that adults could learn from children.

Cricket is one sport where some of the great names in the history of the game belong to West Indies, South Africa and Asian countries and the Englishman can no longer claim dominance. This sport has on ocassion taken a noteworthy stand on racism and cases of apartheid (Reference: The Basil Lewis D'Oliveira case that resulted in the banning of South Africa from international cricket). Cricket has come along way since then and so has racial equality. 'Wondrous Oblivion' is a heart warming film that does justice to this indomitable spirit of the game and is worth a watch for not only cricket enthusiasts but for anybody who loves a wholesome and entertaining family film.

Having watched this film, while still peeved with the Indian team's performance in this year's World Cup, I learned a few important things from this story. I learned that as human beings we cannot be either entirely guilt-free or completely culpable. At the end of this movie, when the little boy misses his big game at school to lend support to his neighbours, his teammate asks him, "What could be more important than the Cricket Cup?". The eleven year old only smiles. There are things that are a lot more important than the actual sport that make up the integrity of any game. These things may seem idealistic and dismissable but ultimately, our personal victories are defined not by how high we hoist our trophies but by the lessons we learn from our losses.

Blood Diamond

In a few of my past blog entries, I have spoken of the poetry in cinema and the delicate use of metaphors. Last night, I saw a raw and unadorned film; no metaphors, no euphemisms, just the fearfully contorted, bare body of truth that makes us all squirm with unexplainable guilt.

'Blood Diamond' brought to my attention a political situation, I shamefully have to admit, I was unaware of. I have always thought of Africa as a continent blessed with abundant natural resources, lush forests, and sadly, equally cursed with disease and turmoil that has been eating away at its core. 'Blood Diamond' is set in the period of the Sierra Leone Civil War that left an entire nation one of the poorest in the world in 1998. I have seen films that address political unrest, corruption and illegal trades before. What makes 'Blood Diamond' a unique film is that a bias, if any on part of the filmmakers, was almost undetectable. It simply captured each story and delivered it to our attention.

This film delivers the stories of a diamond smuggler, a fisherman and a journalist caught in the tense civil war.

Djimon Hounsou plays the role of fisherman Solomon Vandy whose idyllic life with his family is disrupted by an RUF attack and his son taken away by the rebels as a trainee. While working for the rebels in a diamond mining valley, he finds a rare, pink diamond and conceals it. In a pulsating moment of drama, Vandy is seen by the the rebel captain just before government troops launch an attack.

Leonardo Di Caprio plays Danny Archer, a mercenary who trades arms for diamonds and thus is one of the key players in the 'conflict diamond' equation that funds wars within such nations. The two stories of Vandy and Archer collide in prison when Archer hears the mention of the extraordinary stone that Vandy has possibly buried before his capture by the troops.

Jennifer Connelly in the role of Maddy Bowens, the spirited journalist, is extremely believable and may if I may add quite beautiful sans maek-up. While investigating the illegal diamond trade and covering the war, Bowens meets Archer and their journeys become one.

Above all, this story is about motives. Archer seeks to pay off his debts and leave the continent forever, Vandy wants to find the son he lost to the rebels and Bowens seeks the investigative pieces that make up this drama. This film keeps the audience on their toes as the characters run into government troops, RUF rebels, guerillas and most disturbingly boy-soldiers, at every corner.

Director Edward Zwick nails the extremely difficult task of taming emotion in what could have otherwise been an action thriller. It was imperative that he evoke an emotional response during such a high-power page-turner to make sure he did not lose out on the take home message that needed to be incorporated in the film. Vandy's desperate search for his family, Archer's constant struggle with what he is and what he could be and Bowen's inquisition marred by the bloodshed and corruption around her, made these characters identifiable. The cinematography deftly captures the natural backdrop of Africa without interrupting the film's rousing pace.

During the course of every film, there are what I like to call, 'movie moments'. This film was full of such moments. The script was well written to say the least and made for some very thought provoking dialogue between the characters. The brief appearance by the character of Benjamin, a teacher who runs shelter for the children of war, added ingenuity and guilelessness to a scene so full of strife. An action thriller that provokes sentiments, is rare and at times Zwick did portray what could be interpreted as a historic recount. However, Di Caprio and Hounsou delivered the absolute plausibility of Archer and Vandy's characters and thwarted the possible overdramatization of events.

The candor in this movie hits you rudely in the face on numerous occasions. Vandy asks Bowens if by looking at her coverage of the bloodshed, people in America would come to their aid. "Probably not", she answers plainly and truthfully. For a film that dealt with such a serious issue, humor was surprisingly plentiful. The cynicism in Archer's character and the director's own bitter humor tinged the dialogue. The pertinence of this story in todays' time is brought home with wit during the film when an old man stranded in the middle of a war oddly funded by diamonds, comments, "Let us hope they don't find oil here."

Stories are always made more beautiful and more vital by interpretation. 'Blood Diamond' is the kind of film that shouldn't leave our consciousness when we leave the cinema theatre. Once we are made aware of the facts, what do we do with that knowledge? Introspective questions like these make such films, powerful determinants of our sensitivities as human beings and of the depths of our consciences. Like Benjamin says to Archer, "We are all just people. It is what we do that makes us good or bad."

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?”

Dor- A Film by Nagesh Kukunoor

I do not consider myself a film critic by any means, atleast not in the technical sense. I am however quite an ardent connoisseur of the few, choicest Hindi movies that have a gripping story to tell. I find myself identifying with the characters and even songs start to seem like they fit right into the scenario. "If I were her", I find myself thinking, "I would probably belt that number out too!".

Recently one such movie, Dor (a string), captivated me by its simple, clean storyline and the believable characters who inspite of their very human flaws and vulnerabilities were endearing. This movie was the creation of one of my favorite movie-makers, Nagesh Kukunoor. Having watched his Hyderabad Blues and Teen Deewarein, I have decided that he is more of a story-teller than a movie maker and hence his imagination is more lucid in nature. It comfortably lacks the larger than life fakeness of commercial Bollywood movies and yet captures the essence of a story with some of the key Hindi movie essentials such as love, romance and even the usual song, music and drama. The only difference is he sticks to realism while applying the very elements that if over-used would've made the story seem made-up or exaggerated.

I am writing this blog, not as a review of the movie but as a testimony to what it meant to me. Hence I will not divulge details of the plot which has been summarized by quite a few Hindi movie review websites and even Wikipedia. Briefly, reviewers describe this movie as the tale of a simple Rajasthani woman, Mira living within the harsh conservatism of a patriarchal society and a Muslim woman, Zeenat from Northern India who lives life on her own terms. These two independent stories spiral together and fate connects their lives like a string, a Dor, of destined events that often binds the existence of mortal beings separated due to the by-products of civilization such as religion, cultural differences and lifestyles. And like the comical, sometimes exasperating detail of life accompanying every wanderlust pilgrim, there is the village con-man whose character abundant with humor and fickle disguises, makes this journey an interesting one.

Now coming to the aspect of this movie that I identified with: During the course of this story, a rare friendship is established between the three main characters. Like most friendships this one is characterized by a strange, liberating experience for all three people. There are differences of opinion and arguments and even the moments of uncertainty and self-doubt that often tint the rare male-female friendship.

Truth be told, I am at a stage in life where my friends have at times, proven to be closer than those that I had considered my kin; their relentless support and even their tough love has pulled me through testing moments in recent years. Of all interpersonal relationships, I have learned that a good, healthy friendship has the quiet understanding and a lack of the smothering expectations that can potentially marr most other bonds. A rib-tickling song sequence, shot among beautiful sand dunes was my favorite scene in Dor. The three characters define the beginings of their unlikely friendship by this spontaneous dance to a catchy number being played on a small radio from a previous Bollywood hit, making it the best employed dance routine in a Hindi movie I have ever seen. I could see myself doing something equally crazy when I Iet my guard down only in front of the few that I call my closest friends. I could feel the exhilaration of those three characters as they performed this empancipating jig that with every beat seemed to loosen the gnawing shackles of social expectation.

I dedicate this blog to my wonderful friends...the ones that walked in everytime it felt like the world was walking out on me. You know who you are, don't you?

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