Filmy

Vendetta in Mumbai

2008-12-01T23:37:00.009+05:30

“Remember, remember
the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I know of no reason
Why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.”

Once ‘gain it is November
and we shall e’er remember
This siege of Taj with the whole plot
While we were all apathy

Just a few months back
The siege was at Hotel Mariott.

I just saw V for Vendetta. Inspiring, not just in terms of its scintillating action, but the plot and the immense relevance of its subject in our times. The film’s ‘hero’: V reminds us, aptly, that all actions have reactions. The agent never knows its brunt unless he is acted upon. Unless he becomes the subject.

I do not endorse what happened in Bombay. Yet it is tough to imagine how, otherwise, the world: authorities, the state and people like us who imagine India and the world shining for ourselves, for our selfish and petty middle class west-aping lifestyles will take notice of all that is happening around us.

It is being claimed, so far, that it was a ‘jehadi’ attack. One in the long series of ‘Islamic’ terror activities that we keep seeing on TV or even up close, all the time, the world over. Palestine, Chechnya, Kashmir, China, Iraq, Afghanistan, Ayodhya and Gujarat are only some of the international and domestic issues created, hatched and programmed or pogrommed or atleast not prevented in good faith by supposedly responsible state authorities, that continue to pierce the Muslim heart.

Yet, being much more than a cowardly bomb blast, or even a suicide bomb attack, this frontal assault by a handful of men, (ten to be precise) taking on an entire nation’s organized, cohesive and exceedingly well-trained forces, with a determination, diligence, strategic acumen, an in-combat presence of mind and not to forget some real guts and an immense heart point out how much hatred has been built up in it. Somewhere, all of us, all our institutions and our beliefs and ideals are failing miserably.

Many that died during this siege, especially among the poorer train catchers at VT, were Muslims (ironically, many Biharis once again) as there were in Karol Bagh and other bomb blasts in Delhi not very long back. While Mumbai had to look for martyrs in Bangalore to save its home turf; grounds that it keeps claiming as a personal Marathawar, sadly no Marathi manus was found up to the job. Also ironically, the Marathi top brass of ATS that did die had probed the Malegaon cases so deep that they were being threatened by some terrorists who were slightly of a more domestic origin.

Perhaps whatever I am saying is too clichéd and not really worth reading (and I may very well be sounding too self-presumptuous) but somewhere these very problems for being so conventional now have come to be perpetually ignored. This attack seems to symbolize not a religious clash, but all history where there have been violations in the name of God, or region, of race, of language and nation, of caste and class against any people. Even today homogeneity is sought and a living space desired by oil greedy superpowers or saffron sword wielders; Tamil vs. Lankan, Shia against Sunni, Dravidian vs. Aryan, Brahman against Dalit continues; the idea of the nation makes Bengal alien to Ghoti, Assami to Bengali and Bihari, Amritsar to Lahore.

Someone chose not very long back to play big boss and pick up pawns from all over the world and deposit them as and where it felt like- what it thought to be a people’s land of origin, and much more recently invaded a dictatorship to replace it with more bloodshed than the land has perhaps ever seen in its history. After nuclear attacks it has resorted to milder measure such as carpet bombing civilian areas.

V for Vendetta is where V hits out at precisely this. This apathy, this system where we are taught to ignore and forget and responsible agencies can carry on with whatever wrongs they see as right, atleast in their interest.

Democracy seems to have brought on a strange tyranny to the world. While in all earlier autocracies such terrorists would have had individuals or faces to vent their ire against, a revolutionary today, I imagine, does not even know whom to target as its enemy. Revolution as V in the movie said, like himself, is an idea; but so is the tyrant today. And in this clueless angst against injustice can one even know where to hit? Certainly innocent people are not the oppressors. (Islam spells it out very clearly that killing innocents, women, children and the aged is not Jehad. Jehad, etymologically coming from the word jahada means merely to strive: for your bread, your life, for justice and freedom, and for God; it is not even necessarily war.)

Or are they? In a world run mostly by governments that are of and by the people is it or is it not the responsibility of the common (wo)men to see to what state the world’s come to. While the world’s most powerful democracy set up Israel, the largest democracy that set out with golden ideas of NAM soon sold itself off to Israeli technologies. Just as we watched hooked on to our tele-s this live saga for some 60 odd hours, hailed our martyrs and admired their sophisticated handling of this new and strange, even filmy, terror; some 15 years back we had quietly seen inactive and unwilling agencies unable to hold off men armed with swords, trishuls and lathis on another siege. Climbing up another dome. Were they terrorists? A national leader at their head. Who was he? A tyrant, a fascist, a religious fanatic? It seems he is also our future PM. Is he a terrorist? What will be those who hand over power to him?

Another man, who had earlier prevented the first siege of Ayodhya died during this Bombay siege. Very few of us paid our condolences to him. In this entire hullabaloo this one man, of strong principles and desire to take action even if it be against a mass hysteria lies forgotten for all he did for this country its unity and peace.

These men, who came to Bombay, thought of themselves as martyrs. Most of us think of them as maniacal delinquents, smart terrorists at best. But at this blowing up of a symbol by this modern Fawkes, while coming down hard on terrorism let us also remember and deal with what is creating these men. Agreed, groups have vested mercenary interests but surely this can’t be enough. For, for every illegal and prohibited Lashkar and Al Qaeda, there are legal and state run or recognised Mosads and RSSs; for every ULFA there is an army. And behind all these lie political and social systems of nations, and race and religion and class that demand sacrifice every now and then.

To blow them all up, V leaves the lever in the hands of the people.

Watch the movie for it, somewhere, gives us some stray hope.

P.S. I would also very strongly recommend A Wednesday, and would also deem Aamir worth a watch.

Three movies, a couple of –isms and the Blonde

2008-01-18T02:16:00.000+05:30

My seeing The Hills Have Eyes 2 happened to be sandwiched in between watching two exceptionally well made movies on Africa- Blood Diamond and The Constant Gardner, on either side of it. However, instead of, perhaps, the more warranted or natural response to praise the other two for their brilliantly sensitive depictions of humanity or humans across race, colour and gender I choose to write mainly on Hills Have Eyes for two reasons. Firstly, because nitpicking always comes easier to me than lauding anything and secondly because this movie through one, possibly not intentional, sequence of events reminded me of the Western notions of the superiority of the white, something that the other two movies had taken a very cynical view of.

Blood Diamond and The Constant Gardner had dealt with two real time situations in Africa where the white powers that be were exploiting it to the maximum, having created enough hatred within the Africans themselves to render them homicidal towards their own people. There were intense ironic and tragic moments where Black Africans were not authorised to save their own people but only the whites. Though there were a few whites who fought alongside blacks to save the natives and humanity itself. Now, The Hills Have Eyes put a bunch of both blacks and whites (rookie marines), supposedly, on an equal footing with each other, against an in-bred, ugly, vicious and really strong sub-species of (super-)men who have overtaken an American military sector in the hills. But here, the one point that shattered all delusions of any claims to artistic value and ethical sense in this solely commercial venture out to cash on the horror market, was the treatment of the constant symbol of American or White symbol of racial superiority. Their most perfect specimen of mankind, the best creation of God, the pinnacle of the chain of being- the blonde.

Even today it seems to be an exceedingly tall task for a commercial American movie to ignore this iconic figure- who is alternatively the femme fatale or the sacrosanct figure from which the whole white race derives all its power. The fear of miscegenation prevails heavily as we see in this movie where the freaks who need females to procreate can manage to carry away a black woman and rape her repeatedly on screen but can barely touch the white man’s pride. In the movie particularly she is under the care of Napoleon- white, male, peer, friend, presumably lover, who protects her to the end, against odds unimaginable. The black woman does put up a brave fight but to no avail and is shown being mercilessly brutalised by the alpha male of the bestial hill-men. The white woman is the delicate creature, scared for herself from the moment she hears of the possibility of being carried away for procreation purposes by savages and is depicted doing her best to preserve herself to eventually succeed. In fact, she even manages to rescue the black woman.

What troubles is the fact that it is not the agony of a woman against a crime as heinous as rape, to which societies in all three movies are shown to recurrently resort to, (in attempts to satisfy their base desire as much as to hurt the other male, barely bothering for a moment about the female in question), that is the concern of the filmmaker in this movie. It is infact the arrogant denial to be cognisant of the female sex but an attempt to valorise the invincible white spirit of the white American who has the capacity to survive against all odds, and to protect its own (blondes) while the blacks can also be saved by and by (that also only by the white).

Perhaps I am stretching it a little, seeing too much into too little, but perhaps most educated white men (and women) have still not lost their Aryan senses of superiority. While The Constant Gardner and Blood Diamond depict this in the movie as in the callous natures and the avarice of the commercially interested Europeans in Africa, The Hills Have Eyes gives us film-makers who themselves are caught up in a similar trap. While one is cinema on, the other remains of, the racist.

Saawariya - The Blue Film

2007-11-14T04:27:00.000+05:30

Saawariya-The Blue Film

Well definitely not an adult movie but Saawariya is literally a blue film- the walls, the city, the clothes of characters more often than not, the rivulets in the middle of the city and the skies are all a dark shade of blue.

I went for the movie with certain expectations that one has now come to associate with Bhansali, though personally even Devdas had not been right up there for me- in the class of Black, Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam and Khamoshi. Still, Bhansali was expected to produce another masterpiece and I am sure not just by me. Surprisingly, he failed miserably.

The film for a large part works on the standard boy meets girl and sparks fly Bollywood format, though later it gets confusingly, confusedly and unnecessarily darker. However, the essence or the content of the film remains in the background as the expected background of the sets seem to occupy centre-stage in all tinctures of the colour Blue! Bhansali after the Black success and critical acclaim seems to have now become unnecessarily preoccupied with colour. Yes, it looks beautiful but gets on the nerves beyond a time, as Rani’s sari, Zora Sehgal’s (in a brilliant performance) cardigan and the paint on the walls are again, now unsurprisingly, all blue!

Apart from the colour preoccupation, the utopia of brothels that Bhansali constructs seems to be more of a work of an artist such as Husain indulging himself rather than him. Curtains carry the Mona Lisa, on walls are frescoes of Mumtaz, the town is the Paris of the Arc de Triomphe, Venice with its canals, Turkey in some of the domes and the carpet weaving, India in its population and the Buddha, Gothic towered and equipped with its own toy train. Think of any aesthetic landscape you can dream of and Bhansali brings it for you. It even rains and snows on demand. Some of the settings and even the plot seem to be borrowed from Moulin Rouge, though that atleast was a certified theatre of dreams and illusions. Ceded that here he strives for no realism but how much of artisitic canvases is one supposed to handle in place of actual storyline?

Still, perhaps the sole positive that one may take away from the hall is Ranbir Kapoor. And a big one at that. The lad has immense stage presence and is good in almost all departments if not downright excellent. He gives a strong performance throughout the movie, whether it be scenes of pathos or mirth, tragic or romantic. Tall and handsome, with a well toned lean body and excellent moves on the dance floor- the screams from the female sections of the audience (as well as the male) were evidence of the looming stardom for the latest Kapoor. Perhaps it was a deal with the Kapoors only that led to the film because even if nothing else Saawariya is an excellent launchpad for Ranbir. RK- says the neon sign in the background melting into the close up of the newborn star.

However, regretfully, the same cannot be said about Sonam Kapoor. While Ranbir delights with his performance, his if not Greek god-like, but atleast “Rocky” Stallone-like looks and his dance moves, the screenplay seems to drag the moment the actress comes in. With old Hindi filmy-pathetic heroine kind of a role as well as archaic acting, dull expressions and below average looks it would be tough for the actress to survive in the industry.

Downward seems to be the trajectory of the other actress as well, as Rani with too many whorish acts now seems to be stooping to lose, not conquer. Salman is good, but hardly has any screentime or enough role to prove any point whatsoever.

Plot, story, screenplay, direction and even editing are all bad at once as the film is alternately exceedingly boring (if watch-able at all) or completely snoring (inducing). No Black from Bhansali this time. Only sad and lame Blues…

Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi

2007-11-01T00:58:00.000+05:30

I had started this blog to write on the many kitschy movies i had seen on a film watching spree after ramadan. It wasn't as if I hadn't been watching the TV in the holy month or been praying with any great fervor, but nonetheless after thirty days Satan had been let out again and I had taken it upon myself to prove it. It had been sheer laziness after starting the blog that I hadn't posted so far. But watching Hazaro Khwahishen Aisi today changed all my plans completely about how I am going to start writing here.

The movie had been released in 2003 and obviously I was watching it four years late. Again obviously, within these four years I had been talked to about the movie, about how good it is etc. So today when i put in the CD (yes, not the DVD!) I imagined I was about to watch a movie that dealt with an ideology. Lal Salam. Naxalbari. The great dream of the seventies in India that shattered. And that was indeed what the movie began with and promised for a long while. However, as it turned out, it wasn't a Communist Manifesto after all.

Somewhere down the line everyone seemed to have forgotten to tell me that it was simply about the Khwahishaat of men and women, about choices they made and whether or not they stood by them. A leap of faith to which they were either able to commit themselves or not. A tale about three individuals who through intense trials realise their true callings, their ways of life.

As the movie begins, we have Siddharth Tyabji, the rich inheritee who dreams to bring about a revolution, Geeta Rao who loves him more than anything else and Vikram Malhotra who loves her and also wants to make it big despite his own humble legacy and a Gandhian father. Three individuals, three different desires from life and different levels of commitment. Siddhart's the strongest it seems, the one that comes out of an ideology, almost a pristine concept in face of the other two's emotions.

The movie is a tragedy of these very choices that the three make, not of the disillusionment that comes with the Emergency. It is not the shattering of the golden dream that many envisaged but it is the tragedy of the human predicament, the inability to stand by one's beliefs in face of annihilation. The sheer desire to live, and to live well. And also a tragedy of having to face the consequences if u do stick around. Vikram, who throughout his life had remained committed to gain material success thereby appearing the shallowest of the three, turns out to be the one who knows no stopping himself when it comes to the one thing he has actually committed himself whole heartedly to. That thing, or person as I should rather be saying so as to avoid much feminist ire, is Gita-the only one it seems he doesn't forget even in his declined condition at the end. Siddhart turns out to be an escapist, Geeta it seems has no choice but to leave the Siddhart whom she could no longer love (this wasn't her Siddhart after all), it is only Vikram who at each point despite knowing that Geeta cares only for his adversary does everything within his power for her. Almost managing to seek out death for himself in Bhojpur, Bihar, far removed from his cosy life in Delhi, where he goes to fight no personal battle but only to save the love of his love, it is Vikram who takes us back to the tragedies of yore. It is tragic that most men(and women) today fail to remain steadfast to their beliefs, but it is more tragic to behold the worst meted out to the one who dares in our society to fulfill his khwahishaat without compromises, who fulfills his own karma. All others find some way out. Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi is not a communist tale though it is a tale of exasperated hopes and desires. Even more overwhelmingly the movie is a modern existential tragedy. And strangely one with some kind of a hope at the end at the rivers banks and the wonderful song Baawara man...

PS: One can also appreciate the brilliant performances, the near perfect screenplay and editing and the amazing direction, but the movie is too powerfully overwhelming to appreciate technicalities. It is a film that completely sweeps you off your feet as it takes you in its own world, to enjoy the art of visual storytelling without any space to appreciate or critique nitty gritties but to live the experience, and a complex and an intense one at that!