Essay: We take pride in being chauvinists, even in the movies. Why, really?

A few days back, I happened to chance upon an extract of Bosnian filmmaker Danis Tanovic's interview at the Abu Dhabi Film Festival, an extract which made a very interesting reading. Like thousands, including me, Tanovic was obviously pretty upset that The Lunchbox wasn't the Indian submission to the Best Foreign-Language Film category this year. One quick perusal and you can tell that Tanovic skipped over many of the cusses that he was raring to spit out and, in his stalwart defense, I do agree to most of his views.

There's one line from the excerpt that stuck in my mind because it abridged the problem that's been nagging the Hindi film industry for a while now :

"It's not a question of a good film. It's about whether you really want to win an Oscar, or do you want to send a film which you think is great."  

(source : NDTV)

In essence, his views are correct. Why, why, why did we send The Good Road? It's like we had reached out for the gold and now we find our palms clamped around a dubious handful of hope. Oh, we knew, we knew we stood a chance with The Lunchbox. I mean, it won an award at Cannes, it got an overwhelming critical and commercial reception and those bozos pick out a small movie because, well, because it showcases a different side of India, in their own inane vindication. And if rumors are juicy enough for me to believe in 'em, The Good Road isn't half as good as The Lunchbox. I surmised as much, you know. I did.

But no, we won't hear any of it, no sir. I mean, come on, look at the bright side - has the Film Federation Of India ever had the slightest perception of what kind of movies should be sent there, to compete with the other heavyweights from around the world? Has it? If you think I'm jabbering, believe you me, when I run you down the list of the Should Have and Shouldn't Have, you're in for a wild ride. We won't send movies that are daubed with the stuff Oscar-winning movies are usually made of. You want to know why? Because we are too aware of what the world thinks about us. We'll send the optimistic movies, like Barfi!, which made you cry a river. Of course, it made me cry too, because I couldn't believe I had invested my time into something so no-plot. We won't send the fiery movies, like Paan Singh Tomar, because earthy, moving and meaningful movies never win an Oscar, according to our conception of the whole damn thing. We strive to entertain. Pity, the other half of the world pisses on that very word. 

Then came the opinions of the industry personnels, which I often go back to for some comic relief if I'm stuck in a rut and need something to resuscitate me. Someone said,"We don't need the Oscars to prove that we churn out quality cinema." Fine, you two-faced twit. If you win - and believe me, I really hope you do just for this - be sure not to go there to collect the prize. Another dork said,"What's the big deal with the awards, man?" The big deal, man, is that you, in that cocky little life of yours, believe that you live in a country where you don't need to prove that the movies made here are of great merit but there are some who need evidence to buy that idea. Get it?

I don't want to assume that I'll have to wait a whole decade to see a movie that's worthy of competing for the gold. Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean that we make great movies only once in a while but we need to change the way we choose which film to forward for the competition. But missing out on the gold now does hound. Like Tanovic grouched,"We blew it."

We did. And it's going to cost us. 

Essay: The Indian "24" : A landmark? Yes. Great? No.

Last week, the Indian adaptation of 24 hit the screens, eliciting loud groans from the grandmas of the Indian households, who are used to watching saccharine-soaked family-dramas, and making them go bonkers over the violence and the impudence of the show. And it's also no secret that this wily adaptation is, by far, one of the best things to happen to Indian television. The last time I enjoyed a show on Indian television was Kaun Banega Crorepati, a spin-off of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?, back in 2000 when it was actually good. Now it's just filling in for the family-dramas since it's got almost the same amount of tears and melodrama albeit Amitabh Bachchan is a magnificent host as always.

Now, I was also one of those who caught the first segment of 24 as it went on air, bumming around on the couch because the promos looked really promising. A suave Anil Kapoor went bang-bang in a manner so sly that I'm sure half of this insanely populous country would've tuned in just to see that again. Like I did. I've got to be honest, I was hooked on 24 the minute it began. Slowly, gradually, it gripped you, owing to Abhinay Deo's skillful direction and some marvelously brisk editing. What didn't impress was the dialogue, which touched a new corny high, by the way. There's a few "I didn't want to hurt you" or "My country is more important now". Try "I thought I could trust you when I couldn't trust anybody". In any case, they sounded like lines, the characters are characters but there's something that makes it fascinating. Anupam Kher's cameo was terrific, the cinematography is unusually killer for the Indian television standards and the series is intrepid in its storytelling.

24 is obviously created by a bunch of tenacious chauvinists. They've rebelled, to my delight, against the tyrannical Ministry Of Information & Broadcasting, which passes content for television. There's a brief shot of a thumb of a dead guy getting hacked off in the second segment, something that would've been hindered to be shown otherwise. So, I wouldn't really lambaste it as being just another action series because this one's different. This one's significant.

Now, you may wonder why I'm mouthing off when just six episodes are done with. I beg to inform you that 24 is down with the Indian Television syndrome, which is slang for kicked in the nuts. The action has been flushed away, the vile feeling of melodrama has creeped in and there's no way out of it. There's a hint of an odd romance too, which makes me nauseous, and the script, which promised a great deal, like I said, is bitten by the hackneyed bug. The bad thing is that we already know who are the good guys and who are the bad guys. So, if the writers are thinking of making a revelation later on about this, you can pass. The plot of the assassination of the Prime Minister is compelling enough on paper but the sequences which illustrate the situation at the Prime Minister's hotel room are mercilessly boring. That's boring in big, bold letters. And the series, which was supposed to be exhilarating and zippy, is so goddamn slow. If you miss one segment, don't sweat it, really. You'll find out that you haven't missed much and you can still pick up from where you left off.

What infuriated me above all is the unprofessionalism when it came to publicizing the content. And I blame the channel and the team that heads it. If you see the promos, you'll find out that they give away the plot-twists beforehand, without the slightest bit of shame. Why on earth are they doing the hunches for us? Are we pea-brained? Are our heads made of fluff? When you see the heading Next Week, you better close your eyes. Because those bozos are going to tell you, whether you like it or not, what's about to happen. Oh, it's easy-peasy to guess, which is what they've misconceived 'cause they think we'll want to tune in to watch what we already know is going to happen. Those fools!

24 is a landmark surely but that doesn't necessarily mean that it's great. It's cliched, it's predictable and it's a work of craft that's rare. I enjoy watching it because this is something that I haven't seen on Indian television but it did let me down and kicked me in the teeth with its incredibly tacky writing. Still, I'd suggest you watch it because I don't know who'll be the next one to stand up to the customs we have here. Better enjoy it while it lasts, eh? 

Review: Alfonso Cuaron's "Gravity" : Bingo, Houston!

You might have been hearing murmurs that Mexican virtuoso Alfonso Cuaron's Gravity begs to be watched on the IMAX 3D screen, which, incidentally, is also a place where no one can hear you scream. Or gasp. And I'd regret this to the day I'll be on my way to the grave that I missed watching it there, screaming and gasping, like the folks who did do well to go there.

I'll divulge a little secret of mine : I had already read the plot way before the movie even hit the Indian screens. And if you haven't done something this asinine already, don't do it. Because Cuaron ever so cheekily steamrolls your puny imagination and crafts an experience that will be talked about for years. Because I sat there, those fat 3D glasses resting on my crooked nasal bridge, tub of popcorn lay forgotten, iced soft-drink gone runny, and I watched the beauty of quixotic cinema that we seldom get to see.

How irrelevant it seemed to be buying a tub of popcorn when the lady behind the counter paid me a look like I was nuts. And she was right. Gravity doesn't much value your popcorn. But you're in for one hell of a ride when Cuaron explores the vast tract of space with an eye out for detail. Gravity is scary because it's believable and brilliant because it's scary. It's the sort of thing that 3D was invented for in the first place. You get periodic mind-baffling visuals, mystical imagery used sparsely and dialogue that's rigged with tension.

Gravity opens with one of the most beautiful long-takes I've ever seen. A fifteen-minute sequence set against a backdrop of Earth as seen from space, cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki's fluid camera captures the beauty and terror of being up there with no human contact and many miles above the solid ground with effective urgency. And then, after the three astronauts are informed about a catastrophe yet to befall them, they're hit from the oncoming shards of debris. Dr. Ryan Stone, a medical engineer on her maiden voyage, gets entangled and bullets out into the dark space.

Her only hope is Matt Kowalski, a veteran astronaut who comes with a swagger and is also the second survivor of the calamity. As the two stranded astronauts are left howling in space and left to improvise a way out with zilch contact with anyone except each other, you, sitting in that goddamn seat in a theater with a soothing drink by your side, realize like a bolt of lightening that you are about to be taken for one hell of a jaunt.

I'll be honest with you. I rarely watch space movies because they are all bonbon for the eyes, not so much for the intellect. My favorite space movie is Ron Howard's trivialized Apollo 13, which is Gravity minus the hypnotic visuals. While Apollo 13 was too crowded, Gravity is too deserted. Dr. Stone is the only character we get to see, the only character who should be seen, yeah. That tickles the tension and creates a sense of hysteria. Cuaron, who last worked on the stunning dystopian-thriller Children Of Men in 2006, assembles a yet another tightly-wound movie with Gravity. Nothing's added for effect, there's nothing here that's extraneous to the plot. It's a desolate place up there and, as Cuaron shows, there's nothing we can do other than panic.

Gravity delights in its scrupulous detailing. There's a million-dollar shot of a screw lodging out and spinning towards us, which an alert Kowalski grabs. The details are so carefully daubed that they're impossible to notice. Yet they are there in all their glory. Keep your eyes open. They'll be anyway, I guarantee you.

I have only one thing to say about the cinematography, which is easily the best feature of the film : please don't spurn Lubezki at the Academy Awards this year. In one scene, the camera slowly pans in on Stone's face, penetrates her helmet to get her POV of the view and then pops out again. All in one fucking take. Can you believe that? I had to blink to believe what I just saw, if it wasn't an act of some dark sorcery, I don't know what it was. All I could do is mouth a soft, "Wow!" and try to remember it the next time I'd see this movie. I won't forget that, that's not a niggle.

Sandra Bullock, who has been a kind of a nagging presence in most of her movies, is all Oscar stuff. She's utterly believable in a role, which is her meatiest yet, and I was awed to see her carry the whole film so deftly all the way. Dr. Stone is a character easy to empathize with and yet also gallant and inspiring.

George Clooney is terrific in a surprisingly minor role of Matt Kowalski. Clooney, I thought, would be the one riding the mantle but he's reduced to a supporting role. It was strangely wonderful to see him passing on the reins to Bullock, knowing full well what's the movie about and who should be stealing the limelight. It's the most significant sacrifice in a movie that's as much about survival as it is about sacrifice.

Since Gravity is a space movie, there will be comparisons between it and Stanley Kubrick's mystifying 2001: A Space Odyssey. 2001: A Space Odyssey milked an existential-realism theme whereas Cuaron's is more of a survival thriller. I don't think one should necessarily be the better of the two, since they have a crack at two very different theories but Gravity should be proudly placed beside it.

The best movies out there are the ones that make you go, "Whoa, that's something I'm not capable of creating." That thought hassled me for over two hours when I watched Gravity. Those of you who peed their pants watching Avatar in a 3D theatre and went bonkers over it should check it out sometime. Avatar looks wimpish beside it. Gravity is an astounding cinematic achievement that smashes every 3D movie to hit the screens to a bloody pulp.

Review: Quentin Tarantino's "Reservoir Dogs" : These Dogs Bark More Than They Bite.

Back in 1992, before Pulp Fiction created the furor it created, Quentin was digging a crime movie, which is a given considering he's Quentin, about a bunch of guys who have divided views on tipping and Like A Virgin, the song by Madonna. And then, they're put through a diamond heist which goes horribly wrong, which leaves one of them with a lesion, one of them trying to save him, one of them doubting all the things that he can doubt and one of them cutting off the ear of a cop who happened to be a spectator.

Reservoir Dogs had acquired a cult status of the height independent filmmakers can only dream of acquiring. A talky film about a botched heist, we're being thrown into a whirlwind of details about the heist, the people involved and what happened. Here's the thing : we don't actually see it happening. So, we've got to take their word for it. What I don't get is how Quentin arranged the financing needed for this. Made at only a million and a half, the budget may look exiguous but this is a unique film that's an amalgam of an experiment and a commercial project. You may enjoy the incredibly funny discussion on tipping early on in the film, the crackling one-liners but the schizophrenic violence may pose as a problem for you folks. I mean, you really won't savor watching some poor sod's ear being chopped off using a straight razor while having your lunch, would you? Thought so.

So, the shocked men go apeshit after returning to their rendezvous point, an abandoned warehouse. Mr. Pink, the cocky one who doubts stuff, he's the one scared shitless. He's trying to figure out without any luck what just happened. Mr. White, the expert, is trying to save his friend, Mr. Orange, who's been shot in the belly. Mr. Orange's about to die, he's lost a lot of blood and he's losing more every minute. Mr. Pink's all over the place, he's getting on everyone's nerves. Both he and Mr. White degrade the suave Mr. Blonde, who landed them in the soup in the first place. Mr. Blonde was the one who started shooting people and nearly shot them both in an attempt to ward off the cops that were swarming the place.

The script, penned by Tarantino, takes its own time to build the characters and supervise the setup. There's a liberal amount of profanity the coarse jargon is laced with. That's not to say the dialogue is not amusing. Tarantino, the master of great dialogue, delivers a substantial amount of quotable quotes beside the witty one-liners. But he falters when he creates his characters, whom we're supposed to sympathize with, as unfeeling and austere. Which makes it difficult to invest in them, hence the story which runs purely on its characters. Steve Buscemi's Mr. Pink is one evolved character whom I enjoyed watching going nuts on-screen but I'm afraid I can't say the same about Harvey Keitel's or Michael Madsen's characters.

Michael Madsen's Mr. Blonde is a mirthless loony who shoots innocent civilians and captures a cop, Marvin Nash. Later on, before Joe and Eddie, the father-son bad guys who hired the Loony Toons, arrive, he proudly shows off his catch to Mr. Pink and Mr. White, who proceed to coax out some information to a pressing problem they might have : is there an undercover cop in the unit? Mr. Pink suspects there might be, Mr. White agrees and Mr. Blonde just wants to have fun. He's not as interested in finding out as he is in torturing the poor fiend. He cuts off the ear of Nash before being shot.

Here's where I stop with the plot because here's where it gets real interesting. We have a bunch of dorks trying to figure out what happened, trying to keep things cordial but are still suspicious of one another. They drool on each other, commiserate but they would not hesitate to pull the trigger if need be.

I liked Reservoir Dogs. I liked the dialogue, I liked the idea, I liked the ritzy approach. But, what I found really surprising was, I didn't love the movie. Yeah, if you ask me if I enjoyed it, I'd probably say yes. If you ask me if I'd want to watch it again, I'd probably say no. Two contrasting thoughts in essence but they make sense to me.

Look, I liked how it started off. The opening sequence establishes the characters with wonderful finesse, allowing us a glimpse into their thoughts, their way of things. I loved how it was structured, you know. Editor Sally Menke was arguably one of the finest, most influential film editors of her time. But it's harrowing when you find out at some point of time that the director isn't very sold to the idea of making the movie about its characters. He's got a plot he wants to work with. Some of the characters are unevolved, under-written but their thoughts aren't. When we want to know more about the character, we're being told of what he makes of the things that transpired. Sad, sad.

But I'll cut Tarantino some slack. Maybe it's because I'm sitting in my living room in 2013, watching it on television so I have no idea how it was like to sit in a theatre in 1992, watching the hoodlums go cuckoo on the big screen. Time blunts the impact, yeah.

Reservoir Dogs may be the greatest independent film of all-time, because it's a marvelous product to achieve from such a scant budget. But, in terms of storytelling, it promises a lot but not a lot of it sticks. Still, it can be worth your time if you enjoy a piece of cinema that's unique and ornate in its construction.