[Might contain spoilers, many of them.]
The most striking sequence in Mangesh Joshi’s Lathe Joshi sees its mostly silent protagonist, Vijay Joshi, arriving at a busy intersection. The light is not yet green but horns blare. And then, just as he’s about to cross, the light turns green and the vehicles swarm in his direction. They go around him, cutting each other, and nobody stops to let him cross. He stands there, lost. The world is in a damn hurry. It has found a way to get around problems. It is not, at least not necessarily, solving any of them. And Vijay Joshi is yet to catch up.
Joshi appears to be a most simplistic man. Having led a life of routine, he has not stopped once in his tracks and had a look around. The buildings have become taller. The people have become more impatient and cold. He does not know this yet. And one day he is told that he has lost his job to a machine. And it is on this day that he finally has a look and is scared of what he sees. This fear is unclear, something he has never felt before; it is born partly out of desperation and partly out of ignorance. For thirty-five years he has operated a lathe machine. He knows his way around it, all right. To his peers he’s more often “Lathe Joshi” than “Joshi saheb.” And yet, someone has invented a machine that has the ability to surpass his throughput and match his artistry with it, and it certainly did not take thirty-five years to build. It is discernible to us, however, that it cannot challenge his passion. Never that. But how much weight does passion really hold in the world that is far too obsessed with automation?
In most films concerning the relationship between man and machine, there is a thin undercurrent of pessimism pinned to the proceedings. Automation leads to unemployment, which inevitably leads to despair. There is much scope for human drama. But Lathe Joshi does not seem to be interested. It’s more neutral in its examination of a man’s stint with unemployment brought about by automation. Vijay Joshi isn't angry. He does not protest nor does he grumble. He accepts it, not like a man who was ready but like a man who has lost the courage to fight. He is now awake to the modern world, a capitalist world that has been consumed by greed, where machines are employed for throughput and not quality. A world that, perhaps, no longer accepts a beautifully made piston as a résumé. And in this world it is extremely important to upgrade, his peer tells him at one point. This declaration is sandwiched between a brief exchange in which his peer confides in him that he does not comprehend how the machines he has been hired to supervise work, and a tea-boy getting them tea out of a machine. When asked why, the tea-boy simply says the request was for “quick” tea. It is not a particularly incisive detail, but we get the point. They did get tea, but cutting down on manual labor will have consequences when it comes to flavor.
For the most part, Lathe Joshi comes across as two films rolled into one: one about a man trying to keep his dignity during the tumultuous period of unemployment, and the other about him trying to adapt to a home that has already been taken over by machines. His blind mother lives off the noise emanating from the television and a small electronic machine that plays a religious chant over and over again. His wife is wonderstruck by the small miracles of a food processor. And his son, their portal to the modern world, is adept at computer repair and has hardware components strewn all over the house. Machines had penetrated Joshi's personal life a long time ago. But he, someone who has quietly spent most of his life around the cacophony of one particular machine, was oblivious to it. He curiously inspects his son's hardware components. At one point, his blind mother is more skilled than him at changing the television channel. When he offers to help his wife, who runs a small catering business, with an order, she rebuffs him. Unlike him, she’s embracing technology, albeit with the usual hesitation. Joshi, on the other hand, is trying to wrap his head around machines and doing a miserable job of it.
Empathy drives the narrative of Lathe Joshi. The many insights it offers can only come from a place of understanding. At one point, Joshi’s son, the smart aleck of the house, is too slow for the world. It is hardly worth doubting that director Mangesh Joshi has observed these characters and their little dilemmas up close. There is no attempt at turning Vijay Joshi into a hero. We do not feel angry for him. When he wants to buy his own lathe machine, his son tells him he’s too old to run his own business. Maybe he should just sit back and relax. When his son buys a new car, Joshi wants to know when he learnt driving. These are little observations but they contribute significantly when we are trying to put this character into context. For a character who is given only a few lines to say, Vijay Joshi is someone we come to understand and empathize with. And the others who make up his little world – his wife, his mother and his son – are given just the right amount of space for us to examine where they lie in the world he’s been forced to inhabit. We walk away knowing how each of them will go about their lives three or maybe four years from now. And to accomplish this is no mean feat.
Conversely, Lathe Joshi seems to slump just a tad in places because of its repetitiveness. Technology has taken over everything, and they mean everything. The grouchy old woman need not visit a temple to offer her prayers anymore. She can simply go to a website. What’s more, she can even buy a gift while she is at it. The constant reminders about how deeply technology has penetrated our lives are quite unnecessary in a film that is at all times, in one way or another, doing exactly this. But these are simply nitpickings.
I am not sure whether the film would prove to be more meaningful upon a second viewing, but if I do watch it again, I have one particular moment which I would like to savor. It has Joshi visiting his ailing ex-boss, and the guard at his ex-boss’ house is most reluctant to let him in. A call is made through the intercom. His ex-boss cannot come to the phone, of course, so his wife does. The guard mentions that “some Joshi” wants to meet the old man before handing the phone over to Joshi himself. After bringing the receiver to his ear, the woman asks him if he is “Lathe Joshi,” and a smile slowly breaks on his face, lighting it up. He’s been given his identity back. It’s something one cannot put a value on. In a world that no longer seems to recognize his talent, here is hope. I felt my heart soar. And it hadn't soared like this in quite some time.
The most striking sequence in Mangesh Joshi’s Lathe Joshi sees its mostly silent protagonist, Vijay Joshi, arriving at a busy intersection. The light is not yet green but horns blare. And then, just as he’s about to cross, the light turns green and the vehicles swarm in his direction. They go around him, cutting each other, and nobody stops to let him cross. He stands there, lost. The world is in a damn hurry. It has found a way to get around problems. It is not, at least not necessarily, solving any of them. And Vijay Joshi is yet to catch up.
Joshi appears to be a most simplistic man. Having led a life of routine, he has not stopped once in his tracks and had a look around. The buildings have become taller. The people have become more impatient and cold. He does not know this yet. And one day he is told that he has lost his job to a machine. And it is on this day that he finally has a look and is scared of what he sees. This fear is unclear, something he has never felt before; it is born partly out of desperation and partly out of ignorance. For thirty-five years he has operated a lathe machine. He knows his way around it, all right. To his peers he’s more often “Lathe Joshi” than “Joshi saheb.” And yet, someone has invented a machine that has the ability to surpass his throughput and match his artistry with it, and it certainly did not take thirty-five years to build. It is discernible to us, however, that it cannot challenge his passion. Never that. But how much weight does passion really hold in the world that is far too obsessed with automation?
In most films concerning the relationship between man and machine, there is a thin undercurrent of pessimism pinned to the proceedings. Automation leads to unemployment, which inevitably leads to despair. There is much scope for human drama. But Lathe Joshi does not seem to be interested. It’s more neutral in its examination of a man’s stint with unemployment brought about by automation. Vijay Joshi isn't angry. He does not protest nor does he grumble. He accepts it, not like a man who was ready but like a man who has lost the courage to fight. He is now awake to the modern world, a capitalist world that has been consumed by greed, where machines are employed for throughput and not quality. A world that, perhaps, no longer accepts a beautifully made piston as a résumé. And in this world it is extremely important to upgrade, his peer tells him at one point. This declaration is sandwiched between a brief exchange in which his peer confides in him that he does not comprehend how the machines he has been hired to supervise work, and a tea-boy getting them tea out of a machine. When asked why, the tea-boy simply says the request was for “quick” tea. It is not a particularly incisive detail, but we get the point. They did get tea, but cutting down on manual labor will have consequences when it comes to flavor.
For the most part, Lathe Joshi comes across as two films rolled into one: one about a man trying to keep his dignity during the tumultuous period of unemployment, and the other about him trying to adapt to a home that has already been taken over by machines. His blind mother lives off the noise emanating from the television and a small electronic machine that plays a religious chant over and over again. His wife is wonderstruck by the small miracles of a food processor. And his son, their portal to the modern world, is adept at computer repair and has hardware components strewn all over the house. Machines had penetrated Joshi's personal life a long time ago. But he, someone who has quietly spent most of his life around the cacophony of one particular machine, was oblivious to it. He curiously inspects his son's hardware components. At one point, his blind mother is more skilled than him at changing the television channel. When he offers to help his wife, who runs a small catering business, with an order, she rebuffs him. Unlike him, she’s embracing technology, albeit with the usual hesitation. Joshi, on the other hand, is trying to wrap his head around machines and doing a miserable job of it.
Empathy drives the narrative of Lathe Joshi. The many insights it offers can only come from a place of understanding. At one point, Joshi’s son, the smart aleck of the house, is too slow for the world. It is hardly worth doubting that director Mangesh Joshi has observed these characters and their little dilemmas up close. There is no attempt at turning Vijay Joshi into a hero. We do not feel angry for him. When he wants to buy his own lathe machine, his son tells him he’s too old to run his own business. Maybe he should just sit back and relax. When his son buys a new car, Joshi wants to know when he learnt driving. These are little observations but they contribute significantly when we are trying to put this character into context. For a character who is given only a few lines to say, Vijay Joshi is someone we come to understand and empathize with. And the others who make up his little world – his wife, his mother and his son – are given just the right amount of space for us to examine where they lie in the world he’s been forced to inhabit. We walk away knowing how each of them will go about their lives three or maybe four years from now. And to accomplish this is no mean feat.
Conversely, Lathe Joshi seems to slump just a tad in places because of its repetitiveness. Technology has taken over everything, and they mean everything. The grouchy old woman need not visit a temple to offer her prayers anymore. She can simply go to a website. What’s more, she can even buy a gift while she is at it. The constant reminders about how deeply technology has penetrated our lives are quite unnecessary in a film that is at all times, in one way or another, doing exactly this. But these are simply nitpickings.
I am not sure whether the film would prove to be more meaningful upon a second viewing, but if I do watch it again, I have one particular moment which I would like to savor. It has Joshi visiting his ailing ex-boss, and the guard at his ex-boss’ house is most reluctant to let him in. A call is made through the intercom. His ex-boss cannot come to the phone, of course, so his wife does. The guard mentions that “some Joshi” wants to meet the old man before handing the phone over to Joshi himself. After bringing the receiver to his ear, the woman asks him if he is “Lathe Joshi,” and a smile slowly breaks on his face, lighting it up. He’s been given his identity back. It’s something one cannot put a value on. In a world that no longer seems to recognize his talent, here is hope. I felt my heart soar. And it hadn't soared like this in quite some time.
[Not For Reproduction]
