Review: Khushboo Ranka and Vinay Shukla's “An Insignificant Man” captures a tale that the papers did not.

[May contain spoilers, many of them.]

You may have never seen Arvind Kejriwal laugh. And by laugh, I mean it originating from somewhere deep within, a genuinely helpless fit of laughter that leaves one chuckling quietly by just looking at him. He’s trying to thwart his colleague’s attempts at recording a voiceover that will accompany the television advertisement for his political party. That laugh – be it from anyone, even a politician – is infectious enough to shatter any preconceived image one may have of them. In interviews and at rallies, Kejriwal comes across as dour and determined, seemingly far too occupied to be amused about something. This moment takes that image and subverts it. Here we see a side of his that prompts his colleague to wonder, “Do the people outside know he can laugh?” We know what he means.

To call Khushboo Ranka and Vinay Shukla’s An Insignificant Man a rare and fascinating gem would be overstating it a little, but it would still be the truth. The fact that it is rare is what makes it so fascinating. We have always been a rather sensitive nation when it comes to politics. We believe it is our constitutional right to shield our leaders from unwelcome criticism, to project them as patriots of the first order, and are ever so keen to see them as men and women of impeccable charm and searing intelligence. The cameras dilute them for us, making them appear more like role models and not like people. Here we see them as people, perhaps for the first time.

What puts An Insignificant Man amongst the year's best films is not just its ability to commendably capture the enormous effort and determination that went into making one of the most remarkable political feats this country has seen in the last few years, but also allow us the luxury of that thrill even if some of us are not inclined to any political party or ideology. It is foremost a story of an underdog wanting to put things right, an underdog whose fight we saw on television, in interviews, through tales and rumors told in buses and trains. But we were declined the opportunity to see what went behind closed doors and pulled curtains. He had supporters and he had haters, and each one, regardless of whether or not they put their trust in him, was curious to know what he could do. He was belligerent, passionate, and outspoken. He took names. He turned many heads. He put on quite a show. I wanted to know more, wanted to keep up with him, even though I never really saw myself supporting his brand of politics. Television reduces these stories of fascinating people to mundane thirty-minute prime-time programs, where they are talked about, dissected, and eventually, inevitably forgotten. Thousands of people tell a thousand tales on television every day and night. Some stories get lost in the shuffle. Some are elbowed out of the spotlight when the next bit of sensational news breaks. What if someone were to stitch the bits that got on television and some that didn't and give us a fully realized real-life character who waged a war against a corrupt system that never spared a chance to try to squash him?

Whether or not An Insignificant Man achieves that is largely our call. It nosily goes inside rooms where he holds meetings with his supporters and refuses to sneak out when he is at his most vulnerable, at his most confused. He wants to do good for his people but also clearly wants to be the final word on all matters. It's not as if the film doesn't take sides; this is a film that is is very much one-sided, but not one-note. It does not eulogize him. It presents him as a person who makes promises so tall that it that puts even his staunchest supporters in a spot. And this is not a film about him, but the battle he and his party fought, a lengthy and complex fight that, over its course, changed the people associated with it and even those who were not, at least directly.

The sort of access the makers get here, uncommon in this part of the world, leads to some fine little details that help us get through to the man – men – we are watching. There is a terrific moment when Kejriwal and his right-hand man, Yogendra Yadav, pensively walk out of a room, down a flurry of steps, and pause to put on their Gandhi caps, a symbol that has come to be associated with the middle-class, before meeting swarms of supporters. It's a moment worthy of a quiet chuckle; in politics, where the absurd is almost never noticed, an identity is essential. They slip into it moments before something important. Even when giving an interview with his trademark bluntness to a television channel after walking out of a film inspired by his movement, he nervously fiddles with the corner of his shirt when the camera moves to the reporter. These details, as trivial and throwaway-like they might seem, make the experience more human, more accessible than any television prime-time program would.

Among other things An Insignificant Man also allows us the opportunity to laugh at not just our politicians, whom we have entrusted to run our gullible country, not just our institutions, but also at the absurdities that we find in every nook and corner of this place. These bits are presented without much gusto, as if they are inseparable to the Indian political scene. My favorite involves two processions of political rivals crossing each other on the road quite coincidentally, leading to an uncomfortable stillness before their supporters erupt with chants. The two rivals have lambasted each other in political rallies and television programs, and now find it a bit awkward to find the courtesy to acknowledge each other openly. They do, of course, but the sequence is an example of how satire finds a way to entrench itself in Indian politics.

Ultimately, An Insignificant Man arrives at a known conclusion, but it leaves us with a satisfied feeling of having watched a narrative that the papers didn't quite capture. There have been countless films over the years that have discreetly highlighted how we failed as a people. An Insignificant Man has something else on its mind. It shows us how we succeeded.

[Not For Reproduction]

Handpicks: The 10 Best Films of 2015 -- Vol. II

I watched some wonderful films released last year in the last three months, and I have tried to include those that were a touch better than the good ones in this list. I still haven't seen some. And since April is upon us already, it might be too late to release another version. But if I may say so, please do not miss Jacques Audiard's Dheepan, Pablo Larrain's The Club, Pablo Trapero's The Clan, Anna Muylaert's The Second Mother and Stéphane Lafleur's Tu Dors Nicole. The buzz surrounding these films is pretty strong and they would make for compelling viewings. I can hardly wait to watch them.

I have divided this post into two sections. So, let's start with:

The Ones That Didn't Work:

(+) Victoria (Germany)

To say Sebastian Schipper's Victoria is impressively made would be an understatement, a mighty big one. The 138-minute crime-drama is shot in a single take with a committed bunch of actors who do a great job. And the camerawork is worth a mention, too. But here is the thing about one-take films: They drag. Things are left undercooked. Editing injects life into a film. For almost an hour, Victoria is tedious. It does get going soon, turning into a fabulous crime-thriller from a heavy-handed drama, but there isn't enough here to redeem some of its drawbacks. The emotional payoffs are abundant. Perhaps scissoring it would have made it a better film.

(+) The Revenant (US)

Alejandro G. Iñárritu's The Revenant is the kind of film that is conceived with the misconception that it will be unquestionably great if it ever gets made. In its 156 gruesome minutes, it does a lot to draw our attention to the fact that it nearly did not get made. And the idea that one should heap praises on it because they got to watch this gory spectacle is an idea that drives it. But The Revenant is a massive, massive disappointment. To be fair, it is a technical marvel that boasts of determined performances from the cast and jaw-dropping imagery (lensed to perfection as usual by Emmanuel Lubezski), but it does little to tell a good story. Repetitive, overstretched till it almost snaps and somewhat mundane, The Revenant tries hard to be as great a film as it thinks it is but never gets there. (Thank God for the 'bear attack' sequence to give me my money's worth.)

(+) Marshland (Spain)

Women get murdered in a small rural town and two homicide detectives who don't quite get along are sent to investigate the case. Does it ring a bell? If you have seen the fine first season of True Detective, chances are that you have seen flashes of Alberto Rodriguez's Marshland in it. Its moody atmosphere and fabulous cinematography are not enough to shake off the the sinking feeling that we have sat through all of it before. There are a handful of intriguing moments, of course, but it never manages to surpass or even rival the skill of its American counterpart. (If you haven't seen the first season of True Detective, this is well worth checking out.)

(+) A Wolf at the Door (Brazil)

Had it been done well, really well, A Wolf at the Door would have been riveting. It is riveting, to be fair, but when it gets to its stunning conclusion it is already a bit of a mess. An intricate narrative employed to tell the tale of a child getting kidnapped is not a good idea because the central plot thread might get lost in the shuffle. And that does happen here. Still, A Wolf at the Door gathers steam near the end and finishes on a high. But the devastating final blow we expected from it misses its mark. And that is disappointing.

Now that I have got that out of the way, here are:

The Ones That Did Work:

(+) Son of Saul (Hungary)

László Nemes' stunning debut is the closest thing to a modern classic I have seen recently, and also the best film of 2015.

(+) Phoenix (Germany)

An elegantly crafted film that drips with atmosphere and mood and offers affecting drama, Christian Petzold's Phoenix is an unusual revenge tale that concerns itself more with an individual slowly coming to terms with a betrayal than how that individual exacts her vengeance. With impeccable performances and a strong narrative structure, Phoenix is never less than masterful. And, of course, the fade-out moment is worthy of a salute.

(+) Theeb (Jordan/UAE/Qatar/UK)

What can be said of one of the finer directorial debuts of last year? Naji Abu Nowar's Oscar-nominated Theeb was always going to be a dark horse, but a rather magnificent dark horse it was. A deliberately paced small-scale epic, Theeb was absorbing and informative, vicariously transporting us to the unforgiving deserts of Jordan while allowing us a rare peek into the Bedouin way of life. Although Norwar had very little to work with here, he managed to produce an earnest, nearly flawless film that we are likely not going to forget anytime soon. That is more than what some directors do on fatter budgets, better production values and with popular faces steering the film.

(+) 45 Years (UK)

Andrew Haigh's delicate meditation on marriage and the fragility of it is explored through the eyes of an aging couple whose relationship is about to fall apart when the past comes knocking. Bolstered by two of last year's most searing performances by Charlotte Rampling and Tom Courtenay, the sharply observed 45 Years beckons us to put ourselves in the shoes of its protagonists, and when we do it forces us to confront certain truths about us. For a small film, what it achieves is sure remarkable.

(+) The Hateful Eight (US)

Twice I have seen this film. And twice I have enjoyed the heck out of it. It is disgusting, yes. Indulgent, also. Maybe even unjustifiably lengthy and verbose. Furthermore, I have been told by some that they think it is among Quentin Tarantino's weaker efforts. To some extent, all of this is true. But The Hateful Eight, with all its drawbacks, is a grand vision, confidently conceived, and it is hard to dispute that fact although one could argue that it doesn't entirely earn that label. Tarantino's gift of creating characters that stay in our memories and giving them lines to say that we hear ourselves saying someday is on full display here, and he makes us envy it. With the legendary Ennio Morricone giving it the sound it needs, The Hateful Eight is a worthy addition to Tarantino's handsome oeuvre.

(+) Steve Jobs (US)

There is no other word to describe Danny Boyle's latest offering: electrifying. The Aaron Sorkin-scripted three-act Steve Jobs may well be a fictitious re-enactment of three of the creative genius' biggest moments, but it is fashioned like a giddily exciting thriller that is more about people trying to win at conversation than people trying to put generation-defining ideas into effect. On any other day with any other script writer we might prefer to watch people create and not talk. But Sorkin's superb writing, coupled with Boyle's sure-handed direction, bears the skill to create vivid characters and bring them to life.

(+) Bridge of Spies (US)

By the mid-2000s, Steven Spielberg had noticeably lost some of the sheen that made him one of the most regarded filmmakers in modern cinema. But that doesn't matter now. Bridge of Spies, while not being among his best and not even being close to being one of his best, is still a damn fine film. It has, among other things, like Mark Rylance's marvelous turn that towers over a veteran actor like Tom Hanks, Spielberg's undying optimism and the usual sentimental punch of a Spielberg venture. Which is surprising, since his last great film was Munich in 2005 and that was Spielberg at his most cynical. Bridge of Spies tramples on safe grounds, but delivers an oddly effective combination of suspense and sentimentality.

(+) Black Coal, Thin Ice (China)

One of the pleasures of watching a suspense film is discovering that we are actually in the hands of a clever storyteller who wants to keep springing surprises, and we surrender instead of trying to outwit them. In this case, the lasting impact of Diao Yinan's slow-burning suspense thriller about two detectives trying to solve an old murder case might have been a bit diluted owing to the romantic angle at its centre that takes up a substantial chunk of the movie's runtime. But it does not negate the sharpness with which this film is plotted. A film that, like any worthy mystery film, keeps throwing us off the rails about its real intentions. Does it want to be a sibling of Memories of Murder, also a detective film but one that expertly blends dark humor, tragedy and suspense? Does it want to be a melancholic romance? We can't say. But by the end, Black Coal, Thin Ice does more than what we expect from it: it convinces us that it was both.

(+) Room (Canada/Ireland/UK)

One of my biggest reservations before I walked into Room was whether director Lenny Abrahamson was the right person to helm or not. It wasn't unfounded, though. Abrahamson had last made Frank, a quirky tragicomedy about a group of wannabe musicians, and was perhaps an unorthodox choice for a seemingly claustrophobic nail-biter. But I need not have worried. Room is an extremely well-acted and efficient drama that cleverly sidesteps the trappings of its genre to deliver an emotional mother-son story under the guise of a thriller. But it is Jacob Tremblay (all of just nine, how extraordinary!) and Brie Larson who, by delivering sensational performances, elevate this indie from the sea of ones like it and make the experience unforgettable.

(+) Our Little Sister (Japan)

(Full disclosure: I'm a huge admirer of Hirokazu Kore-eda's cinema. So, I might sound a bit biased here.) In comparison to 2011's I Wish and 2013's Like Father, Like Son, his last two films, Kore-eda's new film pales, and that might be its only problem. But on its own, Our Little Sister is exactly the kind of gently moving, empathetic and optimistic film we have come to expect from the master filmmaker. Here, he explores with his usual flair and keenness the relationship people share when thrown in the most curious of circumstances, something brought about by fate. And it is the hope he injects into it once again that makes it so likable a film. Ultimately, though, Our Little Sister might be a tad ineffectual for it leaves things a little unexplored. But Kore-eda's touch is unmistakable. And that touch is quite something.

(+) Creed (US)

2013's Fruitvale Station introduced us to two remarkable talents in director Ryan Coogler and actor Michael B. Jordan. Creed does its bit to assure us that they weren't flukes. Resurrecting the Rocky series with style, energy and passion, Creed is a brilliantly made tale of loss and hope that packs a hefty emotional punch. What else, it sure is wonderful to see Sylvester Stallone reprising the role that made him a star, and a star he remains. While he imbues Creed with heart, it is the team of Jordan and Coogler who retain some of the original Rocky's energy and turn this comeback into both a respectful tribute and a standalone jewel.

(+) What We Do In The Shadows (New Zealand/US)

This was a really risky proposition. With the number of vampire movies being attempted every year, it would be truly challenging to find something offbeat in terms of style and, more importantly, substance. But Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement's bromance What We Do In The Shadows is a goofy and inventive mockumentary that is better than most vampire movies I have seen, and one that is reminiscent of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (Although it doesn't quite touch the level of genius of the latter.) Ultimately, the film does overstay its welcome by a small margin, but it provides enough good-humored chuckles to be worth our time.

(+) Alleluia (Belgium/France)

Fabrice Du Welz's Alleluia is a feverish exercise in evil. It is easy to become repulsed by it, and it just as easy to get sucked into it. It is a wild, weird romance, full of passion and intensity and obsession, and it is told with unflinching determination. Loosely based on the true story of the Lonely Hearts Killers who achieved considerable notoriety in the late '40s, Alleluia is barely watchable but makes for a compelling viewing. Not for the faint of heart, though.

The Second Version:

The second version of my list of the best films of 2015, as it looks now:

1. Son of Saul (Hungary)
2. Taxi (Iran)
3. Carol (US)
4. Killa (India)
5. The Look of Silence (Denmark/Finland/Indonesia/Norway/UK)
6. Phoenix (Germany)
7. Spotlight (US)
8. Court (India)
9. Güeros (Mexico)
10. Mustang (France/Turkey/Germany) and Theeb (Jordan/UAE/Qatar/UK)

(Not For Reproduction)

Review: Asif Kapadia's astonishing "Amy" is documentary filmmaking at its riveting best.

We all know Amy Winehouse. That husky voice complementing that jazzy music so perfectly, it flings us in fantasy-land.

But we don't quite know the girl Asif Kapadia shows us in Amy, a devastating account of the rise and eventual untimely death of the songbird for whom fame and frenzy became too much to handle. But here's the thing: this isn't just another account of her life. We know how it is going to end. But how we get there is where the real essence of Amy lies.

What catches your attention right away is how Kapadia treats the material. A teenaged and sassy Winehouse carols the birthday song with her friends, carols for a group of people who are going to turn her into the Amy Winehouse we knew through newspapers, and there is a naiveness about her that simply cannot be overlooked. Swiftly, we recognize her as one of us, one of those commonplace folk who do commonplace things. And it is a particularly impressive move because of the impact it has on us; just like that, we are watching closely. Although I do understand why Kapadia decided to start with this particular clip, for this is a clip filmed way before fame touched her and therefore it gives us a glimpse into the ordinariness of a girl for whom life was about to catch off-guard, I wanted to know how she was professionally. But I needn't have worried. Kapadia takes good care of our queries.

After establishing her milieu neatly, we move on to how she fared in the competitive environment. We hear the voices of her manager, her album producers, best pals, then-boyfriend, documenting her life at every moment and every turn till she became the Amy Winehouse we know. The footage intercuts between her personal and professional lives, and we see how one Amy slowly but surely turned into two different Amys, and it's ruffling.

The story of Amy Winehouse's affair with fame unfolds chronologically, and each sequence gives us an inkling of the extent of the intimidating research Kapadia and his team have put into it. It is like a jigsaw puzzle; he knows where the pieces go, but the way he manages to coerce her associates and family to divulge everything they know about her and assemble the details together into a coherent whole is truly laudable. I say the research is intimidating because even though we might know where the story is heading, what path it follows to its conclusion, we are still under the illusion that we are watching a person we never knew through a microscope. The use of her euphonic music is ingenious; in parts, Kapadia uses her songs to describe phases in her life, and for once we don't listen to them as songs. We find a whole world of meaning behind those lyrics, and begin to comprehend the person who wrote them.

Ultimately, Amy is devastating. It is not easy to mature with someone for over two hours and feel like we have known them our whole life, and then see their descent into eternal silence. Kapadia makes sure we get to mingle with not only the star but also the woman behind it. And one of Amy's -- and Kapadia's -- smaller successes is that we see a woman whom we can relate to in the early parts, and then observe her slowly alienating as we get to know her better. By the end, we are not even sure we knew the same person we wanted to know when we first saw her. And the discovery is shattering.