Conversations with two very interesting people, led me to conclude this:
The endless discussions on the Slumdog *issue* seem to resemble rediff messageboards, except some of the opinions expressed are by wordsmiths.
And in comment space, noone can sue you.
There is something very endearing about this acceptance speech by Kunio Kato, I just can’t get enough of it. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Simple, concise. Maybe it’s the language barrier, but he doesn’t thank God, his mom, or his mom’s dog. No thanking the 124 million people of his country either. He thanks his pencil instead.
And the closing reference to Styx’s Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto. Yum.
And since we are talking Oscar bits, this bit by Tina Fey and Steve Martin cracked me up. [God was unfair in his distribution of beauty. But when it came to distribution of humour, it was almost like a lottery. Only very few hit the jackpot.]
A very bad video:
“It has been said that to write is to live forever.”
“The man who wrote that, is dead.”
“Yet we all know the importance of writing, because every great movie begins with a great screenplay.”
“Or, a very good idea for the poster, but usually, a screenplay.”
As usual, I was so busy with the frenzy, I forgot to post this. I was waiting for the dust to setttle.
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Oscars for two scars** – Ledger’s and Latika’s. Not that any of us are surprised. It was written – every critic had predicted it.
I am a huge Joker fan. Remind me to show you the pic sometime.
Slumdog’s sweep is truly a reason to celebrate, especially for A R Rehman, Gulzar and Resul Pookutty, and for Anil Kapoor and for Dev Patel and for Freida Pinto and more importantly for all those oh-so-adorable kids .
I am thrilled, obviously.
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Of course, India is in a frenzy and celebrating as if it’s the country’s victory. It truly maybe a reason to celebrate, because our people have won, but “India’s day out?”. We have always celebrated the individual achievement much more than the collective achievement. AR Rehman deserved it, he had already established his mark, but this is India winning? How? Elsewhere, an individual’s achievement remains solely theirs, you didn’t hear Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova thank the 4 million odd people of Ireland.
Much of the achievement lies in the opportunity. Resul Pookutty did the sound for Ghajini, and I am not sure it is Oscarworthy. Ditto for Delhi-6?
Maybe, I am overreacting and reading between the lines a little too much, but the British newspapers seem to have the subtext of rags-to-riches story of the movie and it’s actors, more than the rags-to-riches story on the screenplay. You know like the Academy were out for a charity drive, and they did their good turn of the year by giving an award to this little Indian indie movie rather than give it to the big-budget monstrosities, for these third world people are deprived and the academy has to be responsible to occasionally give an opportunity or two to the downtrodden..
Whatever. None of this is going to change, so there. We are like this only…
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Mr. Swarup, the author of Q&A, in a very entertaining session at the JLF, said that his book was about luck, whereas the movie is about destiny. I would like to ask him — “With the movie winning all these accolades, and helping you gain international recognition, would you file it under luck, or destiny?”
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**Credit, as always, @manuscrypts.
Will make it short. The thing about Dev D is that everyone has an opinion on it, and the movie has been reviewed/discussed/done to death. Ditto for the story. Sarat Chandra himself considered it to be his worst work.
There is certain comfort that comes from watching a story we already know, it gives us all the time to notice all the little details. The movie has to be a visual treat, a sight for the eyes, a wild ride into the unknown — which Dev D is. Abso-effing-lutely fantastic. Decidedly different from the first time the Kambakht bardasht karne ke liye orders Vodka instead of Whisky.
But I wonder if the impact of the movie is as great for someone who doesn’t know the basic Devdas premise, that he was basically this spineless idiot, who was not worth the mention. Rest – his loving mother, his relationship with his father, the cunning bhabhi, Paro’s mother and husband – is all melodrama. A viewer who has been treated time and again, to a version after another of the same story, Anurag Kashyap’s version is a reward, a redemption. It peels off the layers of the badness of all the people around Devdas, and presents it to us as it is.
I also wonder if it can be considered truly a great movie, for the narrative doesn’t stand on its own, it has references to too many things that have gone by — as opposed to, say, Omkara — including a few odd references to that horrendous previous installment, which put me off the colour red for a few months.
Dev D additionally highlights, quite accurately, the disasters that come with online friendships and relationships. People are naturally more uninhibited, given the pseudo-anonymity that the medium offers. Reality often doesn’t live up to fantasy. Whether the crux of the Dev-Paro relationship was the possessiveness that comes with extreme honesty, or it was the pent up sexuality, I know not – it’s a relief to know that it was doomed anyway.
As for the happy, syrupy sweet ending, like every person, every bad/sad story needs a redemption too.
Rest, you already know..
PS: MO <3 MoMos.
Don’t get me wrong- it’s a wonderful story . And Brad Pitt and his make-up are both absolutely fantastic in their roles – they should both be jointly awarded the Oscar.
But a movie about making the most of our time the should be terse.
165 mins, really.
The Kkaba D idea has quite a few takers, it already has rave reviews. Unfortunately, Kollywood got to it first. The K Konnection, you reckon? Check the rediff review, and read the original idea (which was a collaborative effort):
The riveting screenplay is supposedly based on a true story.
and
Our heroes number seven, the principal of them being K Marimuthu (Vishnu), a gangly, scruffy lad who loses his father at a young age, and is put to work as a goat-herd to the village’s landlord.
and
Movie does manage to have its own special flavour, as our boys slowly go from being under-dogs to a force to contend with.
So: True story – check. Romance – check. Country bumpkin – check. Trouble with coach – check. Underdog story – check. Oh lord, I swear I didn’t plagiarize.
Now what? Have a high budget remake with Saif Khan in the lead – first he’ll be sent packing his abs, while we count. No, abs have already reached the max ab limit. Think of the next body part Bollywood will obsess over. I bet on the butt.
Maybe I should find a job as a scriptwriter.
Kollywood calling?
This blog was about earworms, how did one forget that? So two folksy Hindi songs worth mention:
#1: Genda Phool from Dilli 6. I absolutely love, love, love the lyrics. Such a beautiful metaphor: the Sasural a marigold flower. It looks fine and bright, but doesn’t smell that great. Marigold is such an inconsequential flower, and yet so important. How better to describe the bittersweet experience?
Prasoon Joshi, you rock. After seeing you at the JLF, slight love type thing happened, since I haven’t seen anyone write Hindi poetry for a while. [Aside - I didn't know that Dooba Dooba and Man ke Manjeere was written by Mr. Joshi as well. Did you?]
#2: The quirky Emosanal Attyachar, the brassband version. What is there not to like about it? While Bony Chakravarty as Patna ke Presley makes “tregedy” sound yum, there is this part where he goes “Bol bol why did you ditch me?’, and pronounces “why” the way only a proud Bengali can. O-high. I have spent a quite a few idle hours trying to figure out why I can’t round my w’s that way. Bol Bol ohigh did you ditch me, whore? Cracks me up every single time.
I spent time writing an entire post, so I could add a disclaimer to this review. Just to say that I shouldn’t be judged for this review, for this movie was watched while on board an aircraft and in-flight movies mess with my emotions.
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Rachel getting married is, well, about Rachel (Rosemarie DeWitt) getting married. Though Anne Hathaway’s character, Kym, has been spoken about, written about, celebrated and nominated, the movie is not just about telling her story. It’s about a wedding, and in a Monsoon Wedding kind of way, amidst much song and dance, tells the events that happen during the course of a weekend. It’s about family – the one which is inherited, and the one which is acquired. It’s about the mood of weddings. It’s about the people next door, about whys and wherefores of dysfunctional family. It’s about connecting the dots, reading between the lines. As onlookers eavesdropping on conversations, we are left to figure out their back stories on our own.
Amidst the chaos that troubles all brides – fittings and rain on the wedding day, the person most likely to have a meltdown, the bride’s sister, is having a meltdown. Kym is someone in and out of rehab and has unresolved issues with her parents and her sibling. Constantly observed, discussed and dubbed unforgiven, for a mishap years ago. She is the kind of person you don’t want at your wedding. The good thing about Kym is that she’s trying, clinging to what she has left.
Meanwhile, the bride Rachel is the kind of person who feels she has lost out on the spotlight because of this problem child of a sister, even on her wedding day. The moment of reconciliation between the two sisters is quiet, poignant, and confusing.
Anne Hathaway, every time she twirls the cigarette between her fingers and takes a drag, one winces. In our head, is still the princess, ruthlessly chopped hair and tantrums notwithstanding. A delight to watch, and painfully so, her volatile character has the most wonderful lines. And I would be glad if she wins the Oscar.
One of the toughest choices I have to make is to select which movie to watch in-flight. Strapped to their seat, with not much to do except placing the metal flap into the belt buckle, and the tray-table seat-back yoga, one is sentenced to watch something, anything on the entertainment system.
One can occasionally rub the lamp to get some gin. And use quinine tonic to justify it. Yes, switching the reading light on is also a possibility, but one is usually too greedy to let the free movie pass. God, sometimes, I lose track of what I am paying for.
Somewhere along the line, like rest of entertainment, in-flight movies switched from being a privilege to being a right.
Choosing which movies to watch is even tougher on shorter flights. A 5-hour flight means losing precious half-hours for both take-off and landing . Include the numerous useless announcements about cruising at 39,000 feet, outside temperature, and duty-free sales, and the devil’s workshop is left optimizing the number of movies for the time available. One or two? 128 mins + 94 mins? Losing the last 10 mins of a movie — because antipathetic Aunty snatched your headphones away — is bad. Having half hour of thumb-twiddling-time is worse.
Unlike on planet earth where I rely on the theaters for the new, downloads/DVDs for classics, and BFFs for Bollywood, while aboard there too many choices and too few permutations.. The hazaar options range from: Old v/s New, Oscar hype v/s Oscar hope(ful), Joker v/s Iron Man, Depp v/s Downey Jr, Cruz v/s Cruise, Masala v/s meaningful, Devil v/s Deep sea, Foreign v/s Familiar. No, scratch that. Foreign . The subtitles make me fall asleep. Ditto for rom-com. Comedy is okay, but I wouldn’t want to accidentally laugh out too loud and disturb the sleeping co-passenger. They hardly ever have horror on the list. I would love to lucid dream through that and imagine gory things happening to the snorer seated two rows in front of me.
I also believe, an in-flight movie messes with your mind. I know I am not making much sense while watching a movie on air. I remember weeping during License to wed (don’t ask!). I have watched Fight club three times. I remember enjoying Tashan. It’s usually that random and weird.
My brain drifts and wanders, while I remain on my seat. I navigate through the options – up down left right. And there goes another 15 mins of movie watching time.
Just a couple of days back, we were having this talk about a Kabaddi movie: Kkaba D*, which goes by the tag line: the underdog story. And the teaser-trailers-promos which would say: Hold your breath, in 2009.
It started as a joke about the fact that since we had Shahrukh for Hockey, Aamir for Cricket and John Abraham for Football, who would be the best to promote Kabaddi? It eventually became a full blown attempt at thinking of the plot of a Kabaddi movie .
Kabaddi is a sport for which we have actually won a medal at the Asian games, so it automatically implies it’s based on real life incidents. Add to it a romance with the daughter of coach of a team, and the lead actor getting asthma right before the match at climax — against Pakistan, obviously —- so he can’t hold his breath. Another arc in the story, another member of the team, would be a country bumpkin whose Dad thinks he’s useless because he doesn’t know how to milk the cow. Throw in some national integration. Add Himessbhai doing the rock+pop+dandiya version of the title song, which has only one word, “Kabaddi”, repeated, breathlessly. One just needs to decide which actor gets to play the lead. Suggestions welcome.
Now think about whether such a movie will ever hit theaters? Okay, cut out the exaggeration a little bit, and you will see it’s totally possible. In Bollywood, yes. Ludicrous as it may seem, time and again bollywood is not just repeating itself, it’s busy making spoofs of it’s own movies, only with bigger budgets and bigger names. Nothing has changed, or evolved.
Mainstream escapist cinema. It’s wrong to call ourselves the ones who perfected it, that we are the only protectors of good-beats-evil kind of fantasies. Ironman and Dark Knight are fantasies too, aren’t they? But people playing the part are not bigger than the characters, and hence the stories themselves. Because elsewhere, there are Kung Fu movies or war movies or romcom movies. We have Shahrukh movies and Akshay movies. The stories are irrelevant. Because frankly, Bollywood movies don’t tell stories, Bollywood movies create stars. The star is the opiate of the masses. The script is optional. Hence Bollywood movies, most often than not, aren’t are wonderfully memorable, Bollywood movies are blockbusters.
Of course, that was before the recent spate of masala masquerading as meaningful. In my opinion, a movie doesn’t become memorable or get noticed because the lead character is blind, dyslexic, amnesiac or an asthmatic, because it brings to light his suffering because of poverty, or because it tells us about how colourful India is — it’s when there is a story which is being told, and being told well. Reality or fantasy, unique or repetitive, thrilling or predictable – everyone remembers a story told well. And in Bollywood, we don’t really care about that.
Agreed this is our style of escapism, to consume the same thing over and over again at the end of a tiring day, much like comfort-food, but then we shouldn’t whine about it not being recognized as high-cuisine. This masala is suited for our and only our palette, it’s okay, it’s fine.
So Mr. Bachchan, I am a great fan of yours. I worship your movies. But the true problem is not the fact that the critics/awards ignore us, the fault lies in the fact that we hardly have anything new to offer, and more importantly with the fact that when an esteemed critic like Roger Ebert has a chance to watch mainstream escapist cinema –something which Bollywood has supposedly perfected –we give him Chandni Chowk to China.
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*Credit to @manuscrypts
Also thanks to a thousand people on twitter.
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