The 65th Cannes Film Festival

The 65th Cannes Film Festival ends on Sunday, and with it, the ever-interesting speculation about one certain Aishwarya Rai Bachchan’s weight gain and her (im)possible red carpet appearence too comes to an end. So are the discussions surrounding what is perhaps the world’s most recognisable film festival. As always, Cannes sets the tone for what we are going to see for the next one year. (For example, in the last edition of the festival, a small black&white silent film from France, titled ‘The Artist’ premiered here, and a year later, it took home the best film Oscar.)

In reality, Cannes is four different film festival rolled into one. Apart from the Official Competition, there are also Un Certain Regard, the Semaine Internationale de la Critique (Critic's Week) and the Quinzaine des Réalisateurs (Directors' Forthnight). The festival also has the biggest film market including the Producer's Network for upcoming films.

So, thus ends another year. Now, the cinephiles, who weren’t lucky enough to visit the small French town to be there, wait for the films to open where they can see them. Meanwhile, here’s quick recap about this year’s highlights.

Cannes has always been a site of controversy. Every year, there’s one picture, or one person who creates a controversy which gains worldwide importance. Last year, it was Danish filmmaker Lars Von Trier’s comments on Hitler. Some years back, it was the sexuality of Von Trier’s another film, ‘Anti-Christ’. Compared to these past controversies, this years festival was little tame. There was hardly any controversy. Critics liked some films, did not like others, but none felt very strongly about any films, except pershps three films — Carlos Reygadas’ ‘Post Tenebras Lux’, Ulrich Seidl’s ‘Paradise: Love’ and Leos Carax’s return to cinema after 13 years, ‘Holy Motors’.

On the last day, Carlos Reygadas won the prize of best director for ‘Post Tenebras Lux’, literally, Light After Darkness. But, the film is anything but illuminated. Critics said that it’s Mexican filmmaker Reygadas’ most difficult film till date, and it’s saying a lot. I have seen two of his earlier three films — ‘Japon’ and ‘Battle in Heaven’, and the one word I can use for both the films is ‘sinister’. I’ve seen his most accessible previous film, ‘Silent Light’. Reygadas is perhaps one of the few modern filmmaker who is also supremely original visual artiste. It’s not easy to sit through a Reygadas film, with its slow paces and static camera, close to nothing narrative input, not to mention scenes of unsimulated sex which are at best uncomfortable to watch, especially in ‘Japon’, where an old woman undresses before the filmmaker’s unblinking camera. Critics say, ‘Post Tenebras Lux’, which is partly based on the director’s own life, is all these and more, more oblique, more inscrutible, and increasingly wonderous to behold, including a sence of orgy in a Parisian bathhouse.

Ulrich Seidl’s ‘Paradise: Love’ was also criticised for depiction of sex, this time between fat and older white women and thin and young black man in the beach of sex tourism in Kenya where older European women visit to play the roles of Sugar mama. The film is a study of colonialism in reverse, where Seidl refuses to take sides, as both the parties are exploiters are beneficiaries at the same time. The subject matter is not new. The french film ‘Heading South’ with Charlotte Rampling, set in Haiti, had the same theme of heterosexual sex tourism. Unlike the melodrama of ‘Heading South’ Seidl bring is sense of cynicism while discussing the meaning of love in a commercialised world, and in his trademark style, presents this narrative film as if, it’s a documentary.

Leos Carax’s ‘Holy Motors’ is a heady trip to the world of the absurd, and in once sense the tribute to the art of cinema itself. It also a showcase of Carax protogonist Denis Lavant’s marvellous acting skills. A long time back Carax made the wonderful and heartbreaking ‘Lovers on the Bridge’ with a young Juliet Binoche and Lavant as the doomed lovers. Here, Lavant plays 13 characters, all of it while travelling on a white stretch Lino (which by the way can talk) in a single night in Paris. It’s a film you cannot talk about, but needs to be seen.

For many, ‘Holy Motors’ was the best film of this year’s festival and was tipped to be the front-runner in winning the top prize. It’s a shame it did not get any awards. The top award, Palme d’Or, was given to Michael Haneke’s ‘Love’ (Amour). This is Haneke’s second Palme d’Or (which puts him in the league of just a handful of directors who have won the prize twice). He got the award for his last film ‘The White Ribbon’ in 2009. He also won the Grand Jury Prize in 2001 for ‘The Piano Teacher’ and the Best Director award for ‘Caché’ 2005 at Cannes. The film tells the story of two retired music teachers in their eighties and their bond of love. In one sense, this is where Haneke mellows down, and makes his first remotely emotional and optimistic film, compare to his cold, and unflinching, often obscure and difficult story telling. I’ve not seen any of his films completely, he just drains your engery and leaves you utterly black and despondent. I could finish seeing his English version of ‘Funny Games’, and Isabelle Huppert’s crazy ‘The Piano Teacher’. So, all we can say is that when Haneke talks about love, it’s certainly not your run-on-the-mill stuff.

Romanian director Cristian Mungiu’s ‘Beyond The Hills,’ which took prizes for best screenplay and best actress (for both Cosmina Stratan and Christina Flutor). This was Mungiu’s first film since his Palme d’Or winner ‘4 Months 3 Weeks 2 Days’ (2007), the acclaimed abortion drama. This time the church takes the centre-stage.

It seems this year, it was the playing field of the past winners, where Matteo Garrone took the same prize for ‘Reality,’ the Grand Prix (or runner-up for the Palme), which he took some year ago for the Italian crime drama ‘Gomorrah’ (2008).

The American film ‘Beasts of the Southern Wild’ by Benh Zeitlin won the Camera d’Or (best first feature). The film was a breakout hit at Sundance earlier this year and has been a critic’s darling ever since. The film about a young girl and her father who live afloat in a swamp-like place in an unidentified place called The Bathtub, and travels from hyper-realism to surrealism in one sweeping beathe is very difficult to discuss, and that’s the beauty of the film.

The Prix du Jury (jury prize) was given to Ken Loach’s whiskey heist comedy set in Ireland, ‘The Angel's Share’. Like several of his earlier films, this one too is written by his long time collaborator, the very talented Paul Laverty (their last effort was ‘Route Irish’, a film I liked immensely), and deals with a reformed con who finds a tongue for testing whiskey and plans one last heist to spiralling consequences.

The surprise, or shall we say, the glamour highlight of the festival, was Danish actor Mads Mikkelsen winning the best actor award for his role as a very nice man accused of child abuse in Thomas Vinterberg’s taut psychological thriller ‘The Hunt’. It was surprising and heartening at the same time, especially, for the English-speaking world which has seen him as a two-penny villain in Hollywood blockbusters (including being a Bond villain in ‘Casino Royale), or a sidekick to the hero (‘Clash of the Titans’).

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THE BIG LIST: CANNES OFFICIAL SELECTION
COMPETITION; OPENING & CLOSING NIGHT FILMS:

Day One: Wednesday, May 16
"Moonrise Kingdom," Wes Anderson (opening night film)

Day Two: Thursday, May 17
"Rust and Bone," Jacques Audiard
"Baad el mawkeaa," Yousry Nasrallah

Day Three: Friday, May 18
"Reality," Matteo Garrone
"Paradies: Liebe," Ulrich Seidl

Day Four: Saturday, May 19
"Lawless," John Hillcoat
"Beyond the Hills," Cristian Mungiu

Day Five: Sunday, May 20
"Amour," Michael Haneke
"Jagten" ("The Hunt"), Thomas Vinterberg

Day Six: Monday, May 21
"You Haven't Seen Anything Yet," Alain Resnais
"Like Someone in Love," Abbas Kiarostami
"In Another Country," Hong Sang-soo

Day Seven: Tuesday, May 22
"Killing Them Softly," Andrew Dominik
"The Angels' Share," Ken Loach

Day Eight: Wednesday, May 23
"On the Road," Walter Salles
"Holy Motors," Leos Carax

Day Nine: Thursday, May 24
"The Paperboy," Lee Daniels
"Post tenebras lux," Carlos Reygadas
"In the Fog"

Day Ten: Friday, May 25
"Cosmopolis," David Cronenberg
"In the Fog," Sergei Loznitsa

Day Eleven: Saturday, May 26
"Mud," Jeff Nichols
"The Taste of Money," Im Sang-soo

Day Twelve: Sunday, May 27
"Therese Desqueyroux," Claude Miller (closing night film)

UN CERTAIN REGARD:
"7 Days in Havana," Benicio del Toro, Pablo Trapero, Julio Medem, Elia Suleiman, Juan Carlos Tabio, Gaspar Noe, Laurent Cantet
"11.25 The Day He Chose His Own Fate," Koji Wakamatsu
"Antiviral," Brandon Cronenberg
"Beasts of the Southern Wild," Benh Zeitlin
"Confession of a Child of the Century," Sylvie Verheyde
"Despues de Lucia," Michel Franco
"La Pirogue," Moussa Toure
"La Playa," Juan Andres Arango
"Laurence Anyways," Xavier Dolan
"Le grand soir," Benoit Delepine, Gustave Kervern
"Les Chevaux de Dieu," Nabil Ayouch
"Loving Without Reason," Joachim Lafosse
"Miss Lovely," Ashim Ahluwalia
"Mystery," Lou Ye
"Student," Darezhan Omirbayev
"Trois mondes," Catherine Corsini
"White Elephant," Pablo Trapero

MIDNIGHT SCREENINGS:
"Dracula 3D," Dario Argento
"The Legend of Love & Sincerity," Takashi Miike

SPECIAL SCREENINGS:
"The Music According to Antonio Carlos Jobim," Nelson Pereira Dos Santos
"The Central Park Five," Ken Burns, Sarah Burns, David McMahon
"Garbage in the Garden of Eden," Fatih Akin
"Journal de France," Claudine Nougaret, Raymond Depardon
"Les Invisibles," Sebastien Lifshitz
"Mekong Hotel," Apichatpong Weerasethakul
"Roman Polanski: A Film Memoir," Laurent Bouzereau
"Villegas," Gonzalo Tobal

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[Here is what AFP has to say about Mads]

Danish heart-throb Mads Mikkelsen clinched the best actor prize at Cannes on Sunday for his role in Thomas Vinterberg's taut psychological thriller "The Hunt". Italian jury head Nanni Moretti and his eight-strong panel handed the prestigious award to Mikkelsen for his turn as a man who watches his life unravel after he is falsely accused of molesting a child.
"Eighty percent of this is Thomas Vinterberg's prize," Mikkelsen said as he picked up the statuette. "Thank you for inviting me into this universe of collaboration and love."
Cannes jury member Ewan McGregor told reporters after the awards ceremony that Mikkelsen's "performance is subtle and marvelously well played."
Mikkelsen, 46, is best known to international audiences for his role as James Bond's nemesis Le Chiffre in 2006's "Casino Royale" and is now starring in the Scandinavian blockbuster "A Royal Affair".
He told reporters during the festival that the highly-charged material in "The Hunt" required a delicate touch. "We know for sure that way too many kids are being abused out there. We know that, we're not questioning that," he said. "But for us it was very much about when you love something as much as you can love a child, that love can turn into fear when something happens or might happen. And society... can implode with this fear."
With a controversial take on an intensely emotional issue, Vinterberg returned to cinema's top international showcase 14 years after scooping the Grand Prix runner-up prize with "Festen" (The Celebration). In the new picture, Mikkelsen plays Lucas, a divorced father of a teenage boy who is working at a creche. A young girl, the daughter of Lucas's best friend, develops a crush on him while in his care and when he gently explains the boundaries of their friendship, she begins to pout. Later, she tells the creche director that she doesn't like Lucas anymore and claims that she has seen his genitals -- an accusation she later tries to retract but only after suspicion has spiralled out of control. A witch-hunt ensues against Lucas, a hobby marksman, and as the mass hysteria takes hold, his life crumbles around him and he loses his job, his new lover, life-long friends and, potentially, access to his beloved son. Only the son and a close old friend stand by him as the community descends into paranoia and other children, getting swept up in the frenzy, accuse Lucas of molesting them as well.
Vinterberg described Lucas as "a portrait of a modern Scandinavian man -- warm, friendly, helpful and humble... castrated in a way," who is struggling to retain his dignity. Mikkelsen attended the Aarhus Theatre's Drama School and broke out from the pack with his first feature, 1996's "Pusher" by Nicolas Winding Refn, who captured the Cannes best director prize last year for "Drive".
He went on to star in the wildly popular television crime series "Unit One" which picked up an international Emmy award, and later showcased his comic talents in the 2006 hit "Adam's Apples".
The same year, he appeared in the Oscar-nominated "After the Wedding" by Susanne Bier and watched his international profile grow with turns in "Casino Royale", "Valhalla Rising", "Coco Chanel and Igor Stravinsky", "Clash of the Titans" and "The Three Musketeers". He is soon due to co-star with Harvey Keitel in "Cut Throats Nine", billed as a "horror western".

More here.

Amour,’ a Wrenching Love Story, Wins at Cannes: The Warp-Up at the New York Times.

Mumbai

Last Friday (May 25, 2012), I had a whirlwind trip to Mumbai, literally. It's rare for me to wake up at 5 am, and even rarer to be at the Pune railway station at 6.30 am. And, there I was, to catch the Deccan Queen. Thank god, I had reservation. I had a place to sit. After several cups of tea, at 10.30 am, the train pulled up at Dadar Station. From there, I took a cab to the government Colony, Bandra. The day was understandably hot and humid.

After freshening up and having 'poha' for breakfast, we were back to Bandra Station at 12.30 pm. Got into a fast local to Churchgate. It was the middle of the day, so the train was relatively empty, we got a place to sit. From there, a cab to Crawford Market (officially Mahatma Jyotiba Phule Mandai), the mother of all markets in Mumbai, where the colonial past sits perfectly at ease with 21st Century India. In the main market building, a colonial structure, the stone fountains were designed by Lockwood Kipling, father of his famous son, Rudyard Kipling. The building itself was completed in 1869. I wondered aloud why all markets in Maharashtra are named after the reformist leader, Jyotirao Phule (The market in Pune is also named after him). My friend had a tongue-in-the-cheek answer: He was from the Mali community, a community of gardeners, so Malis were flower-sellers.

Our destination, however, was not the imposing building, but one of the numerous bylanes that surrounds it. We were looking for stuff I don't want to mention here. I wasn't buying anything anyway. Then I saw this cap while navigating through the crowded pavement, and I had to have it. I know, no one would ever want to wear this red and floral number, it's too camp, too flamboyant and that's the reason I wanted to have it. Predictably, the guy on the shop quoted an outrageous price, and I haggled on till he gave in. My friend was irritated. He told me the trick: Never make the vendor believe that you want to buy the stuff. Make it clear that you'll buy it only if it's cheap. Otherwise not. Then, he'll lower the price. Anyway, I had the cap, and it was good to have a cap in the sweltering heat. Then my friend took me to a specialised sweatmeat shop in one of the gullies to get his favourite sweet — Mohini Halwa. I had never tried it before. I was incredible.

Then another taxi, this time a shared one, to Churchgate. Then another fast local. This time to Andheri. A autorickshaw at the Andheri station, to the Infinity Mall. It was a long journey and I was not sure we will find the place. Time for a short break. Then another rickshaw to Lokhandwala. I was told that this is a star-studded place. This is where the stars live. This is the place where all the wannabe actors from all over the world hang around till they get that break, or till their dreams are broken. Then, my friends said, these strugglers become fortunetellers, predicting the future of the second generation strugglers.

As the evening wore off, it's back to Infinity, then to Andheri station, a long stopover at a bar, and then back to Bandra.

Okay. The point of this post was not to relay my itinerary, but to make an observation about Bombay — Mumbai. Despite the recent, or shall we say, ongoing drama about Marathi Manoos and Mumbai being only for Maharashtrians, in the day-to-day public life, an average Mumbaikar is more accommodating that they are given credit for. I have just two observations to make.

Here, despite the politics, or perhaps, in spite of it, the lingua franca is Hindi, not Marathi. If two strangers meet, they'd start their conversations in Hindi, even when both parties know they speak Marathi. As they go along, they may switch to other languages, Marathi, Gujarati, Bengali, English, but the start would always be with Hindi. This indicates a rare sense of acceptance. This perhaps is the reason why people continue to travel to Mumbai, from across India.

We were on a relatively empty gully. There was a rickshaw little ahead of us. We hailed at him, but he did not seem to hear. There was a man, in a nice pair of jeans, coming from the opposite direction. He saw us and then whistled at the rickshaw guy, for no apparent reason, other than to help us. And, I was thinking, I wouldn't do that in Pune. I won't just randomly stop to help someone, if the help is not sought.

That's why this is Mumbai.

Unwritten Books

There is a story among the numerous stories of Neil Gaiman’s epic comic book series ‘The Sandman’, called ‘The Hunt’, where a grandfather, an emigree from an unknown country in America, tells a story to his rather Michael Jackson-loving Americanised granddaughter about a boy in the forest a long, long time ago.

The boy, during his hunt, meets an old peddling woman with her bagful of fanciful wares, among which is a locket with a picture of a beautiful, golden-haired girl. The boy falls in love with the girl in the picture. Conveniently, the old woman dies and the boy gets the fantastical wares to sell, and decides to go on and find the girl.

A little while later, a very tall, and very thin man approaches him. He says he’s a librarian and wants the book the boy has among his wares. He’d pay for it of course. But, the boy does not need the gold. The only thing he needs is to meet the girl in the locket.

A lot of things happen soon after. Without going into the details, we can safely say that he, after much trials, fullfils his dream to meet the golden-haired girl, and seeing her asleep in her luxurious chamber, he realises that she’s not for him.

But, what about the librarian? Finally, the boy agrees to give the book to the librarian. He was a hunter, after all. He did not know how to read. But, who was this librarian and what was this particular book that he was so obsessed about?

It turned out the book was ‘The Merry Comedie of the Redemption of Doctor Faustus’ by Christopher Marlowe (the book perhaps he’d have written if he was not killed), and the librarian was Lucien, the keeper of books at the palace of the Dream King Lord Morpheus. In his library are the books which its authors conceived and planned to write some day, but could not, for one reason or the other. All those books, never written, never to be read by a living soul, are with Lucien, and he guards the secrets of these books zealously.

Tail piece: Just wondering; perhaps there would be an entire shelf of books in Lucien’s library, never written by me.

The Owner

Have you heard of this one? I did not. Apparently, it’s quite a project. The feature film is called ‘The Owner’; it tells the story of a backpack in search for its owner. It was shot in five continents, with numerous characters and numerous languages. That’s not all. The film is directed by, not one, two, or seven (like the new film, ‘7 Days in Havana’), but 25 directors from the world over, including a few from India.

The film premiers on May 25 at select venues at the cities from where the directors hail. So, there would be screenings in Delhi, Mumbai and Kolkata (And, in Bangalore the next day). Why on May 25th? Because it’s 25-5-(12), 25 directors, 5 continents. Sounds awesome!

Here’s the details from the producers: “The first-of-its-kind CollabFeature film, “The Owner” will premiere around the world on Friday, May 25, 2012. Filmed by 25 filmmakers on 5 continents, “The Owner” follows the adventures of an old backpack that is passed from character to character around the world. As the journey progresses, we learn details about the mysterious man to whom the bag belongs.

The story, written collaboratively over the internet, brings together a variety of cultures, languages, and film styles into a singular narrative plot. On May 25th, the filmmakers, most of whom have never met, will host same-night screenings in theaters in their own cities...”

To sign-up for screening in your city and other details (watch the trailer; it looks swell..), visit the site http://www.collabfeature.com/theowner/.

Here’s the wikipedia page.

The Pilgrim Ruminates:

“Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter,” wrote British poet John Keats, and how true! As human, we tend to hanker after things which are unattainable; which do not exist — like God, for example, or happiness, or love. Instead of counting the blessings, we count the curses. Instead of being happy with what we have found, we look for things which are lost. This is our tragedy. This is the tragedy of the human race, and this is my personal tragedy. My life has been a series of events that did not take place. Instead of looking ahead, I am, as if, sitting on the last seat of an empty bus, looking behind at the road that the bus had just passed by — oh, those flowers, that tree, that ingeniously-shaped stone, that milestone, those beautiful people waiving at me. I cannot even decide to ask the driver of the bus to stop so that I can get down and join them. By the time I make the decision, I have already crossed them, to find, to see, another wonderment, and to face another indecision, and to carry on, just like I always did. Lost.

Straight

Men and woman have been having sex for as long as there have been humans. So how can we talk about there being a “history” of heterosexuality?

Hanne Blank, the author of the recently-released book, very helpfully titled, ‘Straight: The Surprisingly Short History of Hetrosexuality’, says, “We can talk about there being a history of heterosexuality in the same way that we can talk about there being a history of religions. People have been praying to God for a really long time too, and yet the ways people relate to the divine have specific histories. They come from particular places, they take particular trajectories, there are particular texts, and individuals that are important in them. There are events, names, places, dates. It’s really very similar.”

Read the full interview here.

The 'Camp' Amitabh

Sometimes back a friend of mine argued that Hindi films, produced in that mythical, non-existent place, proudly referred to as Bollywood, are the perfect examples of “Camp”, as defined and popularised by Susan Sontag. There’s some truth in the statement. I remember a long time back a friend elucidated the reason why he loves Hindi movies: It gives him a perfect antidote to his own drab existence. In Hindi films, everything is larger than life, even a poor man looks well groomed and wears designer clothes, you get the drift...

Coming back to Camp sensibilities, yes, everything in Hindi films are exaggerated, everything out there is artificial, starting with the lovers breaking into songs as soon as they fall in love. (A German friend once pointed out: “In our films, when the lovers fall in love, they make love; here they sing a duet.”)

Though my friend was eloquent in his arguments, I had my doubts. First of all, being camp demands a conscious attempt at being camp. A drag queen is a drag queen when he imitates being a woman, but doesn't try to be the woman herself. If a man dresses up as woman to pass off as woman, it’s not camp, it’s something else. Therefore, I find it hard to categorise Govinda’s drag acts in almost all his films as camp, it’s something else, a naiveté.

Now that the latest RGV film, ‘Department’ is out to universally bad reviews (what did you expect?), I can talk about our good ole’ Amitabh Bachchan’s camp avatar in the film. If “Camp” means excess in all its various meanings, then the “colourful” underworld don character Mr Bachchan plays in the film qualifies to be camp. I would like to believe that Mr Bachchan knew what he was doing when he signed up to do this, yet another, inane role (Otherwise, how would you continue to respect this man, who was once a “superstar.”).

Anyway, whether you liked ‘Department’ or not (no, I’ve seen the film, only the promos), one thing is certain, Mr Bachchan had a good time playing his part. There is a child-like enthusiasm in his dressing up the way he does in the film, with an anklet and all. Like a child appearing for a fancy dress competition!! Such innocence!!

But, what I found most camp in Mr Bachchan’s get-up was the bell on his wrist, yes, the twinkling bell on his wrist. Seriously. Why on earth anyone would want to wear a bell on his wrist? On the second thought, why not??

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Here's what Wikipedia has to say about Camp:

Camp is an aesthetic sensibility that regards something as appealing or humorous because of its deliberate ridiculousness. The concept is closely related to kitsch, and things with camp appeal may also be described as being "cheesy". When the usage appeared, in 1909, it denoted: ostentatious, exaggerated, affected, theatrical, and effeminate behaviour, and, by the middle of the 1970s, the definition comprised: banality, artifice, mediocrity, and ostentation so extreme as to have perversely sophisticated appeal.

American writer Susan Sontag's essay Notes on "Camp" (1964) emphasised its key elements as: artifice, frivolity, naïve middle-class pretentiousness, and ‘shocking’ excess. Camp as an aesthetic has been popular from the 1960s to the present.

Camp films were popularised by filmmakers George and Mike Kuchar, Andy Warhol, and John Waters, including the latter's ‘Pink Flamingos’, ‘Hairspray’ and ‘Polyester’. Celebrities that are associated with camp personas include drag queens and performers such as Dame Edna Everage, Divine, RuPaul, and Liberace. Camp was a part of the anti-academic defense of popular culture in the 1960s and gained popularity in the 1980s with the widespread adoption of postmodern views on art and culture.
More here.

Dead Lovers

Sometimes back, while writing about the recently-released Hindi movie ‘Ishaqzaade’, I discussed about star-crossed lovers and tragic love stories, and while doing so, I had mentioned Romeo and Juliet. Over the years, Romeo and Juliet has become a shorthand for all tragic love stories, all love stories for that matter, a loverboy is called Romeo, not Majnu(n) or Ranjha... Now, ‘Ishaqzaade’ is playing at the theatre near you and the reviews are mixed — some liked it, some hated it — some liked it for the strong female lead played by a feisty Ms Chopra, and some hated the film for forcing this feisty female lead to be a victim of a ‘honour killing’-like situation.

I was thinking of star-crossed lovers, two young people, who, after seeing each other in a chance encounter, throw caution in the wind and embrace death as the only means to be with the beloved. I was thinking when the Romeo-Juliet story became the template for such universal stories, especially in India, where we have our own versions of Romeos and Juliets. Is it because of a certain person called Mr Shakespeare, or it is the colonial hangover, or is it the occidental influence? Or, is it that they die in the end?

Pre-colonial, pre-Mughal India was far more optimistic to lead the protagonists of their tales to violent deaths. Though there were trial and tribulations, there were breakups and separations, lovers pining away in melancholia (‘Biraha’ was a genre in itself; case in point, Kalidasa’s ‘Meghdootam’), the traditional Indian love stories would always end with a happily ever after mode. A traditional Indian reader/audience wouldn’t invest his/her energies on a tale that doesn’t end in a happily ever after. Case in point the story of Shakuntala, or the story of Nala-Damayanti. Or Malavika-Agnimitra. In Assam, Usha-Anirudha.

No, not all stories did end happily, the Kannagi-Kovalan episode for example, with the man hanged and the woman, furious, burning down the entire Madurai city.

Anyway, the tragic love stories came to India via the deserts, with the Mughals and the Sufis. Sufism, actually, has a strong connection with these tragic “virgin love stories”, which always must end in death, because, such love, such unbridled passion cannot be consummated in this material world of flesh and sin. Why virgin love stories? Because, in almost all the stories, the love between the pair transcend the body and the desire of the flesh. In most cases, the lovers fall in love before they meet, or talk to each other, and like a virus, it affects them in such a way that they forget everything else.

But, what Sufism has to do with it? Apparently everything. Since this love is more spiritual than physical, it corresponds to the Sufi idea of love, where the devotee loves god as his lover. So, Majnu’s love for Laila is not just a man’s love for a woman, it’s the soul’s desire to meet the god; it corresponds to Meera’s love for Krishna. And, that’s the reason, Laila-Majnu should die. Their love cannot be polluted by the materialism of the world. That’s why Manju(n) is what he is, a madman, an image which can aptly describe a Sufi saint (“Meera rani deewani kahane lagi...”).

The legend of Laila’s love story has shades of Romeo-Juliet in more ways than one. His name was Qais. He was called Majnu, the mad, after he saw the petite Laila; her name means dark beauty, or, like the night. Like in the story of the Shakespearean lovers, Qais and Laila’s families are sworn enemies. Laila’s brother killed Qais’ father and the latter extracted his revenge, the way Romeo killed Paris. And then, you know the story...

But, Laila-Majnu are not alone. There are whole lot of them, unlucky young lovers, who died — Heer-Ranjha, Sohni-Mahiwal — all popularised by Bollywood. There are others — Dhola-Maru, Mirza-Sahiba, Sassi-Punnun, Yusuf-Zulaikha, Heer- Ranjha, Shirin-Farhad. I’m sure I have forgotten some important names. Observe how most of these names begins with the girl’s name first. This is something to ponder over when you think about Romeo-Juliet (It begins with the boy’s name!) (And, look at the ‘Ishaqzaade’ posters, it’s all in Hindi, most of the posters anyway!)

Back to the moot question. Why Romeo-Juliet? Someone told me a long time back: The human civilisation has said nothing new since Mr William Shakespeare. Whatever stories we tell, it’s a variation of what Shakespeare did in his works. Is it true? (The ghost of the Earl of Oxford would be happy — that is, if you have seen the Roland Emmerich film ‘Anonymous’ and trust the very fetching conspiracy theory.)

Tail piece 1: A friend asked what ‘Ishaqzaade’ means. That’s a good question. What does it mean? I say, it means ‘Loverboy’, in a derogatory, disdainful way. ‘Ishaq’ is a rural, broken version of the Urdu ‘Ishq’, which means love. ‘Zaade’ or ‘Zaada’ is a title, a secondary one, like ‘Shah-zaada’, meaning, a prince, and ‘Shaheb-zaade’, meaning a man of importance. It’s all confusing...

Tail piece 2: While thinking about tragic love stories, I’ve been listening to the soundtrack of the Rishi Kapoor-Ranjeeta version of ‘Laila-Majnu’ with music by Madan Mohan & Jaidev with lyrics by Sahir Ludhianvi. What songs! I especially like ‘Likh Kar Tera Naam Zameen Par...’ Such passion!

Tail piece 3: Talking about universality of themes, and the same old love stories, here’s something about same songs.

I loved the ‘Rockstar’ song ‘Nadaan Parinday’, when Mohit Chauhan asks the crow to spare his eyes as he still waits to see his beloved (Khahiyoo na do nain mohe/ Piya ke milan ki aas...), recently I heard the same lyrics in a song in a B-Grade Mithun Chakraborty film (I don’t remember the name of the film; but in the song, he’s on the street and all chained up.)

Now, the ‘Raavan’ song, with Gulzar lyrics (Ranjha ranjha na kar Heere jag badnami hoye/ Patti patti jhar jaave par khushboo chup na hoye...), it’s a great image of love. Then, the other day, I head the same lyrics in a Kailash Kher song. I am sure the origin of the lyrics is somewhere else. I’m intrigued.

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More on Dhola-Maru here.
More on Heer-Ranjha here.
More on the film Laila Majnu here.
Watch Likh Kar Tera Naam Zameen Par on YouTube.

Warriors of the Rainbow: Seediq Bale

‘Warriors of the Rainbow: Seediq Bale’, the most popular Taiwanese film released last year, is a unique beast. In the first glance, it looks like a typical action picture, highlighting the fight between the Taiwanese indigenous tribe called the Seediq, and the imperial Japanese forces in the island in the 1930s. However, beneath these scenes of death and decapitation, the film also portrays the rich, organic world of the Seediq tribe and their nationalistic pride.

The Seediq myth believes in the afterlife where they would meet their ancestors beyond the rainbow bridge. But there is a condition. A Seediq man must kill to prove his worth, his hands must have blood, and when, after his death, he reaches the rainbow bridge, his ancestors would look at his hand and will see the blood and allow him the entry. He’d then become the “Seediq Bale”.

Towards the end of the film, as the tribe, under the leadership of their chief Muana Rudo, attacks the imperialists, and a long battle ensues (reminds you of Roland Joffe’s magnificent ‘The Mission’), the soundtrack plays a Seediq folk song, highlighting the motto of the Seediq life… (While we know Japan’s fascination for death, this film offers another glimpse of another tribe’s fascination for afterlife…)

Here’s the song copied from the film’s subtitle file.

(Oh, my children, I know)
(In those passionate days)
(You've learned a song)
(To sing for the soon-be-forgotten ancestral spirit)
(Every note tightly embraces our ancestors' spirits)
(The pride of your souls is like lightning in the clouds)
(No enemy dares to gaze at it)
(But my children!)
(Your hatred darkens the heaven and the earth)
(The distant stars are nowhere to be seen)
(Oh, see how the stars are dimming)
(My children!)
(The chilling light reflected off the tips of your machetes)
(Makes the moon seem pale as wax )
(The bloodstain on the tips of your machetes)
(Keeps the night fire burning bright)
Someone's here!
(Listen, children!)
(The sound drifting down from the forest)
(ls it the sigh of our ancestors' spirits?)
(Or is it the sigh of the wind?)
(Listen, children!)
(That sobbing flowing down the Jhuoshuei River)
(ls it our ancestors' spirits weeping?)
(Or is it the clouds crying?)
(Oh, my children!)
(Oh, my children!)
(Look! The world keeps shivering)
(Look! The bark of Pusu Qhuni is peeling off)
(Touch your bloodstained hands)
(Can they still hold the sand from our hunting grounds?)
(Touch your angry forehead)
(Can a beautiful rainbow bridge still be spread out over it?)
(Touch your uneasy mouth)
(Can it still speak in all four seasons?)
(Oh, my children! Do you know?)
(All the pinecones have broken in the wind)
(The teary moon stops you from walking towards death)
(The gloomy clouds cannot shelter the sadness)
(That's sailing towards the dim starlight)
(Oh, my children! Do you know?)
(Time is light as a flame)
(That lights up the stars in your souls)
(Your dreams are vast like a blue ocean)
(But the joyous tears in your souls have dried out)
(Oh, my children! Do you know?)
(Your hatred darkens the heaven and the earth)
(The distant stars are nowhere to be seen)
(Oh, see how the stars are dimming)
(My children!)
(The chilling light reflected
(Makes the moon seem pale as wax )
(The bloodstain on the tips of your machetes)
(Keeps the night fire burning bright)
(Listen, children!)
(The sound drifting down from the forest)
(ls it the sigh of our ancestors' spirits?)
(Or is it the sigh of the wind?)
(Listen, children!)
(That sobbing flowing down the Jhuoshuei River)
(ls it our ancestors' spirits weeping?)
(ls it our ancestors' spirits weeping?)
(Or is it the clouds crying?)
(Oh, my children!)
(Oh, my children!)
(Look! The world keeps shivering)
(Look! The reddened earth is silent)
(Look! The bark of Pusu Qhuni is peeling off)
(Touch your bloodstained hands)
(Can they still hold the sand from our hunting grounds?)
(Touch your angry forehead)
(Can a beautiful rainbow bridge still be spread out over it?)
(Touch your uneasy mouth)
(Can it still speak in all four seasons?)
(Oh, my children! Do you know?)
(All the pinecones have broken in the wind)
(The teary moon stops you from walking towards death)
(The gloomy clouds cannot shelter the sadness)
(That's sailing towards the dim starlight)
(Oh, my children! Do you know?)
(Time is light as a flame)
(That lights up the stars in your souls)
(Your dreams are vast like a blue ocean)
(But the joyous tears in your souls have dried out)
(Oh, my children! Do you know?)
(How much pain do you swallow to sing the song of our ancestral spirit?)
(How much shame do you swallow to speak what you want to say?)
(How much regret do you swallow to fulfill your dreams?)
(Oh, children! What's wrong with you?)
(Oh, my children! What exactly is wrong with you?)

Che Guevara On A T-Shirt

Binoy would have laughed if he could. He appreciated the irony of the situation. But, his facial muscles did not listen to him anymore. After one month in the Army camp and two more months in a hospital in Mumbai, his body was no longer a real thing, but a patchwork of sorts, a steel screw here, a stitch there. He stood there and let the young girl have her way. She was looking for a t-shirt for her boyfriend. She was not sure what to pick up till she saw the scarlet number, with a huge face of Che Guevara printed on it. She pulled the t-shirt from the hanger and held it at arm’s length. She was still not sure. It was then she walked up to Binoy and asked him, “Do you like it?” Binoy nodded: “It’s quite trendy.” The girl removed the t-shirt from the hanger and placed it on Binoy’s chest, as if he was actually wearing it, with the face of the popular Argentine revolutionary encroaching upon his tiny frame. The girl made up her mind. She’d take it. Binoy folded the chosen one and showed the girl the billing counter.

The floor was empty after the girl left. Binoy arranged the garments the girl had ransacked in their place and chuckled. There was a time when the legendary evolutionary was his role model. He did not need to wear a t-shirt, his heart was filled with Che’s wisdom, and he was convinced that one day he’d be able to translate these ideals for Asam as well. At last, that’s what Kalitada told him.

They had stepped out to liberate this land.

The land changed, but not the way Binoy and his friends wanted it. It changed as a result of a series of devastating miscalculation and in the process, changed them as well. Kalitada was lucky; his exit came much before the wind of change blew, and after several disastrous years, he, Che’s devoted follower, was a salesman at a swanky mall, a monolith of the capitalism itself.

Binoy would burst out in rage if he could. But, he wasn’t sufficiently alive, even to be angry. The future had side-stepped him, a long time ago.

He had seen those t-shirts with Che Guevara’s famous photographs printed on them the first he came to work here. He knew the picture. But, he did not have the courage to look at Che’s face closely. He could stand those piercing eyes anymore. There was a time when those very eyes gave him hope, the will to go on. Now the war was over and time had forgotten him.

Binoy thought about the girl and her boyfriend, who’d proudly wear the t-shirt. Did they remember the misguided revolution? Did they remember those who died? Did they remember those who betrayed? Binoy doubted it. Those people who came to shop here, the citizens of this state, the future of his land, Binoy observed them from a distance. They did not look like the people Binoy once knew. Binoy did not know them. It was the same Guwahati. But, Guwahati had changed.

There were times Binoy wondered if he should tell his colleagues about his previous life. He was not sure. He was not sure anyone would believe him.

Guwahati had changed. Even for an expert in economics like Binoy the way the retail market in the city had developed over the years was a mystery. Those days when he was in the Liberation Front, economic independence of the state was a major issue. Now, all of a sudden, the city was flooded with money. Where did this money come from? There was a time when Fancy Bazaar was the place if you wanted to buy clothes. Now, you visit Vishal Megamart. Binoy couldn’t complain though. The very shop was his employer as well.

(Part of a short story I am working on.)

The Pilgrim Waits

I sit here. On the banks of

This pregnant river, for

One century, perhaps two,

An eternity

I wait, and the river,

My unwilling companion

Remains pregnant…

One day, she’ll give birth

To a civilization, perhaps two

I cannot be certain, and

This is not my concern

I just want to cross the river and

Be on my way, my unknown destination,

Far from this about-to-be-born

Civilization and its pregnant mother…

I sit here.

I cannot cross this pregnant river and

The river cannot give birth

It isn’t time yet,

And time, like future itself is

Missing – dead and gone.

I sit here.

Collecting the twig, and leaves and branches

On the banks, I fashion a barge, an

Instrument of travel, a means of movement

On the swelling belly of the pregnant river.

If not me, perhaps this

Barge of twig and leaves and branches

Will find its destination.

At least, a deferent spot…

Rust and Bone

May is an exciting month for those who follow world cinema. It’s the time for Cannes film festival. It will set the mood for what films we are going to see in the next one year. This year’s line-up for Cannes film festival is already out and the buzz has gathered momentum, with critics complaining that this year’s competition section has more American film than there should be and there are no films by woman directors. Grumblings aside, masters of world cinema, including the venerable names like Jacques Audiard, Leos Carax, David Cronenberg, Michael Haneke, Abbas Kiarostami, Ken Loach, Alain Resnais, and even Carlos Reygadas are here with their new films.

For someone in India, without much resource, even if I am cinema freak, and super exited to see the new films by my favourite directors, I will have to wait for at least for a year to lay my hands these titles. That’s what I’ve been doing in the last few years and so I shall do this year as well. Sometimes, this waiting has its charm; sometimes its killing, when you want to see a film badly and you cannot.

There were a number of Cannes films I wanted to see so badly when it premiered and had to wait more than a year before I could actually see it. I remember ‘Anti-Christ, ‘Uncle Boonmi Who Remembers His Past Lives’, ‘Broken Embrace’, ‘A Prophet.’

With ‘A Prophet’, we come to the film I want to see so badly this year — Jacques Audiard’s follow up to his 2009 prison drama, ‘Rust and Bone’. I have seen all the three previous film of the French director, including — ‘Read My Lips’ (Sur mes lèvres, 2001) and The Beat That My Heart Skipped (De battre mon cœur s'est arrêté, 2005). (And I have a soft corner for ‘Read My Lips’, it’s a slow-burning, violent and beautiful film. Someone would remake this in Bollywood, with Vidya Balan and Ajay Devgn in the lead. Abbas-Mustan listening?) I cannot wait to see what he does this time.

There are other reasons for me to be excited about this film, based on a short story by Canadian author Craig Davidson. For one thing it stars Marion Cotillard. I can watch her in any film. Then, the film stars the young Belgian actor Matthias Schoenaerts, who was tour-de-force in last year Oscar nominated ‘Bullhead’, about which I have written elsewhere.

A long wait lies ahead.

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Rust and Bone (French: De rouille et d'os) is an upcoming French-Belgian film directed by Jacques Audiard, starring Marion Cotillard and Matthias Schoenaerts. Based on Craig Davidson's short story collection with the same name, it will tell the story of an unemployed 25-year-old man who falls in love with a killer whale trainer. The film has been selected to compete for the Palme d'Or at the 2012 Cannes Film Festival.[Wikipedia.org]

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The Competition Films At Cannes This Year
"Moonrise Kingdom," Wes Anderson (opening film)
"Rust and Bone," Jacques Audiard
"Holy Motors," Leos Carax
"Cosmopolis," David Cronenberg
"The Paperboy," Lee Daniels
"Killing Them Softly," Andrew Dominik
"Reality," Matteo Garrone
"Amour," Michael Haneke
"Lawless," John Hillcoat
"Like Someone in Love," Abbas Kiarostami
"The Angels' Share," Ken Loach
"In the Fog," Sergei Loznitsa
"Beyond the Hills," Cristian Mungiu
"Baad el mawkeaa," Yousry Nasrallah
"Mud," Jeff Nichols
"You Haven't Seen Anything Yet," Alain Resnais
"Post tenebras lux," Carlos Reygadas
"On the Road," Walter Salles
"In Another Country," Hong Sang-soo
"Taste of Money," Im Sang-soo
"Paradies: Liebe," Ulrich Seidl
"The Hunt," Thomas Vinterberg

Black & While

Here’s another fashion trend. This summer, fashion goes black & white. Sometimes back, a friend decided to give me a gift. So, we went to a shirt shop. Not the branded ones, of course. There were too many colours to choose from. That’s when I saw the black & white number with big bold stripes. I found the shirt striking and unusual. Soon, it was mine and I was very proud of it.

I wore it once to general appreciation. But since then, I am seeing more and more people wearing similar shirts; I have also seen them on shop displays, even branded ones. In short, these black & white stripe shirts are more common than I’d have imagined.

I wonder if it’s really a new trend, or it’s just me who’ve noticed it for the first time.

Ishaqzaade

Sometimes I’m surprised by my own testes. I’m not a Friday first day first show person about Hindi movies anymore. I was at one point of time. Not now, when every other Hindi film looks and feels like the previous one. Hence, I was surprised when I thought I would like to see the new Karishma Kapoor comeback vehicle, ‘Dangerous Ishq’ in theatre when it releases, not necessarily in 3D though. Recently, I had a few days to watch TV and I found the promos very exciting, especially Karishma in traditional Rajasthani attire. She looks like a million bucks and reminded me of her ‘Zubeidaa’ days. (Observe the way she runs up and flings herself on her lover. Who’s that guy anyway?) The promos reminded me of her ‘No 1’ days when she starred in all those comedy films with Govinda and Salman Khan. They were such nonsense fun. (Remember the song ‘Mein toh raste se ja raha tha...’)

I did not know I was a closet Karishma Kapoor fan! I hope it’s not a very bad thing.

However, the one Hindi film I am eagerly waiting for is ‘Ishaqzaade’. The promos look promising and you expect this Yash Raj production to strike gold. Is this going to be the blockbuster debut movie of the year, in the tradition of ‘Ek Duje Ke Liye, ‘Quayamat Se Quayamat Tak’ and the recent, ‘Kaho Na... Pyar Hai’, or ‘Na Tum Jano…’?

Perhaps. The film looks like an epic love story, with newcomer actors, in a tradition perhaps popularised by Raj Kapoor’s ‘Bobby’, where star-crossed lovers meet amidst blistering violence, a Romeo and Juliet version (or to give an Indian example, Heer-Ranjha). The film has, in so far I have seen, in Arjun Kapoor’s breaded half-mad persona and Parineeti Chopra’s spunky middle class girl cockiness, that feel of a classic love story, where the lovers meet, fight and then become inseparable, till death do them apart, one of those rare gems the entire nation fall in love with. The last such film, according to my opinion, was ‘Kaho Na Pyar Hai’, Hrithik Roshan’s record-breaking debut.

These days films make more money, gets talked about, but rarely do we have a film that fires the public imagination as if it was the last thing in the world. I remember when ‘Maine Pyar Kiya’ was released. For the next six months, there was nothing except this film. You would heard the soundtrack everywhere you go. Boys would sport the ‘Friend’ cap and the leather jacket, the girls would pester their tailors for that dress Bhagyashree wore in the ‘kabootar ja’ song. (I remember the first time I saw ‘Maine Pyar Kiya’, I saw it for the entire day. We had rented a video player. Once the film was over, we’d rewind the cassette and watch the film all over again. There was never a dull moment. No wonder, it is still my favourite film). And, do I need to mention ‘DDLJ’?

Those days of innocence are long gone. Even the highest grossing Hindi film, ‘3 Idiots’ which made all the right noises, could not achieve such mass popularity all over the nation. Six months later, it was already forgotten.

Will ‘Ishaqzaade’ be able to recreate the magic? I don’t know. I don’t much care about the Kapoor boy, Sridevi’s stepson, among his other antecedents. He reminds me of young Abhishek Bachchan. Is it a good thing? I don’t know. But this Chopra girl is something else. She received the best debut award for her role in last year’s ‘Ladies vs Ricky Behl’; she has a spark and self confident that reminds me of young Juhi Chawla. It’s a good thing.

But, there’s one thing I can predict. The film will start a fashion trend — uniform clothes for lovers. Look at the costumes the lovers don. They are cut from the same cloth, the boy’s shirt and the girl’s kurta, they have the same stripes. You can imagine the depth of their love when they decided to wear the same sleeves instead of wearing their love on their sleeves. Whoever came up with the idea was a stroke of brilliance.

Another Story About Sita

Zubaan Books, the press which expressly supports feminist writing in English and translations, among other things, has come up with an innovative collection, titled ‘Breaking the Bow: Speculative Fiction inspired by the Ramayana’, edited by Anil Menon and Vandana Singh. I was informed about it by my friend Sucharita, who has a story in the collection. Brava!

As I was pondering over the beautiful cover, designed by Pinaki De, and the flap describing the book, I remembered a Bangla story I had read a long time ago. Unlike the stories in this collection, it was a more realistic story, speculating upon a reason why Ram decided to banish a pregnant Sita after their return to Ayodhya; the Just Prince’s own Othello moment! I don’t remember the details of the story, its title or even the author. But, the gist is clear in my mind.

After the war in Lanka and killing of Ravan, Ram returns to his kingdom and takes over his role as a king. So, he’s busy to give much time to his wife. Sita, pregnant since her arrival to the city, has also decided to spend most of her time inside the palace, resting, taken care of her friends and ‘dasis’. All those women from the city are still curious to know what exactly happened in Lanka, and though Sita has narrated the stories time and again, it has failed to satiate the curiosity of her friends. They want to know more, in detail. They too want to live the adventure. Among other things, the centre of their attraction is the demon king of ten heads, Ravan. Sita has described what Ravan looked like several times to her friends, but they are never satisfied. Then, one of her friends suggested, “Vaidehi, you are such a good portrait artist. Why don’t you draw a picture of the demon king, so that we quench our curiosity for once and all?”

Sita happily took up the challenge. Since no drawing material was readily available in the women’s quarters, Sita decided to draw the image on the earthen floor of her room, with a twig snapped out from a discarded broom. The picture turned out to be a fairly decent replica of the Lord of Lanka. He was a handsome man after all, and tall and dark too. The ladies swooned, and feigned terror and had much laughter and fun before they decided that it was time for them to go to their respective homes and cook for their husbands, even though they were not a patch upon the demon king.

By the time Sita, heavily pregnant with the twins, was also very tried. So, instead of getting up and going to the bed, she decided to take a short nap on the cool earthen floor next to the picture she had just drawn.

Unfortunately however, Sita fell into a deep sleep, and Ram, the king, was already in her chamber before she could get up or wipe out the portrait she had drawn. Ram walked into his love nest happily and what did he sees? His wife sleeping next to a drawing of his slain enemy! How would the ‘maryada purushottam’ react to this tell-tale sign? How would any man?

Sita paid an unimaginable price for displaying her rather marvellous drawing skills.