Posts Tagged ‘Subrat Mohanty’

And our favourite writer, Subrat is back. After many requests, much cajoling and few smses, he managed to sit down and write this post on a film that he really liked. Read on.

We like to deal with the big issues. Those that are significant. The crisis of capitalism. Saving the earth. World peace. On the fabric of society, these are the big pictures. Acknowledging them is mankind’s acceptance of its collective failure. There’s something charmingly uplifting when we discuss our frailty in plural. It ennobles us. With such vexing problems to solve for the collective, why are we then, individually, beset with the trivialities of life? Why does the insignificant ground us? Betrayal. Loss. Estrangement. These warp and weft of life that should have subsumed themselves to the grand design. Instead, they force your attention to them. And to you. To your imperfections.

Imperfection is what Alexander Payne wants us to meditate over in his new film The Descendants. It’s seven years since Payne gave us Sideways and, on the evidence of this film, it’s reassuring to note these years were well spent on the minutiae. And, on imperfections. This gives us a film that is in turns profound and farcical while managing a lightness of touch that is often sought but seldom achieved. There is an unhurried pace to the story that eschews dramatic highs and showdowns though there’s ample opportunity in the script for both to surface. More importantly, the director avoids the trap of caricaturing the shallow, ordinary American family that seems veering towards dysfunctionality.

In a society that worships achievement, it is interesting how being ordinary is celebrated in American literature and films. May be it is the impact of American Realism; of Mark Twain and Henry James who crafted their stories around everyday people facing moral choices. How deep is their impact on American culture can only be gauged by the currency that stories of ordinary lives have enjoyed for the better part of last century in America. From Faulkener, Updike, Franzen in literature to a whole host of films that have rightly (or, wrongly) won critical acclaim for protraying ordinary lives. Just run through the list of Oscar winners over the years to see the impact that realism still holds on American psyche. Strong enough to have Ordinary People win the Best Picture nod in the year of Raging Bull (a more compelling case for the entire lot of voting members face the firing squad hasn’t been made).

That aside, if any contemporary director in Hollywood can lay claim to that real tradition of realism, it has to be Alexander Payne. Payne has an instinctive grasp of an ordinary life, its tribulations and, like the realists of the yore, he lets the character stumble his way through reaching the right conclusion. And, like them, he understands locations. From Omaha, Nebraska (About Schmidt) to Napa Valley (Sideways) or even that last segment that he directed of Paris je t’aime, Payne has few peers in weaving in the location into his films. In The Descendants Payne takes the unlikeliest of locations for depicting a family in strife, Hawaii, and makes it integral to the film.

Matt King (George Clooney) isn’t an ordinary Hawaiian as he informs you in the voice-over that starts the film. While disabsuing us of the notion that Hawaii is a tropical paradise (yes, there’s poverty and grime there), he quickly establishes his bloodline that traces its history to the tribal royalty and the early white settlers in the middle of the 19th century. He is a partner in a real estate law firm who has worked hard to build his identity separate from his ancestry. Matt, though, is burdened by this ancestry that has bequeathed on him the responsibility of disposing off a large virgin tract of land in one of the islands for ‘redevelopment’. This is big news locally as it pits the alleged forces of development (malls, amusement parks et al) against environment. Matt and his sprawling extended family of cousins (there’s a cousin popping up every minute in the film in brightly coloured shirts and chappals) are indifferent to the debate. There’s no less messy way of dividing up the family fortune and quite a few cousins are hard up.

These, seemingly, larger issues hardly match up to what fate has dealt Matt. His wife of many years, Elizabeth, lies in a coma in a Honolulu hospital with doctors ruling out any chances of survival. Matt’s younger daughter Scottie (Amara Miller) is a 10-year old who is precocious in the wrong way whose favorite pastime seems to be to confuse her friends on adult issues. Matt, admittedly, has never been a hands-on parent (a backup as he calls himself in a voiceover) and, in Elizabeth’s absence, he finds Scottie a handful. There’s also Matt’s older daughter, Alex (Shailene Woodley), who’s been sent away to a boarding school to rid her off her drug habit. Matt brings her back to make sure the family is together when the doctors pull the plug on Elizabeth. He had hardly bargained for the secret that Alex carries that seems to make her loathe her mother – Elizabeth was cheating on him. Matt becomes obsessed about finding out Elizabeth’s lover and breaking the news of her impending death squarely to him.

The narrative arc is quite familiar from here on. Matt has to pull his family together, learn to be friends again with his daughters, put his wife’s transgressions behind him, do the right thing on the land deal and seek redemption. This is a territory susceptible to high melodrama and in the hands of lesser director would have turned into a soppy, sentimentalist work. But Alexander Payne elevates this into a whimsical and wry look at life by keeping sentiments at a safe distance. He is ably supported in this by an ensemble cast that is completely in step with the director’s alternating profound and farcical treatment of the subject. Especially noteworthy are the cameo turns – Nick Krause as Sid, the irascible boyfriend of Elizabeth who isn’t as shallow as he seems, Judy Greer, who chews up the scenery in just the two scenes she is there.

The triumph of The Descendants is how it meanders through this familiar arc. There is no pre-determined denouement that the film is hurtling towards. There are no certainties here, like life. It appears like everyone has time to spare. Unhurried is perhaps the term. Matt, who has all the emotional cards dealt to him, is often driven by petty instincts. You are bound to be sympathetic to him but you are intrigued by his fickleness and his decisions. Payne isn’t judgmental in his portrayals. You take each character from your own station of life. It’s rare for a film to achieve this.

The cynic in me wanted to see through all of this. This whole calibrated business – of ordinariness, of making George Clooney look stupid, of having a bunch of kids dysfunctional on surface but being alright at the end and of making a statement about development versus environment. I have let the cynic question it all. I have done my best to see through the deception. It’s been over a month since I saw it and I have failed.

May be, for once, there’s something real here. You be the judge.

But take my advice. Don’t bet against The Descendants this awards season. There’s no Raging Bull in the ring. And, The Descendants is no Ordinary People. Though that title may have fitted it perfectly.

This isn’t a tale of heroic feats. It’s about two lives running parallel for a while, with common aspirations and similar dreams.

-Ernesto Guevara de la Serna

I am bad with names. I guess, terrible. And am very good with excuses. So, it gets compensated mostly. And that’s why whenever I save a new contact in my phone, I always add a suffix or prefix to the name. It makes life easier. Because whenever I am searching for anyone, if not the name, the suffix or prefix will help. Either place, profession, common friends, where we met, how  we met, why we met, and noun, pronoun, adjectives, verb (don’t pick) of all kinds.

Before I started writing the post, I quickly searched for PFC in my phone’s contacts list and believe it or not, the number of contacts with PFC as suffix is 44 – covering almost every alphabet from A(shish) to W(B), even Z if you count Zoorya (Surya) as I call him. And in the last few years some of them have become 4am friends too. And am not counting any filmmaker, producer, writer or celeb here, with them it’s always aspirational, at least to start with. Talking about mere mortals like us. Friends from across states, nations and even continents. Many of us have met each other, shared our stories and bonded over everything that’s life. At the end of the day,  I guess, that’s what PFC has done. Internet, you beauty. Add cinema, and we are alive.

PFC started in August-September 2006. I guess I joined in December. How, why – don’t remember exactly. I wasn’t in a boring cubicle and my day job wasn’t boring either. Then? Must have been a google search for ‘Anurag Kashyap’. Because there was a time when PFC = AK, which wasn’t true but the industry always thought so. “Oh, AK’s mouthpiece. So much negativity on that site!”. Well, that’s the way it was.  Just because we had endless rounds of biryanis and drinks at his place with access to some of the best world cinema, it didn’t mean that we had to worship him or his friends. Criticise him and he will listen. He will argue, fight, try to make fun of you, put his favourite question to you, “tune kya likha/banaya hai?“. But that’s just him, trying to figure out if you really know your shit or just blabbering. And yeah, No Smoking had equal number of posts on both the extremes. Let me also confess that there were times when many comments which attacked AK were moderated and without telling anyone I used to approve them. If it’s about cinema, if someone is making a point that AK might not agree with, there is no point in blocking that comment. The general policy was to keeps the trolls away from filmmakers, keep the site clean but what’s life without some cheap thrills. If it’s AK’s cinema, his post, let him face it.

There was also Suparn Varma, Hansal Mehta, Pavan Kaul, Sourabh Usha Narang, Sam Longoria, Ramu Ramanathan, Bhavani Iyer (Onir, Navdeep Singh came onboard later) and some 30-35 bloggers from across the world. Forget everything else, we had no clue about each others names also. Some of us used to write posts with nicknames/handles and we used to address each with those handles. Honhaar Goonda, DPac, RK, Ranga, Macchar Kumar, Dabba – some of the handles that I can think of right now. Once a friend was visiting London and he needed some cash urgently. The first name that came to my mind was Honhar Goonda and I had to ask another friend for his real name. There were mele-mein-bichhde-huye-bhai too, Pavan Saab and Subrat: where Google fails, they come to the rescue. Do you know Chic Chocolate?

Then there was Kartik Krishnan (KK) – the face of PFC in Mumbai. He would go to any length to do anything for PFC, would travel any distance to meet any new author of PFC. With Vasan, three of us soon became the point persons for all kinds of activity. And the invisible brain, the hand, the man behind everything else was Oz. PFC was his idea, his intiative. Log milte gaye aur karwaan banta gaya.

For the first few years, it was all smooth. We never bothered to ask how the site was running, how much space, what the readership was and  other such technical details. That was all Oz’s headache. A bunch of 10-12 editors, including three of us, used to take editorial calls and we were busy blogging – shouting, screaming, fighting – all for cinema.

I might be completely wrong but I think the first time we had some kind of disagreement when a filmmaker gave the idea of turning PFC into commercial venture and someone decided to do it. Since it was mostly one man control as far as any cost was concern, it was all his call. Rest of us were foot soldiers. Discussion soon moved from club to chain mails and many of us expressed our discomfort about the way the decision was taken. We were blogging because we loved it, there was no intention of making it IndiaFM or any such commercial venture.

Of course there was ample space and time given to everyone to debate, discuss and put forward all kinds of suggestions in Club. Those days authorship wasn’t open to everyone, but by invitation only. We had a club for the authors which was not visible to the rest of the world. And countless nights have been spent on random discussion threads in that club. Those were the Club days too!

There was Review contest (Yes, Thani), One minute short film contest, Poster design contest, Pitcher contest – Oz was always the man to go and we would execute it in best possible way. TOI gave us half page coverage too, with some of us happily posing for the camera in the middle of  a busy road in Dadar’s Hindu colony. Aha, the cheap thrills. Every mention of PFC in the media was one step forward in making it more visible, making it more mainstream. The industry slowly took notice and mostly loved to hate us.

Krsn Kavita Kasturi (I hope I have got her name right) – She was one of the  respected blogger at PFC who knew her cinema quite well. As it mostly happened in the club, once she disagreed on some point which we all were gung-ho about. We were quick to brand her as PFC-Drohi and me and KK got into an altercation with her. I Still can’t remember what was the reason, the exact topic. Blame it on age. But we were PFC-Bhakts and she was PFCDrohi soon. She quit PFC after that. KKK, if you have Google Alert on, apologies from me. Because all this seems too trivial now.

And what a surprise, in the next two years, I was in her shoes. As a dozen of us  met last night  at a friend’s place and we started talking about PFC, we could not agree on one version of the story – how it started? Was it this or that? And there were alternate versions too. Why we could not agree on few things?

Among many other things (man with an agenda, conspirator), I was even branded racist. I could not figure out the reason then and discovered it much later that I had put a comment saying “firangi” or something like that in one of the threads in the Club and by that time one of us had got married to someone for whom that was racist remark or kind of. I tried the search option in my gmail, went through some mails, and gave up. Too tedious, too kiddish. There must be hundreds of those mails, may be we will tell our grand kids about it.

Like every story has my right side and your wrong side, it was the same for PFC. Also, it was “Catfish” syndrome for some of us. “Dude, he is so boring. Come on, we can’t say it to him. We have to meet him. No, you go away, I will skip.”  We also realised that the set-up was becoming too feudal. One man would control it all, he would not listen to anyone except those who  agree with him and celebrate him. We asked questions, raised our voice and it made things worse. The reason given was, “I quit my job, I gave my life and soul to it, my space, my time for it. How dare can anyone ask me what i want to do?”.  And we thought, “But who asked you to do so? We all have our jobs, we all still contribute”. The ping-pong game continued.

By that time, the commercial venture keeda had done the trick too. The critic we had no respect for and who is known for his extremely biased reviews, was asked if he would blog at PFC. Posts/blogs were done in tie-up with films/directors. The aim was to get more page views, more readership and thus generate revenue.

Things started piling up. All kind of decisions were taken on the basis of MBBS (Miyan-Biwi-Baccha-Samet). Many bloggers were finding an excuse to quit it.  Or as Roger Ebert wrote in the review of Blue Valentine, “I’ve read reviews saying Cianfrance isn’t clear about what went wrong as they got from there to here. Is anybody?” When in doubt, trust Ebert.

Oz also used to run DesiTrain.com, his personal blog. And there were some incidents where personal things got mixed up with PFC. It involved his family, he felt that some of us said/did something nasty about someone related to him, he wrote a post on it, we commented there, he was hurt, attacks, counter-attacks. And back to Ebert. Since there was no professional set-up for PFC, it was again Oz’s call. So, if he was pissed off with someone because of some personal reason, that also meant that it’s the end for him/her at PFC. You can take any side here and have your arguments, and we did the same. As I wrote earlier, I am not sure if this was the correct flow of the events. Flashbacks are not so smooth always as they show in movies. I might have missed many things but I am writing whatever I can remember now.

What else? I am still trying to think if there was any big reason apart from “making PFC commercial”. We tied up with Tehelka for PFC Awards, some felt we were moving too hastily,  some felt it’s better to do something rather than ponder over it and make powerpoint presentations. Few calls and more miscommunication – ‘how dare you hang up the phone, it was ISD call and so must have been the time difference my and your voice, you sent such a nasty SMS when I was going through a family crisis’, ‘But that was a joke and how am I supposed to know that you had a crisis at home..’ – everything that counts for the lovers’ tiff, we had it all. And like in every lovers’ tiff which ends in separation, this story is from one side, the other side’s story might be completely different.

I quit. KK quit. And for similar reasons some 20 authors also quit one after another. And we all felt strange that nobody thought that this was strange – if 20 active bloggers decide to quit one by one, there has to be some reason, some logic, some problem. Someone must be wrong somewhere. Naah, by that time it has straight forward – we are right, they are wrong. It was Us Vs Them. Those who stayed Vs Those who left. Those who stayed – we stayed at the worst period of PFC, we are friends, we saved him, saved PFC. Those who left – they don’t make any sense, it’s feudal approach, it’s MBBS, power drunk, dropping names, enough! It might have been lil’ bit of this, lil’ bit of that, some ego here and there, and that was the end for us. But I/we never thought that it would end in such a bitter way.

I started writing this as a Goodbye post and soon realised that it might not be a goodbye after all. But I thought it’s better to complete it.

So, Dear PFC – Cheers for all those 40 friends and 4am buddies, and apologies for all kinds of ugly spats, intentionally or otherwise, it just seems so funny now, or may be it was all for cheap thrill. May be we all were in our best possible Natural Born Killers avatar and part of that secret club. It was great fun till it lasted.

But no apologies for watching the 2nd half of Contract before the first half and then again going to the other screen to catch the first half, no apologies for asking Ramu, “Do you think you have lost it?”, no apologies for not liking No Smoking and Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na and million other such things.

(PS: Questions have been raised many times about exclusive authors/filmmakers. Why don’t they write more often? They come only for their film promotions. But let me clarify – most of the time we wanted them to blog. Except few, it was us who approached them. They were not dying to blog. We wanted them and they had a film for release, they had something to say, so they blogged whatever they could. There is no point in putting the blame on them. We were eager to get them onboard – always!)

(PPS – Hansal – Sirjee, I have never cooked for anyone.)

What else? Lots, but can’t remember. Told ya, the age.

Yours,

Phoenixnu

RK now runs Cinemanthan,  Sameer went full time with his CinemaaOnline, Shripriya’s site is Tatvam, Mitch’s work can be seen at Bokehchaser, Fatema reviews films for Indiaentertainment and blogs at filmsandwords, and Pavan still runs GulzarOneline. Also, Indraneel can be found here, Sudhir is here, Jahan Bakshi writes here, Dipankar is here, and Srinivas here . And a bunch of us still create nuisance here at mFC. 🙂 For the rest, they are all on Facebook and Twitter.

Subrat, who ? If you know him, great. If not, Kartik Krishnan has an intro for him – He is The Guru-Mahaguru encyclopedia of film knowledge, pop (and other) culture, literature connoisseur from the Raymond Chandlers, Oscar Wildes to Ibn-e-Saafis, and expert on music, quizzing, food & alcohol (One would think in that order). Unlike most professors, his musings on cinema are non pedantic and yet rich with layers of subtle meaning (and humor). And as he says himself – he’s more a consumer than producer of creative output. He’s even introduced us to two of his legendary colleagues. Prof ATM Yadav – whom KRK so shamelessly copied saying , “Yadav kabhi Bhikhari nahi hota, hamesha raja hota hai raja“. And Prof Arthashastri. We do hope to see both of them soon. And if you thought that’s all the man does, his day job has nothing to do with any of his aforementioned passions.

Woohoo! Quite a long one! And since the intro has managed to over-hype the author, please read on….

It was an opening sequence that filled me with dread. A tiny sapling being planted into the soil by a female hand soon to be trampled over by an insensitive passerby. Was this “Rabbit Hole” or will I now espy a Guru Dutt sprawled in a park morosely observing the world go by? Is this Pyaasa with the oft talked about symbolic opening sequence of a bee hovering over flowers in an ‘all’s well with the world’ sort of a manner till a surprisingly careless foot precisely squashes it away? Thankfully, that was a minor aberration in Rabbit Hole as it went on to depict a heartrending yet understated story of loss and longing. Pyaasa, on the other hand, for all its hallowed position in the classics of Indian cinema, would go onto show an overwought story of poet who riles against this soulless world with barely a nod to subtlety barring Sahir’s poetry. Maybe I am being harsh to Pyaasa. In my opinion it was the subtler of the Guru Dutt films and it showcased his limited acting abilities rather well. The rest of Guru Dutt ‘tragic’ oeuvre has often left me wondering. When it comes to raw display of emotions, why do we love going over the top and then staying there. As the lawyer pleads NOKJ – kab tak chhat pe rahega. Ab to neeche aaja.

And, this is Guru Dutt – widely held to be one of our more understated filmmakers.

I have lost my appetite for melodrama. As more life happens to me (as opposed to I seeing more life), I realize nothing dramatic happens in ordinary life. And, nothing dramatic happens in things around ordinary lives. The background score to our lives is the drone of the whirring fan above our heads. You will be lucky to discern melody there if you hear closely and start humming to it. But, trust me, there’s no Salilda doing an Anand in that drone. But, why has this discovery eluded our filmmakers who claim to show ordinariness in our lives? Or, why do we as audience love melodrama so much that it is a ‘fix’ we need in every movie watching experience?

These are questions that crop up in my mind as I see the audience reactions around me on No One Killed Jessica. Admittedly, the film fell short of my expectations – an inconsistent screenplay, an over the top Rani and a poor supporting cast. However, what surprised me was the commonest reason cited for disappointment – the way the movie closed. Apparently, there wasn’t enough drama; a spectacular last reel of monologue, rousing emotions and the deliverance to all of us who invested our emotions in Sabrina.

We must love melodrama dearly to expect such a denouement and then be bitter about not finding it. Why do over the top portrayals win our hearts and then the awards? How does one bear Rani Mukerji in Black? Or, why should the last sequence of Sadma be so iconic? In my mind it spoils an, otherwise, remarkably restrained film. Or, take Dilip Kumar’s shtick through the decade of the 60s. How was it great acting? And, since I am getting these things off my chest, let me not forget the cringeworthy Karishma throwing stones into the lake while cursing her creator in Dil To Pagal Hai and finding a Filmfare and a National Award being thrown at her in return for display of such histrionics.

The reason I am often given is a version of ‘we are like this only’. That we love our emotions, the rona-dhona and our movies reflect them. I find this hard to accept. Firstly, we are not the most emotionally expressive race. I am sure the Italians, Spaniards or the Latinos will concur. Secondly, the arts that precede filmmaking like theatre and literature hardly betray any signs of our future love affair with melodrama. Read Premchand, Tagore or even the relatively pedestarian Devdas (that marker in melodramatic history of Hindi cinema). You will be surprised by the restraint, by what’s left unsaid. Even the early years of Hindi cinema rarely had the protagonist declaiming for long periods on social ills or the mythical mother with her gajar ka halwa.

So, where did we go wrong? I don’t know. May be the answer lies in the transformation of Dilip Kumar from a genuine brooding actor in intense portrayals in the early 1950s to a caricature of the ‘tragedy king’ that lazy directors made out of him in the 1960s. Is it any surprise that the most restrained of the directors of that era, Bimal Roy, didn’t direct Dilip Kumar after late 50s? And, once you had accepted Gunga Jumna, Dil Diya Dard Liya or Aadmi as great dramatic performances, how far is Rajendra Kumar banging the door down in Dil Ek Mandir and Manoj Kumar grating on and on about Indian culture in Purab Aur Paschim. Follow that linear process and you will reach Sunny Deol with a handpump and Shah Rukh Khan’s quivering lips in Devdas. And,eventually, to the million TV serials where each emotion is amped up a million times with the camera going berserk being lapped up by millions of us.

There have been signs of improvement though. Movies like Johnny Gaddar, Oye Lucky, Kaminey and, lately, Udaan, all had great drama without going over the top. Just as I was letting a sigh of relief, I find everyone around me sorely missing that dramatic closure in NOKJ. And, then I saw the Ra.One poster. Out went subtlety through the window.