Notes from IFFK - Part 3

Last set of films this year - first, Kiarostami's foray into the world of Japanese cinema - Like Someone in Love. You can take the man out of Iran, but you can't take him out of a car. Of the 109 minutes, as per my very unscientific count, more than 30 minutes was shot inside two cars. The film revolves around Akiko, a beautiful provincial girl at uni in Tokyo who does escort work on the side for extra cash. One night, her client turns out to be a shy, elderly academic (with a flat to kill for) who used to teach sociology and now, translates books. For a while, I thought this was going to be whore of Mensa but it didn't go there. Instead, a case of mistaken identity results with Akiko's boyfriend mistaking him for her grandfather and turns to him for advice. The end wasn't the most satisfying of endings but you don't go to see Kiarostami for the ending. The film has about a hundred or so K moments - the voicemails from Akiko's grandmother, the pointless call on translation that the academic takes when Akiko enters his flat, the whole neighborhood lady conversation - seriously, just go see it.

We will stay with Japan for one more film, Kurosawa's I Live in Fear. You didn't really think I was going to give the K retro a miss, did you? To be honest, however, I was bent on seeing The Hidden Fortress on the big screen (I admit it, I have not managed to see it on a real screen yet. BFI, do something about it!) but that did not work out, so I went and saw I Live in Fear instead. The film tracks the descent of an old man from paranoia (regarding nuclear war) to insanity, aided more than a little by those around him. This is not the most subtle of his films, but well, a young Mifune playing a cantankerous old man is so priceless that one could overlook subtlety and other such things.

Last of the lot - Pavlo and Vittorio Taviani's Caesar Must Die. The film follows inmates of a high security prison as they rehearse and then stage Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Film festival junkies may remember this film from Berlin where it caused some controversy for being too traditional (it won the Golden Bear). It is traditional alright but watching this film, it is easy to see how one can get carried away. I mean, really, carried away. It has nothing to do with real-life prisoners enacting Julius Caesar. This is Julius Caesar, the way it is meant to be enacted, in a language that lends itself to it more so than the one we are used to.

So. That is it for me in films this year. I do have a bunch of scattered thoughts on the festival overall but too lazy now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

Notes from IFFK - Part 2

First up, stylish gore from a master of yakuza films - Takeshi Kitano's Outrage Beyond. Technically a sequel but you don't miss much if you missed the first one. The Japanese police, or rather, one corrupt, slimy, anti-yakuza cop Kataoka, decides that the Sanno clan has become too powerful that it is time to start an inter-clan war and rack up the bodies. He resurrects a renegade yakuza Otamo (played by Kitano himself), among other things, to do exactly that. All very exciting if you are into that sort of thing. It got a bit tiring for me, to be honest.

Now for something a little closer to the heart - Ini, Avan (Him, Hereafter), a Tamil film by Sri Lankan director Ashok Handagama. I was expecting the late night show to be fairly empty but as it turned out, it was standing room only.  Shot entirely in Jaffna and environs, Ini, Avan tells the story of a young LTTE soldier who is sent back home two years after the war to start a new life. His village presumes him dead along with every other young man and woman who learnt to handle assault weapons a little too early in life. His return provokes fear, anger and indifference. He brings his now-widowed, upper caste, childhood sweetheart home and tries to find a job. The only one he finds is that of a security guard / driver for a smuggler who "believes" in the future. He takes it not knowing what he is getting into, and ends up regretting it. But life goes on.

Two things that struck me about the film which was very telling - one, despite the presence of a number of characters and entities who the ex-militant could hate with a vengeance, there is one who stands above all. No, not the smuggler. It is another of those who now believe in the future, the returnee, who in the militant's words "put the guns in our hands, and got visas stamped in your passports". Two, despite his past or maybe because of it, Avan is naive in so many ways that everyone else isn't, especially the women.

Oh well, go see it.

Then, this morning, Paul Cox's Innocence. Paul Cox is all over the news here - not only they are doing a showcase, he is also the Chaiman of the Jury. So I figured I will go see at least one of his films. Tender, uplifting, passionate love story of a couple in their late 60s with all the attendant side-effects. If people fall in love, it should be like this. Regardless of age, gender and other such nonsense. Reality will hit us all, at any age and it shouldn't be a consideration.
Wait, what am I saying? Don't fret, I will get over it but it is that kind of a movie :)

Onwards to Day 3/4.

Notes from IFFK - Day One

There is something very exciting about the prospect of seeing the best of world cinema for a sum of four hundred rupees. All the more exciting when the screenings happen at well, home. Of the 4 years or so I have been at this festival, this is probably the bonanza year in terms of the line-up. Maybe that's because I missed London in Oct where I would have usually seen a subset but well. A world cinema line-up that includes Michael Haneke, Abbas Kiaraostami, Ken Loach, Volker Scholondorff, Aki Kaurismaki; retros of Kurosawa,  Resnais and Hitchcock; recent films on adolescence and country focus on Vietnam - this is definitely the year. It is sad then I get to be here only for the first few days and makes this scheduling all the more maddening.

Day One has inadvertently been a French day for moi. Day started bright and early and I turned up at Sreekumar to see Calm at Sea only to discover that there was like one seat left. Scholondorff's latest, this is an World War II ensemble piece set in Vichy France based on the historical events at Choiseul POW camp where 27 prisoners were shot in retaliation for the shooting of a German officer in Nantes by the underground resistance. The film cuts between high command in Paris where an old world German General, faced with Hitler's orders, tries in vain to stop the madness, and the camp in Brittany where the lottery will seal the fate of the 27 prisoners. The prisoners chosen are mostly Communists and Jews, and includes a young man to be released that day and another who is just seventeen. The shooting is inevitable but throughout the film we are teased with a number of escape routes which close one by one. The film doesn't quite avoid the obvious sentimentalism inherent in films (yes, I mean mostly the American ones) of this kind but just when you think it is going to go overboard, it pulls you back. Totally worth seeing.

Lighter as the day goes by, next up was a French film by Finnish director Aki Kaurismaki - Le Havre. Here is the deal - in the working class neighborhood of Le Havre full of dreary old characters where life is at its recessionary worst, a shoeshiner meets a young African boy who came in a container ship. He needs to get to London to meet his mother. The entire neighborhood, along with a little help from a Vietnamese shoeshiner, a has-been French rock n roll star and the local Inspector, conspire to get him to London. And everything is deadpan. Everyone. It looks dreary and depressing but it is a comedy that will have you chuckling throughout and wish you were having half the fun the people in the film seem to be having. Also, this is the most optimistic movie I will see this year.

To round off the day, we learn from the one and only Alain Resnais how musicals should be made - Same Old Song. Yes, Resnais. Yes, musical. How cool? I know! All characters - a control-freak business exec, her weak willed husband, her depressive sister, her smooth-talking real estate agent, her sister's secret admirer, her hypochondriac friend - break into popular songs in the middle of a conversation and then continue on as if nothing has happened. I was a bit skeptical of going to see this one as I wasn't sure whether the subtitles would make any sense given that these are French popular songs but they were actually wonderful and downright funny. And I have got one of them stuck in my head:

Resiste! Prove that you exist! Resiste! (Think it is this one)

Onwards to Day 2.

IFFK 2012, well, 2011

They have finally put up the schedule for the festival beginning, like, today. Talk of last minute scheduling. Going mad trying to figure out my schedule for the next 4 days I am going to be around at the festival. Then I suddenly realised that I had almost forgotten what I had seen last year. After much searching hard drives and dropbox type places, found my notes. Shall put them up here so that I don't miss them again. I know. A year late. So what?

At New Theatre, half the ceiling fans did not work and I had to choose a seat rather strategically. At Kalabhavan, an overdose of extra-fragrant air freshener (or was it really Hit?) resulted in sneezing fits throughout the screening. At Sree Padmanabha, we were treated to flashing lights and graphics before each screening for no obvious reason. At Remya, the air conditioning worked so well that I was nearly frozen by the end of the film. Apparently the grand doyen of the Malayalam film world Adoor Gopalakrishnan made references to rodents at Kairali / Sree twin theatres recently – I must admit that I was fortunate enough not to encounter even a single one in my week of film viewing. At the end of the week though, I am not sure that the theatres matter. Yes, there is something to be said for festival films in old, musty theatres with uncomfortable seats - a sense that this is how it is meant to be and as much as we love to show these films in multiplex cinemas, they really belong here in the old world. But once 

the screening begins, they don’t really matter and the films talk for themselves.

I started the IFFK this year with Turkey – Semih Kaplanoglu’s Egg was playing in the Contemporary Masters in Cinema section. I sat next to a gentleman, a film journalist from Siliguri, who happened to be watching all of Kaplanoglu movies at the festival. He informed me that Egg is part of the Yusuf trilogy and chronologically the last one in the series. The film revolves around a poet Yusuf who owns a second hand bookstore in Istanbul. He returns to his hometown after his mother’s death to find a girl, a distant cousin, living in his mother’s house. Their relationship unfolds in slow motion among old friends and ghosts, and on a trip to the mountains to sacrifice a lamb to satisfy his late mother’s dying wish.

I followed Egg with two films from the archives – Robert Bresson’s Mouchette and Nagisa Oshima’s Street of Love and Hope. Mouchette, shot in typical Bresson style with non-professional actors, tells the depressing (it is Bresson, after all!) story of a village girl with a dying mother, an alcoholic father, and a host of supporting characters bent on destroying what is left of the girl’s sorry life. Street of Love and Hope is the story of poor Masao who sells the same pigeons multiple times to feed his family not realising that this minor but understandable breach of integrity could have major repercussions. This film is very much a class struggle which explores the differences in perspectives between a poor boy in the slums of post-war Tokyo, a middle class school teacher, and a brother-sister pair from the ruling classes. I went to this movie in an attempt to see Japanese cinema beyond the Mizoguchi-Ozu-Kurosawa trinity - Street of Love and Hope was a brilliant introduction but it is still rooted in the same social sensibilities of the trinity as this is one of Oshima’s earlier works and he had not yet broken out of the mould. But no complaints, I really liked the film.

After the two retrospectives, I decided to see at least one in the Competition section. I drew lots and went to see Delhi in a Day by first-time director Prashanth Nair. It is set, needless to say, in an affluent Delhi household where a British house guest’s cash is stolen and the domestic help gets blamed. The film is intended to be a sarcastic take on the how we live and how we treat our domestic help. While there are some refreshing elements and nice visual takes, it doesn’t quite pass the exocticism / stereotypes test that seem to haunt cinemas in this genre.

On my Day 3, I spent some time at Trigger Pitch, a laudable effort by the Indian Documentary Foundation (IDF) and the IFFK to bring documentaries into the limelight and to provide a forum for wider distribution. Six documentaries were pitched as part of this session dealing with a variety of topics such as the endosulfan tragedy, waste management in Beijing, rat killers of Mumbai, and tracking down the origins of a popular Bengali folk song. It was exciting to see documentaries getting more shelf space in a clearly feature focused world and hopefully more of us will get to see at least some of the films in a theatre near us soon.

Next on my list was from Iran - Mohammed Rasoulof’s Goodbye. As almost everyone with an interest in cinema is aware by now, both Rasoulof and Jafar Panahi are currently under arrest in Iran for the crime of making films. I watched Panahi’s This is Not a Film at the London film festival in October but I had missed Goodbye then, so here was my chance to see this film. Goodbye tells the story of a young human rights lawyer trying to leave the country for a better life. Pregnant with a baby diagnosed with Down’s syndrome, she goes through life with a deathly calm, firm in her belief that she will be able to leave Iran. The atmosphere is sinister and all-consuming as she takes one step forward, two steps backward throughout the movie and it is clear from the outset that this is a losing battle. It cannot end any other way. Rasoulof is still in jail.

From Iran to Germany to watch Wim Wenders’s wonderful 3D dance drama Pina based on the dance of the incomparable Pina Bausch. There was a minor problem – we weren’t able to see the movie in 3D thus somewhat defeating the purpose of the movie in bridging the gap between the film and the live performance. Though would say I would not have missed Pina for anything unless well, if it was the 3D version of Pina. 

Turkey has been a recurring theme for me this year, both in films and in travel and it was only appropriate that I end the film festival with a Nuri Bilge Ceylan flick – Once upon a time in Anatolia. The tickets to this film were sold out before they opened public booking at the London film festival, and I went early to the theatre to make sure that I can catch this for sure in Trivandrum. It proved to be a good decision as the movie hall was full and latecomers ended up sitting on the steps. Based on a true story, the film begins with a group of men setting out at sunset to find a dead body somewhere in the Anatolian outback – the group includes police officers, an army sergeant, the district prosecutor, a doctor and two suspects. The movie unfolds slowly throughout the course of the night as the search drags on and we learn more about the motivations and frustrations of the main protagonists. Brilliant acting, stunning camerawork often under sparse lighting, and an insightful look into provincial life and human interactions. For once, I don't have to cringe when reviewers use that word that they love so much – Chekhovian. There is an early morning scene in the film where the prosecutor is dictating notes for his assistant to type up, and he describes the victim on the ground as a Clark Gable look-alike. He continues for a few more seconds before stopping to check what was typed, and his assistant tells him that he (the prosecutor) is the one who looks like Clark Gable. A scene and a film not to be missed.

A few bloggable items

1. Dear friend Anoop is getting married. Since he has already given me my lines, I shall probably tweet the wedding. (BM, BG - Can you like call today when you wake up? Need to coordinate itin. Already those bastards at United are charging me a "close-up processing fee" for making a booking so close to travel date)

2. If you want another opportunity to make fun of Bill and Bongs in general, here - fun with Bill puns over at ??!'s. Also, learn why stash of marijuana is much more useful than Bill (thanks to Falsie).

3. Public Service Announcement for foodie Londoners - Taste of London tickets are on sale.

4. Film time. French New Wave at BFI Southbank.

Seen till date:

- Chronique d'un été - This collaboration between movie maker / anthropologist Jean Rouch and sociologist Edgar Morin takes us through a series of interviews with a cross-section of Parisiennes in the summer of 1960. The cast (no real actors I understand) includes a Holocaust survivor, a black student from Africa, a haunting Italian immigrant, an artist couple, college students, factory workers and children. Starting from an innocuous "Are you happy?" question to people on the street, the film attempts to explore everything from Algeria and Congo (people, this is 1960), the Holocaust, and the monotony of modern life to boredom, solitude and well, St Tropez. While all these topics bring out interesting reactions, it seems as if the real driving force behind people's reactions is the camera in front of them. The experiment (as I understood it) that Rouch and Morin were performing was an attempt at finding how much reality can one get when the camera is rolling and the movie closes with them wondering about the results. Chronique d'un été is apparently considered an innovative experiment in cinema-vérité and I, for one, definitely wanted the camera to keep rolling for longer. (Would appreciate if the experts would weigh in. SB - Post, no?)

La Peau Douce - Truffaut's The Soft Skin is a love triangle (yeah, the man seems generally fond of triangles). A well-known publisher, seemingly happily married, falls in love with a flight attendant on a trip to Lisbon. He attempts to hide affair from wife but is forced to face up to the music at the end. Jean Desailly as the fumbling publisher gives a superb performance and his relationship with his wife is done to perfection though one can't say the same for his relationship with the other woman as this seems a bit contrived. The film is hilarious in a rather cynical sense - the blurb said it was considered a serious and cold movie coming from the director who made Jules et Jim but I (along with most people in the theatre) were laughing through most of the movie. Very watchable.

Have about half dozen more to go before the month runs out, so expect to see notes on this over the next few weeks. Suggestions welcome.

5. Those of you wondering why China posts aren't happening, please to shout at BM. I have posts, she hasn't sent me pictures I asked for 4 days ago. Thanks!

Ray Day

At our neighbourhood DVD place this afternoon. I went and returned DVD and paid and turned back to find Bill intently staring at a shelf. I walk slowly towards him, puzzled. He is beaming for some reason. The shelf says "Top Titles".

"What's up?"

"Look"

"Why are you looking at the Top Titles shelf?"

"Dude, look"

"You have become some popular movie watcher nowadays"

"I said look"

So I looked. Mish mash. Some chick flick (tagline reads "Better than Sex and the City"), Persepolis, Atonement, The Lives of Others, The Kite Runner, and ..wait.

"Dude"

"I know"

"Its a mistake"

"Of course its not"

"Of course it is. I think we should let the counter people know that they have it here by mistake"

"You are evil"

"This is nothing to do with evil. I think its an honest mistake"

"Honest mistake? You mean you don't think that's a top title?"

"Not in this part of the world, it ain't"

"Right"

"I really think we should let the people at the counter know"

"Why?"

"People might rent it by mistake"

"And end up loving it. Moreover, I don't understand why you think its not popular here"

"You can't possibly tell me that one of the top titles in this neighbourhood is Joi Baba Felunath?"

"Why can't it be? Just this Friday, I met this guy in the elevator at the tube station"

"And?"

"He is like the Chief Curator at the National Gallery"

"Right. And he just started talking to you"

"I am not kidding"

"Whatever. What's him got to do with Joi Baba Felunath?

"People like him and our landlady understand art. They live in this neighbourhood. So this is a top title. There is no mistake. The odd person out who lives here is you"

"I see. Actually you know what? I wouldn't mind moving out. You should be able to take care of the rent, I am sure"

"Do you think of anything besides money? Does art mean anything to you?"

"Wrong questions. Should I move out or not?"

"Go away"

***

Bonus scene:

Though you probably have to be Bong or to have grown up with only DD to get the joke.

So this DVD store, its actually pretty cool. They have this whole section which has a good subset of the Artifical Eye titles. Among other directors, they do have a Ray collection so we overdosed on it a bit over the last few days. So this morning, we were watching Charulata with the subtitles turned off [1]. As we got to the song that everyone who grew up in DD times should know by heart, I suddenly realised that this was the first time I am watching this with a Bong in the room. Which meant that I could clear all my doubts.

"Bill"

"Yeah?"

"This is a Tagore song no?"

"Yes"

"Written like way back"

"Yeah"

"But I never knew he was into China and stuff"

"China?"

"And Gobi for that matter"

"Gobi? Dude, I think you have been reading too much about the silk road"

"No, no. This has got nothing to do with that. I always wondered what this song meant"

"This song? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Why does he sing about some woman from Gobi?"

"What?"

"And where does Chini come in? I mean, this was Tagore. Not like he had any special affinity with China. If this was like in the 60s, one could say its all the communist comedy"

"Dude, I have no idea what you are talking about"

"Ok, pause. Now sing the song"

"Why?"

"Sing no?"

"Ami Chini Go Chini tomare O Gobideshini.."

"Chini, Gobideshini. What does it mean?"

Bill laughed for like ever. Then refused to explain.

PS: For the younger generation of non-Bongs who did not grow up on DD, here's the song.



[1] Part of a running bet on whether I understand Bong better or Bill Tam. I should understand Bong better considering that you just change the shs and bs from Hindi but since my Hindi is really bad, it doesn't help. Plus anyway, since we all have watched these movies, one could argue that one is not missing anything by turning subtitles off.

Hot Asian men who are not Tony Leung

The Good


The Bad



The Weird (makes up for non-hotness by being weird)



The Movie

The most entertaining movie I have seen this year. Sergio Leone meets Tarantino in this totally stylish Oriental Western set in 1930s Manchuria (but shot apparently near the Gobi desert). Three things that could have made this a really good movie: a plot, a script and a little bit of acting. But not to worry. Its quite amazing that the movie never has a dull moment despite the absence of such basic things.

Two unmissable scenes: train robbery at the beginning and a 20-minute chase at the end to the score of Don't let me be misunderstood. Delightful.

PS: Yeah, London film festival. Just got to see a couple. Sad work story. Don't ask.

PPS: I like the Good guy though I know, the Bad boy looks like Johnny Depp. But just a boy he is, no?

Booker shortlist, Bill's defense, Onasadya, Films to watch, New Project (No Pics)

Lots of stuff to post, so I shall follow Luddo's trailblazing footsteps. Btw, if you haven't read the post, please do. Especially the one on orphaned railway wagons. I remember once seeing one of these NEFR thingies in Shoranur circa 1989. Don pointed it out to me and I felt so sorry for it that I started crying. Since then, every time we pass by Shoranur, I look for it. It was there for years but disappeared in 2004. Some kind engine must have found it and taken it home. If I ever meet that engine, I shall thank it properly. Anyway.

1. Booker shortlist

Feanor got it right - Booker nonsense is what it is. Then again, the longlist does usually turn up a couple of gems which is the only point of the Booker though I am still yet to find them this year. Not giving up though, another month to go. Oh yeah, reviews until now here.

2. Bill's defense

Cat: Apparently it was a real defense. I have never heard Bill call anything "nerve-wracking". That must count for something, no?

The news is that its over. Doctor Bill will now shop over the weekend (is there any other reason to cross the Atlantic anymore?) and be back early next week.

3. Onasadya

Since Amma is here, I got a mini onam feast with avial and payasam. Apparently, the real thing is on the menu next weekend when the Doctor Marumagan is back.

Also called all Mallu junta back home for Onam. Apparently, no one makes feast at home anymore - all these restaurants offer 26-course Onasadya which people go to. Don says that this is causing the usual suspects to bemoan the loss of culture and healthy home-cooked food and what not. I was nodding in agreeance (the thought of not being able to go any home and have a proper home-cooked feast is more then a little disconcerting) until Don reminded me what this Onasadya process really meant in most Mallu homes:

7 bottles of Johnnie Walker, 1 Chivas (6 from Gelf, 2 from military canteen) for men of the house
3 days of non-stop cooking and cleaning activity for women of the house

Obviously things don't get as out of hand as it does for X'mas as 1) the number of Gelfies and propotionally the number of alco bottles coming back to homeland goes up and 2) meat and fish consumption goes up exponentially BUT Onam is second only to X'mas as far as alcohol consumption goes. Then he reminded me that Malluland still has the highest per capita consumption of alcohol in the country. Which by itself is not a bad thing but consider what most women are doing when this alcohol fest is going on.

Anyway. Related post on cooking on UV here.

4. Padam time

October is around the corner which means two film festivals - London and Chicago. I am in Chicago for one weekend and it will eat into my annual shopping time so not sure whether I will get to watch anything there but there's always London. Full programme here.

My personal movie advisor doesn't think this is a particularly exciting year, but suggests these films:

Achilles and the Tortoise

Synechdoche New York

Rang Rasiya

Firaaq

Last Thakur

Still Walking

Mahadev Ki Sajjanpur

and naturally, Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Adoration

The Good, The Bad and the Weird

My plan this year is really to see the archives / restored films which the advisor thinks is an excellent idea.

5. New Project

Space Bar came up with such an awesome name that it makes no sense to keep it secret. It is called The Blank Blood Bank Project. But sorry, can't tell you anything about the project mostly because its not a real project - its a name in search of a project.

For those of you who know what I am talking about, Omerta.

The Lying, the bitch and the wadrobe

Anthony Lane turns hard-line Marxist, thanks to Sex and the City. Don't you love the guy?

And while we are on the topic, amusing stuff from moi's workplace. So sometime last week we all got very pink e-mails from the the people responsible for the office's social calendar (i.e. the four women in Operations) inviting us all for dinner and movie night next Tuesday. Needless to say, I ignored it until one of the four women caught me at the water-cooler on Thursday.

"You haven't signed up for the movie night yet?"

"No, I can't actually. I have people visiting from out of town" Obviously I didn't want to hurt her feelings.

"That's a shame"

"Hmm"

"Maybe you can just come for dinner"

"That's not a bad idea"

"We were just going to send out an e-mail asking for people to sign-up just for dinner. Almost all the men are complaining that they don't want to see the movie but they would like to come for dinner. You know how men hate Sex and the City?"

"Hmm. Have they all signed up though?"

"Yes, most of them have. But it is only because they didn't have a choice about the movie. We are going to send out an e-mail now, so I reckon the numbers for the movie would come down"

"I doubt it"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I am up for dinner. Do sign me up for that. And let me know how many men switch to just dinner"

I talked to her again last night at the pub. Number of men who changed their minds: Zero. Now they are saying that they are going to watch the movie so that they can make fun of the women watching the movie. Go figure.

Nothing romantic or comic about it

So moi's been overdosing on Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn for three straight weekends now. And just surfaced after watching Bringing up Baby and His Girl Friday back-to-back to find AO Scott reading my mind over at the Times.

Our parents and grandparents had Rock Hudson and Doris Day — such delicious subtext! such amazing office furniture! — or Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. Or Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. Or Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell. Or even, in “That Touch of Mink,” Cary Grant and Doris Day. But you get the point. We have Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey.

So true. So sad!

And yet, while the romantic comedy has almost always trafficked in happy endings, that happiness is rarely accompanied by a sense of risk or exhilaration. When you think of, say, Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn — or even Doris Day and Rock Hudson — you recall the emotional combat of two strong-willed, independent individuals ending in mutual conquest. Love, in those old pictures, was a dangerous and noble sport that required skill and cunning as well as commitment. It required movie stars whose physical appeal was matched by verbal dexterity and a vital sense of idiosyncrasy. They were not real of course: Who ever met anyone like C. K. Dexter Haven and Tracy Lord, the central pair in “The Philadelphia Story?” They were better.

And it's not just the romantic comedies. This seems to be the fate of all comedies, romantic or not. I mean, whoever makes anything like Arsenic and Old Lace nowadays? As Scott says, Coarseness at the expense of subtelty and wit, and mistaking grossness for honesty. That's all it is now.

Anyway, enough. Gotta watch Desk Set before calling it a night.

Thillu Mullu / Persepolis

(Note to non-Tams: Think Golmaal. Though must say (in my completely biased worldview) that Thillu Mullu is way ahead of Golmaal. Something to do with how the language lends itself to a certain kind of humor. That and KB and well, Rajinikanth[1])

Remember when Ayyampettai Aruvudainambi Kaliyaperumal Indran goes to the football match? And his boss Sri Ramachandramurthy sees him there? Me, I went to the game too. Well, not the game but sort of similar. Persepolis, as part of the London film festival. At Leicester Square on Wednesday afternoon at 3 PM. So I tell people at work that I have thousands of chores to do (like going to the bank, post office etc.) which I haven't been able to do because I was in Chicago for a long, long time and this country, oh in this country, everything is closed on weekends, how inconvenient. At about 2.45m I promptly sneak out and walk to the Odeon.

Thillu mullu Thillu mullu

There is a long line of people standing outside the theater. Me, I have reserved my tickets. Silly people. Not booking in advance. I walk up to the door.

"I have tickets already. I am just here to pick them up"

"That's the line for pick-up ma'am"

"Oh"

Ullamelam kallu mullu

The line stretches all the way to the middle of the square. Anyone in the office who's out for their afternoon coffee is going to see me. Fuck. I go stand in line. Maybe its not that bad. There are a lot of people here. Why would someone see me unless they are looking for me? And no one is looking for me.

Thillu mullu Thillu mullu Ullamelam kallu mullu

You idiot! Look around you. Now look at yourself. And tell me why you stand out. You are the only person in the whole square who is wearing a suit. The rest are either random tourists or film festival types who are here to see the movie. Shoot. The line is moving reasonably fast though. I am just being paranoid.

La la la La la la La la la Laa la la

"Veena!"

I turn around. Its the bloody MD. The bloody MD out for his afternoon tea.

"S.....Hi"

"Enjoying a nice afternoon movie, are we?"

"Uhh..I wish. I am actually here to get tickets. For the movie tomorrow evening"

"I see. What movie is it?"

"Its called Four Women. Its an Indian movie that's showing as part of the film festival"

"I didn't know you were into films. Did I tell you that I am an amateur actor?"

"You are?"

"Yes, I am acting in a Stoppard play at my neighborhood theater"

"That sounds lovely. You should send me the date and the venue. I will get the whole office to come, this could be our team event for the month"

"No, no, I am not sure people will be interested. Anyway, I've got to run now. I will see you at the office"

"Bye"

I debated for about two minutes. Until I got to the box office. I picked up my ticket and went in.

Thillu mullu thillu mullu ullamellam kallu mullu

Vincent Parannoud and Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis based on the latter's popular graphic novel of the same name, is the story of young Marjane growing up in Iran in the turbulent years after the Islamic Revolution. She spends her teenage years in exile in the streets of Vienna, a disoriented Persian teenager in a world of make-believe anarchists. Marjane comes back to Iran, finishes college, gets married, gets divorced and finally leaves for Paris. Persepolis is also the story of Iran under the Revolution - a relatively free country going under the veil and fighting a mindless war with Iraq. Its the story of Uncle Anoush, the Marxist revolutionary and Nilafour, the young communist, and Uncle Tahr and his parties. The bigger political statements that the movie makes aren't exactly new, and it seems a little too geared towards the Western audience. The life and times of the Westernised upper classes pre and post Revolution makes for interesting viewing but well, its just that. The movie doesn't go much beyond that.

So I didn't like it like it? No, no, I loved it. Forget the big picture here. This movie is about the details. This movie is about little Marjane. Drawn in straight, mostly black and white lines which (at least for me) brought out the character without any funky distractions. Marjane takes off her veil while driving through the streets of Tehran and asks the men at college to stop sporting punky hairstyles as that could have a detrimental effect on the girls. She spends her pocket money on pirated Iron Maiden tapes, and doesn't hesitate to kill off her Mom to escape the moral police. Her Dad cries when she leaves for Austria while her mother remains as composed as ever. She shifts her loyalties from the Shah to whoever Uncle Anoush believes in in a matter of seconds and carries the placard from then on. She is the leader of the street gang, and convinces the other kids that they should take revenge of the kid with the bicycle because his Dad is a mass murderer. Little Marjane wants to be a Prophet and she looks forward to the day she can shave her legs and get this, when she was five, Bruce Lee is her hero. Yes, Bruce Lee. How can you not love this girl? Especially when you realize that she is exactly the sort of person who would grow up one day, get a job in London and sneak away from work to see a matinee.

[1] No one who's seen the man in Mullum Malarum, Aval Appadithan, Aaril Irundhu Aruvathu Varai, Bhuvana Oru Kelvikuri or Johnny will question his acting skills. Thillu Mullu was all about timing and delivery. And he had it spot on. I'd actually go out on a limb here and say that what Mr He-is-just-a-superstar-I-am-the-real-Actor-and-I-am-the-Best tried to perfect in the next twenty years in movie after movie of Crazy Mohan dialogues, Rajini had it back in 1981. The fair question, of course, is what has he done with the last 25 years of his life. There, I must say, I am utterly lost.

Quick notes from Chicago

My mother used to experiment with various things in our balcony back home. After trying all sorts of things, she finally settled on mint a few years ago. It is the freshest and tastiest mint in the world - those of you who have tasted my pudina pulao or Bill's mojitos know what I am talking about. Anyway, what I was going to say was whenever I go home the day I get there just goes away in a blur. The next morning I wake up usually jetlagged, get out of bed and open the door out to the balcony to look at how the mint is doing. That's when the feeling of home comes in. Not quite but close enough experience this Monday as I walked out of the hotel and (after nearly a year) ran along the lake. Needless to say, its lovely to be back.

*****

As always, its the people. The Nigerian cab driver (I always get them and they all love me. I am sure I have a Nigerian cab driver fan club somewhere in the city) who really really wanted to know why Indian men never date black women. Or the doorman at A & J's apartment who let me in at 6.45 AM when I told him that I just came from London and wanted to surprise my friends who had no idea I was here. Such nice people. I mean, who else believes stories like this? Unfortunately, the same can't be said about the people I call my friends who weren't exactly happy when I nearly knocked their door down trying to wake them up.

*****

Movie time. I served the King of England and Jellyfish, both as part of the Chicago Film Festival. Loved the first. Jiri Menzel turned up for the Q&A session which was really cool. But people, just one request: maybe its not a great idea to practice your Czech especially when there's an interpreter around. And when its like midnight already and some of us have a 7 AM training session the next morning. We are here to hear the man, not to hear you messing up the language.

Jellyfish was okay, details were awesome but didn't feel like they had it all together. Can't complain though as the only reason I went to see it was for the Keret association. BM, I hope you are appropriately jealous

Today, I want to go see Lumet's Before the Devil Knows You're Dead but Space Bar wants me to go listen to István Szabó. What should I do?

*****

Apparently, the Chicago film festival is not an acceptable reason for why you don't want to go to the team bowling event. So I had to go with the bridal shower. Everyone was ooh ahh needless to say. Some people. Well.

Das Leben der Anderen

Scene after scene, I sat there and thought about how unfair our world is. 34. Did you hear that? 34. First movie. Fuck. Such perfection. Hang on. 1989? What the hell? Full happiness during last ten minutes. Of course, nobody's perfect. Even if you have a name like Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck. Ha Ha! Life is alright again. Guten tag.

Violence, yes, history, why?

A year too late, but you know, better late etc. Every critic from J Rosenbaum to M Dargis (ya ya Dargis, I know but dammit, Rosenbaum loved it) raved about A History of Violence. Trustable Jai seemed to like it too. I meant to see it anyway, for the king if nothing else, but for some reason or the other it was the only movie that I didn't end up seeing in last year's nominee list. So went and borrowed it from Marylebone library this weekend (btw, the public libraries in this country are nowhere as big as the libraries of the States, but what they lack in space, they do seem to make up in quality, so I am not complaining yet) and it turned out to be a little, well, more than a little disappointing. Don't get me wrong, it is a really good movie and some excellent filmaking throughout but for moi it just didn't live upto expectations.

The basic problem, the way I see it, is with what the movie was meant to achieve. Is it about whether a man can turn over a new leaf, put his mobster past behind him, and live a completely different life? Is it about how violence begets violence and there's no way out of this endless cycle? If that's all it was, a thriller about one man's struggle to not let the ghosts of his past haunt him and his family, then A History of Violence is right on target. But hey, that's not really what I remember people (Cronenburg included if I am not mistaken) saying about it - It is supposedly a critique of the Bush administration's failed policies, it is about how violence lurks just beneath the surface of America's idyllic suburban homes, its about how little it takes to fire a shotgun. I am sorry, I must be a bit dense, but the movie did not tell me anything of this sort. You see, not all of us in America used to once belong to the mob, or married someone who did. So excuse me, but I really don't see how this movie holds a mirror to my face.

The saddest thing about the movie is that it holds so much promise in the first half only to squander it, shot after shot, through the second. Here's the gist of the story - Tom Stall, upstanding member of the community, loving husband and father, loved by all, becomes an overnight hero when he shoots and kills two men who attack his diner. Soon after, the east coast mob recognizes him as one of their own starts paying visits to Tom and his family, and our man has no choice but to go to Philly and kill a bunch of people he used to know in his mobster days in addition to the ones he shoots in his suburban lawn back in Millbrook. Where was the promise, you ask? Everywhere through the first 40 minutes actually - the deceptively simple Indiana town where you know something bad's going to happen, the first cheerleader sex scene, the way the son smart-talks his way out when confronted by the school bully, in the talk of monsters and pies, and right through the diner shooting, and when the son beats up the bully and that absolutely amazing scene in which Tom confronts his son, but pretty much right there was where it ended. The second the bodies pile up on the lawn and Joey says "I should have killed you back in Philly" you know its over. Might as well not see the rest of the movie. Unless you came in with different expectations.

Violence in America is not exclusive to the crime-ridden cities of the East Coast (ok, LA too if you insist) but we knew that already. Too well. Violence follows the mobster into suburban America and rears its head at the most inconvenient moment, but thats only expected, no? Where this movie could have gone, so easily considering how talented the crew is, is where only a select few have gone before - violence lies beneath the surface of every ordinary home, not just a seemingly ordinary one, not just the home of a man with a past. In refusing to do so, in not even willing to go the ambiguous route which personally would have been much more exciting, the movie exonerates you and me totally. We don't have history, you see, and so this is not our violence. Neither are we associated with anyone who has, and so, we do not have a stake in this. Which when you think about it is really not true.

PS: I am undecided about the last scene, yes, it was a little ambiguous and all but really thats the best he could come up with? I am not so sure. And please, do not get me started on the most talked about second sex scene. Violence and sexuality are closely related, so a lot of people think. All I can say is if you anyway discover you are married to this mobster guy and decide to stick with him, you don't have much of a choice, do you?

Update: After a bit of googling, I discovered why was it that I didn't see this movie earlier. Sepoy's review here. While I think he is being a little too harsh, agree with him on most things.

Its still movie time...

Last post on the film festival. Promise.

Louis Malle's Ascenseur pour l'échafaud (Elevator to the Gallows): Probably the most satisfying noir feature that I have seen in a long, long time. And this was apparently Malle's first movie made when he was twenty four! A self-assured ex-military man, Julien Tavernier kills his boss as he(Tavernier) happens to be having an affair with the boss's wife. He nearly leaves the scene of the crime but comes back in to pick up something, and gets stuck in the elevator. The rest you will have to go watch the movie. Top three reasons why you should see, no, own this movie (Bill, darling, have you gotten me anything for Christams yet?):
3) Henri Decaë's cinematography (there is a classic close-up shot of Moreau lit only by the lights of Champs-Elysees which is simply oustanding. Btw, I have always maintained that Paris should be shot only in black and white but more about that some other time)
2) The beautiful, beautiful Jeanne Moreau and
1) Miles Davis (So I am illiterate but I did not know that Miles was going to be around when I went in to watch the movie. And when the trumpet sounded during the opening scene, it felt like my first ever bit of warm brownie with vanilla icecream. Ok ok, so the word I was looking for there is orgasmic)

Bergman's Fanny and Alexander: No, I will leave this one alone. Will just say that it was amazing to see this finally on the big screen.

Rituparno Ghosh's Dosar: Well, to tell you the truth, it wasn't half as bad as I thought it was going to be. Nicely shot, Konkana was good, the movie itself was good here and there, but think Ghosh tries a little too hard to mimic well, you-know-who when he should be quite okay just by sticking to what he does best. Oh well, Bill's mom is happy now that dutiful daughter-in-law has watched one Bong movie at the fest. Btw, expected to see the entire Bong population of Kerala at the movie hall but was pleasantly surprised.

Now, for some disconnected schtuff about the film festival:

- Yeah yeah, I saw some "celebrities" too. Adoor Gopalakrishnan I met! And Revathy sat next to me using Fanny and Alexander. She, you know, actually seemed to like it!

- So I haven't been to international film festivals in India but from what I have seen in Chicago, NYC et al, it seemed to me as if the audience who turn up at these things almost invariably belong to certain demographics and I have no reason to believe that it would not be the case here in India. Like for example, there's apparently some sort of we-also-have-one film festival in Chennai happening right now and I can see film students, industry people, retired Hindu readers, and you know people like that. Here in Kerala though, whats surprising is not that the movie halls get filled 45 minutes before the show, its that the audience include people from all walks of life. The army officer's wife who came down from Ooty just for the week. The kid who lives two blocks down who thinks Nykvist = God. The uncle from State Bank who's a great fan of Rocha. Two maamis from the Agraharam who are hooked on to Iranian movies. The comrades from the party zonal office who seemed to know everything there's to know about movies from Latin America. Etc. Only in Kerala. Only at home. So shoot me.

- People are very very good about cell phones. They bring them in but you never have more than one going off inside the theater during a screening. Because everyone turns around and shouts at the unfortunate guy while setting their own phones to vibrate. Did I tell you I love home?

- Never underestimate the Don. Never. If you happen to go into the movie hall a little late and are unable to find a place, you will always find one of the Don's comrades who will find a seat for you. And it does not matter if there's a bandh - the comrades will get you home.

More movie minutes

Spent one super religious weekend with BM and Shilpi visiting a few thousand year old temples. Showed face to both Siva and Vishnu as well a couple of Nandis with a lot of attitude and dropped in on the 60 ft Bahubali on the way so that when the time comes, recos will come from everywhere. Got back late on Monday and missed a few good movies; so went overboard and watched four movies in the last 36 hours. All four halls were packed, with the balcony seats filled a good 45 minutes before the show.

First, Francisco Vargas's The Violin . Probably the only movie that I will get to see in the competition section. Shot entirely in black and white, The Violin opens with an unconnected but horrific scene of torture and rape, and then abruplty switches to the timeless story of three generations of Hidalgos as they are driven out of their land by seemingly ruthless soldiers. The elderly violinist Don Plutarco plays his fiddle with a string tied to the stump that was once his hand while his son Genaro plays the guitar and his grandson Lucio collects money from the crowd. In the village, Plutarco grows corn while Genaro is a guerilla who is transporting weapons to fight their oppressors. Before the weapons can reach the guerillas, the village is attacked and people driven out. Genaro's attempts to get the weapons out proves unsuccessful but it seems for a while that Plutarco can get past the roadblocks - with his violin he not only gets back to the village but also to the Commander who cannot seem to get enough of Plutarco's music. But the end when it comes is inevitable and the music has to stop. Nothing really changes but if there's any hope for change, surely it lies in the redeeming power of music and art.

From Mexico to the West Bank, the story of oppression and futile retaliation continues. In the Oscar winning Paradise Now, two auto mechanics in Nablus, Said and Khaled are chosen to carry out a suicide bombing in Tel Aviv and they go through the preparations like getting military haircuts so as to look like the settlers, and reading out final statements that are videotaped. The movie is a fast-paced suspense thriller that keeps you glued to the screen chewing your fingernails trying to figure out the ending (someone in the audience was nearly strangled when his cell phone went off in a pivotal moment) and at the same time, it potrays suicide bombers as misguided young men with aspirations and doubts like the rest of us. Quite an achievement.

Retro: Louis Malle's Lacombe, Lucien. A discomfiting coming of age story set in wartime France, Lacombe, Lucien is the story of 18-year old, hospital-cleaner Lucien who when turned down by the Resistance joins the Gestapo as a collaborator. The Gestapo works Lucien giving him small responsibilities making him feel wanted and appreciated. Seduced by power and authority, naive Lucien terrorizes his people and answers only to his German masters. Only after he falls in love with the beautiful daughter of a Jewish tailor does he begin to get second thoughts but by then he realises that its too late. Lucien is both victim and perpetuator and at the end, as the Jewish tailor puts it "we somehow cannot bring ourselves to despise him" regardless of his actions. Some very impressive direction and dialogues, this movie is truly one of Malle's best. Apparently, this movie created a huge controversy when it was released for showing a collaborator as the main character and after watching the movie, one can easily see why.

Homage: Andrei Tarkovsky's Offret (Sacrifice). (Homage for Sven Nykvist who passed away this year). Seriously, I mean, you want me to talk about Offret? Sorry, not happening. I love so many things the movie stands for and there's so many layers about the movie that I probably do not understand, but the problem is that at the end, this movie is a little too Christian for me. Too much of faith. That said, Offret must be seen. For a number of reasons but most of all for Nykvist, for the cinematography. The man is just plain incomparable. Period.

Movies for the next 24 hours:
Louis Malle's Elevator to the Gallows - Pretty sure might have to give this a miss thanks to a bandh but we will see. Some idiot's scheduled Fanny and Alexander and Volver at the same time, so its going to be the former. Promised the 13,000 nephews and nieces that I will take them to Asterix and Obelix: Mission Cleopatra which I am looking forward to but then I can't make it back in time for Dosar, so will have to make a choice there.

The Goat and other stories

The choices were between Omkara, a French comedy called La Chèvre, and a couple of Louis Malle films. The decision wasn't very difficult, I mean, you know of a better way to spend a lazy Friday afternoon than to stare at Gerard Depardieu on the big screen for a full 90 minutes? Really? So anyway, after the usual fight with the auto guy, landed up at theater a full 10 minutes early. You know, just in case. Shouldn't have bothered, there were about 40 people inside and most of them looked like students. Two women including me. I went outside and checked with guy at the exit. La Chèvre? Sure? Alright. Gerard Depardieu and there are two women in the movie hall! These Mallus are crazy, I say.

The movie itself was exactly what I needed - light, absurd, laugh-out-loud every other minute, and Depardieu in almost every frame. A young, unlucky Frenchwoman disappears in Mexico and her rich father employs an private eye Campana (Depardieu) to find her. When the attempt proves unsuccessful, the father, acting on the advice of his company's psychartist recruits a timid accountant, the accident-prone Perrin (a very excellent Pierre Richard) to help Campana. The idea is that only someone as unlucky as Perrin will be able to find the kidnapped Marie as "he will slip on the same banana peels as she does". The movie then is about the escapades of the very straight, logical, macho Mr Campana and the super clumsy, moronic, unlucky Mr Perrin as they retrace the vanished girl's steps. A series of unfortunate but comic accidents ensue, most of them predictable but nevertheless extremely funny. Funny because both Depardieu and Richard are exact opposites and there's no sign of the excited French steretype anywhere - nothing ever shakes them. Couldn't help thinking that if Hollywood were to do this, they would probably have gone the other extreme and made this another of those unwatchable, loud and boisterous monstrosities that they churn out at regular intervals.

And oh, in case you were wondering, the story is that I discovered that there's some sort of a film festival happening in the neighborhood starting today, and in the interests of giving the couch some well-earned rest, managed to get myself a pass. Looks like my pass can be used at all the state film federation type theaters such as Kalabhavan, Kairali, Tagore, Gorky Bhavan (well, what did you expect?) and of course at the Nishagandhi open air auditorium. My weekend will have to be spent in Karnataka as tickets and stuff have been booked but the plan is to spend the rest of next week running from one theater to another. Auto drivers beware! For Monday, I am trying to decide between Forever Flows (Bangladesh), Sawdust and Tinsel (yes, there's a Sven Nykvist homage happening, so there will be a couple more of these), Four Women Barefoot (Argentina), and Goodbye Children (France).