Another night of blinding pain,
Another shower of cloudless rain.
Retches through my gutless vein,
The unborn mother has died again!
© Priya Ramanthan, March, 2009
Showing posts with label Film Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Film Review. Show all posts
Monday, March 30, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
It Happened Last Night ...
I was awfully waylaid in thought last night. After years of inaction, I felt the real writer in me finally threatening to break free from the fat, lazy lady, whose body it lived in; who calls herself Priya! I was pacing like a trapped animal, in my tiny bedroom; its size or lack thereof, bearing down upon me, heavier than ever before. I could, feel my skin throbbing as the tension of self proclaimed, trapped talent, strained against my lazybones. For a moment, even then outer shell of Little Miss Muffet, harboured the idea of taking the fancy trip to some desolate land and pictured herself, beautifully silhouetted against a foreign sunset and softer sun amidst strange faces. But I knew it was just a whim that my other Sybils’ would not let me see through. I-worry-about-my-parents Sybil, was queiter than I-need-a-steady-income-in-the-time-of-worldwide-recession Sybil; but they were both annoyingly whiny and effectively deterrent of anything joyful and impulsive. Besides, there was precious little I could really do with that desire, at 12:30 a.m.
I knew sleep was the only solution, but it was difficult coming. I knew that come morning, I’d be sane enough to talk myself out of all creative whimsicality and snugly embroil myself in the heart of ordinary life. But there was still the little issue of seeing the night through without completely losing my already waning mind.
Reading usually helped me whenever an emotion such as this took over! Somehow, the act of reading always seems like the most dignified manner in which one might chose to waste one’s time; it makes the gravest moment of meaninglessness, into some sort of a worthy exercise of self discovery. God bless the books!
So, as a stop gap arrangement, to rid myself of the insomnia bout, supposedly brought on by curbed creativity ... I decided to read. It was also, I glefully realised, the quickest way to an instant, back-pack-like-exciting-not-knowing-what-to-expect-next-and-therefore-thrilling type of vacation, with an occasional dash of time travel thrown in on the lucky instance.
My next task on hand was to find a book. The one’s I had read and reread a million times, were not going to in any way, feed my desire to visit the unknown, so I decide to dig into an old book shelf that I knew was full of un read books. I randomly pulled out one, that was freakily titled 'Flyaway' by Desmond Bagley - a writer who I am ashamed to admit I had never heard of - and I never knew I owned! The book I mean ...
When I finally did sleep after 25 pages of Mr. Bageley's book, it was rather an expereince of its own, owing to an interesting tryst with my subconscios mind; which decided to relay me a spectacularly incomprehensive dream. In it I sneaked into a mosque during the festival of Eid, and daringly pilfered the tasty Biryani reserved for the worshipers after their 'imam'; constantly afraid that my theft may be caught out. That singularly delinquent fear, made the entire dream as thriling as my untaken vacation. Aahhh ... maybe that is the explanation !
I am attributing my sudden, albeit weird, burst of creativity to Desmond’s delightful descriptions. When I picked up the book last night, I was a condescending reader, who was going to grant an ‘unknown’ writer with the pleasure of my readership, to his interestingly titled, 1978 edition, priced at a paltry Rs. 15, coverless and written in first person, book.
After reading the book and being unable to put it down - save for the fact that insecure Sybil has a task at hand which she is nowhere near completing thanks to this ramble – pompous prat Sybil, who is a close cousin of wannabe-bestseller-writer Sybil, has taken a real ego bashing. If what I believed to be an unknown book, holds such a wealth of knowledge on history, human emotions and narrative, how am I ever going to make it as a known author in today's ever rising sea of writers; real, reclusive and rambling alike?
I am more than half way through the book. Now I have a new set desires keeping the company of those that I had, before ‘Flayaway’; I want to be an anthropologist, write 'another' book (ahem) and run away to Africa on a battered land rover with a sunky Englishman for a guide! I need help!
My Bucket List just keeps getting longer not to mention, dustier! Kuch Toh Karna Padhega!
I knew sleep was the only solution, but it was difficult coming. I knew that come morning, I’d be sane enough to talk myself out of all creative whimsicality and snugly embroil myself in the heart of ordinary life. But there was still the little issue of seeing the night through without completely losing my already waning mind.
Reading usually helped me whenever an emotion such as this took over! Somehow, the act of reading always seems like the most dignified manner in which one might chose to waste one’s time; it makes the gravest moment of meaninglessness, into some sort of a worthy exercise of self discovery. God bless the books!
So, as a stop gap arrangement, to rid myself of the insomnia bout, supposedly brought on by curbed creativity ... I decided to read. It was also, I glefully realised, the quickest way to an instant, back-pack-like-exciting-not-knowing-what-to-expect-next-and-therefore-thrilling type of vacation, with an occasional dash of time travel thrown in on the lucky instance.
My next task on hand was to find a book. The one’s I had read and reread a million times, were not going to in any way, feed my desire to visit the unknown, so I decide to dig into an old book shelf that I knew was full of un read books. I randomly pulled out one, that was freakily titled 'Flyaway' by Desmond Bagley - a writer who I am ashamed to admit I had never heard of - and I never knew I owned! The book I mean ...
When I finally did sleep after 25 pages of Mr. Bageley's book, it was rather an expereince of its own, owing to an interesting tryst with my subconscios mind; which decided to relay me a spectacularly incomprehensive dream. In it I sneaked into a mosque during the festival of Eid, and daringly pilfered the tasty Biryani reserved for the worshipers after their 'imam'; constantly afraid that my theft may be caught out. That singularly delinquent fear, made the entire dream as thriling as my untaken vacation. Aahhh ... maybe that is the explanation !
I am attributing my sudden, albeit weird, burst of creativity to Desmond’s delightful descriptions. When I picked up the book last night, I was a condescending reader, who was going to grant an ‘unknown’ writer with the pleasure of my readership, to his interestingly titled, 1978 edition, priced at a paltry Rs. 15, coverless and written in first person, book.
After reading the book and being unable to put it down - save for the fact that insecure Sybil has a task at hand which she is nowhere near completing thanks to this ramble – pompous prat Sybil, who is a close cousin of wannabe-bestseller-writer Sybil, has taken a real ego bashing. If what I believed to be an unknown book, holds such a wealth of knowledge on history, human emotions and narrative, how am I ever going to make it as a known author in today's ever rising sea of writers; real, reclusive and rambling alike?
I am more than half way through the book. Now I have a new set desires keeping the company of those that I had, before ‘Flayaway’; I want to be an anthropologist, write 'another' book (ahem) and run away to Africa on a battered land rover with a sunky Englishman for a guide! I need help!
My Bucket List just keeps getting longer not to mention, dustier! Kuch Toh Karna Padhega!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
DelHi 6
I watched Delhi 6 yesterday! 5 days into its release the theatre was almost totally khaali. Even as I was headed for the film, I was warned by many that it was horrid and stuff. So I kept an open mind ... And silently heaved a sigh of relief that I did not choose to watch it in a multiplex, and pay a whooping amount for an impending punishment!
Honestly ... Until the intermission, I found the film to be like chaayaa-geet! The songs were lilting ... The ‘Maula’ number gave me goose flesh! Rahman outdoes himself when he composes songs of devotion! Looks like the affection is two way; the gods certainly love him too! The visuals of the film were also were gorgeous and I saw Delhi in a new light myself! Actually I hate Delhi as a city; since each time I have been there, I have been robbed, chased, lost, and a family member has been either hurt or dead! Yet, after the film, even I wanted to give my own capital city another chance!
Oddly what many people hate about India, I seem to love; the intrusive cacaphony ... The mêlée, the over involved affection, the touching hospitality of rank strangers, traditions that seem baseless but actually have a marvellous binding force. I was told before watching the film, that as they were shooting for the pooja in the film, there were many accidents. Finally, apparently, Om Puri said, "its a pooja, so it has to be real, with a real pandit.” It’s only when they filmed a real puja, with multiple cams (I presume) did things go smoothly. The western world will never really get this Indianness! (That should be a word) But the sheer lack of logic in it all, is so innate to who we are in the core!
Having said ‘Allllllllllll Thaaaaaaaaaaat,’ I have to say I did not like the film! The first half was delightful in a corporate film of Delhi sort of way! It had no story and as a writer, I missed that! But the visuals (Binod Pradhan is a magician) were awesome, the colours riveting, and I loved the easy secularism of the first half, without saying it aloud. The second half lost the plot completely.
Oddly, the moment the story started to unfold I missed the corporate film. The first half was story-less but at least engrossing. The attempted story jarred tremendously and I, as the harrowed viewer, fervently hoped at every fade out ... Prayed for it to be the last frame of the film. That sentiment in a viewer is never good for a film!
The Abhishek meeting his grandfather Amitabh in heaven act reminded me of Harry nearly dying in the Deathly Hallows book, and meeting dead Dumbledore his own head. I know I should have thought it innovative, but after the numerous reddened Ram Leela recounts in the film, this only seemed like another gimmick and I was too exhausted from sitting in my seat until then despite my agony, to enjoy it.
Actually I feel, the concept was interesting, but the film should have been about 30-45 minutes for the essence to be appreciated. Honestly, the last five minutes of the film was really the whole films and again ... even there ... I liked it for the mad indianness. But seriously, after the trauma I had been put through until then, I was past caring; weather Abhishek lived or not ... Peace was restored or not ... The kala bandar was caught or not.
By the time the film reached its climax ... The kala bandar inside me was certainly wanting to break lose and wreck havoc on every one who had made such an infuriating ramble of a celluloid debacle.
The characters were separately nice; loved Divya Dutta as always, as also Atul Kulkarni. It’s amazing how these actors bring dignity and charm into the most inane of roles. I thought Om Puri was wasted. Pawawan Malhotra, the erstwhile 'Hari' was charming. The women were appropriately wifely. But frankly I felt the women were sweeter than the real delhi ki choriyaan who are characterised by their chunt-ness! Deepak Dobriyal was good too in his short role. After Omkara I never thought he was capable of looking genuinely vulnerable! It was a treat to see KK Raina on screen after so long! I love the Raina brothers. The child actors lent a nice energy to their scenes!
As for the lead pair, Abhishek was warm and wide eyed enough to be some one who was falling in love with not just a girl but also a whole other life! Though why he fell in love with bittu, I have absolutely no idea! Probably beaus she told him he needs glasses, or that she sported a belly button ring he never got to see (Unlike the one in dance that antara mali wore and he admittedly loved), or probably because she spat on him once or that a pigeon sat on her head… Beats me!!!
Maybe I am biased! I don't like Sonam. I find her very fake! And she also chooses her roles very badly! Her greatest asset seems to be her gorgeous hair. She also has a supremely annoying off screen demeanour. She appeared on Indian Idol and said she becomes an Idol in then film! When??? Where??? Maybe it’s not her fault. After all, as anil kapoor's daughter she has been probably brought up on the staple diet of glib talk, and megalomaniacal rambles that constantly attempt to shield mediocrity! Ok I know that is mean; true but mean nonetheless!
And yes Rishi Kapoor! Oh my ... What can I say of him??? I have to admit I am biased once again ... but this time with affection! Maybe I should say nothing! Sometimes I do say it best when I say nothing at all! Which is often rare!
Well ... enough said for 75 rupees worth of cinema! Plaza Zindabaad!
Honestly ... Until the intermission, I found the film to be like chaayaa-geet! The songs were lilting ... The ‘Maula’ number gave me goose flesh! Rahman outdoes himself when he composes songs of devotion! Looks like the affection is two way; the gods certainly love him too! The visuals of the film were also were gorgeous and I saw Delhi in a new light myself! Actually I hate Delhi as a city; since each time I have been there, I have been robbed, chased, lost, and a family member has been either hurt or dead! Yet, after the film, even I wanted to give my own capital city another chance!
Oddly what many people hate about India, I seem to love; the intrusive cacaphony ... The mêlée, the over involved affection, the touching hospitality of rank strangers, traditions that seem baseless but actually have a marvellous binding force. I was told before watching the film, that as they were shooting for the pooja in the film, there were many accidents. Finally, apparently, Om Puri said, "its a pooja, so it has to be real, with a real pandit.” It’s only when they filmed a real puja, with multiple cams (I presume) did things go smoothly. The western world will never really get this Indianness! (That should be a word) But the sheer lack of logic in it all, is so innate to who we are in the core!
Having said ‘Allllllllllll Thaaaaaaaaaaat,’ I have to say I did not like the film! The first half was delightful in a corporate film of Delhi sort of way! It had no story and as a writer, I missed that! But the visuals (Binod Pradhan is a magician) were awesome, the colours riveting, and I loved the easy secularism of the first half, without saying it aloud. The second half lost the plot completely.
Oddly, the moment the story started to unfold I missed the corporate film. The first half was story-less but at least engrossing. The attempted story jarred tremendously and I, as the harrowed viewer, fervently hoped at every fade out ... Prayed for it to be the last frame of the film. That sentiment in a viewer is never good for a film!
The Abhishek meeting his grandfather Amitabh in heaven act reminded me of Harry nearly dying in the Deathly Hallows book, and meeting dead Dumbledore his own head. I know I should have thought it innovative, but after the numerous reddened Ram Leela recounts in the film, this only seemed like another gimmick and I was too exhausted from sitting in my seat until then despite my agony, to enjoy it.
Actually I feel, the concept was interesting, but the film should have been about 30-45 minutes for the essence to be appreciated. Honestly, the last five minutes of the film was really the whole films and again ... even there ... I liked it for the mad indianness. But seriously, after the trauma I had been put through until then, I was past caring; weather Abhishek lived or not ... Peace was restored or not ... The kala bandar was caught or not.
By the time the film reached its climax ... The kala bandar inside me was certainly wanting to break lose and wreck havoc on every one who had made such an infuriating ramble of a celluloid debacle.
The characters were separately nice; loved Divya Dutta as always, as also Atul Kulkarni. It’s amazing how these actors bring dignity and charm into the most inane of roles. I thought Om Puri was wasted. Pawawan Malhotra, the erstwhile 'Hari' was charming. The women were appropriately wifely. But frankly I felt the women were sweeter than the real delhi ki choriyaan who are characterised by their chunt-ness! Deepak Dobriyal was good too in his short role. After Omkara I never thought he was capable of looking genuinely vulnerable! It was a treat to see KK Raina on screen after so long! I love the Raina brothers. The child actors lent a nice energy to their scenes!
As for the lead pair, Abhishek was warm and wide eyed enough to be some one who was falling in love with not just a girl but also a whole other life! Though why he fell in love with bittu, I have absolutely no idea! Probably beaus she told him he needs glasses, or that she sported a belly button ring he never got to see (Unlike the one in dance that antara mali wore and he admittedly loved), or probably because she spat on him once or that a pigeon sat on her head… Beats me!!!
Maybe I am biased! I don't like Sonam. I find her very fake! And she also chooses her roles very badly! Her greatest asset seems to be her gorgeous hair. She also has a supremely annoying off screen demeanour. She appeared on Indian Idol and said she becomes an Idol in then film! When??? Where??? Maybe it’s not her fault. After all, as anil kapoor's daughter she has been probably brought up on the staple diet of glib talk, and megalomaniacal rambles that constantly attempt to shield mediocrity! Ok I know that is mean; true but mean nonetheless!
And yes Rishi Kapoor! Oh my ... What can I say of him??? I have to admit I am biased once again ... but this time with affection! Maybe I should say nothing! Sometimes I do say it best when I say nothing at all! Which is often rare!
Well ... enough said for 75 rupees worth of cinema! Plaza Zindabaad!
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