Ikiru

Orginally written for Passionforcinema.com. The article has been published here. I suggest you read the article at the link given because that one is a tad complete!

Watnabe knows he will die. Soon. But, it is not death that scares the wits out of him. It is life. His life. A lifetime of wasted opportunity. A life of failed expectaions would have been still better. His was a life of no expectations. A life wasted behind the pile of emotionless papers. He didn't miss even a single day of his office in the work span of 29 years, 11 months. Stamp after stamp after stamp after stamp after stamp after stamp...

A life that carried out recursive functions, without any goal and purpose in sight. A life that associated no joy or sorrow with the rising sun, with the star studded night, with anything. A life that was so listless, that it was not even life at all. These things come rushing back to him, when he is diagonised with stomach cancer and he knows, he only has half a year or year at maximum. To live.

Now, he desperately wants to cling on something. Anything. He doesn't know how. He wants to decorate his life in all the ways he possibly can. The miser even withdraws his hard earned 50,000 yen, because he wants to enjoy. At any cost. He goes places for seeking that elusive thing, happiness. No matter how transient or superfecial it may be. Places, he would have never even imagined going. Because, he hadn't given his life even a chance before. He had closed the doors to happiness ages ago, and when now life is actually closing door on him, he wants to sneak through and live it. Live it all. Like never before.

He meets the girl from his office who is a bundle of exuberance, and exudes contagious joy. Watnabe is both envious and happy to see her. She unconsciously leads Watnabe to discover himself, what he really wants to do the rest of his life. Of doing atleast one thing in his life he is proud of.

Kurosawa's sensitive lens meets Hashimoto's poignant story in this stunning movie. Such is Kurosawa's brilliance that he doesn't speak much, but even then he speaks volumes. I had merely heard about the art of silence, with Ikiru I have experienced it. Kurosawa's brilliance is not only mind numbing, it is also heart warming in the same breath. The penultimate shot shows Watnabe, hours before his death, on a swing, with a smile on his lips. Lively than ever before. The smile of a satisfied man. The satisfaction of having atleast lived a live. The satisfaction of him being able to provide something of value to others.

Because, that is what Ikiru is all about. It is not about death, it is not about questioning it's inevitability. It is about life. It is about having a purpose, it is about keeping the flame alive in our hearts. It is about the skip in our walk, it is about still being a kid at heart. It is about embracing those little things that we so forget in our busy, daily lives. It is about having a dream, and then doing anything to fulfill it.

Below is the lyrics of the song, that Watnabe sings during some of the scenes of the movie:

life is brief.

fall in love, maidens

before the crimson bloom

fades from your lips

before the tides of passion

cool within you,

for those of you

who know no tomorrow

Of middle class, insignificant things and growing up with Indian Cinema.

Originally written for Passionforcinema.com. The article has been published here.

Cinema is still frowned upon in many of the middle class families; it is only logical when the first concern is fuelling the stomach, fuelling the heart comes at a much, much later stage. Though I grew up in a milder version of the aforementioned setting, I, like any other movie enthusiast watched movie after movie every Friday. Those were not the days of multiplexes, but hot, suffocating theaters. No nachos at the oh so swank counters, instead there was a huge clank of bottles with the bottle opener seconds before the intermission, accompanied with Thanda, Thanda.

I grew up watching a host of movies; good, bad, ugly, boisterous, boring, bullshit. 90’s was an interesting decade for lots of things were happening simultaneously at the same time, Mithun Da’s Aai-Yaee , Akhsay Kumar crushing the genitals of all the baddies and proclaiming I do all my stunts myself. And this used to be the talking point at our school. Saala kya hero hai. There were few actors, only heroes and heroines. Barring Aamir Khan, almost every ‘hero’ had the same weird hairdo, the shoulder long length hair, and mouthing dialogues which even their kaam waali would have cringed upon hearing. Even the goddamn interviews were the same; it’s a very different role. I’m sure I must have missed the interview, where someone would have said, the role was very challenging for me. I play a different rapist.

But that was cinema in those days; it was so detached from the real life. Barring few movies, almost every other movie seemed to follow a certain pattern. Religiously. Six-seven scenes cut to a song, then again six-seven scenes, cut to a song, and so on. It looked as if the movies were being made by a group of programmers paid to execute certain instructions. So I watched and watched and watched. And waited, and waited.

Week after week, it was the same stuff, same Switzerland, same snow, same hero, different heroine. (I swear on god, I have no problems with the chiffon sarees, and the sleeveless blouse amidst the snow capped peaks, the only problem I have is everything should gel with the story. Does anyone remember the Europe that DDLJ showed us? That was not Europe for the heck of it. In a similar vein Kuch Kuch Hota Hai was honest enough).

On the other hand, there was the same corrupt police officer Shinde, same corrupt, flawed ‘system’, same nobler than thou hero sometimes as police inspector, sometimes as the nobody. To quote Norton from Fight Club, everything was a copy of a copy of a copy. And the sad thing is, back then, I even used to enjoy some of them, not because they were good movies, but because I had no choice. If you have never seen Tendulkar bat, you would start liking Ashraful’s batting someday. I can bet on that.

So basically that was it, I had started wondering, is this what cinema is all about? Is it only about certain particular things? Does it have to be shown in a particular way? Why everything that is shown to us is perfect? Why are families always happy? And even if things are wrong, why are they so obviously wrong, that it makes me puke? Not at the wrongness, but the crassness in which it has been delineated. Why does everything oscillate in extremes? When would someone capture the simple delights of life, or was it an unimportant chapter ignored while writing the ‘rulebook’ of Indian cinema in that decade?( I didn’t know at that time, that movies like Saaransh had been made and forgotten long ago).

The late 90’s still produced some watchable movies, thanks to one man. Ram Gopal Verma. There was an instant connection with his movies. His most talked about work, Satya, was also about gangsters as thousands of other movies in the same decade were. The similarity ended right there. The execution just blew everyone. ‘Kyun be maarna tha? Ae Amitabh Bacchan marega kya? With Rangeela he changed the way heroines would be presented, and followed it up with absurdly funny Daud. Everyone had enough of the cheesy lines, and the Ram Rajya being shown on the screen, the tryst with realism had to begin somewhere.

I’ve had various moments in the cinema hall, where not the movie but the people watching it were the source of entertainment. The most recent one that I can remember goes something like this:
The movie was Mission Istanbul’lshit’, where in one of the scene, they had shown a look alike of George Bush. Cut to the conversation in back –

A “Saala, lagta hai bahut paisva kharcha kiya hai. Dekho, Jorj Boos bhi acting kar raha hai.”
B – Pagla gaye ho ka? E to pirated hai.”
( Translating the above, would rob all its charm!).

The (najayaz) Baap of all movies: Gunda

Originally written for Passionforcinema.com.

Disclaimer: This post has lots of profanity. Acche ghar ki bahu, betiyan are advised to skip this post.

"There are three kinds of movies in this world. Good. Bad. And Gunda" - Ancient Chinese proverb.

I can't claim to write anything new( or refreshingly fresh) about this classic. But, that is what great things are about, it graciously shelters every one and gives each its own space. This is my humble dedication to GreatBong, the followers of this cult classic, and last but(t) certainly not the least, Prabhujee.

There are some movies which pushes the envelope of cinema to an extent that when you are done with the film, you are speechless. You don't know what just happened, were you thrown into an illusionary world of madness where nothing is what it seems? Has it ever happened with you? It has happened with me only two times. Once, when I watched Fight Club(David Finch's) and the other when I saw Gunda. Gunda is not only a movie, it is an epic, it is an epitome of what an ideal Bollywood movie should be. Never before has a movie seen such nicely etched characters, where their names not only rhymes with their motives, but also their appearnces. When was the last time world cinema saw such nicely etched characters? Don't you ever say movies like Reservoir Dogs, here the five goons(in one of the scenes) introduce themselves with some breathtaking dialogues. Not only the dialogues mirrors the demented state of this world, they are lyrical and poetic in nature. For a second, I was confused, whether this was Rime of the Ancient Mariner or the movie. But, that is the brillance of the dialogue writer Bashir Babar. He shows why S.T.Coleidge can never be Bashir Babar, but it is not the other way around. The dialogues rhymes with such efforltess ease that it elevates the movie to a level where movie makers can only see it, can never ,ever dare to go near it. Sample this video where each of the characters introduce themselves. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4uiQMI3riE.

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Mukesh Rishi - Naam hai mera Bulla rakhta hun khulla.

Shakti Kapoor - Mera naam hai chuttiya, acchi acchon ki khadi karta hoon main khatiya. bulli kahan hai teri ungli, bulla bhai ab hoga hulla gulla. police aur hukumat karegi hai bulla, hai chuttiya. Sab bolenge hai chttuiya, hai bulla. Arre dhoondho dhoondho kahan hai chuttiya,pakdo pakdo kahan hai bulla.

Mohan Joshi - Mera naam hai pote, jo apne baap ke bhi nai hote. Jaljala jaag utha hai, ab sabko pata chalega ki gang war start ho chuka hai. lashein aise tapkeingi jaise nanhe munne ke nunni se peshab tapakta hai. TAP. TAP.

Harish Patel - Mera naaam hai Ibu Hatela, maa meri chudail ke beti, baap mera shaitan ka chela, khayega kela?

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The above dialogues clearly gives you an insight on how layered the script is. Not only does it gives you a peek into the history of each and every character, the great Kanti Shah also pays homage to some of his favorite movies.

Sample this, when Ibu Hatela says, "Maa meri Chudail ki beti, baap mera Shaitan ka chela.:" He clearly means that his baap is an IAS officer who works for the corrupt ministers( and thus, Shaitan ka Chela), and since his mom is Chudail ki beti busy shaking legs(and god knows what!)with fellow chudailins, this poor hatela guy is all alone. So alone is this guy that he is dangerously close to violating the line of sanity, as depicted in Scorsese's Taxi Driver. Thus,Ibu Hatela's character is Kanti Shah's homage to this Scorsese classic. So this hatela guy's life is colorless until one fine day he realises that 'kela' is just not a fruit, but how 'fruitfull' it can become. So he starts social servicing his kela to ward off his lonelineness.

Now, when Bulla says Naam hai mera bulla rehta hun main khulla, it implies how uncluttered his mind is. That Bulla is so innocent that he is unaware of the decitful ways of this world. You culd have easily found him talking stupidly with one of the ladies waiting for their buses, and saying My Momma said stupid is who stupid does. Yes. Bulla's character is homage to the one of the most innocent characters in Cinematic world, who was always khulla(read transparent or innocent).Forrest Gump.( You shouldd see the incoence dripping from Bulla's eyes when he kills anyone!)

When Chuttiya says, Naam hai mera chuttiya, acche acchon ki khada karta hun main khatiya. khadi karta hun main khatiya, clearly means that he is unable to sleep, the insomniac behavior, the same problem which Norton was suffering in FightClub, the dig at the white collored jobs. Chuttiya is Shah's homage to Tyler Duren's character.

And when Mohan Joshi says, naam hai mera Pote jo apne baap ke bhi nai hote, shows the concept of selflessness, that whatever be, the 'self' shouldn't be sacrificed, the belief in the power of "I". No prizes for guessing, Pote is homage to Rand's hero Howard Roark.

This is a descripition of just many of the wonderful scenes.Each and every frame of this epic ought to be discussed, because this movie is equivalent to a painting, the different colors fusing with each other to give us something we can cherish for. Let's look at this scene now: from 4:55 to 6:18. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3BMCgNFd80&feature=related.

The najayaz son of Terminator II wants to rape the oh-so-awesome-touch-me-not-plant sister of prabhujee. She runs for one and a half seconds and then falls, and waits for 4 seconds so that the najayaz son of Terminator II can fall on her. Now, intense fight and bacha bachao, the calisthenics of Terminator II and his facial contortions make me believe that lady is raping him, not the other way around. Some second later, the hero comes(no, not prabhujee, some local disciple) and kicks the fuck out of the guy being raped. Then, the normal shukriya and crap follows, the guy asks, "Tum iss veerane me kya kar rahi ho?" If you see the video you would get the setting, it is a fucking desert, with only one electric pole(or something which resembles that, no double meaning here, if you count all the pole it would be two, as the hero is also standing besides her, but mind you, I'm a good boy!)in the vicinity. And the girl replies, "Main to college ja rahi thi." College in a desert? Yes, that is Kanti Shah's take on our educational system. Why there are nocolleges in the desert? In the jungles? When would institutes like IIT,IIMs come to desert? Why there is such a disparity?Why are educational oppurtunities not equal? You never know,but soon after that, a place in Rajasthan(close to the deserts),coaching institues begun to spring in large numbers in a place called Kota. Huge number of people are making it to the esteemed IIT's from that place now. Such was(and is, and will be)the power of Gunda.

The movie also corrodes our conscience on one very important thing. Rape. Kanti Shah's epic almost hoarse its lungs out - Why is Rape not a fundamental right? Why is Rape considered wrong? When will all the horny men of this world get a 'realise'? Why is being horny wrong? Cows have horns, they are not wrong, we worship them. Then, why adding a mere 'y' makes it so abominable? Also, there is an almost unwritten rule in Prabhujee's movie( this applies only to his sisters). The rules are:

1. If you are prabhujee's sister, you should, and you would be raped. Don't ask why. Ask when.

2. If you are prabhujee's sister, and you have not got the priviledge of being raped, contact the higher authorites as soon as possible and inquire when the needful would be done.

3. If the aforementioned points do not apply, you are not prabhujee's sister. Yes, it is true. Better luck next time.

I can go on and on, but go and cherish the masterpiece for yourself. As they say, ye to bas trailer poori film abhi baaki hai. Also, to make this masterpiece even more exciting, you can do a tarantino to Gunda. That is, you watch the last scene first, then see some random scenes in the middle, and then watch it from the first scene. Trust me on this, it won't make even an ounce of a difference, as comapred towatching it linearly. Isn't that one of the many intriguing things about this movie? Watch it for yourself, and I'm sure you would find lots more. The lovers of cult classics, my humble offering to you. Lastly,inspired by the poetic Bashir Babar I would leave you with two lines I cooked up on my own for the sheer love of my favorite movie.

Agar G**nd me hai gudda

To zaroor dekhna Gunda

My Roommate

Taken from my roommate's diary. Word to word.

One month just flew past in a new country. Everything has kept me amazed, enchanted. The system, the place, the people, the food, and the University, of course. I wish I could have said the same about my roommate though. I'm not saying he is bad, but he is definitely not the my kind of a guy. We don't tick of together, so as to say, and I'm really having a difficult time adjusting with him. We have the same major and our most of the classes are same, but still I'm not being able to connect with him, and I'm certain is vice-versa also.

Firstly, I don't understand what kind of a guy he is. I also don't understand what does he wants to do with his life. He reads novels all the time, watches movies, writes( or blogs as he says) and I don't know what not. He is pretty entangled into the web of his own which he has so gleefully constructed. I don't know what joy he derives from that. He rarely studies and the sad part is, when the assignments are due, he just copies it from me. I mean what the heck. Bloody Irritating, I tell you. You literally work your backside off for the damn assignments and there he is at a distance, for the whole week enjoying himself and so conveniently copies from me a day before. As a result, we end up having the same marks. I don't have problems with him getting marks, but still, show some honesty.

And I seriously don't get, what he gets by doing all kinds of things. Haven't we come here to study, why the heck is he wasting his time? I asked him once, "Man, why are you wasting your time?"
He replied, "I'm not"
I asked again, "Don't you have to study?"
He said, "Yes. I have to. But, issme bada mazaa aa raha hai yaar!"
I asked again, "What are you doing?"
He replied, "Movie"
"Which one?"
"Mullholland Drive. David Lynch. Mind boggling man!"

Mull-what? And who Lynch? I left him at that. And I've asked him two more times, as to what he was doing, as I thought he should be studying at that time. To which he replied, "Blogging" once and "Reading(Novel)" the other time around. Seriously, this guy is difficult to understand. He is unnecessarily making life difficult for him.

What will he gain by blogging? By watching movies?( and that too by directors around the globe who have one kilometer long names and they make equally weird movies). He showed me once this movie, said its mind blowing and the sets of adjectives he has memorised to praise anything under the sun. The movie was 'Taxi Driver'. Such a boring and listless movie I haven't seen in my entire life. What crap man. What was there in the movie? Bullshit. I'm a big fan of Hollywood but not the kind of movies this guy sees. I like Adam Sandler and those kinds of movies. That is the point, our tastes don't match at all. Not at all. And also when it comes to movies, novel this guy is very, very opinionated. One day I got pissed off by his 'See-I-know-so-much-about-everything' that I asked him, "Dude, Hang on. Are you planning to direct a movie someday?"
"No," he said.
"Do you plan to become a movie critic?"
"No," he said.
"Will you become an author someday?"
"No," he said.
I wanted to shout, What the fuck man! Shut up and stop flaunting your supposedly great ideas in front of me. You know what he is a big hypocrite. The biggest that I've ever seen. A bundle of contradictions.
"Then?" I asked, more irritated than surprised.
"Passion yaar! I like doing these things. I really like it," He said.
That has to be the lamest reply of the century. Though I didn't reply anything to him, I simply kept quiet. Because the kind of hyper and short tempered the guy he is, we would have ended up fighting. Anyways. I will tell you about this guy's passion and his heights of hypocrisy. We had to take a Humanity course, and there were like 300-400 options to choose from. And before the orientation, our seniors had told us to take the 'Asian Mythology' because it was one subject in which it was easy to score an A, as the subject had stuff related to Ramayana and Mahabharata which we had already studied. So, once we were discussing about about to take as a Humanity course I said, " I will take Asian Mythology. The seniors have told us its easy to get an A in that. And getting a good GPA is of prime importance."

He replied," Give me a break man. Asian Mythology? The stuff which we have studied and known about it for ages? What will you 'learn' from taking Asian Mythology? Take something which excites you dude. You've come to States for learning something, this is the only place which gives you a chance to do what you are best at. Don't take an Asian Mythology and ridicule your likings."

Everyone was drop dead silent. I asked, "What are you planning to take?"
He said, "ENGL 104. Introduction to World Cinema"

As usual, I went and registered myself for the Asian Mythology course after meeting my advisor the next day. I saw him getting out of the Engineering Hall and asked him, "What did you take?"
His face told me the whole story. With a voice as heavy as his guilt he replied, " Asian Mythology." I didn't demand anything. He explained me, "Yaar! I asked the seniors again, they said these literature types courses are damn difficult to get an A in. But, never mind I've met an American guy and he has taken the World Cinema course. I will keep in touch in with him and if at the end of the semester he says, an A is gettable then I would take the course" He siad and walked away.

That's him. He is nothing but just a common man, who wants good grades, good job, a decent lifestyle. Just like each one of us. So, all that talk about Passion and liking is bullshit. He is faking himself. At the surface he is this guy who is confident and knows what he is doing. But, I'll tell you what he is. He is just a pseudo-intellectual who is a coward. Had he not been a coward he would not have chosen World Cinema over Asian Mythology. You see, He has come to States for learning something, this is the only place which gives him a chance to do what he is best at. He shouldn't take an Asian Mythology and ridicule his likings. Yes, very right. He would swim with the tide, like each one of us. Just that he is too chicken to admit it.

Shitty Shitty Bang Bang!

The text of this post is very gross. Please stay away, if, stuff of this kind offends you. Thank You!

I dedicate this post to all the public toilets of the world.

Shitting has always been a very personal thing for me( What a profound statement to make. Isn't it for everyone else too? Anyways.), so I got and still get, though with a lesser magnitude - worked up, when I got to know that the dorm in which I had moved in had a public toilet(4 toilets for 20 people, not a very bad ratio also, although that is a different story). I had never shared toilets before. I mean, even if I had, they were structurally different than this. The previous ones, were closed ones, and this has a cubicle of sorts, which throws up a wonderful prospect of people shitting together. Literally.

Isn't it strange when you are shitting, alongside there is a guy/girl who is also doing the same(Not every time, but generally most of the times). What would he be doing at this time? Dropping and feeling relieved?( how much relieved to be precise?), or waiting to feel relieved and singing some songs in anticipation?( Rafi's Aa Jaa Aa Jaa or Britney's Baby One More Time?), he might also be sleeping for all you know or wiping his ass? Horrendous pictures of tissues painted in various shades of yellow come to mind.

Shitting is not only a biological exercise for me, but also, a physical( I yawn very loudly in Hindi, stretch my muscles, cock my head, make all sounds of noise with remote bones in my body) and an emotional one too( Isn't it? You have the all time in world when you shit. You are at peace with yourself. Nowadays, with the increasingly busy life( don't I sound like a typically sex starved working middle aged frushtoo guy?) where does one get time to think for himself? for others? When I shit I think about things close to my heart, this is the time when I'm in my best moods and is generally accompanied by singing some song. Now, when you are shitting in your home, it doesn't matter how loudly/softly sing, neither does the talent of your vocal chords. But, when you are shitting in a public toilet, you can't sing. And that irritates me. It curbs your independence, it doesn't let you be you. I could have done that in India, but, how can I in United States? It has nothing to do with the quality of people, neither to do with the quality of the country. It has to do with the quality of songs. I mean imagine, me singing ' Sarkailiyo Khatiya/Takia/whatever Jaada lage' and the guy shitting beside me gets disturbed due to that. What will he do then? You never know. These Americans are dangerous. He might scoop his head out of the common wall underneath and say, " Dude, Stop that song of yours. It disturbs my bowel movement." Now, that won't be so good. On second thoughts, will he knock the common wall before scooping his head out?

And I've a weird habit of looking here and there while shitting( I mean all around, 360 degrees) and it is kind of strange, you can only watch a guy's shoe and some parts of his shorts covering his lower part of legs. It is kind of interesting to note what kind of footwear he is wearing, and also the color of his lowers. Some colours surely put me off( though they in anyway don't disturb my bowel movements), but that is what the thing is. Then, after few minutes you hear the sound the flush produces and you know this relationship is going to end. You kind of feel bad. But, hasn't someone wisely said, 'All things in life have to end'. Now, you come out, possibly an eye contact, which might suggest a lot of things; My God! You were there for a freaking half an hour, what were you up to? Or, Get yourself a nice pair of floaters before you even think of shitting again. Or, You used a lot of tissue today, I could make out that from the squealing of the tissue paper's stand.

On the contrary, you might not think any of these. May be, you just smile and say, "It was nice shitting with you."

The common Wall I described in my post!

Fountainhead the movie fails

Originally written for Passionforcinema.com. The article has been originally published here.

First things first. People differ over what Fountainhead represents( whether it is right or wrong) and an endless debate is ensued over this fact, I don’t want to get into any of that. I intend to talk only about ‘Fountainhead the movie’.

What was strikingly different from the novel is the depth of characterization. In the novel’s beginning, you could feel for Roark’s frustration when he laughs sitting on the cliff or his indifference to everyone to the extent that he saw no one walking in the street so much so that he could have walked naked beyond concern. That is the relationship (love or loathe) one forms with Howard Roark in the first two pages of the novel. You can feel Roark’s frustration when he is sitting in the dean’s offixe and is being unfailingly persuaded by the dean. The dialogues between the dean and the student are fantastic.( Agreed, they are filmy and a bit impractical, but, so is the whole of premise of the novel, if you may so please). The dean is furious that Howard is unapologetic, the dean can’t believe that the name ‘Stanton’ can’t shake his will, that for the first time he has encountered someone who considers an individual above the institution, that the person who is going to expel the student feels more clueless than the student who is being expelled.

Contrary to the novel, the movie begins quite abruptly with Howard being in the dean’s office and he says that he will have to expel him. For someone, who might have not read the novel would take some seconds to gather, relax what’s happening? There is no conflict of ideas between the Neo and the established, between the unconventional man and the conventional world, no groundwork has been set, you don’t feel Roark’s stubbornness neither do you see Dean’s helplessness. And that was the beauty of the novel I feel. I mean, for a second, f**k all talk about Objectivism and everything, whether you buy it or not is inconsequential. What matters is every character in the novel was beautifully etched, and you could have easily said that I hate/love this character. There is no such feeling in the movie. And that, I feel is the problem of the movie. That it never goes deep into the psyche of the characters and just sets it up on the screen. Probably for the heCk of it. Everything happens in a daze, in a nonsensixal hurried fashion that makes you sit and wonder – what’s up with the pace? And that is my grievance with the film, that it doesn’t do justice to the novel. Now, some people might say they that had they gone into the history or detailing of every character the movie itself would have been too long. Yes. I agree there too, because if you go on to do full justice to the novel the movie could well be more than three hours long which would have been a torture in itself( or may be not. Who know? Gone with the wind, Lagaan, Sholay were all more than 210 minutes long!). Also, the characters in the novel are such that they are difficult to portray on screen. It is practically impossible to take out each and every detail from a book and incorporate that into a movie. I agree. Successful adaptations of the ‘Mystic River’, ‘The Godfather’ bolster this point.

So, my point is ‘The Fountainhead’ shouldn’t have been made into a movie. At least not the way they made it. Gary Cooper fails miserably as the ‘hero’. Or, may be anyone who will play Howard Roark will fail. Because, the image that people have come to associate with Howard Roark is difficult to fathom. Isn’t it difficult to portray someone who didn’t exist? Someone who will not exist?

Gary Cooper lacks conviction while delivering his lines, may be didn’t understand most of it. (he wanted the courtroom speech to be curtailed because he was finding it difficult to memories and understand most of the lines). When Cooper (Roark) refuses the commission for a bank, his ‘No’ is a flat. It lacks the authority. When Howard Roark says ‘No’ I expect it to spit fire on screen, the ‘No’ should spit venom, have the stamp of authority and pummel the man conversing him in such an ignominy that it makes a mockery of anyone who is even thinking of trying to convince Roark . When Henry Cameroon says on his death bed, Do you want to have a similar fate like me, Cooper’s ‘Yes’ is again non- authoritative. May be I’m expecting too much? May be I’m being a bit too judgmental? May be yes, because I almost adored the novel, the power of Rand’s writing blew me and compared to that the movie was pale. The main thing about Rand’s writing is you can either love her or hate her. She doesn’t allow you to tread a middle path, but, after watching the movie my emotions didn’t tilt towards any extreme (which certainly did while reading the novel). I was plain indifferent and disappointed.

Manorma Six Feet Under: A Six Pack sexy movie!

Originally written for - Passionforcinema.com. The artixle has been originally published here.

If you go by the 'white is white, black is black' definition of right and wrong, then Manorma Six Feet Under is a copy of Chinatown. And it kind of bothered me a wee bit before I sat down watching it. But, not after that. Not even a wee bit. I had not seen Chinatown by that time. And I chanced to see Chinatown couple of days later, and my admiration of Manorma Six Feet increased further. Albeit inspired (or copied, or whatever), this is a good movie. No doubt.

The movie opens in a Rajasthan, where the land is as thirsty for water as is the protagonist (Abhay Deol playing Satyaveer) thirsty for recognition, success. The vast, dry land as a backdrop make for good visuals. In particular, the scenes where the protagonist is shown driving his vehicle. Simple. Captivating. SV, an engineer by profession, a pulp novelist by passion is finding it difficult to get his life moving courtesy a nagging wife, an unsuccessful job.

One day, he meets Sarika and she gives a purpose to his humdrum life. He has to click some photos for her, so that she may be able to blackmail her 'politician' husband and which may facilitate the process of divorce for her. SV soon comes to know that things are not as straight forward as he thought they were. Speeding one night on the highway, he meets her again. She is very panicky and says something to him. The next morning he reads the paper. She is dead. And she was not the wife of Chief Minister. SV is obviously startled by this sudden revelation and wants to put to rest all the confusion.

The movie moves at a good pace initially, fully in control, holding the viewer's interest, scenes tend to merge into one another comfortably. However, somewhere in the middle (and that is the movie's negative point), the movie becomes painfully slow. Everything ceases to happen. You feel you can go take a cold drink from your fridge, reply to your friend's scrap, send an SMS or two and still it won't affect you. Not very thriller like, you would want to say. May be the comatose pace in between is intentional, it contrasts well with the full of twists, exciting and a good paced climax. The sudden change of gears takes you aback. The movie's climax is icing on the cake. It moves swiftly and makes you question your judgment about every character. No one is 'noir' here in the literal sense; the grayness of the character makes a compelling climax.

Performance wise, Abhay Deol carries the movies on his shoulders. I was never a fan of Abhay Deol. But, after watching 'Socha Na Tha' and 'MSFU' in a space of two weeks, I am now. He may not be the next big thing in boll wood, but he is here to stay. In this movie, he plays the role of a frustrated man to a T. the frustration is there, you can feel it. It never comes out though, but you think it can. Anytime. That is the beauty of the character and the way Abhay Deol has portrayed it. In the movie, the guy may be 25, but looks like 35, and acts like 45. Sarika lights up the screen every time she appears and sparkles in a small role. Kulbhushan Kharbhanda has nothing special to offer, Vinay Pathak doesn't disappoint. Raima Sen is not breathtaking, but she is not bad either to spoil the movie. Gul Panag could have been a tad better with her pronunciations. I liked the way she pronounces 'Editor' as 'A-Dee-tur' in her first scene but after that her pronunciation is a bit polished for comfort. She acts pretty well though, something I was pleasantly surprised at. Background music is superb. It is slow, subtle and is faithful to the movie's pace.

This movie might not be a Chinatown. And somewhere down the line, I think the makers of MSFU knew that. Albeit an inspired story, the execution is top class. A good movie. A good tribute to a good movie. Polanski would be happy to see Manorma Six Feet Under.