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  • Balekempa: of desires, despondence and inner demons

    Balekempa: of desires, despondence and inner demons

    A look at Ere Gowda’s directorial debut, Balekempa (The Bangle Seller), a Kannada film that received the FIPRESI Jury Award at the International Film Festival Rotterdam for its “subtle and delightful portrayal of a universal theme against the backdrop of a rich local culture.” The film was also recognized for “tackling patriarchy and feminism in a small South Indian village, using the lives of a childless couple as the entry into a world that is all too familiar, yet ultimately revealing.”

     

    At the heart of Balekempa is Kempanna, a diligent bangle seller who tirelessly traverses the countryside, offering sought-after beauty and adornment products for women. While he remains oblivious to his marital responsibilities and his dutiful but unfulfilled wife, Kempanna goes about his daily duties in an unassuming manner, much to her dismay and stoic acceptance.

    Balekempa transcends the story of a simple, quiet, and hardworking bangle seller. The supporting characters bring their own radiance to the narrative, illuminating the otherwise routine activities in the village, where the residents engage in their daily tasks with regimented regularity. Be it tending to cattle, selling vegetables, or engaging in gossip while aiding one another in a familial manner.

    Ironically, Kempanna, as a bangle seller, goes the extra mile to adorn the hands and faces of the women who gather around him, yet he maintains an aloof and matter-of-fact demeanor towards his wife, who longs for companionship and, more profoundly, to bear a child. Ere Gowda skillfully captures the contrasting emotional dynamics of the couple through the visually vibrant camerawork of Saumyananda Sahi, who also serves as the film’s editor. The film’s minimal dialogue ensures that viewers are completely immersed in the characters’ daily lives, elevating Balekempa beyond a simple pastoral tale.

    Minimalist, yet efficacious and evocative, the mis en scene creates the big picture of the languid village life and the couple’s existentialist existence, even as the underlying frisson of physical desire and an aching for conjugal companionship pulsates on the periphery.

    As to the consciously cold relationship that the Kempanna couple keep up amidst pretenses of marital bliss, it is through the villagers’ familiar fodder of hearsay that one learns that the couple are still childless. Saubhagya, Kempanna’s wife, and her mother earnestly seek divine intervention to bless the couple with a child and awaken a sense of responsibility in Kempanna, despite his indifference to his wife’s desires. The reasons behind their situation are subtly and silently conveyed through carefully structured visual storytelling, unraveled at a deliberately unhurried pace.

    Ere Gowda’s choice to cast non-professional actors like he did in Thithi transforms Balekempa into a powerful and poignant portrayal of family life, showcasing the discerning eye of a seasoned filmmaker. Balekempa becomes a lyrical lament for a marriage strained by the bangle seller’s asexual disposition, while his wife longs for physical intimacy and fulfillment. We witness how suppressed desires remain poised to erupt, like a smoldering volcano.

    In summation, even as the enterprising and ensemble narrative vividly captures the vignettes of village life in all its vibrant detail, the film draws viewers subtly and sensuously into the interplay of human relationships, which forms the fulcrum of Balekempa and its resident deities, all caught in the thrall of their individual destinies.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]

  • Church, commune & chameleon

    Church, commune & chameleon

    We are a family, and the loyalty of the family must come before anything and everyone else. For if we honour that commitment, we will never be vanquished – but if we falter in that loyalty we will all be condemned.

    –Mario Puzo, The Family

     

    If a body catch a body coming through the rye.” “I keep picturing all these little kids playing in this big field of rye and all. And nobody’s around—nobody big, I mean—except me. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody …. I mean … I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be. I know it’s crazy.

    –J D Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

     

    The above passage from Salinger’s eponymous classic could very well aptly apply to Malayalam film director Don Palathara’s Sony–the Man Friday, the Eternal Do-Gooder, the Rainmaker–of his Christian commune, the family. Sheathed in sheep’s skin, stealthily hiding the stalking traits of a predator behind the camouflage he so cleverly wears, he wins the confidence, trust and goodwill of his unsuspecting community.

    Salinger’s Holden Caulfield is a hunter, hunting innocence—not to ravish or pulverise it, but to save it, to nurture it, and give it space. Sony, on the other hand, behind the naïve, chameleon façade he fronts, is a noxious and nefarious satyromaniac despoiling innocents led unto his satanic acre in implicit faith he would deliver good education to them.

    After all, this jobless, all errands man, is most sought after to tutor (he had been running a tutorial centre now shut down) those that are poor of poetry or weak in maths what have you.

    Aided, abetted and assisted, of course, by the Family that constitutes the universe around him. Blinkered and ignorant of the blighted existence their benign hearted Sony lives, freely prowling and preying upon the Holy Innocents with impunity thrusted unto his lair.

    In fact, one could say Sony is Palathara’s hideous Holden, unlike Salinger’s,  habituated to satiate his lustful hunger preying on right before the righteous eyes of the Family that Sony comes from.

    Through Sony’s “instinctual, insatiable, pedophiliac disposition” to “prey on pubescent children” Don Palathara starkly spotlights on the harsh realities of physical violence, sexual abuse, and societal corruption, in his latest directorial visitation in The Family.

    With the church, and the community he comes from, blissfully brushing aside his felonies going against all Catholic precepts, taken in by his geniality, Sony scours, stalks and satiates his inner demon with wanton abandon.

    Brushing aside any aspersions being cast on dear Sony says the man’s aunt, a nun, “Sony is bit over friendly with children” assertively dismissive of sister Rani’s misgivings about Sony’s trespasses stating “you had your share of silliness” vainly observing “everybody makes mistakes.”

    In fact, akin to Pope Alexander VI in Mario Puzo’s The Family, belief that “God will ultimately forgive his many sins simply because, as pope, he is infallible and divine,” Sony’s nun-aunt too is convinced that he will be forgiven of all his transgressions, the Lord Jesus “who purifies sinners” would “wash away the sins of brothers and sisters,” as goes the priest’s litany in the wake of the suicide of a member in Family.

    With the powers that be turning a blind eye to Sony’s treacherous trysts be it with Subi seeking to know to write poetry, or Stephy wanting to better in maths or the much older Aleema who is abused even as the family prays for the departed soul, the demonic man has a free run with the young ones around.

    As if that was won’t enough you have Sony being asked to teach the students of the community schools thereby opening the field for exploitation even more widen open the Family or the Commune ensures the lascivious leopard has enough meat to feast upon for a lifetime.

    For, after all, “it all begins with the family, that’s where all the vocations come from. Priests, sisters, brothers, deacons, we do not come flying down from heaven. We come from families.” (Eduardo Nevares, Roman Catholic bishop 1954)

    Indeed, Sony and his saviours too form part of this ubiquitous assemblage that provide him the convenience, the comfort, and canvas to go about his business of charm offensive violations gleefully.

    It may be posited that Palathara’s Family, coincidentally comes at a time when exalted Christian institutions the world over have been on the global scanner for all the embarrassing and wrong reasons.

    From the hallowed, holiest of holy cities of The Vatican to God’s Own Country – Kerala – nearer home, paedophiles and sexual predators of the faithful having had a home run now in the public glare being tried for their infractions.

    So much so, The Pope Francis himself, in the now famous documentary – Amen: The Pope Answers has had to face a barrage of disquieting questions from the young faithfuls, accepting “there is something rotten in the hallowed institutions of the Christian faith.”

    That the misdeeds of several wearing the cloak and habit have come to fore and faithfuls are seeking affirmative answers from the Vatican’s Holy See speaks of the sordid state of affairs.

    To a question by a victim that there is a lot of hypocrisy within the church, with its tendency to siding with the predator, the Pope concedes the problem is serious. More so, “cases involving the churches worse because people are destroyed exactly where they should be care for. The abuser destroys the child. If you are a church person hypocrisy and double living are horrible,” laments the Pope, unable to provide an assuring answer to the young man.

    True. Rightly taking a cue from recent incidents that have rocked the hallowed institutions, director Don Palathara has sought to shed spotlight on the malfeasance in Family.

    However, despite his exalted intentions, where Palathara’s Family falls short, while disclosing the despicable duplicity of adults and irreparable loss of innocence of children, is he turns Family more into an “architectural design construct” rather than haunting human drama with facile Deus ex Machinafinish.

    Palathara sadly sacrifices humanistic, socialistic, and accessible approach to the narrative,spicing Family with his panoply of trademark and recurrent Christian imagery, motifs, symbols he draws sustenance from.

    His overt preoccupation with niceties of minimalismand sparseness of form, preconceived set piece design constructions and highly nuanced aesthetics turn Family is more of a cinematographic experimentation.

    Palathara who showed promise and provenance in his very first cinematic sojourn with the 2015, black and white Savam: The Corpse, through the fluent cinematography, stark visual imageries and his preoccupation with the workings of Christian institutions has once again sought to spotlight on the hallowed seminary in Family and the shepherded folk that follow the faith.

    In the process Family comes across a complex film about the insidiousness of a community’s self-preservation conveniently brushing aside the quotidian conspiracy under the umbrella of virtuousness and righteousness and hoping St Thomas would “protect them (the children) keenly, as they “roam” the wilderness in carefree abandon, as also with “showers of mercy” on the culpable wrong-doers.

     


    References:

    Editorial desk. Catholic News Agency. New Phoenix auxiliary bishop learned importance of faith from family.

     

    See also:

    https://filmcriticscircle.com/journal/family/

     

     

  • Whitewashing a leopard: Don Palathara’s Family (2023)

    Whitewashing a leopard: Don Palathara’s Family (2023)

    The Malayalam filmmaker Don Palathara’s first three films – Shavam: The Corpse (2015), Vith: Seed (2017) and 1956, Travancore (2019) – are marked by the Syrian Catholic setting and the style of slow cinema movement in which they’re shot. Shavam is about a sudden death of a young man in a family. Vith revolves around a farmer and his son who returns to his native place for good.  1956, Travancore is a period film set before the days of land reform. This FFSI award winner for the best film of 2020 deals with the lives of early migrants to the mountainous area of Idukki where Family has also been shot. Everything is Cinema (2021), is a first-person narrative of a filmmaker about his marital relationship.  Santhoshathinte Onnam Rahasyam: The First Secret of Happiness (2021) is a single shot film about a couple who are living together and stressed that they may have a baby for which they are not yet ready. While Palathara’s films are not directed towards the popular audience, they are not issue-oriented films either. All his films are based on original scripts written by Palathara either alone or in collaboration. The compelling script of Family was written by him along with Sherin Catherine. Family is his best film which goes back to the Syrian Catholic setting and makes a deeper study of it.

    SYNOPSIS

    Family - film stillThe title of the film is ironic as it refers to not just a family but the closely-knit community in the small village which follows religious rituals. In the early part of the film the entire village has turned up to attend a wedding. A barber addresses the gathering there, requesting permission from the ‘family’ for beautifying the groom! The shaving in public is followed by a dance performance by teenage girls. Some of the lines of the song for which they dance are about protecting children: “On your children who roam – Protect them keenly – With your showers of mercy, St. Thomas”. Later it’ll be known why it’s relevant to Family.

    Sony, a young man has a good standing in this community. He is a math tutor for a young girl and a poetry teacher for a young boy. Sony takes initiative in rescuing a cow, laying a road and fundraising for a burial. He attends youth league meetings and helps the women and the elderly. But there is something amiss about him. Under the veneer of a do-gooder, his acts are disturbing and impact others. How will the ‘family’ address it?

    THE POWER OF ELLIPSIS

    Family - film still 2The scene in which Sony tutors a young girl in her house is shot creatively. Normally such a scene will show Sony and the girl in the foreground with an insignificant and unobtrusive background so that we can understand the foreground action clearly. This scene makes an entirely opposite approach. After showing the girl in a medium shot in her room, there is a cut to the living room. In the foreground we can see the girl’s father sitting in a cane chair and watching TV oblivious to what is happening in the room nearby. In the background the audience can see Sony sitting at a desk through the entrance of the room but the girl can’t be seen. At some point Sony gets up and goes to the other side of the desk so the audience can’t even see what’s going on. The significant action by Sony in the background is left to our imagination. It’s all the more disturbing as Sony takes advantage of the trusting father of the girl in the foreground. The gravity of the scene is deeper by withholding the main part of background action.

    Warning: This article contains spoilers

    LEOPARD ON THE PROWL

    Family opens with the conversation on the leopard between Sony riding a bike and Subin sitting behind him, announcing the recurrent leopard theme. A leopard from the adjoining forest is on the prowl. There are evidences of its presence as it preys on a calf and a chicken. But the film doesn’t show the leopard until the penultimate scene. Traps have been dug up to catch the predator but it’s a cow which gets caught in the trap and rescued. At some point we realize the connection between the leopard and the protagonist Sony. Unlike the animal which the villagers try to catch by setting up traps, Sony is “cured” and even rewarded. Finally, when we see the leopard in full view, we realize the enormity of the danger caused by the animal as well as the human beast.

    STRUCTURE

    The parallel with the leopard structures Family, conveying the predatory nature of the film’s protagonist. Just as we only see the signs of the leopard’s preying, Sony’s sinister actions aren’t shown but their effects on his victims can be seen. The effort made to catch the animal contrasts with the virtual license given to Sony in the end.

    The film is replete with Christian imagery. Don Palathara knows his setting in his native Idukki district in Kerala well so the film looks authentic. The detached static shots with long takes have a built-in ambiguity. In a film in which the background music is minimal, the prayers and hymns in Malayalam form a recurring background on the sound track. While it’s a comment on the hold of religion on the community, there is also a spiritual aspect to these scenes.

    THE GOOD SAMARITAN

    Although the film has an understated satirical tone, it is largely in the nature of presenting a phenomenon and letting any conclusion emerge out of it rather than spell it out. It’s significant that the protagonist Sony is not portrayed as a villain although his good deeds come under scrutiny. He has to be a helpful person so that he can control people to his advantage. In a well-conceived scene, Sony removes his shirt and lies down next to Subin in the bed. He admonishes Subin for his misbehaviour in the school. This scene shows how Sony has an exterior persona of somebody who is concerned about Subin’s welfare but in fact he exploits Subin’s weakness for approval in order to get physically close to him. The sensitive Subin feels bad for displeasing Sony and runs away from home for a while. In yet another notable scene, Sony goes by his father’s words and conveys to Neethu that he’s putting an end to their relationship. Sony is shown as a master manipulator who is able to derive sympathy from Neethu. She even tells him that she feels sorry for him! One person Sony can’t control is Subin’s elder brother Noby who has perhaps seen through him.

    Sony may be aware of what he is doing and perhaps he looks upon religion to reform him. He listens to the advice of the nun and attends the retreat. The role of Sony is played by Vinay Forrt who comes up with an excellent performance, bringing out the complex character. Sony’s condition may be hebephilia “in which people display a sexual preference for children at the cusp of puberty, between the ages of, roughly, 11 to 14 years of age.” [1] As per this article, Humbert Humbert from Vladimir Nabokov’s masterpiece “Lolita” falls in the category of hebephile and not pedophile as this fictitious character is known. Following is a summary of some of the findings about hebephilia in [2]: Prenatal factors contribute to hebephilia. Non-righthandedness, lower IQ, lesser educational performance and short height have been found. Neurocognitive functioning is another important aspect. Suffering a head injury before the age of 13 could be a contributing factor. Disconnection in the brain network that recognizes and respond to sexual cues may cause a deviant sexual preference. Experiencing sexual abuse as a child or young adolescent increases the chance of committing sexual offence against minors in the future.

    THE RETREAT

    In one of the best scenes in the film, Sony’s aunt, who is a nun, silences Rani, yet another aunt of Sony, who had reason to suspect Sony of committing a grave act. In an earlier scene Rani shares her suspicion about Sony with Subin’s mother Jaya. Determined to whitewash Sony’s acts, the nun admonishes Rani, the lone sane voice. The nun has come with an alliance for him as well as a job as requested by Sony’s father in the early part of the film. In yet another remarkable scene, she advises Sony in the car to put an end to his “silliness” and takes the approach of “reforming” him by sending him to a retreat which, she claims, can cure even the incurable ones. She assures him that if he sincerely repents and prays, the lord will forgive him.

    The retreat scenes with charismatic high energy preaching full of shouting hallelujah by the group followed by one-on-one counselling are also among the best in the film. Sony is being saved just like the cow which was rescued. But Sony is in fact a leopard masquerading as a cow. However, the film treats the characters with complexity. This helps in evoking empathy for them.

    THE ENDING

    In the school assembly, Sony is introduced as a new teacher. The students are asked to applaud and welcome him. Halfway through the singing of the prayer song it starts raining so the students run towards the school building. The piety of the welcome for the teacher is subverted. It’s shocking that the predator is offered his prey on a platter. We realize that this is in fact a horror story. In the following scene the leopard which has only been talked about is shown in full view. It is a couple of children who happen to witness the leopard. Likewise, it’s the children who’ll come to know the leopard in Sony. He has an entire school at his disposal.  The last freeze frame shows Sony with school children around, sending chills up our spines.

    CINEMATOGRAPHY

    Jaleel Badusha’s camera follows a rigorous scheme of static shots with long takes which has paid off. The high angle shots in a number of scenes help in depicting the vulnerability of the characters. There is an unusual composition in which a young boy is seen sleeping in a sofa in the foreground while a mass is being performed in the background. Such a scene will usually focus only on the mass which will appear to be too carefully composed. In real life, if a child is sleepy, it’ll be put to sleep and the rest of the group will continue with its activity. This is the way it’s done in this scene in Family which makes it contrapuntal. On the other hand, the house prayer scene is carefully composed but, even in this scene, Sony is looking at the camera. Perhaps the fourth wall is broken to sensitize the audience to the presence of the wolf among the sheep which offsets the piety. The confession scene is somewhat like how employees in a company state something innocuous when they are asked to come up with their weaknesses as part of self-assessment.

    The long takes demand competent acting skills. Don Palathara has made sure that the acting is uniformly good in the film. Apart from Vinay Forrt who excels in the role of the protagonist Sony, Divya Prabha as Rani, Nilja K. Baby as Neethu and K.K. Indira as the nun – called sister aunty in the film – have given very good performances. Dialogues are perhaps improvised as they sound natural.

    Of late, it has become very difficult to make films which are even remotely critical of any community. Kudos to Don Palathara, Sherin Catherine and Anto A Chittilappilly & Co of Newton Cinema for coming up with a perceptive film like Family on a sensitive subject in these times. While the film is set in a milieu in which Palathara grew up, the film may be taken to be depicting in general how traditional societies look upon religion as a panacea. Family was among the best films of Bengaluru International Film Festival (BIFFES) 2023. It’s also one of the best in Indian cinema in recent times.

     


    References

    1. Berring, Jesse. “Pedophiles, Hebephiles and Ephebophiles, Oh My: Erotic Age Orientation”, New York, Scientific American, July 1, 2009
    2. Phenix, Amy and Hoberman, Harry M. “Sexual Offending: Predisposing Antecedents, Assessment and Management”, New York, Springer, 2016, pp 35-36

     

  • Book review | Films through women’s eyes – a study of 17 women directors of India

    Book review | Films through women’s eyes – a study of 17 women directors of India

    Chicks don’t do chick flicks. They do whatever flick interests them, whatever subjects.

    – Betty Thomas, actress, director & producer.

     

    Chick flick is not a term used to praise a movie. Nobody says ‘it’s a great chick flick.’ It’s a way of being derisive.

    – Carolyn Ann ‘Callie’ Khouri screenwriter, producer, & director.

     

    Feting fifty years of its founding, Bengaluru’s Suchitra Film Society as part of its year-long celebrations has brought out a bookFilms through Women’s Eyes – A Study of 17 women directors of India.

    A wonderful and worthy initiative indeed by a society that has traversed a chequered trail, which today stands at the crossroads of transition to ensure it stays relevant in these disruptive times where multifarious modes of film consumption is the new normal.

    The book, running to nearly 275 pages, is timely in terms of emerging times and public discourse lately with regard to women’s empowerment, individual freedom, representation and gender parity, on the global amphitheatre. It befittingly toasts through the pages of the timely tome the achievements and accomplishments of women directors through their films mirroring the strides and struggles of women in society.

    Thereby, celebrating and saluting the differentiated perspectives women were bringing in an otherwise predominantly men dominated entertainment industry, braving the Sisyphean struggle they undergo in doing so.

    True, it is an acknowledged fact that women are undervalued, under-appreciated, and untapped within the entertainment (film, TV, what have you) industry. However, they provide a leg up and shine like lodestars, proving that it doesn’t matter what gender a director is and that individual, inherent and intuitive talent is what always prevails.

    That said and acknowledged, coming to the book per se, one has to woefully express a sense of personal disappointment in the women directors sought to be represented and the tableau of treatise commissioned about the chosen ones.

    The majority of the essays turn out to be more of fan boy musings on their favourite directors than insightful, incisive, and more importantly, critical perspectives on them.

    Not that those featured were any less deserving, given that they have carved a niche of their own in the highly competitive and fickle Indian entertainment industry and won accolades for themselves and the nation for the humungous, multifarious constituents they addressed.

    The purpose of the volume supposedly is to “meet the criterion of becoming a reference text for students of film studies in universities.” Unfortunately, one has to disagree with this presupposition. The majority of the articles are nothing more than eulogistic, effusive pieces simply singing paeans about the women directors featured.

    Rather than objectively assessing their contribution and eclectic engagement with cinema and the true representation of the women they sought to portray, the rumination of many are more of a pulpy, celebratory exercise than illuminative writing.

    No singular attempt has been made to objectively assess the works of these women directors or explore in such a fashion to make it meaningful and insightful to prospective students aspiring to take film making as a career choice. Furthermore, no attempt has been made to show how these women directors have sought to provide a feminine perspective to their protagonists in their works and narrative concern.

    The preface states that “many important filmmakers had to be excluded from such a volume in view of the framework envisaged.” If it that is so, why a book at all of such poor nature?

    As to what this “framework” that resulted in the exclusion of many others is curiously missing even in the editors’ note. An anomaly, if one may submit could have been easily avoided, rather leaving to needless conjectures by interested readers pickled by the title to try it.

    The holistic writings of Mr Saibal Chatterjee on Aparna Sen, Mr Babu Subramanian on Prema Karanth, Saumya Baijal on Nandita Das, Shantanu Ray Chaudhary’s exploration of Sai Paranjpye’s works, apart, Bitopan Borborah’s analysis of Dr Santwana Bordoloi’s two films could have been better, so too Ashok Rane’s piece on Vijaya Mehta.

    I express serious reservations about co-editor Mr N Manu Chakravarthy’s elaborate and longish treatise, which, for an average, aspiring student of cinema, turns out to be rather academic and digressive, that as the author himself posits is personal “tribute” than an accessible understanding of late Sumitra Bhave’s rich repository of works.

    Mr Manu Chakravarthy’s discursive discourse, to look at films as “literary text”, rambles: “I have tried to put all my energy into my attempt only to underline Sumitra Bhave’s thematic concerns, ethical positions, aesthetic choices and understanding,” an an exercise flaunting author’s literary flourishes, than be easily accessible analysis say like that of Mr Saibal Chatterjee or Mr Babu Subramanian or even handful others.

    In fact, as Marathi actor Mohan Agashe, during discussion to Mr Manu Chakravarthy’s “scholarly erudition” states “I’m still trying to find out the simple language to communicate with the masses.”

    One only wishes a similar concern had guided Professor Manu Chakravarthy rather than the elaborate digressive dissertation with which he has sought to dissect the core concerns of Sumitra Bhave’s films and her engagement with cinema.

    It turns out more of an exercise in futility especially given the readers / audiences in mind the book has sought to address and hope would be beacon for their furtherance with film studies and understanding of films.

    While Mr Saibal Chatterjee with felicity of seasoned critic encapsulates the various trajectories of Aparna Sen’s narrative concerns with pithy precision, it is Mr Babu Subramanian’s workmanlike essay on Prema Karanth that deservingly serves the intended objective of the book as also the very purpose for which Suchitra Film Society was formed.

    Hand holding the uninitiated audience-reader-learner on how to approach and engage with a film and understand the dynamics of visual narrative and read meanings into the mise-en-scene so constructed by the director to tell her tale, Mr Babu Subramanian has chiseled out a fine piece of writing.

    Despite his lack of facility with the Kannada language, his simple, unassuming essay, speaks volumes of his innate understanding of the art of cinema aesthetics and engagement with films luminously bringing forth Prema Karanth’s only available film – Phaniamma’s cinematic qualities in terms of messaging, craft, idiom, narrative structure and core concerns supplanting the same with necessary footnotes in the end.

    None of the other authors say or write anything new or different that has not already been known and written about or offer no new perspectives into the director they are discussing about.

    Instead of dissecting the films in reasonable fashion, these authors have gone about eulogising about how the directors strove to rise above the prevalent “male dominated” system quite antithetical to the very purpose of a book of this nature.

    Ratnottama Sengupta’s essay on Aruna Raje is more about Aruna, the person, working through the male hierarchy, rather than her films, their merits and fault-lines. Similarly Karthik Keramulu’s ruminations on Bhanumathi, speaks more of her sartorial characteristics such as her famous “bottu” and acting, than directorial worthiness.

    Be it Shoma A Chatterjee’s tribute of Bijaya Jena, which comes across more as a school essay than learned discourse on her directorial merit or Kaveree Bazmee’s essays on Deepa Mehta and Mira Nair, which sketch out career graph of directors colourful lives, and controversies rather than scrutinise their films for their worth.

    Likewise book’s co-editor Maithili Rao’s essay is just a pen sketch of flamboyant Zoya Akthar. So too Roopa Barua’s life sketch of late Kalpana Lajmi, Uma Vangal’s portrait of Revathi, or for journalist Kavitha Shanmugham’s on Sudha Kongara, critic CS Venkiteswaran’s short matter of piece on Suma Josson.

    In sum, despite Suchitra Film Society’s laudable idea to ignite curiosity about Indian women directors, as a way of crowning its own 50 years of existence, Films Through Women’s Eyes falls short of being a must read, must buy, promising  publication.

  • Society, Cinema & the Critic

    Society, Cinema & the Critic

    Society
    Man is a political animal. So reflected Aristotle. He went a step further to see politics and culture as by-products of nature. Man is given speech and moral reason as natural, inborn, gifts. So, any further device, or design, such as politics, must be natural, Aristotle thought.

    History is an interesting play of power — domination of one group by another — through socio-economic-cultural class differences. Aristotle named any such play of power politics. Although nobody is pure victim or pure perpetrator of crime — everybody is connected in the dynamics of the social power play – some groups, or people, are more aware of the play, inherent in the social systems, than others. They know what Marx meant by the remark — “Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please…” They are the wise people who know the system is not made to change just like that. These people are the perpetrators of the power game to keep the system alive and kicking, and to reap personal fruits too.

    On the other end of the power game are the victims. They do not want to know. They feel blessed in ignorance. They complain sometimes, about the lacks in life. But, they fear knowledge. Knowing too much is bad — the comment the new science teacher passed on the fired Mr Rzykrusky in Tim Burton’s Frankenweenie (2012). Most of us are like the new science teacher. We feel threatened by history. We choose to be ostriches on the face of sandstorm instead. We choose to be puppets.

    The third category is that of the critic. The critic is as aware as the perpetrator of the crime. But, s/he chooses not to join the rank of the perpetrators. S/he tries to awaken the victims, from the self-induced slumber. S/he does so when she is a naïve critic. The wiser critic knows that the system cannot change like that. S/he knows that the system would take its own time – like any other automaton it has life. The wise critic plays her/his role, despite knowing that it is impossible, and inadvisable, to crack the system, because s/he sees possibilities of spreading the power over more hands by her/his critique. Society

    Critics read culture through its products. The act of close reading is sometimes called deconstruction. Cinema is one such product. However, being one of the last such unitary products (webpage or the multimedia spread over a portal is not really a unitary product), cinema brings a panoply of other cultural products to the study of a text.

    A text is any cultural product, or any multiple of socio-political forces or figures, that gives rise to an occasion of reading culture and society, and the shifting power positions in these, at any point of time. Any text changes its meaning with the positional shift of the reader, in her/his space or time. Society

    It is interesting to note that Steve Jobs can be a text, along with Pixar, Pixar’s films such as For the Birds (2001), or Inside Out (2015), or even a criticism of any of these.

    In other words, ideology may be called the cultural capital.German philosophers used the word ideology quite a lot since the 19th Century. Rarely a precise definition was given, however. What Marx, and most Marxists, meant by the word was: For the power game to be sustained, it must look natural. Everyone must think that is the only way in life; there is no alternative. For that to happen, cultural products that would sustain the logic of their own existence for the next generation of users/consumers must be crafted consciously,as tools of brainwash. This chain of affairs is similar to the definition of Capital in economics – produced means of production – tools, schemes or any other artificial resources to bring out the next cycle of production.

    The perpetrator uses such cultural capital to keep the system running. The victim is thoroughly affected by such cultural capital – her/his personality is built on the dominant ideology(ies) — her/him being completely unaware, or ignorant by choice, of the fact.

    The critic tries to look at the ideology — its origin, cycles, products, reformation. Society

    S/he needs a lot of different cinemas to deconstruct ideology at work, in a better way. Different cinemas – national, cross-over, queer, experimental, personal, accent, to name a few.

    In a cosmopolis like Mumbai, it is not easy to find such different flavors of cinema. Popular cinema, centered around the perpetrator-victim axis, overshadows any other flavor. It is easy to go with the rules of the system. They are well-known. They keep the system running. This is what critics mean, when they complain that Hollywood, or Bollywood, does not want anything strikingly new. Their observation is largely true. Ideas too fresh are summarily rejected. Popular cinemas work around sets of worked out schemes, and their safe variations, that would keep the system running.

    Of course, this would produce stagnation with time. But, that is another story.

    This year’s edition of film festivals would be attended by an increased number of cineastes. What do they expect from the package of films? Are they critics, victims or perpetrators? What do most of them choose to be?

    What does the audience want? Is the audience a homogeneous one? What do different audiences want? Why do they want that? Who refurbishes demands in their mind?

    What is the role of the critic today?

    P.S. Godard said, long ago, “I am still practicing criticism. What can I do if my medium has changed?”

  • In The Forests of the Plight: A Fiftieth Anniversary Tribute to Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s First Film SWAYAMVARAM (1972)

    In The Forests of the Plight: A Fiftieth Anniversary Tribute to Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s First Film SWAYAMVARAM (1972)

    When Adoor Gopalakrishnan, one of the internationally acclaimed Indian filmmakers, launched his first feature film Swayamvaram five decades ago, it was after many years of sustained effort. After passing out of FTII, Pune in 1965, he found it difficult to get a producer who would back him. Hence, he took the initiative of forming a cooperative for film production along with his friends. There was not much awareness of international cinema in his state of Kerala at that time. Realizing the need for establishing a film culture, he took yet another initiative of setting up a film society along with his associates and brought out literature on cinema. Adoor himself penned articles in Malayalam to spread awareness about the medium.

    The establishing of the cooperative helped Adoor in launching his first film Swayamvaram which was jointly financed by the erstwhile Film Finance Corporation and his Chitralekha Film Cooperative. It is based on a story and script by Adoor Gopalakrishnan who was assisted by K. P. Kumaran. The film won National Awards for Best Film, Best Director (Adoor Gopalakrishnan), Best Actress (Sharada) and Best Cinematography (Mankada Ravi Varma). The golden jubilee is an occasion to look at the film now, analyze it and place it in Adoor’s oeuvre.

     

    Exposition  

    The film’s opening title sequence is shot inside a bus with a variety of passengers, some of whom are dozing off. Among them is a young couple with their faces animated. They exchange glances. The bus comes to a halt and we see them checking into a hotel room. The man asks his lover whether she regrets it. He wonders whether they gave enough thought to it. We realize that they might have eloped.  A group of devotees pass by on the road in a procession chanting bhajan. It may appear odd to see the film showing the couple making love with the background of the bhajan on the soundtrack. The director’s intention here is revealed in Adoor’s interview in which he has said that he paired bhakti (devotion) with sex in that scene. [1] The essence of bhajan is bhakti. By being paired with bhakti, sex gets associated with devotion as another aspect of it. Separated from their families, they are mutually dependent on each other which leads to devotion as well as the fear of losing the loved one as seen in the dream sequences which follow.

     

    Synopsis

    Madhu and Sharada in Swayamvaram

    In Swayamvaram, a young couple, Sita (Sharada) and Vishwam (Madhu) fall in love perhaps against the wishes of their parents and leave their village to live together in the city. They face the challenge of surviving on their own in a climate of acute unemployment. As Vishwam’s literary aspirations are crushed, he takes up a teaching job but loses it. Later he gets only a low paying job of a clerk in a sawmill that too by replacing a dismissed employee who worked for twelve years there. Now that the couple have a child, Vishwam has to bear with the insinuation of the previous employee who stalks him. Vishwam is haunted by the hounding but his job is important to him. When he falls sick the situation becomes grave.

     

    Structure

    Swayamvaram (1972) starts with the journey to the city of the young couple with their illusions followed by the hard reality they experience there. What Sita goes through has some parallel with the female protagonist Sita in the epic “Ramayana” which gives a resonance to the film. The title refers to the swayamvaram (meaning one’s own choice) of Sita who wedded Rama out of many princes in the epic. There is the picture depicting it that hangs on the wall of the house of Vishwam and Sita. Vishwam is her own choice for Sita in the film and not that of her family so it is a swayamvaram for her too. But Sita in the film is not exactly in the mould of Sita in the epic. She elopes with her lover to live together with him, making the subject daring for its time.

     

    In the Forests of the Plight

    Just as Sita in the epic had to undergo hardships by having to go to forest, in the film also Sita has to go through adversities. The dream sequences in the early part of the film portend Sita losing Vishwam. He climbs down the rocks towards the sea as she keeps gesturing to him to come back. In another dream sequence Vishwam lies down keeping his head on the railway track with the approaching train’s sound on the soundtrack. She runs upto him and forces him to get up. In yet another sequence she chases him in the woods and loses him. It has memorable tracking shots of her running in the forest looking out for him. Sita being renounced by Rama in the last part of the epic (Uttarakandam) has its echo in Sita losing Vishwam in the end.

     

    Illusion & Reality

    Sita and Vishwam are shown acting like lovers in commercial cinema in the dream sequences. The theme of illusion is taken up in a dream sequence showing posters of hero and heroine in love from Malayalam commercial cinema in which love is romanticized. Sita and Vishwam would have grown up watching such films and imagined that life will be rosy as it is depicted in films. Later in Swayamvaram it turns out very hard to survive as job is very difficult to get for both of them. Without any support system Sita and Vishwam are dependent on each other. Reality dawns on Sita when Vishwam falls ill.

     

    Retrenchment Theme

    Vishwam happens to see briefly a leftist party meeting in which the speaker talks about how the working class is misled by various parties. He adds that all of them obstruct the struggle of workers and their liberation. Much later in Swayamvaram after losing his job, there is a scene which shows a political march in protest against retrenching workers. Vishwam quietly watches it passing by. It seems the film was not given an award at the Moscow International Film Festival in which it was nominated. Adoor has said that the jury was surprised that Vishwam didn’t join the march of the workers which costed the film an award. Vishwam himself has been retrenched from his job. Yet he doesn’t join the march. Adoor has said that the reason is “he doesn’t see himself as part of this. This has to be understood because the other thing is simplistic that he also joins it. That’s the kind of films we used to send to Moscow.” [1] Vishwam doesn’t belong to the working class. Hence it wouldn’t have been appropriate to show him in the stock manner which would satisfy the expectation of the audience and an agenda driven jury. This is an important aspect of Swayamvaram which makes it stand apart.

    The theme of retrenchment has been treated in its complexity in Swayamvaram. While the sawmill owner appears to be unfair in terminating a long-time employee, the friendly tutorial college owner with debts is forced to ask Vishwam to leave. The scene in which the owner takes Vishwam for a drinking spree is memorable.

     

    Safety and Security of Women

    Women’s safety is yet another theme in the film. Vishwam and Sita move to a second hotel which is cheaper. Sita gives away her golden bangles, perhaps the only precious jewelry she has to Vishwam. It’s for buying a mangalsutra (golden signet in a chain worn by a married woman) to let men know of her marital status and ward them off. This scene also suggests that Sita and Vishwam are living together perhaps without getting married. Sita is terrified by the way she sees a drunkard when she opens the hotel room door on hearing the knocking of the door. She is even afraid of opening the door when Vishwam arrives. Sita wearing the mangalsutra doesn’t restrain smuggler Vasu who has an eye on her. Three drunkards try to barge into her house and make unsavoury remarks about her.

     

    The Women in the Film

    K.P.A.C. Lalitha

    Swayamvaram came up with very well etched characters, particularly women. Sita is a bold woman who takes the courage to leave her family to live with her lover. She is resolute and strongly willed unlike Vishwam who keeps wondering whether they made the right choice. Kalyani (K.P.A.C.  Lalitha), is a prostitute living in the opposite house whose husband visits her to collect money for liquor. She is smart enough not to let him exploit her at some point. The middle-aged widow Janaki (Adoor Bhavani), the rice seller neighbour of Sita, is very helpful to her. Sita protects herself from the prying eyes of men and lives with dignity. It is impossible for the smuggler Vasu to make advances to her as Kalyani says.

     

    Casting

    Bharath Gopi

    Casting of Madhu as Vishwam was right as he underplays the role unlike most of the actors of that period who were known for their dramatic style of acting. Sharada was known as a talented actress and she had already won the National Award for Best Actress for Thulabharam (1968). She was the right choice for Sita and she got her second National award for Swayamvaram. Gopi turned out to be a great discovery by giving a haunting performance as the fired employee. The rest of the cast also performed well in the film.

     

    The Ending

    In the end when Vishwam passes away, Vishwam’s colleague suggests that she can live with his family. Janaki tells Sita to return to her parents. Sita rejects both the options. Once again, she makes her own choice. Her condition can be looked at in terms of the parallel of her situation with Sita in “Ramayana” who was renounced by Rama in Uttarakandam. In the last scene there are the sounds of thunder and pouring rain as Sita feeds her child. Water leaking from the roof falls down over the picture of swayamvaram on the wall which is lit up by the lightning. The last shot is ambiguous as it shows Sita having an eye on the closed door, concerned about safety. While she is willing to face the world on her own, the future is uncertain.

    Swayamvaram is one of the first Malayalam films that featured direct recording of sound (synchronized sound) and outdoor locales. It’s also considered to be the first film in Indian cinema that used sound as a leitmotif: There is the recurrent sound of wood being cut in the sawmill. This cutting sound is especially powerful when Vishwam passes away.

    In an interview with C.S. Venkiteswaran, Adoor has said that the Film Finance Corporation (FFC) rejected his application for finance for a film based on a script written by C.N. Sreekandan Nair as it was a love story. FFC didn’t sanction the loan because the script didn’t take up any of the issues facing India. [2] Perhaps the issue of unemployment that Swayamvaram deals with helped in getting the finance from FFC. To compare it with Adoor’s second film onwards upto Anantaram, the approach in the latter is that of a biography of an individual. The films are very much rooted in the social landscape of Kerala but they are not issue based. Even in Swayamvaram, while the story deals with a social issue, it has other dimensions too. Its parallel with the epic “Ramayana” gives it a connotative meaning.

    In retrospect the title reflects Adoor’s own choice of treading the untrodden path of art cinema with all its risks. He has been hugely successful in creating a body of work that is world class and becoming a major force in Indian cinema. A pioneer of the new Malayalam cinema movement, he inspired several other art filmmakers. Swayamvaram’s daring subject, complex treatment of the theme of retrenchment, parallel with the epic and ambiguous ending mark Adoor’s first film, revealing an original style of filmmaking which has helped the film’s longevity even after five decades.

     

    References

    1. VK Cherian in conversation with Adoor Gopalakrishnan, The creative world of Adoor Gopalakrishnan-Episode One-Swayamvaram Swayamvaram50 Channel on YouTube, 2022
    2. S. Venkiteswaran in conversation with Adoor Gopalakrishnan, C.S. Venkiteswaran in Conversation with Adoor Gopalakrishnan Part 2: Film Societies, Festivals and Early Films, Sahapedia.org, 2021

     

  • Ritwik Ghatak

    Ritwik Ghatak

    We have had countless guests in Godiwala Bungalow but the memory of one stands out above the rest. Ritwik Ghatak

    Sometime in the early ’70s a Bengali gentleman landed up unannounced at home. He looked like he had seen better days. His entire demeanour was one of defeat, someone at the end of his tether. His clothes looked as though they hadn’t been washed in a long time and he also appeared to be a bit tipsy. It was obvious from the manner Ma greeted him that they had known each other for a long time. She addressed him affectionately as Bhoba and her dismay at seeing him in this condition was palpable.

    I was dying to know who he was but had to wait till he left to find out. Ma said he was a filmmaker called Ritwik Ghatak and he had worked with Baba many years ago in New Theatres. But that was not the only connection because our families had known each other all the way back from their days in Dhaka, before they came to Calcutta in search of better prospects. I digested this information but his name didn’t ring any bells. And then he invited us to see a special show of his film Ajantrik in the Films Division auditorium.

    I was so overwhelmed by the film that I wept at the end and even at a young age sensed that Ritwik Ghatak was a tour de force and a master of cinema. I was not surprised to hear many years later that he was more popular than Satyajit Ray in France.

    Soon after his first visit he came over again, accompanied by two young acolytes. He was definitely drunk this time. He slurred as he explained that he had not been able to make a film in years but he wanted to make a fresh start. So he was planning to write a script, which if approved, would get him a loan from NFDC. Ma was delighted by the news and promptly invited him to stay with us while he wrote the script. Bhoba Kaka happily accepted her offer and landed up soon after with bag and baggage, and the two acolytes in tow. Ma realised they would be staying too. She arranged for their stay next door in our cottage, so that he could work in peace and also be out of her hair, thereby killing two birds with one stone.

    Little did she realise that she had taken on one of the biggest challenges in her life. Though she knew Bhoba Kaka drank she didn’t know he was a complete alcoholic. Soon after, the houseboy who went to clean his room came back in disgust and reported that there was a foul stink and there were empty bottles lying around. Ma pulled up Bhoba Kaka who heard her out meekly and said he would stop. But of course he didn’t. Things seemed to get worse, so Ma questioned the acolytes and discovered Bhoba Kaka had made no progress on the script.

    She demanded to see Bhoba Kaka immediately. He landed up with an abject and apprehensive expression on his face. I have rarely seen Ma more angry. She said he should remember he had a family to maintain, a wife and two young children. This was his one chance to redeem himself and he was throwing it all away for alcohol. She told him that he was being extremely irresponsible and she wanted him to promise her that he would not drink again until he had completed his script. She warned him that she would not allow him to leave till he had finished it. To my surprise, Bhoba Kaka literally fell at her feet and wept, and promised to honour her word. And he did.

    And that was how the script of Jukti, Takko Aar Goppo (Ideas, Arguments and Stories) was finally completed.

    Bhoba Kaka was a changed man at the end of his stay. He looked well kempt, well fed and purposeful. He touched Ma’s feet when he left, telling her that he considered her like his mother. Quite a compliment! In a happy ending NFDC approved the script, sanctioned the loan and the film got made. I wish I could end by saying ‘And they lived happily ever after’ but Bhoba Kaka’s life was like a Greek tragedy and I suspect he died an unhappy man.

    I wish he had lived to enjoy the glory of his global status, acknowledged as one of the all time greats of Indian cinema.

     

    Ritwik Ghatak (Nov 04, 1925 – Feb 06, 1976)
    
    Jukti Takko Aar Gappo was Ghatak's last film.
    It won the National Film Award for Best Story.
    
    The film is autobiographical.
    Ghatak also dons the role of Nilkantha. 
    He plays a disillusioned intellectual who drinks like a lord.
    In Hinduism, Nilkantha is Lord Shiva.
    The lord drinks poison to save the universe.
    
    
  • Protima Bedi — ultimate enfant terrible, model, Odissi dancer, sanyasi

    Protima Bedi — ultimate enfant terrible, model, Odissi dancer, sanyasi

    Every Bombayite of our generation had heard of Protima Gupta. She was the ultimate enfant terrible. People spoke in hushed whispers about her streaking through Samovar restaurant. For those who came in late streaking was big in the ’70s in the west. It meant running through a public place stark naked usually as a protest against some burning issue of that time. I have no idea whether there was an issue behind her streak, but as far as I know, no one else has done it before or after Protima in India.

    I first saw Protima when I was around 10. She was one of 12 top models of the day who were enacting a tableau called (rather unoriginally) Women of India. Protima played a medieval princess from Kerala, and she certainly fit the bill. Rehearsals were in the Taj Mahal Hotel Crystal Room and I loved slipping into the cool darkness from the blinding sunlight outside. You must be wondering what I was doing there. My sister Aparajita had been selected to play Sanghamitra, a princess turned Buddhist monk, who travelled to South East Asia to propagate Buddhism many centuries ago. Aparajita was only 14, so Ma sent my sister Yashodhara as a chaperone and I happily tagged along. But of course Protima was not even aware of my existence at the time.

    Protima was an attention seeker. She made sure she was in the news by doing one outrageous thing after the other. But the biggest scoop she created was when she married Kabir Bedi. Kabir was the other person every Bombayite of our generation had heard of. And some lucky people had the good fortune to see: in a loin cloth. He played Tughlaq in Alyque Padamsee’s stage production of Girish Karnad’s first play, and in the the curtain opened on a virtually naked Kabir standing with his back to the audience getting dressed by his underlings. He had both a face and body to die for and the loss of his single status must have broken many a heart. And so Protima Gupta became Protima Bedi.

    I did not meet her again until I was in my 20s. She spotted me at a function and came up to me and said: You are beautiful! I remember squirming in embarrassment and trying to beat a hasty retreat. But she was made of stern stuff. She pursued me and extracted my phone number and address. A few days later she landed up unannounced, tweaked my cheek and said: Bee-yoot-ti- fullll! and then invited Ma and me to her first Odissi performance at Prithvi theatre.

    Protima did not have particularly good features but as she danced she transformed herself into a Goddess. Her voluptuous figure transformed the sensuous moves into a temple statue come alive. Ma and I were mesmerized. She had started learning the dance form from the doyen of Odissi Kellucharan Mohapatra at the age of 27 and in a year’s time she was ready for her first public performance. A remarkable achievement indeed.

    Soon after she invited us to a baithak of Pandit Jasraj in her Juhu home. I told her I had always wanted to learn Hindustani classical music, and the very next day she called to say she had fixed up Jasraj’s disciple Chandrasekhar Swamy to tutor me. Sadly, both my musical journey and Protima’s interest in me died a natural death, and it was several years before I met her again in Hyderabad. In the intervening period she had pulled off a major coup by getting a piece of land from the Karnataka Govt. and setting up Nrityagram, her idyllic dance school. My sister Aparajita had invited her troupe to perform at a mega-event she had organised as part of the Hyderabad 400 years celebration.

    By this time Protima had turned into a Buddhist monk, so her appearance had undergone a major transformation. She had shorn off her tresses and had a crew cut instead. Her behaviour had changed too. She was cool and distant and it almost seemed as though we had never met before. I never saw her again. A couple of years later, the news about her mysterious disappearance in the Himalayas while on a trek with a group of people sent shock waves all over India, because by then she had become a national figure. For some reason, the news shook me up and I felt a personal sense of loss. But it seemed a befitting end to Protima’s life. Her death made the biggest news splash ever. She would have loved that.

     

    Protima Bedi
    12 October 1948 – 18 August 1998
    Model - Odissi dancer - Sanyasi
    Founder of Nrityagram, the dance village
    

    Nrityagram photo courtesy: Pavithrah

  • A legend called Renu Saluja

    A legend called Renu Saluja

    What’s common between Parinda and Ardh Satya? Or Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro and Hyderabad Blues, Pardes and 1942: A Love Story? Her name was Renu Saluja. Renu was the creative force behind at least a quarter of all “parallel” movies made in the 80s and 90s. As a point of fact, her roster as a film editor is more illustrious than many filmmakers. Like Naseeruddin Shah said at the launch of the aptly-named book on her called Invisible: The Art of Renu Saluja, “She was much more than an editor. She was a filmmaker.”

    Renu Saluja is like a mythical figure who features prominently in any discussion around serious cinema in the 80s. She features in every book, every interview, every scrap of text ever written about those films and their makers. But she was on the sidelines of most of those stories. Everyone mentioned her, every anecdote featured her, but she never became as well-known as many of her collaborators. Film editing has never been a well-regarded craft in this country.

    An editor is someone who translates the director’s vision to the screen, in effect almost “making” a film all over again. Satyajit Ray had once said, “Editing is the stage where a film really begins to come to life.” And yet, in the rich century-old history of cinema in this country, editors never became stars the way directors, music directors, lyricists, even some cinematographers did. For the most part, they remained obscure. Precious few would know or even care that Sholay was edited by M. S. Shinde, Mother India by Shamsudin Qadri, and Mughal-E-Azam by this gentleman named Dharamvir. Probably the only star editor the industry has seen was Hrishikesh Mukherjee, but that was more because of his successful shift to directing. Again, a lesser-known fact: the last film Hrishikesh Mukherjee edited was Manmohan Desai’s Coolie.

    In this eclectic mix is thrown Renu Saluja. Unlike most of her male counterparts – she was likely India’s first female film editor – her work has been spoken and written about extensively. And yet, she remains a familiar name outside the fraternity only amongst film buffs. Renu has not only edited the likes of Albert Pinto ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai, Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro, Ardh Satya, Parinda, she has also been instrumental in the making of many of these indie classics. One of the most pertinent examples is Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro. Renu had been involved since the time the film was a germ in Kundan Shah’s beautiful brain. Kundan was assisting Saeed Mirza on Albert Pinto and Renu was editing. This is when Kundan, Sudhir Mishra, Vidhu Vinod Chopra and his wife Renu Saluja started hanging out. At the pre-natal stage, it was Renu along with her husband who kept encouraging Kundan, listened to early narrations, gave constant feedback and brought co-writer Ranjit Kapoor on board.

    Renu was present on the sets every single day, ensuring she never becomes a hindrance and helping out wherever she could. She even played a cameo as one of the burqa-clad women whose veil Pankaj Kapur lifts if she were the dead Demello and gets a resounding slap in return. When there were doubts over Pankaj’s suitability of playing a man older than he was, it was Renu who went out looking for glasses for him. But on top of all that, she came in with a certain amount of smarts as an editor, which helped the film immensely. As Naseer liked to say, the amount of footage that was discarded would have made a whole other film! Renu was also credited as assistant director on Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro. She continued the practice of going to sets every day for most of the projects. Saeed Mirza used to shoot at places like Dongri, Kamathipura and Nagpada where they were constantly surrounded by tough men and often anti-social elements. But Renu didn’t once flinch. She wasn’t scared or intimidated by anyone, nor did she look down upon any of them.

    A film’s raw footage can often appear messy and disjointed. The editor’s impact on this kind of material is quite magical. She can transform it into a timeless classic. Vidhu Vinod Chopra said during an interview: “Some films I saw before they were cut and after they were cut. A film like Bandit Queen, I saw the five-hour thing and I thought it was okay. It made no impression on me. Ardh Satya made no impression on me, when it was at that stage. Her contribution was absolutely immense. I think she put those films where they deserved to be. She was very good at what she was doing, because that’s what she was living for.”

    While reminiscing about her in Invisible: The Art of Renu Saluja, Om Puri wrote, “She once complained that we actors had no sense of continuity and that she had a tough time whilst editing Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro. I murmured sheepishly that we were new then.” Renu Saluja had received the National Film Award for editing not once or twice, but four times:  for Parinda, Dharavi, Sardar and Godmother. Interestingly, when it all started, Renu was a staunch mainstream film fan, listening to Hindi songs constantly and playing Antakshari all the time. She followed her sister to FTII. He sister Radha Saluja was an actress, having worked in films like Haar Jeet (1972), Ek mutthi Aasmaan (1973), and Aaj Ki Taaza Khabar (1973). Contrary to popular perception, Renu’s first credit in Hindi films was as an assistant director on Aaj ki Taaza Khabar, much before she went to FTII. It was her intention at this point to learn film direction. But she couldn’t be accommodated in the direction course and ended up enrolling for the editing course. By the time she graduated, the scenario in Hindi cinema was in for major overhaul. While the old guard still remained, a whole new generation came into the movies hoping to change it for the better.

    Renu Saluja was at the heart of these changes, and she was working with most of this new gang of directors: Sudhir Mishra (Yeh Woh Manzil To Nahin, Main Zinda Hoon, Dharavi), Vidhu Vinod Chopra (Murder at Monkey Hill, Sazaye Maut, Khamosh, Parinda, Kareeb, 1942: A Love Story), Saeed Mirza (Albert Pinto ko Guzza Kyon Aata Hai, Mohan Joshi Hazir Ho), Mahesh Bhatt (Janam), and subsequently Shekhar Kapur (Bandit Queen), Dev Benegal (Split Wide Open) and Nagesh Kukunoor (Hyderabad Blues, Rockford, Bollywood Calling). It is safe to say that all of these films were significantly impacted by Saluja’s skill as a talented editor.

    Another great legacy of Renu Saluja lies in the stardom of Shah Rukh Khan. When Shah Rukh was at the very beginning of his career and scouting for work, it was Renu who spotted the talent in this boy on seeing his TV serial Fauji and kept recommending him to everyone she knew. Everyone including Ketan Mehta, Kundan Shah and Aziz Mirza had considered Shah Rukh for their films because, among other things, it was the great Renu Saluja who was recommending. Shah Rukh was flabbergasted with this name he kept hearing. Who was Renu? He didn’t know her. Many years later they might have encountered each other on the sets of Pardes. But Shah Rukh regretted not taking out the time to spend more time with her, get to know this incredible woman who kept asking everyone around them to bet on a newcomer who she didn’t even know personally.

    When she passed away due to cancer at just 48, Renu Saluja left broken hearts and classic films in her wake. It’s been 22 years since her demise, and it’s high time she is recognized for the legend that she truly was.

     

    Renu Saluja (Jul 5, 1952 – Aug 16, 2000)
    
    
  • Mahishasur Marddini

    Mahishasur Marddini

    Mahishasur Marddini

    “So many years past being raped, I tell myself what happened is ‘in the past.’ This is only partly true. In too many ways, the past is still with me. The past is written on my body. I carry it every single day. The past sometimes feels like it might kill me. It is a very heavy burden.”
    ― Roxane Gay, ‘Hunger’

    “Sometimes, watching a movie is a bit like being raped.”
    ― Luis Buñuel, ‘My Last Sigh’

    Rape is the most heinous form of bestiality that humankind has been subjecting its womankind to since eons. It is also the fourth most common sexual crime committed against women. Rape, in myriad forms, under several situations―war, civil strife, domestic, social, public places―is perpetuated with impunity, despite stringent laws being enacted the world over. It is the most repugnant form of degenerate weapons used by man to subjugate and stifle any forms of dissent and demonstration of empowerment by women, and is akin to clipping the wings of a bird and its confinement in a gilded cage. And its perpetrators have no ethical, moral or human mores.

    While rape as a social malaise has never been hotly debated and dissected in public save the occasional indulgence of tokenism, it is especially after the Nirbhaya incident that rape has come to the public discourse in civil society, striking at the civil conscience of the nation. Post Nirbhaya, legislations have been enacted and strengthened, but not a day goes by when a rape is not reported. To rephrase Shakespeare’s King Lear, using the voice of a woman, “As play toys to wanton boys, are we to the men; they rape us for their sport.”

    In addition to rape in its physical abuse form, women are subjected to, and face, other ordeals in their race for survival in life. Victims are inflicted too through non-physical thoughts and actions against them when they seek their ilk’s help to fight it. It is this twin form of rape of women that Ranjan Ghosh brings to the fore in his latest visitation, Mahishasur Marddini. At the Bangalore International Film Festival, where the film had its world premiere, Ghosh declared, “My film is conceived as a letter of apology to women for all the wrongs done to her. It is unapologetically feminist and unapologetically political.

    “Ever since a woman is conceived in the womb—from that stage till the point of time when she takes on the role of a sister, a daughter, a friend or a girlfriend or a mother or a wife—at various stages, she goes through torture or discrimination and this insult is heaped upon her not only by men but also by women. There is racism and class differences. I hold a mirror to all of us. The idea being to ensure each of us feel bruised and ashamed of our thoughts and actions. That precisely is the audience’s takeaway from the film. To reflect on what we do to our daughters, sisters, girlfriends, wives, mothers, day in and day out.”

    However, while one cannot dispute Ghosh’s idea of engagement with the festering social issue and must appreciate his laudable initiative to do so, the exploration and device he has taken recourse to woefully falls way short of an engaging and enterprising cinema. Cobbling up a panoply of players drawn from different strata of society—students, politicians, activists, empowered go-getter women—to drive his homily, Ghosh, by taking recourse to a theatrical format as his narrative device has failed to make Mahishasur Marddini a much more hard hitting and haunting one.

    The strategy of Ghosh to emphasize on the theatrical form rather than on cinema’s own narrative structure and needs weighs down the viewer from being effectively engaged in the ‘theatre of drama.’ It is somewhat Brechtian in nature, and gets to be a bit off-putting. By boxing in his film in the rather claustrophobic setting of a single stage, Ghosh has provided no freedom or space for his players and they have been denied the luxury of enacting their roles with much more felicity and facileness.

    As the characters enter and exit the ‘theatre of performance’ in the dark, desolate, old mansion, with the metaphorically-erected figurine of Goddess Durga (Mahishasur Marddini) prepared for the following day’s festivity looming large over them, their performances come across as robotic. Each of the characters, including the lead actress Rituparna Sengupta, simply mouths a prepared text, in turns, and go about their assigned roles in a rote fashion. Saswata Chatterjee as a werewolf in a politician’s garb is loud. The overall acting is wooden.

    That said, in the eponymously-titled Mahishasur Marddini, Ghosh draws upon the horrific Nirbhaya incident that had roused the collective conscience of the nation some years ago, for the kernel of this searing, social treatise. He takes upon this sliver of a tragic incident, and supplements it with other similar tragic tales, to focus the spotlight on the duplicitousness nature of society over such victims, the female gender in particular, who bear the brunt of this heinous crime.

    The film comes to us at a time when we read daily, almost in a ritualistic and diurnal manner, of the heinous crimes being committed on women; of the culprits who roam about virtually scot free, despite their despicable acts, while the law takes its own time to render justice to the victims /survivors; and of the less fortunate victims who pay with their lives following the act.

    Consciously set in a single location, the chorus of characters introspect and dissect the heart-rending incident whilst also looking back on their own past deeds vis-à-vis the female gender. Each of them—now acting as moral guardians of victims— is ridden by a guilty past of maltreating the respective women in their own lives; women whom they had shunned, spurned and shied away from.

    Society may worship the feminine form as the venerated Durga Ma extolling her powers to rid evil from our society but when it comes to taking a similar decisive step in reality the truth is that a majority would much rather step back selfishly and sheepishly hide behind age-old prejudices and remain in their comfort zone. Ghosh bitingly portrays the falsehood of male exaltedness and puts to shame such behaviour toward women. In Mahishasur Marddini, the fiery and revered Goddess herself is allegorically a silent and mute witness to the goings on, thus, subconsciously slaying the hidden demons in the recess of the diaspora’s psyche that is yet to rise about the selfish and self-centred stoicism.

    Rose McGowan in her book ‘Brave’ says that “The truth of it is, the shame was not mine, and for all victims in similar situations, it is not ours. The shame is reserved for every creep who has ever touched us inappropriately. The shame is on the abuser, not the victim, not the survivor. It is tragic that so many of us have to survive this kind of crap, and I’m so sorry if it has happened to you.” Her quote succinctly epitomises what Ghosh has sought to portray in this indictment of a society that still suffers predatory men and women.

    Despite its inherent fault lines, Mahishasur Marddini still is a creditable creative film that draws audiences on a reflective sojourn in their subconscious failings and holds out a mirror to society’s ‘male’ficient mindset.