Ritwik, the Ball of Fire: 'Meghe Dhaka Tara'

I cried throughout the film; when the end credits started rolling and the grayscale shifted to colour, I thought it was beyond me to analyze this film. Firmly rooted and totally seduced by the temptations of the late capitalist market, it is beyond me to evaluate a film on a creative genius who never compromised with his ideologies. As the narrative merges cinema and theatre seamlessly, shifts in time and space, and shuttles between the real and surreal, the audience is made to embark on an intensely emotional voyage through all the masterpieces, from Meghe Dhaka Tara to Subarnarekha, from Ajantrik to Jukti Tokko ar Goppo. As Subarnarekha flows into Titas, the vintage car of Ajantrik becomes the medium of elopement for the rebel boy of Bari Theke Paliye, and all jukti, tokko, & especially goppo attain the scale the stuff classical tragedies are made of, the audience can’t but shed a tear for the tragic hero of world cinema, who was barely acclaimed in his lifetime. Perhaps, the sentimentality in which the film often indulges in is also a tribute to the great master whose Meghe Dhaka Tara is often reproached for its mushy melodrama. Kamaleshwar Mukherjee has very intelligently sewn together pieces of the great films and plays into a patchwork of brilliance, which almost works as a thriller for those who have the privileged knowledge of all the masterpieces, and therefore, have the pleasure of recognizing the intertextual references. Although the film is embroiled in the political upheaval of the Partition, the Naxalite Movement, and the 1971 Bangladesh War, Meghe Dhaka Tara, it must be noted, is also an extremely contemporary film. Ghatak’s fiery spirit of revolution and his strident critique of state machinery appear so very desirable at this very moment in history. Meghe Dhaka Tara reminds its viewers of the eternal topicality of Ghatak, and therefore, by default the eternal relevance of great art.

It’s difficult to appreciate and do justice to Meghe Dhaka Tara after one watch. The film deserves to be watched many more times. Debojyoti Mishra’s music creates the right ambience to evoke the right kind of mood. Samik Haldar’s camera had to be really alert of Ghatak’s uniqueness. Saswata Chatterjee, has made the protagonist quite believable. Whether he is like the real Ghatak is irrelevant here. Ananya is good, but the real credit goes to the entire ensemble cast of actors in the theatre group and at the asylum. Abir is disappointing, and his appearance in certain scenes as a silent spectator does not add much to the narrative.

Meghe Dhaka Tara might not find box-office success; but then, it would be imitating the fate of most of the master’s films. Nothing has changed. It never will. The film demands patience, knowledge and of course sensibility to appreciate esoteric works of art. And if such are the demands, eighty per cent of the audience stands a good chance of feeling alienated, therefore, of getting eliminated. And another warning: if you find yourself totally drawn into the film, the comfort of the multiplex and the popcorn served during the interval tend to prick you with a sense of guilt, the guilt of being too materialistic.

Image courtesy: www.madaboutmoviez.com

Goynar Baksho: Pishima’s pranks and women’s liberation

It was Rituparno Ghosh who had made Rangapishima immensely endearing with all her radicalism and open-mindedness, almost a decade back, in Shubho Muharat. In Goynar Baksho, Aparna Sen’s Rashmoni (Moushumi Chatterjee) with her mischievousness and libertinism and all her rancorous and benign spookiness, uncannily reminds of Rangapishima! Although it is true that Rashmoni is comparatively more rustic and acid-tongued than Ghosh’s Rangapishima, removed from her by several decades. Yet, it is hard not to think of Rangapishima when Rashmoni urges Somlata (Konkona Sen Sharma) to break moral barriers or embarrasses her with personal questions. The most glaring reminder is the cat which often acts as the receptacle of Pishima’s departed soul. This comparison, however, is not to decry Sen’s or Chatterjee’s effort to bring Shirshendu Mukhopadhyay’s Rashmoni to life. Both Rangapishima and Rashmoni would have their individual places in the history of Bengali cinema. 

            Goynar Baksho is an out-and-out woman’s film, if not feminist. Somlata’s independence which is earned through her intelligent business planning and Pishima’s unwavering support forms the core of the narrative. What remains glaringly ironical all through, and commendably so, is that complete liberation from patriarchal control seems possible only after the death of the woman. The film, which begins with Pishima’s death and creates a laugh riot when Pishima mischievously takes little revenges for the wrongs done to her in her lifetime, seems to suggest that it is in some imaginary afterlife that a woman can really become free. The patriarchal norms are mocked at and moral codes and taboos related to sex and body are made fun of, by a repenting Pishima who realizes only after death that what she has missed. There is no heaven or hell; there’s nothing called sin. Pishima returns with this superior knowledge to ‘save’ her nephew’s wife. When a younger Pishima hides behind the pillar and weeps helplessly while Ramkhilaon is beaten to death, the crime of sexual suppression which has destroyed millions of women’s lives screams out of the screen. As Ramkhilaon is thrashed mercilessly, the filmmaker whiplashes the audience. And immediately, the lights come up as the word ‘Intermission’ fades-in on the screen, giving the audience time to ponder over it, as it were.  

          

  While the film does border on the farcical at times, the raciness of the first half which keeps the audience in splits most of the time, does not allow much time to think of its shortcomings. A brilliant Moushumi Chatterjeee and an equally competent Konkona Sen Sharma adequately supported by a powerful ensemble cast of Saswata Chatterjee, Paran Bandopadhyay, Manasi Sinha, Pijush Ganguly, Aparajita Auddy, and Monu Mukherjee make some very weak scenes credible. But the debacle happens after the ‘Intermission’. The romantic track between Somlata and a mysterious man (Kaushik Sen) does not seem to have any bearing on the main plot. It is difficult to understand why Pishima all of a sudden urges Somlata to bed the man. While her dialogue, “Swami to ghar e porar saree’r moto…porey porey rong uthe gechhe…porpurush holo benarasi, baluchari, jotoi gaaye jorabi totoi garam…”, is delightful, the love story which is literally nipped in the budding stage, does not seem to have any strong foundation. I guess the filmmaker could have given a little more screen-time to Somlata’s agony or sexual frustration of being separated from her husband who was on a business tour for months. Only then, Pishima’s insistence on sleeping with another man could have appeared more believable.

            The second half gets increasingly boring and forced with the appearance of Chaitali (Shrabonti) and the Mukti-Juddho track. The introduction of the Mukti-Juddho seems rather forced, and the way it is represented is extremely amateurish and flimsy. Chaitali’s involvement with the warriors does not seem convincing enough, for she lacks the depth and seriousness such a woman should have. Sen’s delineation of this character is most flawed and a tad too negligent I suppose. It is further marred by Shrabonti’s perfunctory performance. Although I would not say she is miscast, she is certainly a major disappointment. 

                        Although technically brilliant and quite perfectly edited at least in the first half, Goynar Baksho has not been able to do complete justice to Shirshendu Mukhopadhyay’s original story. There are, however, some other positives: Debojyoti Mishra’s music scores really high; all the songs are extremely melodious and easy on the ear. Soumik Haldar’s camera creates the right kind of mood and ambience in every frame. 

            Pishima’s heroic spookiness, as was expected, is the unique selling point, and the film deserves a watch only for her, if not anything else. 

Image Courtesy: icetrail.blogspot.com; www.venkateshfilms.com.

 

'Laptop': Grim, stifling, confining, and all that

I wont waste much space in reviewing Kaushik Ganguly’s latest, for I have nothing much to say, apart from cribbing about the film’s claustrophobic grimness and raving about Ganguly’s spectacular blind-act. The director gives himself the maximum footage, and quite effortlessly steals the show as a visually challenged writer (Partha) who dictates his novels to Subha (Ananya Chatterjee) all through the day. Subha and her noisy typewriter become his constant companion in the dimly lit apartment smarting under almost palpable depression. Subha’s reticence and sombreness adds to the darkness of the atmosphere; yet, it is in her very presence that Partha feels most animated. Struck by his remarkable insight into feminine desires, Subha once asks him: “Dekhen ki kore?” (How do you see?).


Apart from this part of the story, which incidentally constitutes a major chunk of the plot, Laptop has nothing much to offer. In fact, the way in which the laptop changes hands is rather un-dramatic and a tad incredible. It ruins a family while partially reunites another. It is because of the laptop that Jiyon (Gaurab Chakraborty) has to carry the burden of a failed affair and a false allegation of theft all his life. Indra (Rahul Bose) finds out that his son is being raised by a tea-planter’s family in Darjeeling through some data stored in the laptop. The way in which the film connects the ensemble cast at the very beginning is quite remarkable and raises expectations; but it sadly fails to live up to the expectations as the story unfolds. In fact, there is not a single moment that provides comic relief, and the existential angst becomes a bit too taxing, even when the story moves out of stifling interiors to the hills of Darjeeling. The last part of the film sentimentalizing on impotency and a father having to stay away from his son is unbearably long and monotonous. The film required heavy editing, in general.

The ensemble cast of TV actors is good; but Rahul Bose is atrocious and Churni’s mannerisms grate on your nerves. She is becoming extremely repetitive by the day. Apart from Kaushik, it’s Ananya who stands out. Anyway, at 180 minutes the agony the characters suffer grows into you, leaving you rather distraught. In a word, Laptop is a major disappointment of sorts. The evening show at Fame (Hiland Park) had but a thin crowd, and none seemed sufficiently excited after the curtains came down.

Image: banglasangeet.in

Magic Realty…erm…Reality: The future of the ghosts…well…secure- A review of 'Bhooter Bhabishyot'

In the rather lackadaisical prelude that takes almost 15 minutes to arrive at the core narrative, Sabysachi Chakraborty who volunteers to share a plot idea with the aspiring director Parambrata Chattopadhyay, tells the latter that his story has “layers”. As Aneek Dutta’s Bhooter Bhabishyat (The Future of the Past) progresses with amazing alacrity after that, the audience laughs through the exploration of these ”layers”, while, in the spirit of a good comedy, being compelled to think. Bhooter Bhabishyat is not mindless entertainment, but an amusing social satire that demands considerable attention.

Delightfully auto-reflexive, Bhooter Bhabishyat brings back the benign spook, the kind popularized by Ray’s Goopy Gayen Bagha Bayen (Parambrata’s cell often breaks moments of eerie silence with the benevolent Bhooter Raja’s ghostly articulation of the three boons) The crew of ghosts Dutta introduces is comprised of well-known caricatures: the North Kolkata zamindar, a British official of the East India Company, a yesteryear heroine of Bengali cinema, a “Bangal” refugee, a Bihari rickshaw-puller, a royal Muslim chef (from Sirajudaulla’s kitchen), a Naxalite, a colonel who lost his life in the 1999 Kargil War, a pseudo-intellectual band-singer, a college girl spurned in love, and a hilariously ruthless mastaan.

The bhoot is all about recalling history: the arrival of the East India Company, Sirajudaulla, the British Raj in Bengal and the complicity of the Zamindars with the colonial rulers…the Partition…black and white Bengali cinema of the 1940s… the Naxalite Revolution and its martyrs…the Kargil War…Down to the Rizwanur case, and the obsession with band formation…"revolutionary music” that is ear-splittingly cacophonic and demands a lot of attitude! This history needs to be preserved…and hence, the fight to save Chowdhury Mansion which has drawn the greedy attention of Ganesh Bhutoria, the avaricious promoter. Since, everbody (read the State) is completely nonchalant about preserving this heritage the band of ghosts takes upon themselves the Herculean responsibility. The mission is accomplished, and the ghosts “live” happily ever after. The story-within-the-story ends happily indeed. But this is mere wishful thinking…in reality nobody is bothered about the future of the past. Therefore, the story of the past needs to be told…and what can be a better medium than cinema? In order their voices are heard the ghosts produce a film. And the film is Bhooter Bhabishyot. For you!

A superlative ensemble cast keeps you in splits all through: Paran Bandopadhyay brings in his inherent comic talent to the portraiture of Darpanarayan; George Baker plays the representative of the British Raj with a pampering concern for the “natives”, the lesser mortals; Biswajit Chakraborty’s colonel is too full of nostalgia, playing out with utter faith his patriotic leanings much to the annoyance of the other ghosts; Swastika Mukherjee goes full retro with remarkable credibility; Saswata Chatterjee surprises us with his maastan act; Samdarshi, the self-proclaimed revolutionary and Mumtaz, who has been badly betrayed by her boyfriend, bring in the romantic streak; and the Bangal refugee, the Muslim chef and the Bihari rickshaw-puller are much too real…magic real?

One of the most cerebral films made in recent times, Bhooter Bhabishyot uses double-entendre to an amazing effect…the film shows how one can be intelligently crass. The film merges the elitist and the populist to a commendable degree, resulting in full-on entertainment. As I have said earlier, it remains true to the spirit of good comedy, never losing sight of the Shavian dictum that comedy is not about mindless laughter…it should make you think while you laugh.

POSTSCRIPT:

For the first time ever I have been compelled to add to a review written almost a month back. I am precisely talking about “Bhooter Bhabisyot”. Many found the film “bad” for it is simply repeating some caricatures; and caricatures cannot make for a good comedy. I would like to debunk this take by arguing that the film in good humour mocks the cultural memory of middle class Bengalis, which, incidentally, is nothing but a string of stereotypes chronologically placed. The film deliberately reiterated these stereotypes as brilliant caricatures. For instance, post-Partition, the Muslim has entered the collective memory as such a ‘violent’ Other (constructed through several narratives which have by now acquired the status of myth), that the Muslim character is made to speak Urdu/Hindi, but not Bengali. The ‘othering’ is thereby reinforced. This cannot be read as racist, but a comical take on the constructedness of the image of the Muslim in the collective memory.

            The film, reportedly, has displeased some for being much too middle class. But the fun lies here: the film, intentionally or may be unintentionally, addresses the fact that it is the cultural memory of the middle class that hegemonizes and controls all other memories. This is because, the middle class, the neo-colonial class (to allude to Frantz Fanon) has stepped into the shoes of the former colonial master and till date by consent or sometimes even violently eliminated all other cultural memories. This is not only true of Bengal, but the entire postcolonial nation. The film mocks this dominant middle class perception of history, and the source of humour is the film’s auto-reflexive take on the subject. 

Image courtesy: washingtonbanglaradio.com