Sunglass: Rituparno’s magic lenses and what wasn’t so magical after all

Shot in 2005, Sunglass (Taak Jhaank in Hindi) never saw a theatrical release during Rituparno Ghosh’s lifetime, and the grapevine has it that the filmmaker had a row with Planman Motion Pictures, which held up the film until the state government intervened and premiered it at the 19th Kolkata International Film Festival. Whenever I asked him about Sunglass, Rituparno was visibly annoyed, and asserted, ‘I am not bothered whether the film is released or not; I have outgrown that phase of my career long back…I do not make such films anymore…’ Yet, Sunglass is his most light-hearted film; his sense of humor, which informs many of his serious films, imbues almost every frame with a delightfulness which is indeed rare. Towards the end of his career, Rituparno was gradually shifting into darker themes and controversial subjects and the ‘merrymaking’ in Sunglass appeared escapist to him. Discourses on death, loneliness, betrayal, parallel sexualities, and the pains of inhabiting the periphery undercut his later films in such a way that happy endings had begun to appear much too Utopian to him...

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Mishawr Rawhoshyo: Mummified in Mediocrity

Mishawr Rawhoshyo! The exoticism and thrill embedded in the title ends in the title itself. Srijit Mukherjee’s latest is chic and smart, but lacks the edginess of a thriller. The disappointment grows steadily having set in at the very outset. The unforgivably miscast Prosenjit Chatterjee’s atrocious English and pretentions of intellectualism grate on the nerve from the very first scene which is, however, occasionally alleviated by Aryann (Santu), the only saving grace of the film. Prosenjit is the last person any Bengali can imagine in the garb of Kakababu, and he adds insult to injury to the character by performing it rather badly. In fact, the film should have been called ‘Chokher Bali’ or ‘Eyesore’, the title alluding to Prosenjit’s awful performance and even more agonizing screen presence. The biggest flaw is that Santu appears brighter and more intelligent than Kakababu, and the audience all along misses with a sigh a younger Soumitra Chatterjee or any other intelligent yesteryear actor who could have essayed the role with panache. Mukherjee could have cast some Bollywood actor, rather than let his film sink. Prosenjit cannot be cast in every other role; he might have a mass appeal (but am sure he was never popular with the educated metropolitan audience), and he does not have the polish or learning to perform such literary characters like Kakababu. It’s blasphemy to cast him! Just note how Prosenjit appears like a fish out of water in the JNU campus! You cannot but feel sorry for the poor chap. Sunil Gangopadhyay must be turning in his grave. 

If Prosenjit wasn’t causing enough anguish, Mukherjee brought in his own interpretation to the original story and linked it up with the revolution in Egypt. The idea was indeed novel, but the execution is terribly confused, perfunctory and shallow. No serious research seems to have gone into it, and the lack is glaringly visible in every single frame. In trying to contemporize the story, the filmmaker forgot to work on the mystery bit, and failed big time in packing the right kind of punch to let the thrill build-up. He ended up making an unpardonable mockery of the Egyptian Revolution. Despite Indraneil’s honest effort, the revolution which is in its rudimentary stage fails to appeal to the audience’s sympathy, for the filmmaker only skims the surface of it, not bothering to plunge deep.

The film actually tends to push you out of the theatre every time Sujan and Swastika Mukherjee appear on the screen in their pitiable middeclass-ness. No adjective can actually convey how agonizing they are; in fact, they have done more harm to the film than Prosenjit! And be prepared to be tortured by Santu's middleclass nyaka romance with a dolled-up nyaka girlfriend. Whatever it is, it is tortuous all along!

Mishawr Rawhoshyo, is totally rawhoshyo-less, and would remain in people’s memory for being the first Bengali film which had given plenty of screen time to the Sahara Desert. That would be its only claim to fame!  What Mukherjee has forgotten is that people have access to much better ‘detective’ films produced across the globe, thanks to the internet, and films like Mishawr Rawhoshyo can only cause embarrassment to the highly informed audience of the present day. Mediocrity being Tollywood’s forte, nothing could be expected from these directors; and Bengali Cinema would continue to revel in shoddiness, occasionally looking back nostalgically to a bygone of era of watchable films. 

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Photo courtesy: en.wikipedia.org

Source: https://www.google.co.in/search?q=mishor+rahasya&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=iF5jUrxohoysB_aSgcgL&sqi=2&ved=0CAcQ_AUoAQ&biw=1366&bih=664#facrc=_&imgdii=_&imgrc=U2PJWStONN-EqM%3A%3BpPHL8UytlQG3rM%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fupload.wikimedia.org%252Fwikipedia%252Fen%252Fthumb%252Fb%252Fb2%252FMishawr_Rahasya.jpg%252F220px-Mishawr_Rahasya.jpg%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fen.wikipedia.org%252Fwiki%252FMishawr_Rawhoshyo%3B220%3B274

Accessed on 19 October 2013.

The truth about Satyanweshi

The title of this review might appear arrogant for it seems to make a rather lofty claim of unveiling the truth about Rituparno Ghosh’s last film Satyanweshi. What truth needs to be told about this film given to truth-searching itself? The truth which a certain segment of the audience seems to have missed and the truth which might provide a counter-discourse to the mass-slandering the film has been an undeserving victim of. 

 
My first question: Ghosh had made practically unwatchable films, yet the media went out of its way to praise them. Example: Sob Choritro Kalponik. Example: Khela. Example: The Last Lear. Particularly the local media! Why?  Because, Rituparno Ghosh wielded such power that nobody seemed to have the guts to confront it? Now that he is no more, the slander that was long overdue is being unrestrainedly showered on a film which does not really deserve such harsh disparagement. I can vouch that had he been alive, Satyanweshi would have been, indubitably, espoused by the media as the best Byomkesh adaptation on screen! And such celebration, I would contend, would not have been conceited. Despite its many flaws, Satyanweshi is undeniably the best Byomkesh adaptation, although unfortunately, Ghosh did not have any reputed precedent to compete with: Satyajit Ray’s Chiriyakhana is pathetic, while the two Anjan Dutta films are better forgotten than remembered. 

What is remarkable about the film is that it commendably complicates Sharadindu’s Chora Bali which has a rather weak plot. In fact, Ghosh weaves together two totally unconnected plot strands of the original novel to unravel the complex domestic reality of a feudal family of Balwantpur, whereby a simple whodunit story acquires an intriguing dimension. A rather predictable murder-motive, which unfortunately, becomes evident only after a few pages in the original novel, is located within the larger discourse of patriarchal tyranny and its complicity with an economic base on which human relationships are founded or defined by. The death of the murderer in Satyanweshi is also the death of the tyrannical father, although his death does not assure agency to the daughter left behind. Both Alaka (Arpita Chatterjee) and Lila (Anandi Ghose), the first apparently powerful and the other, totally powerless, turn out to be unsuspecting victims of a system, rather than the brutal conspiracy of an individual. The women, Alaka and Lila, notwithstanding their opposing class positions, end up being (non)actors in a narrative designed and carried forwarded by a master-plotter. Harinath (Anirban Ghosh) is victimized as well, for having unwittingly entered the plot and impeding it, by revealing himself as a potential threat to the finely orchestrated conspiracy that was underway. Immersed in books and music and extraordinarily meticulous about his duties, Harinath offers a counterpoint to a more aggressive masculinity that must always control and eliminate any threat that impedes its mode of operation. 

Sharadindu’s simplistic Chora Bali, therefore, develops into a layered narrative of power dynamics that work within a class-gender nexus. The film demands painstaking attention from the viewer for the resolution is built-up through dialogue, not much through visuals (which is and has always been a significant drawback of Ghosh films); the activity of watching Satyanweshi is quite akin to reading a book or listening to a story, but that does not mar the experience of watching the film, for the entire film is more of an exercise of the mind for Byomkesh (Sujoy Ghosh), rather than action in the literal sense of the term. Please note how Ghosh very skillfully engineers a pun in the name of the site of action, that is Balwantpur, (on which Sharadindu does not even dwell) to connect it to the main plot. 

The film carries Ghosh’s auteuristic signature in its sets, costumes, music, mannerisms of characters, obsession with the film industry and deployment of intertexts. Like all other Rituparno Ghosh films, Satyanweshi remains a narrative-driven chamber drama (although North Bengal was the location for a major part of the film) and evokes the characteristic bourgeois nostalgia for feudal opulence (as is evident in period films). Through the deployment of intelligent intertexts (Bees Saal Baad, The Hound of the Baskerville, Chiriyakhana, etc.), Ghosh makes an attempt to place the film in the tradition of detective or mystery fiction, which again, has been a common practice with the filmmaker, who has often spoken back to the tradition of literature and cinema to which his own work is a new addition. What’s partially new is his experimentation with non-actors --- Sujoy Ghosh, Anindya Chattopadhyay, Sibaji Bandopadhyay, Anandi Ghose and Sanjay Nag! All of them are believable, although Sujoy’s stiffness comes across too glaringly in certain scenes. 

Now for the flaws: there are indeed far too many, few very silly ones, unexpected of a Rituparno Ghosh film. The film forgets to elaborate the conditions of the will left by the deceased king of Balwantpur on which the main plot is significantly based. It makes the characters speak in a language which sounds too contemporary; especially, the English words and phrases the characters use seem totally out of tune with the time in which the film is set; it’s ridiculous that Himanshu (Indraneil Sengupta) is taken to the dilapidated building blindfolded; wasn’t it dark enough for him to implement his extraordinary skill? Why does Kaligati (Sibaji Bandopadhyay) refuse that he has indeed removed two Ayurveda books from the library? Byomkesh and Ajit (Anindya Chattopadhyay) set a few questions independently and then compare them in order to solve the mystery of Harinath’s sudden disappearance. Surprisingly, the questions come typed on designer chits! When did they have the time to have the questions typed out and that too in a format that could only be possible with computers? There are far too many flaws which I refrain from cataloguing here. But, what I did not understand is that how is it possible that none, but one person in the entire estate is aware of the exact location of the quicksand, if it had always been there? The novel too provides no answer to this. 

Finally, I would like to raise this question: can we call Satyanweshi a Rituparno Ghosh film at all? It’s an incomplete work after all, completed by his team members. I have seen him shuffling scenes time and again till the last day before the film released! Had he been present on the editing table many flaws could have been eliminated. Had he supervised the dubbing neither Sujoy nor Indraneil would have spoken such accented Bangla. Had he seen the final cuts, he would have reshot entire scenes, for example the picnic sequence. Nothing looks more staged than that. But, Ghosh cannot be forgiven for such terribly constricted frames, even in outdoor scenes! Why is a huge palatial mansion reduced into a cramped corridor, a library, a temple and three rooms? Why isn’t the enormity of the palace at Balwantpur put to use in full to space-out the layered narrative? Why does Ghosh give the feel that it’s a television drama? Ghosh had indeed never learned to use the endless possibilities of the cinematic canvas! Perhaps he did not want to. Given that Satyanweshi is a Shree Ventakesh Films production, Ghosh wasn’t certainly working on a shoe-string budget to confine his camera within the walls of over-furnished rooms.  

Yet, despite its many flaws, the film is highly watchable. It would be unjust to dismiss the film as bad! No it isn’t! And, do not miss out the very subtle, almost invisible homoerotic strain that undercut the Byomkesh-Ajit relationship.

 
Image courtesy: SVF website.

Madras Café: Political thriller with a political purpose?

Shoojit Sarkar’s ‘Madras Café’ impresses by its no-frills-attached smartness akin to a well-researched documentary. But there’s drama, action, and suspense characteristic of an espionage thriller. Based on the assassination of ex-PM Rajiv Gandhi, the film generates nostalgia for a generation of viewers for whom the incident now appears distant; for, following Rajiv Gandhi’s death India officially entered the global market of open economy; and, history moved forward in leaps and bounds so much so that even the early nineties seem to be a distant past. Although the assassination of the PM has sent shockwaves across the nation, the political reason behind the assassination was soon forgotten. For, the aam Indian, the LTTE was responsible for Rajiv Gandhi’s murder. But, the official records were doctored, as usual, and the real story was barely revealed to the aam janata, although there are important academic articles. Sarkar’s film comes at a time when the Congress govt. is again on the brinks; and this film which sympathetically revisits one of the most mourned political murders help reinforce people’s sympathy for the Congress. And this is exactly where the film falters. The image of Rajiv Gandhi has been sanitized to such a degree that the film can be charged of false representation.

           

Sarkar has done extensive research to get to the roots of the assassination; but, the film is more about how the assassination could have been averted. The major drawback is that the film essentializes to a great extent the LTTE’s take on revolution and demand for Eelam, and doesn’t spend more than a few minutes to explain why India’s intervention to bring an end to the civil war in Sri Lanka was necessary. While the film begins on a very promising note of narrating both sides of the Tamil-Sinhalese conflict which led to one of the bloodiest civil wars in South Asia, it veers into an unexpected simplification of the implication and aftermath of the peace pact. Perhaps, Sarkar was more interested in telling a spy story, rather than delving into the complexities of the political reality. And paradoxically, this is where the film scores. By sensationalizing the story of how Rajiv was assassinated, the film would certainly see a huge footfall at the theatres. For, good suspense always wins!  

The camera and editing are near perfect; on the acting front, John Abraham’s characteristic stiffness becomes an advantage for him, for Vikram had to be pretty tough. Nargis suits the role of a UK-based journalist, although she seems a little low on confidence. The rest of the cast deserves applause, for being extremely true to life. An intelligent film, an original film, Madras Café would have a good run at the box-office; but I would recommend that the audience who praise the film, should do a little more research back home.

Image courtesy: www.bhmpics.com

Bhaag Milkha Bhaag: Milkha flies high and how!

If not for anything else, Rakyesh Omprakash Mehra’s Bhaag Milkha Bhaag should score full marks for the hard work put in by Farhan Akhtar to impersonate Mikha Singh, the Flying Sikh as the sportsperson was famously known as. Farhan speaks with his sinews, which he has amply developed to look like Milkha, an army personnel and dedicated athlete. But more importantly, he has effectively brought to Milkha Singh multiple shades, bringing to life an enigmatic character whose public image of the Flying Sikh hides behind it a vulnerable private life of loss, betrayal and trauma.  

            Bhaag Milkha Bhaag could have ended up being another sentimental bildungsroman of an underdog’s journey from the margins to the centre. But, it has brilliantly averted such a predicament. The public and the private are curiously mingled in this biopic told in painstaking detail, where personal experiences of a historical calamity connect the life of an individual to the people of a certain geographical area carrying in their collective unconscious the agony of that calamity. This is where Bhaag Milkha Bhaag transcends the narrow boundaries of an individual’s life to relate the story of ‘a people’. The symbolism in the title is not hard to decode: it is not only Milkha who is running away from a traumatic memory of the past; the people on both sides of the border that divides India and Pakistan are also trying to flee the prison of such a memory, the memory of the holocaust of the Partition. That one historical event which has left such deadly scars in the hearts of the people that even after sixty-five years they have not ceased to bleed. In this sense, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag doesn’t really turn the clock to an earlier decade; but addresses the contemporary times, when communal violence, mass slaughter, state-controlled pogroms, segregation based on race, and militant nationalism are on the rise. Rakyesh Omprakash Mehra and Prasoon Joshi’s Milkha Singh is therefore more of a metaphor than a character, on whose predicament the tragic consequences of the Partition are mapped out. The flashbacks and the black-and-white album images of the Partition which have been used in several other films as well act as constant reminder of a past which is impossible to erase. 

            Yet, despite itself, the film almost helplessly promotes territorial nationalism, where the ongoing Indo-Pakistan rivalry is addressed with a certain degree of unpretentious condescension for the warring neighbour. The film might be adhering to a historical truth, but, nonetheless, the Otherness of the people across the border is quite well established by the end. But ironically, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag had actually set out to question this strife which is actually mindless. I would not, however, take the filmmaker to task for this; for, this is also an aftereffect of the Partition: the prejudice is so deep-seated that it raises its head even at the slightest opportunity. 

            On another level Bhaag Milkha Bhaag, just like Chak De! India, is a story of will-power, perseverance and untiring enterprise. The film’s celebration of Milkha’s hard work, abstinence and discipline might help it land in the syllabus of the MBA course! However, the film might be attacked for stereotyping the woman: she is either the loving mother or the wayward seductress who distracts men from reaching their goal. Another drawback is its length: at 187 minutes the film seems to drag. The editor could have been a little more merciless!   

 
Image Courtesy:santabanta.com