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

'Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani': Neo-liberal constrictions and romance

Notwithstanding its fabulous music, picturesque locations and overall modishness, YJHD very cunningly delivers a moralistic discourse on conforming to certain set patterns. Apparently liberal and cosmopolitan, YJHD subtly conveys its belief in nationalism, heterosexual coupling, woman’s sacrifice and above all obedience to tradition. Ayan Mukherjee serves the same old cocktail of the nineties’ romance genre, maybe, in a more desirable and chic stem-glass. It repeats some very well-known tropes of the Hindi film romance: the main narrative of the film is set against a posh wedding, with occasional flashbacks to the past, where one finds the well-known stereotypes of a playboy hero, a pedantic heroine, a devil-may-care tomboy (mistaken for a lesbian), and well-known situations of the coming-of-age hero’s chance encounter with a prostitute (Madhuri Dixit in a raunchier Chandramukhi avatar), a Holi song (Balam pichkari, recalling Rang Barse from Silsila), end of college days (recalling Dil Chahta Hai), doting parents (reminiscent of Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayange), elaborate shaadi ka rasam (recalling any family drama of the 1990s), the taming of the shrew (Aditi’s final submission to a happy conjugal life, recalling Kuch Kuch Hota Hai), and the termination of the virgin heroine’s apparently eternal wait for her lover in a much-anticipated happy ending. 

It’s seemingly modern in that it addresses the confusions which assail the minds of the current generation of youngsters; but, it ingeniously draws up a list of ‘Do’s’ and ‘Don’ts’, while doing so. It pretends to fly the kite of neo-liberalism high, but knows exactly where it needs to restrict its flight. It pretends to liberate its heroines, but doesn’t forget to inscribe around them the lakshmanrekha: while Naina (Deepika) remains a virgin (or at least that is suggested) until she eventually falls in love with Kabir (Ranbir Kapoor), Aditi (Kalki) abandons her punk ways and surrenders to normative dictates by getting married to a quintessential ‘good guy’ (Kunal Roy Kapoor), carefully outgrowing her amorous feelings for the ‘bad guy’ (Aditya Roy Kapoor). The film portrays the eternal conflict between the global and the local, the nation and the trans-nation, tradition and modernity. And as it always has been with the romantic comedies produced in post-liberalization India, the film ends up celebrating glocalization, albeit with a warning: there’s no harm in being liberal and cosmopolitan, but certain boundaries cannot be crossed.

                 

A tad too long, YJHD despite its fun moments and rocking music (Pritam), grates on the nerves towards the end. Ranbir Kapoor has already become a youth icon, so has Deepika; the casting proves highly conducive in conveying the message the film wanted to convey. Aditya Roy Kapoor fits the role but needs to work hard on dialogue delivery. Kalki has put in her best efforts. Madhuri Dixit’s cameo as Mohini has the appeal of a dream, but such a dream begins and ends much too abruptly, and stands ‘out’ as an item number. 

The film seems to have taken the box-office by storms, and seems to be making money like no other blockbuster in the recent past; but what one needs to remember is that Hindi Cinema has always encouraged romance as long as it doesn’t remarkably destabilize the normative. It allows freedom, but never loses control on the chains of confinement. YJHD does exactly the same. 

Image courtesy:

gallery.oneindia.in

Rituparno Ghosh: The Kingly Queen

It’s extremely difficult to write about Rituparno Ghosh. Although he would be remembered as a filmmaker, I would say he was also a filmmaker among many other things. He was the keenest learner I have ever met, always aspiring to know more. He was often known to have approached people, notwithstanding age or fame, with his child-like appeal: Amake eta ektu poriye dibi/debe? (Will you teach me this?). Even to the last day of his life, he went on learning and unlearning. When it came to learning new things, he was as vulnerable and eager as a five-year old who was being ushered into the world of knowledge for the first time. He was an excellent teacher too, and could mould his views depending upon who he was addressing.

Read on:

http://www.cinemachronicles.in/rituparno-ghosh-the-kingly-queen/

Image courtesy: photogallery.indiatimes.com