Amar Akbar Anthony (1977)

Sabtu, 11 April 2009

Amar Akbar Anthony (1977)

Amar Akbar Anthony (Manmohan Desai, 1977)

There is enough story in the forty minute opening of Manmohan Desai's Amar Akbar Anthony to fill up an entire month's worth of melodrama. Kishanlal (Pran) ex-convict is released from prison only to find out that Robert (Jeevan), his boss who promised to take care of his family if he takes full responsibility over a hit-and-run accident he did not commit, has broken his pledge and left his wife (Nirupa Roy) afflicted with tuberculosis and his children starving. He goes to Robert's mansion, and pleads for the support that Robert owes him, but instead of getting what he deserves, is humiliated and forced out of the mansion. He fights back by shooting Robert with a gun, but fails to kill him, and thereafter, escapes from the mansion using one of Robert's cars that contains a crate full of gold bars. He goes home and finds out through a letter that his wife has left to kill herself. He takes his three children, leaves them to safety inside a park while he is being chased by Robert's men. The three children are then separated: the youngest is adopted by a Muslim pacifist; the middle child is taken cared of by a Catholic priest; and the eldest is raised by a Hindu police officer. The mother fails to kill herself, and instead, is blinded by a freak accident. Kishanlal falls from a cliff, and is presumed dead by the police, although he actually has escaped from the accident with a crate full of gold.

In a matter of forty minutes, director Desai manages to separate the three boys from each other and their parents through narrative twists and turns that appear out of nowhere, and thereafter reunites them with their mother in a sequence that serves as the film's belated opening credits: the three children, now grown up, are all inside a hospital room, donating blood to their blind mother and all of them not knowing that they are related. Its an outrageous concept, and cinematographer Peter Pereira's camerawork matches the outrageousness of the concept, focusing on the viscuous blood flowing from the siblings' arms and into their mother, focusing and de-focusing, shifting angles to enunciate the very unique circumstance of their reunion. Amar (Vinod Khanna), the eldest brother, is now a police inspector. Anthony (Amitabh Bachchan), the middle child, manages a liquor bar, while responsibly donating half of his profits to the Catholic Church. Akbar (Rishi Kapoor), the youngest, is a performer. Desai stretches the film for another two hours or so, infusing the narrative with upbeat action sequences, syrupy romance, and catchy melodies, before arriving at its predictably happy ending.

However, despite the film's obvious leaning towards plebeian considerations, it remains to be unbelievably entertaining. Desai commits to the impossibility and implausibility of the film's convoluted affairs; when the film purports sentimentality, it not only opts for shallow tears, it requires wails, screches, and enlarged gestures; when the film flirts with kitsch, it is unsatisfied with choreographed song numbers but decides that Bachchan pop out of an Easter Egg, singing a hilarious ditty ("My Name is Anthony Gonsalvez") that starts off with a long-winded yet incomprehensible speech that sounds scholarly but doesn't really mean anything; when it describes villainy, its unsubtle manifestations of human evil, from physical characteristics (bared teeth and gorilla-like muscularity) to heartless processes (Robert, in a showcase of his malevolence, orders Kishenlal to clean his shoes using his shirt's sleeve), are more than instructive of the characters' moral predisposition, they are also downright hilarious; when it involves romance, it triplicates the cheese and the corniness, giving each of the brothers a beautiful partner to court and ultimately win over. The humor, whether intended or unintended, adds to the allure of this undeniably charming flick.

It is Desai's particular preference for simple-minded pleasures fuels the film from start to finish. Desai manages to delegate the film's more-than-obvious political commentary (the three boys being separated on India's independence day, under the statue of Gandhi, and raised by India's three largest religious factions), fresh in its hopefulness on the nation's religious dynamics, in the background, not totally indispensible in the overall enjoyment of the film, but adds a possible discourse about the cinema that Amar Akbar Anthony represents. Amar Akbar Anthony is populist in its sensibilities yet not totally lacking of a say on the world-view that is current during its time. While the film is definitely unpolished, it possesses an energy, a certain rhythm, an inarguable sincerity to simply amuse without leaving any baggage or concern, that makes one forget of its blatant inadequacies and excesses.

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995)

Kamis, 15 November 2007

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995)

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (Aditya Chopra, 1995)
English Title: The Brave Heart Will Take the Bride

Only in Bollywood do you have films that stretch past the three-hour mark and still manage to be authentically engrossing. Only in Bollywood films do you have plotlines (sometimes borrowed from Hollywood or elsewhere) that are rehashed to death, choreographed show-stopping musical numbers that pop out suddenly, actors and actresses that practice histrionics in their method of acting and still remain enjoyable and surprisingly refreshing. Only in India would you have a film like Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (The Brave Heart Will Take the Bride), a well-made but rather conventional romantic melodrama, have commercial public screenings for untiring patrons years after its initial release.

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge is the first feature film of Aditya Chopra, son of legendary Yash Chopra, prolific director of such movies like Dhool Ka Phool (Blossom of Dust, 1959), Deewaar (The Wall, 1975), and most recently Veer-Zaara (2004), and even more prolific producer to several other well-loved hits. At the young age of 24, Aditya Chopra has crafted what would become one of the most successful Bollywood film of all time. It is not a great film, merely a pleasant one. Evidence of Chopra's inexperience is abundant, like the frequent flatness of his visuals (those unaccompanied by majestic geographic backdrops or loud colors, such as when the sequences happen indoors, are relatively plain-looking). However, the film's success is of course not surprising as Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge has all the elements of a Bollywood hit in near-perfect mix: an unchallenging thus extremely watchable and rewatchable plot, doses of enjoyable musical numbers, bits of lowbrow comedy (slapstick, witty one-liners, and other unembarrassed attempts for laughter), some action including a sequence featuring thunderous slaps on the face and a brawl scene, and most importantly, one big and unsubtle heart.

The film tells the story of two London-bred Indians, Simran (Kajol, a lovely actress with perfectly shaped eyes), who is engaged to marry the son of her father's best bud back in India, and Raj (Bollywood superstar Shahrukh Khan), happy-go-lucky son of a doting millionaire. The two meet during their one-month long excursion in Europe, a rather lengthy affair that predictably begins with the two exchanging looks of annoyance and ends with them magically falling in love. This love-hate struggle for that romantic link that would sustain the challenges to come comprises half of the film. The father's plan to have Simran wed his friend's son pushes through forcing Raj to relocate to India, assimilate into the household of the groom-to-be, and hopefully or magically convince Simran's family to have Simran marry him instead.

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge is mostly interesting because it strikes a balance between two conflicting values, that of tradition and progress. "Habits left unchanged tend to become necessity-like," explains Simran's younger sister when she joked about her mother's insistence on calling his father every morning just to find out if he reached work safely. That phrase seems to be the film's starting point in its goal to ease the challenging strictness of Hindi culture. The traditions, considered by Simran's father as his family's only linkages to the homeland they left two decades ago, are guarded from being tainted by foreign influences, which is exactly how Raj is portrayed: brash, careless, and wasteful Hindi-European hybrid. Following tradition, he keeps true the promise made to a friend to have their children marry, compromising love and affection from the marital bonds.

The film puts that tradition in the spotlight but tangentially criticizes the necessities produced by the habits forged by tradition. In one touching scene, the mother placates Simran, weeping because of her inescapable misfortune. She tells her of how she was told of the equality between men and women, and how all her life she was deprived of that so-called equality leading her to promise Simran when she was a baby to assure her a life of happiness. She recants her promise, surrendering that women do not even have the right to give such promises. In that scene, we see how a strict appraisal of tradition is tantamount to a deprivation of some facets of humanity. That scene is sad, uncharacteristically so in a movie that bursts with such mirthful energy.

Despite that, the film relishes in tradition where it matters. Raj, supposedly the Indian who was lured to the liberalities of the West, exemplifies tradition and progress in harmony. Faced with the dilemma of losing her love to the whims of an agreement made decades ago, he still chooses to have the father give his blessings instead of whisking Simran away with him. He grounds his belief with object rationality, as explained in his impassioned speech to Simran and her family, that to elope with Simran is tantamount to severing treasured ties with the family. Even during the final suspenseful moment, Raj keeps his well-tempered adherence to tradition with absolutely no clue whether his gamble will pay off or cause him to spend a lifetime of heartache and regret. Whatever happens, the conclusion remains sumptuous, truly deserving of the three hours spent arriving to it.

Kaagaz Ke Phool (1959)

Jumat, 01 Juni 2007

Kaagaz Ke Phool (1959)

Kaagaz Ke Phool (Guru Dutt, 1959)
English Title: Paper Flowers

I initially thought Pyaasa (Thirst, 1957) is the greatest musicale ever made, until I decided to watch Kaagaz Ke Phool (Paper Flowers) again. These two films by the great Indian filmmaker Guru Dutt have affected me tremendously. While Pyaasa is the more perfect film between the two, Kaagaz Ke Phool is more poignant, more memorable, and more beautiful to look at and listen to.

The opening is probably the most tragic entrance ever put in celluloid. An old man (Guru Dutt) passes through the gates of a film studio, stops by the imposing structure of the film studio. The framing of the old man's entrance to the studio shows the man made minuscule by a statue that marks the building. The man finally enters the studio. Beams of dust-littered light give the studio an eerie, forgotten atmosphere. The old man climbs up a flight of stairs, then starts singing of his fate. We become aware that it is not the studio that has been forgotten, it is the man who has been forgotten by the studio, the industry, the crowds that once adored him and his work. The old man, Suresh Sinha, used to be a very successful film director. Superimposed on his defeated teary face were moments of his former glory, with the elegance of the cinema where his film is met with applause by a crowd of cheering moviegoers.

Despite the successes in his field, there is something that is lacking in his life. Estranged from his wife (Veena) and daughter (Kumari Naaz), he focuses on his craft, with a project of adapting the tragic tale of Devdas. One rainy night, he chances upon Shanti (Waheeda Rehman). He offers the girl his coat, which she then returns to him one shooting day. Sinha notices virtues of innocence and simplicity in Shanti, requisites to the Devdas heroine and thus recruits her to star in the film, unknowing that he is starting to fall for her.

The film is beautiful. V. K. Murthy's cinematography adequately captures the film's melancholy and sadness through evocative framing and purposeful lighting. Giant shafts of light are utilized during the film's resonant moments such as during the film's love theme Waqt ne kiya (sung by Geeta Dutt), wherein Sinha catches Shanti knitting alone one early morning in the film's studio. The two at once recognize themselves as two lonely people who uniquely understand each other and such recognition, and given their difficult circumstances, becomes for them "sweet calamity," in a way that social norms and their respective fates prevent themselves from being with each other. Murthy's shafts of light give a quietly hopeful quality to the film's doomed lovers. It visually makes the aches more poignant as a tinge of unnatural beauty is revealed for an equally beautiful relationship prevented by the cruelty of human life.

Accompanying Murthy's grandiose visuals are the music composed by S. D. Burman, with lyrics written by Kaifi Azmi. One of the more notable songs is performed by Shanti, who relates to a group of kids a story about how the numbers kept on fighting to the detriment of the youngest number (1), forcing it to meet up with a same-fated number (0) to create a ten, which is again forcedly separated by other numbers. The melody, which is utterly simple and gratifyingly jovial, actually sounds like a nursery rhyme. However, it is burdened with the task of summarizing the entire film to little children. The result is a fascinating summary that is successful, embarrassingly too simple that the children relate to the message, singing and dancing along the happy rhythm of the song. Yet, it feels like that simplicity cannot exist in a world that is more interested in fame, success, class structures, and norms, something still alien to Shanti's wards' innocent minds.

If there is such a thing as imperfection in a film that perfectly captures the treacherous movements of life, more specifically life that is involved in movie-making, it is the side plot of Rocky (played by wonderful Bollywood comedian, Johnny Walker), Sinha's brother-in-law who constantly travels to Mumbai to race horses and hang out with movie people. He is disdained by his family for his unusual ways. Walker gives a welcome comedic air to the tragic affair but his inclusion in the film itself is more of a distraction rather than a pertinent entry. Seeing the film again, my initial reactions to Rocky's side plot remains. However, this narrative hiccup (by director Dutt and writer Abrar Alvi) makes the film mysteriously interesting. For sure, Rocky is that single character that connects the two impenetrable classes. He's the only important character who's free to choose his fate, certainly unlike Sinha or Shanti who are trapped with their tragic fates, and persistently evades anything that will take that freedom away.

Kaagaz Ke Phool is Dutt's most personal film. It is prophetic as it is autobiographic. Pyaasa may be the better and more coherent film, but if I were asked point blank without given any time to think, I would probably say that this film is my favorite of Dutt's films. It is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, film about filmmaking ever made.

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This is my contribution to the Movies About Movies Blog-a-Thon at goatdogblog.

Rang De Basanti (2006)

Senin, 14 Mei 2007

Rang De Basanti (2006)

Rang De Basanti (Rakesh Omprakash Mehra, 2006)
English Title: Paint It Yellow

Sue (Alice Patten) is a British filmmaker who wants to make a film about the young revolutionaries that inspired India's independence movement. After being rejected by her producers (they said that Bhagat Singh will not make any money, as compared to films about Mohandas Gandhi), she packs her bags and flies off to India to start a film from scratch. With the help of Sonia (Soha Ali Khan), she completes her cast consisting of happy-go-lucky college students whose lives start to mirror the lives of the idealistic martyrs of Sue's film.

Rang de Basanti, translated into English as "Paint It Yellow," is an edgy Bollywood film. It is overtly political and has a message that can easily be mistaken by its viewers as consenting to vigilante justice. Its brand of patriotic martyrism would raise the eyebrows of those who acknowledge modernist grievance procedure, through the supposedly available and free windows that democracy provides. It seems that writer-director Rakesh Omprakash Mehra, in an attempt to convert anti-colonialist aspirations to the ires of India's disgruntled youth, has come up with a film whose raison d'etre can easily be misunderstood. In his attempt to put upon a pedestal neglected patriots like Bhagat Singh and his band of revolutionaries, he also gives a brash go-signal for unflinching and unlawful activism.

It's a message film, which is all wrapped-up with the refreshing and generally jovial film methodology of Bollywood. There's an attempt to lessen the unreality of the song-and-dance numbers as most of the numbers are filmed in MTV-fashion instead of the traditional Bollywood way wherein characters would suddenly start singing and dancing. There's a genuine effort to reach out to the film's targeted audience, the youth. The film's heroes are all representative of the carefree generation whose main preoccupation in life is to find means to get away from the growing economic troubles of India, while still enjoying the obvious elements of their youth --- their bachelor-hood, nights of endless alcohol-drinking, road trips, and so forth.

It's beautifully made. The historical portions of the film (supposedly made by Sue; although I'm quite surprised she was able to make what seems to be a well-made film with only one camera and a non-existent crew) are done with sepia tones while the contemporary portions are filmed with lush glossy colors.

The cast's rapport, I must admit, is quite magnetic. Aamir Khan, who plays someone who is half of his real age, carries off the role with enjoyable game-ness; his wisecracks and witticisms never feel forced and his abrupt change from the group's joker to its unofficial leader is made comfortably palatable by the actor's range and undeniable charm. It is that effective camaraderie that embraces the film's emotional core; their individual interactions pulsate up to the point wherein what Mehra seeks to establish is tested (early in the second half of the film wherein the bonds of friendship are tested by governmental intrusion) --- the effect is wonderful; through what seems to be contrived and corny, a heartfelt depth becomes apparent.

Rang De Basanti is a problematic film. It is undoubtedly made with sincere rousing spirit, but the result can be construed to mean anything from espousing terrorism to comforting the Indian youth. It is best when treated as merely a piece of entertainment, with a rousing message that is intertwined with its emotional core. As for me, I'll take it for what it is --- a mainstream Bollywood film that seeks to push the envelopes of the healthy yet rather conservative national cinema, and quite successfully at that.