OSCAR LIVE!: Gravity Bags Technical Biggies

Gravity wins Sound Mixing, Sound Editing, Cinematography and Editing.

TLC Awards (Achievements in Film, 2013)

The Lazy Critic Blog establishes two awards this year, celebrating the best and worst of Indian cinema. What the Finger Awards acknowledges the bullshit audiences have been forced to endure. The TLC Awards applauds the best cinematic work of 2013 and hopes for even better films this year.

Woody Allen Award for Casting

Because the man made a very interesting and relevant point when he wrote to the Academy on how Casting should be included as an Oscar category. TLC acknowledges the efforts of casting directors who painstakingly put together the most effective cast for our films. The first Woody Allen Award for Casting goes to –

Honey Trehan for Fukrey

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TLC Award for Best Choreography

Ganesh Acharya, Terence Lewis, Vishnu Deva and Sameer for Goliyon ki Ras Leela – Ram Leela

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TLC Award for Best Costume and Make up

Ameira Punvani for David

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TLC Award for Best Music

Amit Trivedi for Lootera

and

Sanjay Leela Bhansali for GKRL – Ram Leela

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TLC Award for Best Lyrics

Amitabh Bhattacharya for Lootera

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TLC Award for Best Screenplay

Bejoy Nambiar for David

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TLC Award for Best Dialogue

Kunal Khemu, Sita Menon, and Raja Sen for Go Goa Gone

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TLC Award for Best Cinematography

S. Ravi Varman for GKRL – Ram Leela

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TLC Award for Best Editing

Arindam Ghatak for Go Goa Gone

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And now, for the biggies…

TLC Award for Best Actor in a Supporting Role – Female

Richa Chaddha for Fukrey

TLC Award for Best Actor in a Supporting Role – Male

Pankaj Kapur for Matru ki Bijli ka Mandola

TLC Award for Best Actor in a Leading Role – Male

Neeraj Kabi for Ship of Theseus

and

Farhan Akhtar for Bhaag Milkha Bhaag

TLC Award for Best Actor in a Leading Role – Female

Deepika Padukone for GKRL – Ram Leela and Chennai Express

TLC Award for Best Director

Vikramaditya Motwane for Lootera

Special Mention: Dibakar Banerjee for Bombay Talkies

 TLC Award for Best Film

Lootera

and

 Shahid

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Special Performance Awards

Naman Jain for Bombay Talkies

Sidharth Nigam for Dhoom 3

Riya Vij for  Gippi

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New Music Talent

Arijit Singh

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Best Film of the Decade

Meghe Dhaka Tara

Directed by: Kamaleshwar Mukherjee

Language: Bengali

Photo courtesy: Google Images

Fellini on Absinthe and LSD: Meghe Dhaka Tara (2013)

Kamaleshwar Mukherjee who?

The name did not ring a bell at all. It did not sound like a name I had heard in the film circuit. Funnily even though I had seen his earlier works, I just could not remember who he was. Then someone reminded me that he was the guy who wrote the screenplay and dialogues for Notobor Not Out, a light comedy written in rhyme dealing with the topic of tradition versus modernity. I had enjoyed that film thoroughly. His directorial debut had been Uro Chitthi, an adult urban drama on the life and times of relationships trying to survive tough times in Calcutta. An interesting narrative it had been, extremely well shot and crisply edited. Uro Chitthi was ‘classy’ – an adjective one could never use for Bengali commercial cinema a decade back.

The Bengali entertainment industry has once again found its bearings. Both cinema and television are enjoying a spurt of brilliant writing, talented craftsmanship, and intelligent direction and investment. The industry never lacked talented actors, but for almost two decades, actors had been wasted in roles not worthy of them. Even when a Rituparno Ghosh had happened, what most people call the true turning point, the big fat divide between the mass and the class still remained prominent. The more important and evident change has been the urban renaissance – when industry big wig Prosenjit Chatterjee decided to bridge the gap between ‘art’ and ‘masala’ (more like ‘aantel’ and ‘ricksawalla’) with Srijit Mukherjee’s Autograph. Chatterjee had been the quintessential potboiler hero of the Chironjeet-Tapas Pal days, and he decided to change track suddenly with Ghosh’s Utsab. He starred in many of Ghosh’s films after that, but Ghosh still remained the intellectual golden boy back then (he too climbed down his ivory tower much later with Khela and The Last Lear), and ‘intellectual’ was still not ‘mass’ enough. Srijit Mukherjee and contemporaries like Kaushik Ganguly (he is the mentor of the urban renaissance in Bengali cinema, though having been restricted to fewer releases and television for a huge chunk of his career), Anirudhha Roy Chowdhury, Mainak Bhaumik, and Parambrata Chatterjee amongst others suddenly brought in the rich-classy-urban Calcutta that Bengali commercial films rarely portrayed. Even ‘mass’ala film makers suddenly started shooting song sequences in Europe and Australia rather than the erstwhile favourites – Digha and Mondarmani (The farthest would be Goa, if the producer really had pots of money). Masala films became less obnoxious; art house cinema softened the demand for heightened grey matter. Suddenly, everybody was mainstream. Producers who made the remakes of South Indian potboilers (Note: Singham and the soon-to-be-released Akshay Kumar starring Boss has been made in Bengali before the Hindi versions) also produced intelligent cinema – on the same footing. Educated and respectable Bengalis could again proudly go to movie theatres and say that they had seen a ‘Bengali film’ – again something that would never happen two decades back. Watching a Bengali film was at par with a Mallika Sherawat flick. Maybe worse.

Therefore, Bengali cinema is enjoying a beautiful period where talent is being ushered in and given its due credit. That brings us to Kamaleshwar Mukherjee’s Meghe Dhaka Tara or Cloud Capped Star, which narrates the genius and madness of one of India’s most unappreciated film makers, Ritwik Ghatak. The film borrows its title from Ghatak’s only commercial and critical hit starring Supriya Chaudhury, a masterpiece on the tough times post-partition and one woman’s heartbreaking fight for survival. Very aptly, Ghatak himself was a shining star who unfortunately got lost in an unkind and misunderstanding world during his lifetime. His work has been lauded and revered only posthumously. Mukherjee’s ode to one of Bengal’s most important film makers begins with the protagonist Nilkantha Bagchi being admitted in a mental asylum for alcohol detoxification by his estranged wife Durga. The film takes the audience on a back-and-forth non-linear journey from there onwards, weaving in the rise and fall of a man who continuously grappled with finding the right medium to voice his opinions. Since his childhood, Bagchi has been closely affected by the partition of Bengal and the traumatic plight of East Bengali refugees. His lifetime was spent during Calcutta’s most troubling times – Naxalism, Charu Majumdar, Emergency, President’s rule – and throughout his life, he tries to find the best (and most effective way) of carrying forth the pain and pathetic conditions of those suffering in the state to a wider audience. He fights with clashing ideologies, monetary pressure, an emotional see-saw between his family and social activism, never winning, but never giving up either. His theatre group, friends, benefactors, and producers slowly move away, not understanding his relentless involvement with pain-suffering-partition-trauma-refugee-famine-injustice-protest-revolution – the only subjects he wished to deal with through theatre, film, and documentaries. In troubled times, when the audience craved for escapism, his brutal and blatant portrayal of reality was left unappreciated and unwanted. Hence, a teetotal is driven to raging alcoholism due to frustration, failure, and the lack of opportunity to realize his creativity. He begins hallucinating often, his mind spewing visuals of distress and agony like lava. News of suffering around him sets off volcanoes of memories, setting his imagination and activism on a fire so uncontainable that both his personal and professional lives were left irreparably charred. The disciplined thespian transforms into a ball of molten fire, a firebrand intellectual vocalizing his protest through his art, destroying himself and his work whenever obstacles come forth. The angrier he grew, the more unforgiving and impatient his collaborators became, eventually parting ways. His anger and emotional vulnerability becomes a suicidal cocktail, running him from within.

His professional downfall, alcoholism and economic bankruptcy forces Durga to file for divorce and leave with their children, a severe blow he never came to accept. Not being able to let go of Durga, she becomes his only source of support other than his psychiatrist throughout his treatment at the rehabilitation centre. When all treatment fails to treat him (and due to regular smuggling of local alcohol into the asylum) of alcohol dependency, ECT is prescribed. At the same time, to keep himself occupied, Nilkantha begins writing and eventually directs the asylum inmates in a play, helping many of them respond to human interaction and utilize their faculties in ways their treatment could not. The climax sees Phulmoni, a santhal lass who had not spoken a word since being gangraped by the army, dance a tandav as the Mother Goddess in the final scene of the play. An ailing Nilkantha sees the vision of the soul of Bangladesh – a homeless mother – and walks away with her, unshackled, unburdened, un-misunderstood.

Meghe Dhaka Tara is a visual firecracker, a cinematographic explosion and artistry that this country has not seen in a very long time. Shot completely in black and white, every scene is heightened by the engaging mise-en-scene of every frame. A continuous streaming of dream-meets-reality, the film reminds one of German Expressionistic classics like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari with its visual quality and Fellini’s 8 ½ for the treatment. Madness meets a certain artistic discipline in the film, so that even chaos looks beautiful and not disturbing. The raw animalistic energy of the protagonist infuses the cinematography with such unrelenting friction that the whole film acquires a dissonant quality – it seems as if the whole film is on fire, much like Nilkantha himself. The mise-en-scene, cinematography, and editing keeps the anguish within the film burning hungrily, not letting the tempo slide for even one moment. One only wonders the director’s creative spirit as he effectively achieved a string of crescendos – a difficult task for a biopic. Meghe Dhaka Tara is definitely a contemporary visual masterclass.

The other winning department is the screenplay and dialogue. A taut script, the narrative is peppered with hallucinations and memories and chronologizes so deftly that confusion is kept at bay. It could have been a difficult task to follow the three narrative tracks – the chronology of events, Nilkantha’s hallucinations triggered by those events, and his childhood memories – but the screenplay acquires a smooth storytelling and engages the audience on its own terms. For a film that could easily have been founded on its visual quality, the writing has been at par. The crisply written dialogue, beautifully merging dialects, lacks flab, and is both poignant and hard hitting.

Debojyoti Mishra scores a winner with the music, intelligently using western classical pieces, Rabindrasangeet, and Bengali folk (a forgotten fakiri song “Aamar Naamaj hoilo na ada” makes a wonderful comeback) for heightened effect. The original score has a scary, haunting quality, as does the film’s theme track – Moder kono bhasha nai, moder kono desh nai (We have no language/we have no country). The last time Mishra created such melodic magic would be for Rituparno Ghosh’s Raincoat. The choreography though, is weirdly contemporary, a form of dance that could not have been in Bagchi’s disposal back then. Even if the other dance sequence is accepted as a creative license, Phulmoni’s final performance does not create the effect the climax demanded. Why the tandav of Mahishasuramardini (the warrior form of Goddess Durga as she killed the buffalo-bodied demon, Mahishasura) is choreographed in contemporary ballet eludes me. The soundtrack also fails to create the climactic madness – Phulmoni’s eventual creative release after years of silence – with tribal percussion. A fury of ‘dhak’ or traditional Bengali drums would have achieved the desired effect better.

I have always been a Saswata Chatterjee fan but the man has delivered a performance that is worthy of going down in the actors’ hall of fame. An actor’s most valued quality is the ability to ‘become’ the character and Saswata has in more than one occasion displayed his prowess in donning the character like second skin. What is exemplary about his performance in MDT is the fact that, even though he is portraying a renowned personality, he did not become a mere mimicry. While Ritwik Ghatak might not be a popular figure, he is very much a topic of discussion in film circles even today. People who worked with him are still alive. Saswata became Nilkantha Bagchi, embracing the character and not Ghatak, and thus was able to perform independently. His performance is heavily nuanced and every behavioural trait so detailed, that Bagchi felt like someone you would bump into on your way back home. Amidst all the high dramatic moments of his performance, Saswata painted a character so human and ordinary that his turmoil affects you personally. The oscillation between emotional and psychological fury and euphoria in Saswata’s performance encapsulates the whole film, creating nothing short of sheer cinematic ecstasy. I have nothing but the highest regard and respect for this man and my heart goes out to him and his flourishing career. What gives me immense pleasure is that his talent is finally receiving due respect from the roles being offered to him. He is deftly supported by Ananya Chatterjee and Abir Chatterjee who play his wife Durga and his psychiatrist respectively. Ananya brings in a fine balance of feminine grace and maternal strength that is rare on screen. Ananya’s Durga is calm and poised, a complete opposite to Saswata’s Nilkantha, and hence, is the only person who can find the strength and composure to embrace his passion. The mature romance their marriage holds within is warm and comforting and thus, one understands the agony of their separation. Ananya has actually delivered much more in this film than she did in her National Award winning debut. Abir is the epitome of handsome and intellect, a man who finds the understanding within himself to understand the complexity of Nilkantha. The trio enjoys a wonderful supporting cast of talented actors including Bidipta Chakraborty, Padmanabha Dasgupta, Mumtaz Sorcar, and Rahul Bannerjee.

Kamaleshwar Mukherjee has created absolute magic on screen, making a film that should go down as a modern day classic. MDT has a timeless quality, deals with subjects still extremely relevant, and enjoys a treatment so individual yet universal that it will find connect and relativity anywhere in the world. The film should be extensively released and globally marketed. This is the kind of films India makes today. I have no idea how films like The Lunchbox are even being considered for the Oscars over MDT. From my little (and oft questioned) knowledge and experience, MDT would have at least garnered a nomination, something I am very doubtful The Good Road will be able to do. MDT symbolizes the fire within today’s Indian society, and how everyone is fighting to figure out which is the best way to protest and to be heard. The director, his cast, and his entire crew should take a bow for making one of the best Indian films in the last three decades.

I know who Kamaleshwar Mukherjee is now. I will have my eyes set on every single film he makes in the future.

Image courtesy: Google images

All Aboard the Ship: A Sparkling Debut with a Heart of Gold

The way I saw Anand Gandhi’s Ship of Theseus is not how I generally watch films – in the producer’s office, on his computer, two weeks before the release, with a cat for company. It was an early morning show, and I was definitely not ready for the journey I made. The very first shot is so promising, you know that what you are about to embark upon is not going to be an ordinary journey. The ship, laden with paradoxes, questions, answers, doubts, and dilemmas, will surely force you to ponder. For many, this film might just be a novel life-changing experience.

Much has been written about the film since it started doing the festival circles in 2012. The international media, some of the inquisitive Indian press (who were bothered about an independent film which would not make it into the 100-crore club but still had reasons enough to be taken interest in), film critics, and cinephiles have been raving about SoT. The very avant-garde trailer, the interesting poster art, all made for a visual and intellectual treat that has been missing in Indian cinema for a while. And when Kiran Rao became a part of the project, one knew that this was a film one could trust. Even though there can be debate over Ms. Rao’s film making, her astute ability for selecting and encouraging talent is definitely unmatched. The woman has taste, heightened sensibilities, and an extremely intelligent eye. SoT became the film to watch out for in India.

I will state this upfront – No, this film is not for everybody. It will not be a massive hit or a blockbuster. Honestly, I do not think the director is vying for that either. While in a recent conversation with Anand he does talk about how escapism is mere exploitation and the audience should be trusted more (coming up on www.mansworldindia.com), I am personally less idealistic. If the majority of our cinema-going population really did not want the kind of regressive matter being churned out today, Salman Khan would have been out of business. So would have Akshay Kumar. And Sanjay Dutt. And Rohit Shetty. And new douchebag-in-the-block, Ajay Devgn. So, yes, while SoT might not enjoy a glittering future, it will definitely be remembered as one of those few independent films that actually delivered what it promised.

The Internet is a dicey thing. It is not difficult today to become a viral star. Garnering likes and views and comments and shares and tweets is not that much of a headache either. I was wary when SoT became a social media darling and wondered if this might just become another G**** (an obnoxious film by Quashik Mukherjee, touted as a ‘path breaking blah-blah’. The film was just bleh). Everybody was sharing the trailer, the sheer quirky quality of the scenes, the interesting cast, the captivating visuals – I hoped, for the film’s sake that it is as good as it promises to be.

For those who keep hamming that cinema has to entertain, I argue that it has to engage with enough interesting and provoking stimuli. A film has to remain with you. If it fails to make you think, make you discuss, fails to leave behind a part of itself with you, the film has not achieved the purpose of the art form. So, while mindless bullshit is not stimulating enough, continuous philosophical banter and verbose discussions is not the way to go either. SoT takes upon itself to discuss some very important and complicated dilemmas – sometimes they merge brilliantly with the fictional narrative while at others the film seems like the director’s monologue – rambling thoughts and debates that the characters carry out, disconnected from the framework of cinema itself. SoT weaves together three stories with a common finale. The first story is that of a blind photographer who battles with the gift of sight and its effects on her work. A monk deals with provoking questions of ethics and rights in the second, and a stockbroker deals with the realities of life amidst an organ-trafficking racket. I shall not take it upon myself to serve the spoilers – not that the fictional framework is that important anyway – but the questions that the film asks are so personal and insightful that at times you run the risk of introspection while the film is on. You begin placing yourself in the character’s shoes (or, bare feet) and begin trying to find solutions to their impending quandaries. It forces you to find out what life means to you, question identities and human rights, valuate emotions, evaluate notions of justice – all in the span of one film.

The Aida Al-Kashef starring story about the blind photographer is an absolute delight. The film captures the innocence and artistic stubbornness of the photographer to the hilt. She is an adorable character, free-thinking, confident, and with a mind of her own. The fight scene in the kitchen will win anybody over, as will her self-blindfolding after getting her sight back. Her sheer dedication towards producing art of her kind, what she sees in her head, is her sole goal in life. Aida does a fantastic job, balancing strength and a certain frailty which shines on screen. There are times when you just want to reach out and hold her hand, give her a little assurance…More film makers should exploit the talent hot bed that she is.

Sohum Shah’s piece is beautifully crafted, bringing forth a host of characters, well-written dialogue, and has the best plot of the three. The dilemmas presented entwine extremely well with the story, creating a winning piece. Sohum Shah, if he chooses his films wisely, will be an actor to look out for. He is a powerhouse of talent, and delivers dialogue with a natural ease rarely seen on the Indian screen today. The scene where he goes into a rant after helping his grandmother pee is exquisite acting. He can very easily become an Anurag Kashyap or Dibakar Banerjee actor. He already acts in their language.

While Neeraj Kabi’s story has the most expansive canvas, with some exceptionally enamouring visuals in the film, it falls behind the other two due to its verbosity and the inability of the message to merge with the narrative without the help of dialogue. The piece is heavy in conversation and has continuous repartee which, unlike the other two, fails to draw you in. It is funny, how the pieces that talk less engage more. Other than Neeraj Kabi’s extremely dedicated performance (including his Christian Bale-like weight loss for the film), the visuals are extremely engrossing. The scene where he saves the caterpillar, the shampoo test on the hare, the monks gathered on a rock by the sea, a line of monks walking under the rotating shadows of windmills, are picture perfect cinematography. When Neeraj Kabi’s character slowly peels the bed cloth off his bed sore, you are repulsed, and filled with wonder at the same moment at the details of the scene. Vinay Shukla, who plays Charvak fails to support Kabi and is the weakest performance in the film. His incessant banter, shot surprisingly in a documentary style, tends to bore. Why the director chose to use so much of oratorical dialogue in this piece is a mystery.

While the cinematography and the editing marry extremely well with Anand’s direction, the music seems to fall short. The cinematographer should definitely take a bow as much of what the film wants to say lies in the adept storytelling of the visuals. Anand Gandhi is at home with this film, and the fact that he has enjoyed every minute of making it, is visible. He has polished every rough edge to the best of his abilities and that is why Ship of Theseus shines bright. If you want to watch a man tell his story and share his ideas the way he wants to, this is the film to go for. For those who always conform to set rules, give this man and his film a chance.

Watch SoT for an enlightening evening, astounding visuals, and a heart of gold. Watch this space for follow up posts on my conversations with Anand and the cast of SoT or catch the stories on www.mansworldindia.com.

 

And here is the link to the film’s trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p5xt0cKasDw