Watching Coco

d8a8e01bd6ee75d8d23f77100acf9ee6.jpgI wanted to watch Coco since I first watched the trailer. Being a new-age animated movie lover, I have watched almost everything this genre has to offer and still keep craving for more. When the film went on to win an Oscar, I finally sat down and watched it, and for the lack of anything better to say, completely lost my mind.

The story of the film follows a little Mexican boy called Miguel Rivera (voiced by Anthony Gonzales), who wants to become a musician, against the will of his family. When he tries to steal something from a dead musician on Dia de los Muertos  (the Day of the Dead), he accidentally ends up in the Land of the Dead. Dia de los Muertos, a widely celebrated traditional ritual in Mexico, is the day when families welcome the spirits of their deceased ancestors. Miguel, in his frenzied dream to become a musician, chooses this very day to leave his house to perform for the people. He steals a guitar from the deceased musician Ernesto de la Cruz’s (voiced by Benjamin Bratt) gravethus ending up with a curse whic hleaves him half-dead. As a result, only his dead relatives can see and feel him.

They quickly take him to the Land of the Dead to meet his great great grandmother Mama Imelda (voiced by Alanna Ubach). We soon learn that it was Mama Imelda who had forbidden anyone in the family to pursue music after her husband abandoned her.

Unwilling to compromsie with his dream by promising to give up his music, Miguel runs away again, risking death. He then tries to search for Ernesto de la Cruz, the deceased musician, who he believes is the great great grandfather who ran away from his family. Another friendly ghost, Hector Rivera, agrees to help Miguel on one condition: he has to put Hector’s picture on an Ofrenda so that he can go and visit his daughter Coco (voiced by Ana Ofelia Murguia) in the Land of the Living. The mesmerising journey that these  two undertake leads to some shocking revelations, but as is the ritual in the Disney movies, everything resolves in the end, and we see a very promising Happily Ever After.

The reason everyone (children and adults alike) should watch the movie is its fascinating storyline. The story, which is based on an age old Mexican practice, is as classical as it gets. It shows us how important one’s family is in their lives. It teaches the young why they should never leave their family, which is a constant beacon of support and solace one has. On the other hand, it also teaches us how important it is to let the younger generation follow their dreams.

It is also a particularly telling narrative, in the context of the current political atmosphere in Trump’s America where all Mexican immigrants are branded criminals importing drugs and lawlessness. Miguel and his family are neither learning English nor trying to escape into America. They have everything that they hold dear in their little town, and in each other. The all brown cast of the film that topped the film charts across the world seem to be winking in the face of the chest thumping White supremacist rhetoric and unabashed xenophobia. Mexicans in Coco, as in real life, are a people steeped in their culture, too fiercely proud to even acknowledge the presence of a powerful adversary in the neighbouring land.

Other than the beautiful storyline, what left me spellbound was the music throughout the movie. Every song is Coco touches the heart, while ‘Remember Me’ lifts your spirit up and brings it crashing down to realise that people exist just as long they are remembered. To be forgotten alone is to die. Coco is a beautiful quest narrative, liberally endowed with spectacles, grandeur and soul-stirring music to drive the point home.


Gargi Chatterjee


Projapoti Biskut


At a time when the Bengali movie going public was torn between looking for an adventure atop the Mt. Everest Base camp (“Yeti Abhijaan “) or flying high inside an aircraft in peril( “Cockpit”) Projapoti Biskut appeared to saunter in with a breath of fresh air. I dare say hopes were raised both for a different aesthetic and commercially viable experience. The former because Anindya Chatterjee’s previous film, although pandering to the nostalgia of the long lost North Calcutta of the 90’s and the early 2000’s, had captured the somewhat bored and freely accepting whatever is served (read scene by scene remakes from films down south) on the silver screen. And the latter, as the production house of Shiboprosad Mukherjee and Nandita Roy do manage to churn out commercially successful films, no matter how much it reeks of middle-class Bengali compromise and sexism. But a man cannot live by hope alone. And although, the Box Office reports have hinted at adding wind to the sails, Projapoti Biskut is like the cookie, after it has been dipped in the tea too long.

Centring around a premise which has not seen too much exploration in the Bengali cinema circle, that of a young couple looking to start a family and for various reasons (be it the over-the-top timidity of the male protagonist Antar, or simply a lack of ” Netflix and Chill ” time) are unable to do so. Things to ponder upon: 1. Even though they have been married two and a half years and are relatively young (presuming being married for a longer period of time calls for heckling from members of the family to carry the family tree forward and the more practical issue of complications in pregnancy for women over 34), there seems to be a sudden uncalled for urgency in wanting to consummate their marriage. Hence, the visit to the Doctors and exploring options of IVF (quite the buzzword these days). 2. If you are expecting to see a sensitive issue being talked of/ spoken of for the first time, without the usual Censor Senguptas with a scissor in their hands, then think again. The film flatters to deceive.

Anindya Chatterjee, frontman of the Bangla Band Chandrabindoo, along with his band-mates Upal Sengupta and Chandril Bhattacharya, has been known to pen quirky lyrics, talking of urban sensibilities and sometimes urban insensibilities. Their lyrics are sarcastic and satirical, unearthing society’s obsession and idiosyncrasies with a surgeon’s precision. But satire is brilliant when subtle but not so when exaggerated and over the top. The captain of the ship, (the director) starts by placing the female (Shaon) protagonist in a familial set up, which is upper/ upper middle class, showing the done to death stereotypes of Tagore veneration in the household, a distaste for Popular Culture, and communist/ Marxist leaning (isn’t the sharing of the same ideological space by Marx and Tagore a bit problematic? One only wonders.) Other stereotypes are pandered to too, the most striking being the sketch of the male lead. Back in the 19th Century, when the British were consolidating their strangle hold on the Indian Terrain and subconscious, one of the ways was to create a binary, of the virile active British Male and the effeminate, lazy Indian counterparts (except the Sikhs and the Gorkhas of course). Their chosen targets were the Bengali “babus”, who were indolent, lazy, seen to be wasting time in luxury and privilege, not fit for any physical activities and hence the perfect fit for the “writers’” profile and thus the emergence of a particular class of individuals and government servants in the “Writers’ Building.” (For a detailed analysis, one may look up Colonial Masculinity by Mrinalini Sinha.)

Over the years, the stereotype has festered and taken up different forms, but the central core remains the same, that of the Bengali Man as a man of thought, words, a part of the intelligentsia but hardly a robust, active do-er. Our hero in peril, Antar is a caricature of this done to death perception. Hardly having an opinion of his own, a firm stand or say in matters of the office or the family, his character sketch is drawn, with the intention of making us laugh at ourselves, but where we end up only cringing at the exaggeration.

The problematics of the film deepen further. With a rift in marital harmony regarding a failed adoption attempt, Shaon returns to her parents. Having done so, she starts sporting a short hair-cut, undergoes a metamorphosis in terms of her apparel(The apparently more progressive Jeans replacing the Saree), and experimenting occasionally with alcohol and cigarettes, signifying a liberation of sorts which underlines the assumption that it is kind of impossible to portray a free thinking strong willed woman wearing traditional Indian/ ethnic wear and being a teetotaller. The case with our male lead is rather more baffling. In a world where Macho ( growing beard, beefing up the physique ) is the new cool, Antar goes clean shaven (reading too much into emasculation am I? ), starts wearing T shirts instead of the more formal attire and out of nowhere seems to acquire the confidence in speech, action and decision making that his previous self had been totally lacking. There is a very vague element of Amol Palekar of Choti Si Baat in this transformation, but if that was subtle, funny and heart warming, Projapoti Biskut fails to live up to the promise of that charm.

The film is slow in most parts. Except for a few witty exchanges, which are a trademark of the Anindya Chatterjee/ Upal Sengupta/ Chandril Bhattacharya stable, the film lacks a nuanced presentation of the issues, be it pregnancy , adoption or class and ideological conflicts within the familial, Bengali societal set up. Caricature or exaggeration works only to a certain degree. This “biskoot” (a very Bengali way of pronouncing ‘biscuit’) seems to have been dipped in froth.

-Sayan Aich Bhowmik

Elle: The Cruel Dichotomy between Rape and its Illusion


In this era of maddening rage regarding feminism, I wonder how Elle managed to slip through the clutches of radical feminists. Not only that it also managed to win the Golden Globe Award for Best Foreign Language Film and was premiered for the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival. The possible reason seems to be that Paul Verhoeven decided to shoot the film in Paris rather than USA.

Elle directed by Paul Verhoeven based on Philippe Dijan’s book Oh…. presented a reckless facet of chutzpah perfected by Isabelle Huppert playing the protagonist, Michele who is not only a victim but also an arch-manipulator of every one of the narrative scenarios of her sexual life.

Michele is the dynamic and attractive head cum co-founder of a successful videogame company. The other characters encompassing her in the movie are chaotic and twisted out of proportion. Her father was a mass murderer in jail for almost 20 years. Her mother, Irene, still an extremely lustful woman of 70’s. Michelle remains disturbingly normal and unmoved at their death and funeral.  She is mingled in an affair with Robert, the husband of her best friend, Anna and invents devilish ideas of humiliating the young girlfriend of her ex-husband, Richard.

 The movie opens with grunts and screams of assault. Michele is beaten and raped in her house by a masked intruder. She does not report the matter to the police due to the traumatic childhood memory of helping her father burn the evidences of his crime and the authorities barging in. The trial of her father is closely followed by the press and the photograph of a half-naked, eleven year old girl with “an empty stare” beside her psychopathic father is all that is stuck in people’s memories. Unwilling to be portrayed as the victim again, Michele trains herself in self defense activities- learns shooting, buys an axe and a lethal pepper spray and makes it a mission to identify her rapist.

 The plot of the movie takes an unprecedented turn when Michele’s rapist turns out to be Patrick, the handsome and charming neighbor. In spite of this devastating truth Michele enters into a dangerous sexual contract with her rapist. She extracts her revenge by delving into a horrifying experiment with her sexuality. Throughout the movie she lives with an eerie sense of detachment and denial; vehemently refusing to be the victim. The audience cannot find a single scene where she lets go of her poise and professional attitude except the only outburst she expresses when her idea is questioned by a subordinate at her workplace. She instigates Patrick into a second encounter. However, this time it happens with her permission and on her command. The leash of control never leaves her hand although Patrick is under the comic illusion that Michele is completely at his mercy. Her consent in these situations makes his satisfaction from violence void and he remains ignorant of this fact until his death in the hands of Vincent, Michele’s son. It is not very clear who calls the shots in these sexual scenarios between them but Michele’s snatching the upper hand in them is quite evident. Michele’s need to feel challenged outweighs her conscience.  During a conversation with her best friend, Anna she states, “Shame isn’t strong enough to stop us doing anything at all”. For her it became a quest for the more powerful and aggressive man who could level up to her dark fantasies unflinchingly and forced her to push the limits of her sexuality. There is no verbal evidence of Michele’s consent to the role play; her as the victim and Patrick as the violent assailant who is biologically unable to participate consensual sex. However, due to the element of simulation encased by Michele, the roles are reversed. Patrick arousal comes from her screams and inflicting pain upon her but is horrified when he discovers that Michele welcomes and enjoys the physical torment.

Though the movie ends on a happy note- the mending of the troubled relations in Michele’s life, to the immense surprise of the audience; it leaves behind a contradiction. The clear demarcation between rape and consensual sex becomes blurred. The movie forces its viewers to imagine and explore the darkest human emotions in an audacious yet artistic way. Semantics and ‘isms are teased apart in the movie. In my opinion it can hardly be categorized as a feminist movie.  It is what it is; an outrage of a courageous woman against the perpetrators of violence and trauma upon her.

The movie certainly breaks the cliché surrounding rape victims as depicted in books and films. It stands out in contrast with even the progressive films made in the rape genre in India; Lajja, Matrubhoomi, Damini or Pink. A common story strings the films of rape genre together; a woman harassed or raped, ostracized by family and society but eventually acquiring justice for herself or the victim. In Elle that whole aftermath is contradicted by Michele who is no doubt shaken by the experience but does not allow it to unhinge her accomplished life or her mind. She uses her rapist to her own advantage, gaining pleasure from the sexual power play and lets him bask in the delusion of him as the stronger one and in-charge of the contract. It is truly comical the way he is stripped of power in the hands of his victim.

Isabelle Huppert gave a very convincing performance as Michele-a strong, confident woman in command of every aspect of her life and the people who are part of it. Paul Verhoeven paid special attention to the intimate scenes of the movie which were explicit but not gruesome. The movie is a very important work as it portrays the reality that rape victims carry multitude of experiences and go through fundamental dichotomies. It mocks the practice of uniformity and confinement of all individual cases into an airtight compartment.

In light of the ongoing wave of eve-teasing and sexual abuse in India, Elle broadens the arena of revenge and outrage against perverts and rapists. The initial reaction to most sexual harassment cases in India is suppressing them and throttling the victims because not only charity but allowance of crime also begins at home.  Elle challenges and refutes the notion of victimhood and the hypocritical concept of chastity i.e. the presumption that victims, irrespective of gender, are stripped of dignity when they are sexually abused or assaulted. The film is a major initiative and makes the audience examine the dystopian paradoxes within the society and their selves.

– Sruti Purkait

“Where There is Light There is Shadow”: The Blend of Fantasy and Magic With Bigotry, Racism, and Prejudice in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Directed by David Yates, 2016.




In 2007 the last novel in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, was published. Yet ‘Pottermania’ refused to subside. The novels continued to be read and reread; the films were telecast on film channels, and before long the world had started clamoring for a fresh Potter story. It was, in many ways, inevitable that Rowling would revive the wizarding world, both in theatre and cinema. In August 2015 arrived a new play, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, breaking profit records in the world of theatre in both London and New York. In November 2016 Rowling further delighted her admirers with a new film, based on the Potter universe, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.  Based on an original story by Rowling, the film is set in 1920s New York and follows the adventures of a Magizoologist, Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne).

     Unlike the Harry Potter novels, the protagonist is an adult and the wizarding world he inhabits is a darker and murkier universe than the familiar and much loved Hogwarts. The film opens with Newt (Eddie Redmayne) landing in New York in search of unusual magical creatures. However, his plans for exploration turn topsy-turvy when his briefcase full of fantastic beasts is exchanged with the case of an ordinary ‘No-Maj’ (non-magic people more familiar to Potterheads as muggles), Jacob Kowalski (Dan Fogler). Mayhem ensues as Newt’s magical beasts are let loose in New York where they wreck havoc. There are genuine and heartwarmingmoments of humor and entertainment as we see the bewilderment of Jacob, a laborer who dreams of owning his bakery, unable to believe the magical world he has been thrust into and the antics of Tina (Katherine Waterston) and Newt as they race to prevent damage by the magical creatures.

     But interspersed with the humor and wonder of the magical world is violence, prejudice, hatredanddeath. Newt’s astonishingly wonderful magical menagerie is contrasted with the real 1920s New York cityscape. Rowling introduces into her fictional wizarding world a slice of historical fact, with the presence in of the ‘Second Salemers’, an obvious reference to the Salem Witches trial. The conflict between non-magic people and wizards and witches makes the film, in some ways, into a political allegory on the present day problems of intolerance and bigotry as well as the contemporary World War 1 scenario. The American equivalent of the British Ministry of Magic, Macusa, is an authoritarian organization, disallowing marital relationships between ‘No-Majs’ and witches and wizards, and outlawing all ‘dangerous’ magical creatures.

     There are various kinds of surveillance methods used by the Macusa, a strong reminder of the Orwellian universe of the ‘Big Brother’. The film depicts a time of intense superstition and fear of magic, a time of witch hunts and Protestant Christian zealots like Mary Lou (Samantha Morton). Mary Lou captures young witches and wizards and imprisons them in her orphanage where they are subjected to the most brutal of torturous punishments. The cameo of young Modesty is chillingly frightening, with her rant of “Witch number three, gonna watch her burn, Witch number four, flogging take a turn”. Mary Lou’s cruelty leads to the suppression of magic in one of her children, Credence, who transforms into a grotesque ‘Obscurial’, possessed by angry energy to kill and destroy.

     In the course of the film we discover that the recapturing of Newt’s magical creatures will only solve part of the threat to the city; far more dangerous is the threat posed by the ‘Obscurial’ (later revealed to be Credence) who may destroy New York and expose the wizarding world before the unsuspecting ‘No-Majs’.  There enters into this grim setting Percival Graves (Colin Farrell), a power hungry Macusa official with an insidious agenda of his own. Added to all of these intrigues is the looming threat of the infamous dark wizard, GellertGrindlewald. The cinematic universe of Yates is spectacularly dazzling, similar to science fiction film sets with its array of fantastical creatures and its imaginary magical zoo, hidden in Newt’s briefcase. The magical creatures are marvelous to behold, from the cute little Niffler who loves shining objects, to the enormous Erumpent and the Thunderbird. The developing friendships and romances between Tina, Newt, Jacob, and Tina’s mind-reading legilimens sister Queenie (Alison Sudol) is depicted wonderfully, with little melodrama, in a touching and relatable style.

     But the same world echoes with covert themes of the evils of prejudice and the destructive damage caused by racial preconceptions. The climactic scenes are grim to the point of verging on the gothic: Percival Graves is revealed to be Grindelwald in disguise and Credence is stopped just in time by Newt and Tina. However, Credence himself is destroyed through no fault of his; his anger being a result of the tortures inflicted on him (a stark reminder of the psychological damage suffered by orphans in the hands of social workers in the 1920-30s). In his swirling black coat, shaved head, hooked nose, Graves is disturbingly similar to the Gestapo soldiers. Rowling wisely choose Yates to direct the film as he is familiar with the Potter universe like no other. Rowling’s magical world comes alive at his hands, with the audience traversing an extraordinary imaginary setting, from the period sets of the city to the magical zoo of Scamander to the dark alleyways of New York slums to the Fanatical Churches and orphanages.

     There are stellar performances rendered by the entire cast. Redmayne as Newt is perfect; he comes across with just the right combination of scatter-brained clumsiness, magical genius, and kind-hearted compassion. Fogler does complete justice to the character of Jacob, baffled, enamored, entranced by a world he can scarcely believe is real. The Goldstein sisters are both immensely likeable, the capable and ambitious Tina as well as the flirtatious yet charmingly manipulative Queenie. The first of a proposed five film franchise, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, is both entertaining and thought-provoking. The potterheads will certainly look forward to the next installments and the new initiates into the Potter universe may just start on the very thrilling journey of reading Rowling’s magnificent novels.

-Somrita Misra


A Death in the Gunj – A striking debut

Directed by Konkona Sen Sharma, 2017


Konkona Sen Sharma’s A rated debut film is a chamber drama, unfolding dreamily in the mystic light of a forestry Anglo-Indian settlement in Jharkhand of the 70-s. It starts off with two men (Nandu and Brian) peering down a car’s trunk, thinking aloud of how best to tuck in a “body”. A summer-sky blue car of the yesteryears then travels along the wintry paths to a holiday retreat- the mansion of the Bakshis in McCluskiegunj. The narrative by then has jumped a week backwards and plays out like a journalistic account with numbered days.

Right from the party’s arrival at Anupama and O.P.’s household, the exchanges in English with a few Bengali greetings and phrases thrown in, acquaint us with a mélange of characters suffering the cultural superiority of a colonial hangover.  The dominant mood is that of banter and the inner tensions of all vacationing members seem to concentrate on Shutu- a withdrawn 23 year old.  In fact the film could have been all about Shutu, the eternally hurt and abused ‘softie’ in the family whose meekness equally entertains and irritates others. His elder brother tries to ‘man’ him up the tough way, flicking him on the head and insisting he drive a car even when he clearly refuses. Reeking of machismo- Vikram bruises him during a game of kabaddi; Anupama disapproves of the mean-mindedness in the clichéd one-liner- “boys will be boys” at the dinner table. But we soon see that the women are no less when it comes to bullying, Mimi (played by the vivacious Kalki) calls him “pretty”, has drunk intercourse with him- riding him on a rocking chair in a very intelligently detailed scene that builds up your anticipation through suggestive tropes, and then leaves him.

Irresponsibility runs through the film like the haunting background scores that mix Indian folk songs with Tagore’s ‘Dhitang Dhitang Bole’ and Burn’s “Auld Lang Syne”. Shutu is absconding from his home; he has turned up at his maternal aunt’s house for retreat, keeping his guilt at bay from his mother’s weary voice that makes its way into the film through letters and a terribly one-sided telephone conversation. He has failed his post-graduation exams and is hung up on his father’s death. Tilottoma and Nandu, while clearly dismissing Shutu as an “imbecile”, still leave their daughter- the eight year old Tani under his care. So that when she goes missing, the blame is clearly on his imbecility. Tani, in turn, is super excited to adopt a puppy whom she names Fluffy but soon loses the will to care and it ends up straying around.

In a tenderly amusing moment, the film shows Fluffy sharing an idyllic family dinner with the servants; the housemaid hand-feeds him a plate of rice as her husband has his meal by their side.  In the family’s visit to Ms. Mckenzie’s place for lunch, we hear her dishes being highly praised as the camera covers them in detail but, immediately we are offered a glimpse of her in the kitchen- licking the ladle with which she stirs and serves the food. We are nudged awake to her lack of hygiene. Equally tickling is the servant’s lack of concern when he discovers Shutu in a ditch- very matter-of-factly he exclaims that it is strange of him to slouch in a ditch when the whole family is looking for him. The film is replete with these wry flashes of humour.

Also, the servant’s discovery of Shutu in the ditch comes after minutes of agitation over the lost child. The narrative drops red herrings like Miss Curney stealthily visiting the grave of her daughter who died an infant and Tani reciting a poem where she wishes to be six forever, making you flinch for the worst when Tani goes missing. In an exceptional stroke, Sharma returns the child unceremoniously home while having moved on to Shutu’s trepidations in the ditch he falls into on his search for Tani in the woods at night.

We see glimpses of suppressed rage in Shutu all along (as he is wronged time and again) but pass over just like the film’s cast does till all goes berserk in the final moments. The death happens as announced right in the title (which thankfully was not a red herring!) but there again, the director makes visual poetry out of the gore. In an arresting shot, the blood splatters all over the bark of the family tree where their names are etched (Tani and Shutu trace the names on the first day of the trip) and trickles down in slow motion. A couple of minutes later, we see Shutu- wafer-like and haunting in the backseat of the car (which also carries the corpse) as he is driven back to the city.

Needless to say, Sen Sharma’s debut which has been critically acclaimed for its “assuredness” deals with human psyche in a charming way. Even while Shutu runs the risk of being reduced to a trope (for campaigning) precisely because the narrative never wanders far from his basic predicament, the story balances it out. The other full-bodied characters, the games and gaiety, the suspense and humour come together to give you a comprehensive experience of watching cinema. For me, one of the most warm takeaways is the friendship between Shutu and Tani (Shutu’s only true bond), and the hurt when the former acts forgetful about it.

– Barnamala Roy

The search is all that matters: A note on Ashish Avikunthak’s ‘Kalkimanthankatha’

For a young research student, working on the works of Samuel Beckett, Ashish Avikunthak’s Kalkimanthankatha is an important lesson on reading methodology. I wonder, when I first read Waiting For Godot almost seven years back around the time I was graduating from high school, what did I find so pertinently interesting about the text. Is it the obscurity or the abstraction? Is it poetic sensibility expressed through prosaic precision? These questions have lost their relevance over the years as I re-read the text and realized that they not matter. The text has borne its own relevance every time I have gone back to read it and it continues to change. What could have been the intention of the author is not as important to me any more as the various problems and possibilities the text poses to the reader.


In Avikunthak’s film I find the same spirit of a growing distance from the author that eventually brought the film closer and closer to the Beckettian spirit. Contrary to the Beckett text: the setting continuously changes, even though the location remains the same; the clothing of the characters also keep altering and in the end serve as an important symbol in the film when finally abandoned; and instead of four, the film has only two characters waiting for the arrival of ‘Kalki’— the last avatar of Vishnu. In fact the characters do not wait, rather they use the word ‘search’ that perhaps justifies their movement across the space instead of staggering around a confined spot.

In the film, Beckett’s text is read into Mao’s statements. The confusion over language and philosophy that is one of the thematic facets of the text is thus interwoven into the film as the characters read out from the little Red Book in mundane monotonous module. One wonders if it is a Beckettian reading of Mao or Maoist reading of Beckett, but in the end it is neither since the film tries to fall  back upon the political via an act of abandonment of textual language carried out by the characters as their bodies turn to absolute bareness much like the setting in the Beckett text itself — ‘A country road. A tree. Evening’.

The bareness of the bodies stands in between continuous attempts at looking backward to an ideology that has largely failed, and is heading toward a future of indifference. And it is at the face of such crises of memory and hope, past and future, that the characters live out their present in search of someone who has made a promise. If the political is imbued within the act of search itself, the bodies in their absolute bareness, become the space and means of politics. Instead of being read as metaphorical exposure of the political confusions and indifference of our times, they should be recognized as materialization of the anguish that politics proclaims, and constitutive of the materiality of politics. Hence, the identity of Kalki, like the identity of Godot, is no longer relevant here — the search being undertaken by these characters is all that matters while being together, like comrades like lovers, two shadows walking bare in the allegorical mist.

The element of the absurd propounded by Beckett’s text lies in the method in which the film is executed. The dialogues are composed in an unexpectedly refined and lyrical Bengali delivered by the characters that wear very ordinary contemporary outfits; or the sudden shift in colour and tone of the screen are various instances contributing to the sense of absurdity which is if not always Beckettian, very cinematic. Beckett had often expressed his discontent with the cinematic medium when it came to the adaptation of his dramatic works meant for the stage. He was not sure if the screen space was suitable to explore the architecture of his plays. Therefore, the filmmaker has to distance himself from Beckett while abiding by the Beckettian spirit nonetheless, only to rethink the plot in cinematic terms. Perhaps Avikunthak’s reading of Beckett into film would be a fitting tribute to the master and his opinion — but what one takes back from the experience is that reading itself, at once political and cinematic, sustained through the potent performances of Joyraj Bhattacharjee and Sagnik Mukherjee.

– Samudranil Gupta

Moana: Under the Deep Blue Waters.

Directed by Ron Clements, John Musker, 2016.


It is not every day that we get to see a film like Moana, which is not just a triumph of the art of filmmaking but also a celebration of the journey that we call life-of man’s eternal quest for meaning in life. Disney uses the old crucible, the same ingredients- but in a varied proportion – and adds a few new spices, to cook up a startlingly fresh recipe that has become a yardstick by which the quality of its future productions will be judged. Based on a Polynesian myth, the story of Moana travels space and time to become a universal tale of adventure and self-discovery which would definitely be enjoyed by generations to come. The film is a product of a great team’s hard work and dedication which gets reflected throughout the film ranging from the beautiful Polynesian islands, to the detailed development of the characters and obviously the soulful numbers which linger in one’s mind long after the film has ended.

The character of Moana (played by Auli’ i Cravalho) is a very welcome addition to the legacy of Disney. In an important inversion of convention, Moana is notone of the anorexic princesses who have stick figures for bodies; hers is a rather rotund figure. She is very brown, and not at all one of the damsels in distress unlike her predecessors. She knows it from the very outset that she will have to shoulder the responsibilities of her island Motunui after her father, who is the Chief of that island. She leads an idyllic life in her island surrounded by her people and knows that no one goes beyond the reef, yet at times, her heart sings a different song. Whenever the sea calls her she cannot control herself and she desperately wants to explore beyond the reef and discover “how far it [the ocean] goes” (‘How Far It Goes’).

The film opens with the mythological tale of Maui’s act of transgression which resulted in the birth of a “terrible darkness”, narrated by Moana’s Grandma Tala (Rachel House). Maui (Dwayne Johnson) had stolen the heart of TeFiti, the Mother Goddess, a thousand years ago in an attempt to please the Immortals who would then be able to procreate life with the help of the heart. Unfortunately, things did not turn out as planned by Maui and he had to pay for his act by losing his magical fishhook and had to lead his life as an exile stranded in an island until the “chosen one” came and grabbed him by the ears, made him board her canoe, cross the great ocean in order to return the heart of TeFiti. The name ‘Moana’ roughly translates to ‘deep waters’ or ‘ocean’ therefore it’s fair enough that the ocean will be inextricably related to her. Thus, she was the ‘chosen one’ who would have to complete this daunting task. Everything in her island was going just fine until one day the predictions of her Grandma came true- a dark disease had afflicted their coconut trees and all their fish were chased away by some uncertain reason. When she proposed to go beyond the reef in search of some catch, she was forcefully silenced by her father. But, no one could silence her inner voice and she set sail and moved beyond the reef accompanied by Pua. But her initial attempt at exploring was thwarted and she almost accidentally survived. It is at this critical juncture that her Grandma tells her the tale which the authority had tried to erase from the collective memory of their people as it posed a deep threat to their safety. This tale revealed that their ancestors were voyagers but after the rise of the darkness, many ships were lost and many men died which made these adventurers permanently settle down. Her Grandma then returns the heart of TeFiti which the sea had given Moana years ago. Time and again Moana is confronted with choices and every time she chooses the road less travelled by and that makes all the difference. There seems to be a deep sense of understandingwhich the women characters share in this tale. When everybody is refusing to believe Moana, her Mother and her Grandma are the only people who reassure her and provide her with the necessary strength to carry on with her quest. This is in stark contrast to the earlier fairy tales where women were portrayed in two colours-either black or white- she was either the paragon of angelic beauty and virtue like Cinderella or Snow White, or the evil stepmother figure.

Thus, Moana sets out on her own to fulfill the task assigned to her and answer the call of the sea. Thestorytellers toy with the expectations of the audience as Heihei-the curious rooster (and not Pua) gets to accompany Moana in heradventure. Heihei is a very interesting figure who likes to walk with his eyes covered in a coconut husk and is disillusioned every time Moana removes the coconut husk from over his head. Heihei fails to come to terms with reality and appears to inhabit a different world altogether. It makes no difference to Heihei if he is pecking on a piece of wood, stone or real food but he goes on pecking enthusiastically. His act of pecking is perhaps an act of desperation which helps him attach some meaning to his otherwise uneventful existence. Heihei is also probably a dehumanized version of every unthinking  individual who accepts whatever he is given unquestionably and overlooks the tyranny of the world by covering his eyes with a coconut husk not realizing what he is capable of and never trying to realize his true potential. When one of the villagers proposes to roast Heihei as such a stupid chicken is of no use to anybody, Moana retorts saying:

“Sometimes our strengths lie beneath the surface… but I’m sure there’s more to Heihei than meets the eyes.”

In our quest for perfection we often bury parts of ourselves not realizing that they are equally important to our being. In this context, it is interesting to note that the person playing the voice of the villager who had proposed to roast Heihei is the same person who has given his voice to the rooster. Therefore, there is definitely more to Heihei than meets the eyes. Heihei also has a critical role to play in the final sequence when he saves the heart of TeFiti instead of gobbling it up proving that he is not stupid after all and surprises everybody just like Moana had.

The ocean is also a very important character in the story. It is the source of chaos as well as order. If there is darkness in its shadowy depths then it also provides the characters with the necessary strength to fight and end the darkness. The ocean might be a friend of Moana but it does not help her until she tries to help herself or asks for help.

                          “The sea doesn’t help you, you help yourself”,

said Maui. Maui might be a demigod but it was his original sin and he had to pay the price for disrupting the balance of nature by stealing the heart. The heart might be a stone which maintains the balance of nature but on a closer look it might also stand for that primitive force which keeps each one of us from falling into pieces, the force which helps us fight our inner demons and emerge victorious in that strife.

In his eighth letter “To a Young Poet”, the great poet Rilke says,

“We have no reason to harbor any mistrust against our world…. If it has terrors, they are our terrors,… if it has dangers, we must try to love them…. How could we forget those ancient myths that stand at the beginning of all races, the myths about dragons that at the last moment are transformed into princesses? Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.”

Moana teaches us that we are a conglomeration of TeFiti and TeKa and only when we acknowledge the chaos inside us will we be able to muster the courage to invoke order out of it. Moana’s quest is therefore every man’s quest for meaning in life.

                                                                                                                 -Aishwarya Das Gupta

The Tale of Princess Kaguya


The tale of the Bamboo-cutter is like a tale as old as time. The very recent animated adaptation of this famous folk tale ‘The Tale of Princess Kaguya’ (2013) is no less mesmerising and spellbinding on the big screen. The movie is directed by the legendary animator Isao Takahata of Studio Ghibli. The hand-drawn pastel and water coloured animation brings back the memories of the illustrations that used to come along with such oriental folktales in the children’s books. The story is more or less known to all. A bamboo-cutter found a small and little doll-like girl while cutting bamboos in the woods and brought her home to his wife. Next day, he found gold nuggets in the stalk of bamboo. The childless couple brought her up as their own believing that she is a divine boon and named her Kaguya (meaning, “radiant night”). As she grew up into a woman of extraordinary beauty, men from around the countries came asking for her hand. But she kept refusing their proposals. She put five of her suitors into test but they failed to please her. The emperor himself came asking for her hand but her answer remained the same as before. He kept on proposing to her and she kept on refusing him; telling him that she belonged to a distant realm and that is why she cannot marry him. When the summer came, she often used to stare at the full moon with her tear-filled eyes. When being asked, she told her parents that the people from the empire of the Moon would come to take her away as her days on the mortal realm are going to end very soon. And finally on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month the Moon people came as promised and gave her the elixir of life to drink and put the robe of the Moon or the Feather robe on her, making her forget all the memories, sorrows, joys, and experience that she gathered on the earth. And thus she was gone.

The movie stays true to this original tale of the bamboo-cutter. But a 21st century rendition of an ancient story must serve something new on the plate. And the movie doesn’t fail to please its eagle-eyed audience. The movie turns out to be ‘delicately’ cynical as it starts dealing with the efforts of the nouveau riche parents to cling on to the conditions of being accepted in an elite society and the patriarchal nightmare that Kaguya faces as a result. The bamboo-cutter who used to live in the woodland, found his fortune flourishing after he found the princess and plenty of gold coins and multiple robes afterwards. The bamboo-cutter decided to build a palace in the capital city for his daughter’s betterment. But what really takes place at the city is her imprisonment. The father is gradually engulfed by the urban patriarchal system that sets a nightmare for Kaguya. His sudden act of appointing a tutor and maids for her daughter or arranging an extravagant banquet for the naming ceremony- all these seem to be nothing but vague efforts to blend in with the surrounding aristocratic, elite families. At one point, he seems quite infuriated with Kaguya when she tells him to invite her old rural friends into the banquet. But her mother, although she never really raises her voice against the husband, does not let the system corrupt her. We see her settle in an attached wooden cabin like the one they had back in the mountains and nurture a beautiful small garden as if to nurture the microcosmic pastoral paradise they have left behind. The mother-daughter relationship, however, did not get ruined by the poison that the wealth and the ambition brought. Settling in the capital became tougher and tougher day by day for the Princess as she grew up. Unlike the original tale, the daughter is named Kaguya in a naming ritual in the palace only after she came of age (Her friends used to called her “li’l bamboo” while her parents called her by “my princess”). The hypocrisy behind the norms of the elite society begins to unfold in front of her eyes when she is told to sit behind the curtain for hours and hours in the banquet of her own naming ceremony…doing nothing. Her life goes through hell when Lady Sagami, her tutor, tries to tame her in order to change her into an elite lady from a rural girl. The movie becomes directly satiric towards the ancient Japanese society and tradition as the training session begins. The more Kaguya is told not to move, not to run, not to smile, not to speak, not to laugh, not to scream, not to cry, the more disruptive she becomes. She gets frightened when Lady Sagami comes to put traditional make up on her face, and blacken her teeth. She refuses to live like a “doll” and also announces boldly that if an ideal noble princess is meant to live like that then there is no chance that she is a human being. She only finds her peace in the thought of her rural haven where everything ran wild, where she could breathe freely. The nostalgia plays a very important part in the flow of the entire story. Her inability to go back to the wilderness makes her realize that both the palace and the city are prisons and there is no escape whatsoever. She asks her mother for a small part of her garden as a memoir of her wild and free childhood. In the end she wishes to go back to the mountains that she calls “home” for one last time before leaving the realm of the Earth; her mother does not hold her back. There we see her feel the air, the soil, the trees, the long lost love of her long lost childhood friend Sutemaru for one last time.

The reality hits her hard when one of her five suitors dies while trying to pass the test she had put him in. She understands that she has always been an ‘outsider’ and always will be. Her pain was unbearable and all she could want was her lost freedom. And so she could not help but pray to the Moon to take her back from all the pain when the Emperor grabbed her forcefully even after she refused to be his wife more than once. She confesses to her mother that her curiosity to feel the mysteries of pain and sorrow and happiness of human kind is the reason she was sent to this mortal realm from the empire of the Moon. But her prayers cannot be unheard and she bids farewell to the ones she loves: her Mama, Papa (who realized his mistakes in the end) and Sutemaru and the mountains of her childhood. The 15th day of the eighth lunar month came at last and so came the Moon people. Their arrival is marked by the beautiful oxymoron of the joyous music and the tears of goodbye. A figure of Buddha leads the procession with a promise of peace and harmony. Kaguya has no choice. She says a final goodbye to her parents and as soon as the Feather robe is put on her, all the sorrows, pains, aches, toils, anguish, joys, laughter, smiles and memories take peaceful refuge into oblivion. She disappears beyond the horizon.

The artifices of civilisation have been weaving the web to catch freedom, candour and innocence for centuries. And when the lashes of the social chains are on the verge of destroying the independence of an unblemished entity, isolation offers a safe shelter. Oblivion, eventually, becomes the ultimate destiny. Surely, the time has grown old, but the tale hasn’t.

– Subarnarekha Pal

Silent Film, Sound Optional


In the course of the last few years, everything has started to move into smartphones. Online activities which were previously accessible or executable only in the web browser on a computer, can now be done from a mobile phone screen with equal ease. As processing power of mobile phones increase by the day, even the UIs have started to match up with their full-fledged browser versions. No longer are they simplified, aesthetically disappointing light versions of the original.

With the smartphone market essentially ruled by two big players – Apple’s iOS and Google’s Android, app developers have found stable markets to develop and share their products in, and as a result, each OS app store now houses hundreds and thousands of apps that can execute virtually any task that can be carried out by the supporting hardware. But arguably, the biggest migration from computer to smartphone has been in the fields of social media and e-commerce platforms. Most e-commerce websites have their own dedicated apps for both iOS and Android, India’s Flipkart has even gone a step further to make their mobile-based browsing and transactions app-only, and some other websites have followed suite. As PC sales have dipped for the first time and smartphone sales have outstripped them, large digital corporations like Google and Facebook recently for the first time have reported that customers have consumed more data on their smartphones than on more traditional machines like a laptop or a PC.



Another interesting speculation, made by Facebook, is that all media is essentially moving towards video, and soon enough video would be the ruling mode of media consumption. What this essentially means is that all media – be it news, editorial articles, personal blogs, whatever, would be in the form of video content. And if we notice carefully what comes up in our Facebook feed, we can already see this happening. Instead of the image-intensive feed that was the Facebook homepage even a year or two ago, it is quickly becoming a video-intensive one. Almost every channel publishes the majority of their content in the form of video; be it a short clip on the recent faux pas by Donald Trump produced by a news channel, or a video on ten moments when Eva Mendes and Ryan Gosling were too cute to be handled, put out by a fashion and lifestyle channel, or a video clip on a half-million-dollar semi-automated mason robot put out by an architecture channel.

Now, it is well-understood that form is not independent of its medium. Technology, its strengths and limitations, both shapes and defines the way media is produced, and consumed. When Marshall McLuhan wrote the essay “The Medium is the Message” in early 1960s and later followed it up with The Medium is the Massage (the typesetter made a simple mistake which much amused McLuhan, and he decided to keep it), he was hitting the nail right on the head of the digital age media revolution that was to come about four decades later. The content, in many ways, serves and is shaped by the medium through which it is presented. Ideas change at a glacial pace, but changes in the medium are radical, and tectonic. And with every new change in the media landscape and technology, the content must reorganize and reshape itself to fit into the strong and weak points of the medium. The style of the content must always be determined by the medium.

It is undeniable that since YouTube introduced in-stream ads (these are the annoying little buggers at the beginning of your YouTube videos that you cannot skip for a full five seconds), the narrative format of digital advertisements, especially ads meant for YouTube, has changed. As most users are likely to skip the ad as soon as they can, it is crucial to get the message across in the first five seconds. Narrative development, advert humour, build-up – all these take a backseat. This also becomes important from a financial point-of-view. Most ads on YouTube are cost-per-view (CPV), and the advertiser is not charged unless the user reaches either the 30-second-mark of the video or the end of the video if it is shorter than 30 seconds. It makes sense if you can put your message across in the first five seconds and minimize payment. It does not matter if the user views the ad in full, or any of the medium’s aesthetic goals are fulfilled. Recently, though, I have started noticing ads on YouTube that are only 5-seconds-long. Mostly, these are ads that have been trimmed to fit the 5-second mark. Google’s ad for its Pixel phone, which was originally 1.22 minutes long, has been trimmed down to a mere 5 seconds (YouTube tried to force-feed its users the complete ad for a while, but I guess that was not working out very well for them). And why would this not happen? Once your brand has gained some visibility, a 5-second-ad is a complete win-win situation, combining the best of both worlds. We are in the age of speedier, shorter, crisper; hit and run, point and shoot.

Facebook videos are another, different but more obvious, case in point. Most users would be aware that by default, audio is turned off for all videos in the Facebook app. And as experience and observation suggests, that setting tends to stay as it is. The makers of Facebook videos (I am not too easily inclined to call them films yet, for no good reason) have been quick to catch up on this. Almost all videos on Facebook now come with subtitles or close-captioning in some form or another. Since audio cannot be taken for granted on this app, makers must rely on communication through text accompanied by the images. With optional sound, film is again becoming a purely visual medium, like it was a hundred years ago in the first few years of cinema. And limitations breed innovation. From regular subtitles to innovative use of intertitles, a combination of both, use of cue cards as subtitles (most probably to avoid more work during the creative process, but that Bob Dylan and Love, Actually vibes cannot be so easily ignored), creative graphic transitions… if you look carefully, it is all quite impressive. Harper’s Bazaar has ditched audio commentary altogether and has replaced dialogue and sound with upbeat music tracks.

Why is this important, or even interesting? It is difficult to say that at this point. All evaluation worth its salt needs a certain distance, a vantage point. But what can be said with some degree of certainty is that this marks a significant movement away from traditional film aesthetics of the sound era which has developed and dominated almost all forms of film for the last eight or nine decades. We are once again at the birth of a different cinema, made for a different medium and for a different purpose. And this new cinema shall have its new audience, perhaps a little less isolated than headphoned commuters. Shut your ears; are you watching closely?

Disclaimer: I could be completely wrong, who can tell…

– Souraj Dutta

Raees : Much Ado about Stardom

Directed by Rahul Dholakia, 2017.

img_20161207_185553I was looking forward to Rahul Dholakia’s Raees’ release like any other popular film lover would do. A film set in Gujarat, generic in nature and a Muslim bootlegger as protagonist is something that surely catches one’s interest. In the time of ultra-nationalism and Hindu rightwing upsurge, of which the director has been perennially aware about in almost all his earlier films, Raees promised a lot. All the central characters – the hero, the heroine and the villain – are played by Muslim actors (the lead actress is from Pakistan). But, when we are done watching the film, one tends to ask whether, as promised, the film provides the same critical feeling against mainstream politics or its uses, as any other run-of-the-mill Bollywood super hit, or does the film exploit liberal politics to lure a certain audience who otherwise would have remained indifferent to the film. I think in this context, Raees fails miserably. While saying so, I also acknowledge the fact that never for a moment did I feel that the film is being dishonest to its `cause’, but it suffered from poor execution; something that you don’t expect from a competent film-making platform backed by the market.

To my belief, the film had two obvious formal options to follow; firstly, that of following standard generic conventions of gangster movies and fitting things into place and secondly, showcasing the stars in a way that if the generic thirst doesn’t get quenched then the audience would at least have some take-home value in terms of performances. Taking a cue from Bollywood’s earlier manifestations of socially outcasts, gangsters and marginal male characters, the film consciously reminds us of Amitabh Bachchan starrers from 1970s. The film also uncannily resembles Mukul Anand’s 1990 film Agneepath where Vijay Dinanath Chauhan and the title character of Raees shares almost similar life events: a rebel kid who gets hired by illegal organizations turning into an uncontrollable gangster-messiah who is constantly chased by the state and its machinery, finally meeting his inevitable death.

Raees quite intelligently places itself in the league of earlier popular classics and also tries to revamp the angry young man persona with more relatable contemporary swag and style. The film works flawlessly on Shahrukh Khan aka SRK’s star persona. In its promotions,from its first look to the trailer, the film has been showcasing miyan bhai ka daring (the ‘muslim’ man dares) image of the male star by fetishizing his body and stylizing his gestures. But the problem is that, such fetishizing tendencies end up overinvesting in the fetish object more than the historical reality, which is the context. My problem with the film precisely lies there. The overexposed star body – created out of stereotypical ideas of clothing, makeup and mannerism – kind of reduces the politics of the films to the religious identity of the star.The Pakistani actress, Mahira Khan, with no exceptional acting skills remains just a female consort and the archenemy police officer, played by Nawazuddin Siddiqui, becomes the statist moral center.

As far as the plot is concerned, the film offered us something fascinating. The Robin Hood bootlegger takes one ethically wrong step and falls, typical of a gangster film. But a film is not only its plot. The script has four writers and it seems as if they were responsible only for their sections, the parts don’t gel into a whole. The humour and the drama of the first half just vanishes the moment Raees grows up. As if the sheer presence of SRK made the writers so sure that they deemed further character development unnecessary. They perhaps forgot that apart from narrative progression, writing a script also calls for a character arc. The grown up Raees as the miyan bhai needed something more than ‘dare’ and stylistic display.

The writer responsible for the romance scenes has also failed miserably. The moment you lose interest in the romance scene of a SRK film, either the film is trying something new without being sure or they have just lost it or both.

The only scene I think I will remember is when Raees stops the rightwing political leader’s rath (chariot), a moment when the clash of religious identities and stardom of SRK seemed to gel so well.

However, one could still appreciate the effort, which shows – for example – in the much-publicized song sequence where Raees enters the opponent’s den to commit a reluctant massacre. The moment of transformation – Raees apparently has not committed murders before – will inevitably lead to self-destruction. But the poor editing, shot-taking and other technicalities failed to deliver the pathos. The sequence borrows the song, only song of the film that one might remember, from Feroz Khan’s 1980 film Qurbani and tries hard to objectify Sunny Leone, the sex starved Indian public’s current porn fetish, and fails.

Raees is a long film; too long to make you feel ‘I know he’ll die at the end so let’s get over with it’. The times we find Raees in a soup, he comes out of the mess triumphantly but the moment he dies is almost predictable and unlyrical. A fallen hero always demands an epic goodbye and the moral and ethical archenemy needs better reasons to kill him than merely unidimensional obsession.

To me, Raees is a faulty exercise of scriptwriting though it started with positive political intentions. Whatever my criticisms are, could have been not there had the film been better crafted. The actors did their job, the director did his and so did the screenplay writers but none of their output worked together on the screen. And we ended up with a much-promised mainstream political film reduced into a star spectacle and nothing else.

-Shenjuti Dutta