Desicritics Author: Nikhil Pahwa

Movie Review: Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story

Nikhil Pahwa — Sat, 15 Jul 2006 03:06:52 EDT

[Note: Spoilers in this review]

Lawrence Sterne's Tristram Shandy was a difficult read, to say the least. It defied conventions of writing: probably the most frequently mentioned example is that a single black page in the book signifies the death of the parson, Yorick. Some chapters are just a short paragraph. The book begins with Tristram as an adult, a few pages later he is an infant; he is born in the middle of the novel, after which the rest of the novel concerns events that took place before his birth. It was amusing, though language didn't make it an easy read. So when I read in a review that the book was considered unfilmable, I wasn't particularly surprised.

Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story, directed by Michael Winterbottom is, unexpectedly, not a movie based on the novel, but about the filming process and the difficulties faced during film-making. It was similar at times to Topsy Turvy, but not half as amusing, and a lot more realistic. It is likely that a less informed audience might mistake this movie for a 'Behind the Scenes' preview, and could be left waiting for an hour and a half for the adaptation of the novel to be screened, lest they leave sooner. This is a movie made for the film fests.

Steve Coogan plays Steve Coogan in the movie, and Tristram Shandy and Walter Shandy (Tristram's father) in the movie within the movie. Rob Brydon plays Rob Brydon in the movie and Toby Shandy (Tristram's uncle) in the movie within the movie. It's a similar scenario with the rest of the cast. There are two Jennys, rather one is Jennie and the other Jenny - and both characters are constantly after Steve. Jennie is a runner, who's supposed to assist Steve Coogan. Jenny is Steve's girlfriend.

The film depicts the complexities of film making and pressures that actors face, juggling both a career and a family life. At one point, Steve is simultaneously caught between ego problems due to the addition of Gillian Anderson to the cast (hence, another "star"), the expected increase in Rob Brydon's role vis-a-vis his own, the problem of handling the movie-crazy Jennie, the runner whom he has 'made-out' with, a possible scandal concerning Steve and a lap dancer, and the demands of his girlfriend Jenny who's travelled a couple of hundred miles with their baby, just to have sex with Steve. Not a comfortable situation to be in, you'll agree. There's also a question of the height of Steve's boots, which he wants increased in comparison to that of Rob, since Steve is the star. He also considers a nose job, and wonders whether he has a character actor's nose or a leading man's nose.

For me, the standout performance was from Naomie Harris as Jennie the runner, playing the part of a naive film-struck assistant to perfection. She lapses into glorification of scenes in movies, elaborating on their beauty, the symbolism and the metaphors - something we're all guilty of from time to time. She also falls for Steve Coogan, which most of us are not guilty of, and exchanges a few star-struck kisses, only for Steve to suddenly realise that with one scandal not yet suppressed, he can't really afford another. Jennie is made fun of behind her back, as probably most film crazy people are by the people who make films. Kelly MacDonald as Steve's girlfriend plays the domesticated girlfriend to perfection.

There's subtle humour, a few faux pas, Groucho Marx references and brushings off. Steve Coogan is helped while practicing a scene where a hot chestnut drops down the protagonists pants by actually having a hot chestnut dropped down his pants. He also hangs upside down in a gigantic womb, in the nude.

Then there's a little about attraction between actors when Rob Brydon learns that Gillian Anderson might play his Toby Shandy's love interest:

Rob Brydon: The thing is, I can't act...
Steve Coogan: I know that.
Rob Brydon: ...with Gillian Anderson. I have proper a sexual thing for Gillian Anderson. I covet her. If I have to do a love scene with her, I will...blush.

The perfectionists and experts are also parodied: an expert on history asks the cast about a particular battle scene. Not sure of how to respond, they play it safe and say that the battle scene was quite good, only to be shot down with a Shite. It was shite from beginning to end. Woefully inaccurate. We wouldn't be interested in doing a pantomine like that. This was in addition to a lecture on how to make the battle scene in Tristram Shandy more realistic (give the actors names of actual men who fought the battle, and have them shout them out in the movie), all of which seems inconsequential to the final film.

In Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story, there are few obvious links with the book - a few scenes from the movie as well as their filming is shown, the filming of the black page is discussed, even though Yorick doesn't feature in the movie. The real connection is in the complexity and the biographical nature of the movie. It's more engaging than entertaining, while the book was exactly the opposite.

The most remarkable thing related to this movie, strangely enough, is its website. Even if you don't see the movie, or read the book, just go through the site for its sheer inventiveness. Looks exactly like a desktop, with all the icons. In true Tristram Shandy style, you're greeted with windows with email messages from those who're behind the site. Click on the recycle bin to see samples of discarded designs for the site and movie posters. Click on the MS Outlook icon for 'email' to read informal messages sent to the designer. A click on 'Tristram pix' lets you see captures from the movie. A desktop feel and functionality, and a brilliant concept and design.

Theatre Review: Chekov in My Life

Nikhil Pahwa — Thu, 9 Feb 2006 08:28:25 EST

Chekov apni kabar mein ulat raha hoga

Pardon the bad translation, but the subtitle of this post vaguely means (in Hindi) that Chekov must be turning in his grave. Bad translations seem to be the order of the day: 'Chekov in my life' (in Hindi) at the Mahindra Excellence in Theatre Awards was the worst I've ever seen.

If I was mildly disappointed with The Witness for Prosecution, a couple of days ago, Chekov in My Life, based on Lydia Avilov's memoirs of the same name, inspired a variety of reactions: from horror (at the bad multi-language translation) to yawning and repeated shaking of the head to stay awake (because of the bad and boring acting) to abrupt laughter (because of the terrible accents).

The play was staged at Sri Ram Center in Delhi, where all the plays from the 'Established' category are being staged. The first play I ever saw outside of school was at the Sri Ram Center, several years ago. It was titled 'Once Upon a Village Earth', and was acted in and scripted by children who had been through a theatre workshop. I can safely say that that play was better than Chekov in My Life. Humor there was intentional.

The storyline of Chekov in My Life is familiar enough, and almost predictable: a married woman with a 9 month old baby and a passion for writing meets Anton Chekov at a friends house. They 'connect', but she's a dutiful mother and can't stay on to chat since she has to tend to her baby. Later she has a falling out with her comparitively boring and autocratic husband who distances himself from her when she demands a divorce from him for repeatedly disturbing her writing sessions.

During the confrontation, the husband becomes a villain by mispronouncing several English words and phrases (I lhove you from the buttom of my haat), though he does make some amends by using a line made famous by John Travolta in Get Shorty: Look at me. He's not half as cool as Travolta, though. After that Lydia meets Chekov again and again, each time without coughing 'I lhove you'. They exchange letters for years and Chekov becomes a mentor to her. Lydia is not exactly spoilt for choice but torn between what she is expected to be and what she wants to be. She continues to waver throughout the play.

Chekov leaves her without eating dinner on receiving a non-committal response to his declaration of love for her (I lhove you, I lhove you, I lhove you), after which there is a cryptic and psychotic exchange of messages over a considerable period of time: Lydia sends Chekov a message by having engraved on a pendant, the page and line number of specific lines from one of his novels. Chekov gets his own back by writing a play based on his relationship with Lydia, which ends with the character representing Chekov in the play-within-the-play quoting line numbers from Lydia's own manuscript. At this point, members of the audience in the play-within-the-play leave in huff, dissing the play. That is something that I'm sure members of the real audience wanted to do, because the acting during this part was even worse than the rest of the play.

Chekov falls ill, Lydia meets him a few times; the caricaturish doctor repeatedly warns Chekov not to speak and finally orders Chekov- "Don't speak. Write." A telling order, indeed. Chekov does not put flowers brought by Lydia in his own hair. He does not jump up and do the tango with a rose in his mouth, does not get run over by a train, or even tell Lydia that he actually loves Mikhail (Lydia's husband), and not Lydia. As you can probably tell, I was thoroughly bored by this time, and thinking of spoofs. Hey! Maybe I was wrong all along and this actually was a spoof. Eventually Chekov dies and thankfully the play ends.

Diksha Thakur and Rakhi Mansha, who played the old (the narrator) and young Lydia Avilov respectively were quite all right. Aashish Kumar who played Chekov was pretty good to begin with. Shubro Bhattacharya, who played Mikhail, was terrific in Hindi, but after Mikhail's fight with Lydia, he his acting fell apart. While the Hindi pronunciations were just about perfect, most dialogues were clichéd.

Where the play really- really- failed, was that it was unnecessarily multi-lingual. Either they should have stuck to a single language, or chosen actors who were fluent with both languages. Most utterances in English were cringe-inducing.

Incidentally, while the novel by Lydia Avilov is titled Chekhov in my life', Chekhov's name has been misspelt in this case. And just to clarify - this isn't an award winning play. The Mahindra Excellence in Theatre Awards is a competition and I bet Chekov in my life isn't going to win.

Crossposted on my blog, here.

Theatre Review: Witness for the Prosecution at META

Nikhil Pahwa — Tue, 7 Feb 2006 00:20:04 EST

The name of the play seemed familiar. The actors, dressed formally, sat around a table in a living room bathed in yellow light, with Sir Wilfred (Shahid Siddiqui) querying the young Leonard Vole (Nishant Gaharwar) in a pleading voice. In the background, for I was seated in the balcony, I could see the alternative set for a courtroom. Familiar setting, indeed, and within a few minutes, I realized that this was a theatrical version of Witness for the Prosecution. After which, I more or less knew what would happen.

Now normally, that is the worst that can happen to you when watching a movie or a play: even worse than the odd mobile phone ringing during the performance (which it did). But the play was still made interesting by almost faultless acting by the entire cast, barring Nalini who played Romaine Heilger - she was expected to have both a Russian (or was it more German?) accent and a high pitched British accent, neither of which she was able to carry off effectively. The high pitched British accent was barely understandable. Some dialogues had distinctly British humor, but the audience didn't catch on. At the same time, the sound effects were abrupt and poorly executed.

During the interval, I was informed that it was not based on a Jeffrey Archer story, but was written by Agatha Christie. Jeffrey Archer's play The Accused, in which he himself had acted, and the audience was innovatively involved by being given the role of the Jury, was based loosely on the same Agatha Christie story.

Warning: Spoilers ahead

What I didn't like about the play was the ending. If I remember correctly, in the Agatha Christie version, the play ends with the startling revelation that the wife had tricked the court into believing that she had lied about her husband being guilty.

The logic: No one would believe an honest wife proclaiming the innocence of her husband, but they would believe that a vindictive wife is lying about her husband being guilty. Hence, if she is found out, then the Jury would find him 'not guilty' of the crime.

Now, the first time one reads or sees it- it's a great good plot with an innovative twist (and not a first from Christie). In itself, it's quite a powerful. This Indian adaptation fails because it provides another couple of twists, both more predictable and weaker than the original.

The first of the two was palpable: after the wife declares her sacrifice for her husband, declaring that she's willing to go to jail for perjury to save his skin, a pretty young thing runs across the room and hugs the husband. He haughtily declares that now he's got all that he wanted - lots of money, willed to him by the woman he killed, and a young girl whom he can go on a cruise with. Fairly believable, I thought, though not as strong an ending as the first. It could have ended here with a sobbing wife.

But no, they have to provide a final and Bollywoodish closure, since this is an Indian audience: So the wife picks up a large kitchen knife from the evidence (exhibit two, I think) table, and stabs her husband to death. She then walks over to the witness stand, and a single light focuses on her as she declares a final memorable quote that I didn't care to remember. I found this bit of melodrama irritating, and unnecessary. Even my friend, who didn't know the story, felt that the play could have ended at the first twist.

On the whole, the acting was excellent but day one at the Mahindra Excellence in Theatre Awards saw remarkably poor attendance, with more seats empty than full.

Music Review: The Darkness - One Way Ticket To Hell And Back

Nikhil Pahwa — Sun, 29 Jan 2006 09:39:33 EST

Indie music is like lucky dip. You never know what you're going to get, or even whether it is worth the money. The Darkness' One Way Ticket To Hell and Back goes one step further: not only does a first timer not know what to expect from the album, but song after song, one really doesn't know what one has got.

Don't let their name fool you: 'The Darkness' might hint at a possible death metal influence, but their music is more rock and roll, and reminiscent of Meatloaf. Perhaps it isn't too strange that the title of this album bears similarity to that of Meatloaf's 'To hell and back'.

Here's a song by song review of the album, based primarily on first impressions:

1. 'One Way Ticket': This song begins in a fusion-like fashion with a flute, a few sniffles (sniffles?) and some bass guitar strumming. It suddenly breaks into a rock-and-roll sound that is at times Rolling Stones, and at others - Meatloaf. Meatloaf is an obvious inspiration, particularly the chorus. It breaks in the middle for some nice lead solos that sound much like sitars, with their unusual tuning.

2. 'Knockers': Interesting choice of name for a song. The drumming and manner of singing is Peter Gabrielish, while the chorus is INXS-like.

3. 'Is it Just Me?': A continuous bass sound in this song makes it sound like one from the cross-over period that existed in the early nineties, when music switched over to grunge. Not really Pearl Jam. Roxette?

4. 'Dinner Lady Arms': has a very 'Fleetwood Mac' like beginning, and an ambient sound of sorts where nothing in particular takes control of the sound - the drums, the bass, cymbals, lead and vocals are just there. Nothing stands out.

5. 'Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time': Think Goo Goo Dolls and then suddenly switch to boy band whining. Perhaps this is a little too unkind, but there it is.

6. 'Hazel Eyes': Has an interesting Crouching-Tiger-Hidden-Dragon acoustic sound in the beginning, before some lead strumming. Then suddenly, incoherent lyrics burst through and end up in a very brit-pop, Christmas Carol wailing (think Blur - Country House). Ugh. The guitar solos seem out of place, as does the marching band drumming. Ugh again. Next song, please...I can't take this wailing.

7. 'Bald': BALD? Who would name a song BALD? Anyhow, on to the music. The song begins with a decidedly rock bass, but the vocals keep fluctuating between 'terrible' and 'apt'. Think of Freddie Mercury actually wailing. This song really doesn't know its genre.

8. 'Girlfriend': Sigh. The vocals are terrible. Again, a very rock and roll and brit-pop sound. Almost sugary sweet and wannabe boyband-like. Next song please.

9. 'English Country Garden': This must be an English band, and Blur (their excellent self titled album notwithstanding) is an obvious influence. All this squealing is getting on my nerves. Next song.

10. 'Blind Man': This song has the most promising beginning in the album. I've decided that I don't like the bands vocals because the voice neither gruff nor melodious. This is the only soft song in the album and sounds like Elton John is in the house. For once, a song that sounds like it has actually been composed.

On the whole, the vocals are too high pitched and lack the clarity of, say, The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, to name another Indie band. I can't really comment on the lyrics: Amazon claims that they're explicit and a Guardian review states that the lyrics make light of the lead singers cocaine addiction. I would never have noticed, really, because the vocals are distracting.

The worst sound is on Hazel Eyes- an electronic effect that makes the lead guitar resemble panpipes. For purposes of comparison, the song helpfully offers up a duel between actual panpipes and the lead guitar. The latter is thus revealed not just as the worst sound on Hazel Eyes, but incontestably the worst sound you will hear this year, or indeed any other year the Darkness choose to deploy it.

In all fairness, this album is worth a listen for the music it reminds you of: the music is truly 'inspired', and is a mix of several genres, though not necessarily eclectic. It lacks an original feel and a unidirectional focus. The band lacks a singular identity. Like writing sometimes fails for the lack of a good editor, I think this album fails for the lack of a good producer.