Desicritics Category: Culture: Films

Movie Review: 13B - Not Fear's New Address

IdeaSmith — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 07:40:14 EDT

Flush with the success of my earlier movie plan which turned out such great results, I decided to go one extra and spice up my next movie outing as well. So, I proposed 'Kitsch is Kool'. The idea was to do something unusual with a touch of whackiness, all in the name of entertainment. I decided to pick something different. Comedy...nah, we did that last week. Oscar winners...too bloody high-brow (Besides it was more fun to diss celebrity style)! Drama...umm, show me something else. How about horror? And what could add more ice to the chills than watching it in a rundown, semi-seedy theatre to add atmosphere? No comfortable plush sofas to sink your face into during the scream-moments, no multiplex comfort food of caramel popcorn and seat-delivered colas. Just rattling, creaky rexine seats where your knees bumped into the cold metal of the seats in front of you, each time you shrieked. 13B at Chandan cinema was the plan.

I'd love to tell you how, full of daring and adventure, I set forth with my brave bunch of movie-buff friends. Instead, every single one of them chickened out!!! Even my plaintive sell of

But guys, just imagine the thrill of facing up to your fears! After all, darr ke aage jeet hai!

was met with,

No!! Darr ke aage nightmares hai!

Like that. Hmph, so I ended up mall-ratting as usual and watching 13B in the aforementioned multiplex complete with comfort food. So not kitschy, definitely not kool. Maybe that took away from the experience, maybe my review would have been nicer if we had gone with the original plan.

13B is driven forth by Madhavan who despite his cult status in Kollywood (the Tamizh film industry, for the uninitiated) has failed to make a splash on the rest of the Indian audience. To his credit most people have fond memories of him in Banegi Apni Baat and Sea Hawks but the big screen seems to be rather cruel on South-Indian men, doesn't it? Considering the hero is a very large proponent of a movie's appeal, it already starts off with a handicap.

In addition, 13B is playing in that rather unfashionable genre of Bollywood horror movies. After the steady Ramsay brothers diet of B-grade potboilers (Veerana, Khooni Murda), the Indian audience was introduced to relatively more sophisticated offerings minus the ketchup-blood and clay-masks of yore. Ram Gopal Verma played guardian angel to this movement with Bhoot and Darna Mana Hai. I don't know how commercially successful they were, compared to the other Bollywood fare but they certainely ushered in a new age of horror in Hindi movies.

Cut to the present. The audience has been seeing a steady stream of 'experimental' movies right from the short-length skits favoured by Nagesh Kukunoor to NRI flicks to collages (Darna Mana Hai, Dus Kahaniyan) to audience-targetted films. Purely from a marketer's standpoint, now would have been a good time to take a leap forward in the undeveloped theme of horror movies. By that premise, 13B is over a decade too late. Raat was made ages ago, Urmila's wide-eyed Bhoot has shocked us all years back. What else is new?

The characterization of 13B is extremely dated with a honey-sweet joint family that precedes the generation of saans-bahu politics. None of the characters really stand out. Poonam Dhillon in her comeback avatar could have done so much more, had she just had a bit more to do than look annoyed at being disturbed during her noontime soap viewing. Sachin Khedekar (who shot to fame with Sailaab, a king among Hindi TV soaps) was perhaps a little too larger-than-life for TV but shrunk to his podgy-man frame in the movie. The movie doesn't exactly make the best case for Madhavan to kick-start his Bollywood career either, since he alternates between huffing & puffing up the staircase (what on earth was that about the broken lift anyway??), wide-eyed mania and goofy grins. That boy needs a lesson on not smiling too much, it makes me want to call him Mr.Cheese (and not as in Kya cheez hai!).

What's worse, there was actually a background score! Not a soundtrack to add dimension to the horror theme, a fullblown honest-to-Hindi-movie-goodness, background score complete with running around trees and *shudder shudder* an item song! This was about the only scary thing in the movie (and trust me on this, I'm a real 'fraidy-cat otherwise).

With a theme like Sab Khairiyat Hai, I was rather hoping this story would experience a Stepford Wives-esque ephiphany and explore the sublimnal horror of mind-controlled perfection. No such luck. By the end of the movie I'm only left with the feeling that there is someone who's even more petrified of gadgets and technology than I am! After all, my nightmares have never been of spooked television sets (even if I did entertain a haunted lift once). It looks like the makers were rather spooked with the idea of making a movie too. If you're looking for chills down the spine, ask a friend to dump an ice-tray down your shirt. Don't bother with 13B.

Ishq-Mohabbat-Pyaar-Vyaar: A Tribute to Filmy Love

Seema Dhindaw — Sun, 8 Mar 2009 03:42:39 EDT

Now that the controversies surrounding Valentine’s Day are in the past, I thought it would be fun to have a glimpse at the strange, comic and unusual things that love compels us to do. Catchy toe-tapping Bollywood tunes, the occasional romantic comedy, and sometimes corny poetic expressions have encouraged many of us to perform otherwise unthinkable, highly embarrassing acts of love. We can look back and laugh at spectacles that love or the illusion of it has inspired. The influence of the film industry, particularly Bollywood, hasn’t made matters any easier for those who have been pierced by Cupid’s arrow. In fact, many a times it is the sole culprit for implanting those bizarre and unrealistic ideas about love during those vulnerable, young growing years.

I grew up listening to Hindi film songs and religiously watched one Hindi movie a week with my family. When we were too young to know the implications of romance or love, my brother and I would act out the parts of hero and heroine, using trees at the park to play hide and seek which was followed by a high speed chase. We would eventually find ourselves running towards each other only to end the charade in a playful sibling fight instead of breaking into a song. When we didn’t know lyrics we would make them up. If we didn’t know the steps to a dance, we would choreograph our own crazy moves and our parents would watch sometimes in shock and at other times in dismay.

At home, it often felt like our parents were either villains in our lives or the stars of an ongoing Hrishikesh Mukherji film about complex marriages. When mom got upset over something, dad would sing and dance in a comical attempt to cheer her up. My brother and I would laugh in amusement, squeal in embarrassment or even play along. On Saturday mornings, mom made delicious parathas while melodious tunes played on the weekly Indian radio program. We anxiously counted the minutes, our eyes on the clock for the parathas and for the eagerly awaited weekly Namaste America television program that aired with previews of latest Bollywood movies, top ten songs and sometimes a special treat: an interview with one of the stars. Every week, I had a new crush depending on who was being interviewed and my brother had a new fight scene or dance move to play out. When Prabhudeva came on the screen we lost quite a few porcelain items. One of my first crushes was Salman Khan. I had a shirtless poster of his on the wall of my bedroom. That poster made a long journey with me from a small back alley in Rourkee, India and lived through my teen years in L.A. I remember my cousins hollering at me then for picking Salman over Shah Rukh. Today, if I make it back to Rourkee, I know for sure I will bring back a Shah Rukh poster instead. Tastes have changed.

In my teens, thoughts of how I would meet my knight in shining armor and what he would be like were always at the back of my mind. When I looked at Bollywood films for answers, the romances and love stories were fun and exciting, full of song and dance sequences, offering me hope but none or little practical advice. Hollywood portrayed a completely different perspective. Issues surrounding religion, career, premarital sex and race were at the forefront. Titanic, Father of the Bride, Sliding Doors, Sleepless in Seattle and many of Woody Allen’s films made things either too simple, fairytale-like or way too complex for me to grasp. Movies like Silsila, Lamhe and Chandni gave me hope that even if my soul mate was much older, married, missing after an accident or suffering from a predictable bout of amnesia, somehow miraculously and by defying every righteous principle, moral value and perhaps by way of nothing short of a miracle, he would end up being with me.

After watching Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, the prospect that I could have a guy best friend who would suddenly start to develop feelings for me years later when I grew my hair out, lost some weight and played basketball in a saree was extremely exciting. After a few years of shooting hoops, it didn’t take me long to realize that wasn’t happening. You’ve Got Mail offered hope of a promising fairytale romance which began after meeting a faceless stranger in an internet chat room. Thereafter began my brief and dangerous love affair with virtual chat rooms. I had my share of terrible experiences and realized that in the online world everything wasn’t as perfect or safe as the movies portrayed. As an adult, when I watch my nieces online, I feel a protective urgency come over me.

I slowly began to lose hope of finding my Prince Charming when one day I watched Dil to Pagal Hai. It suddenly all became crystal clear to me. Learning how to dance would lead me to the love of my life. I had to become just like Madhuri Dixit. A famous Kathak teacher was coming to Southern California for two months and taking her class was my only hope. I begged and pleaded with my parents. My dad made a few ill-timed jokes about California being earthquake prone and my mother politely suggested alternate hobbies that did not require much grace or rhythm. But they finally gave in to my childish whims and soon I was practicing tapping my feet to “tha thayi thayi” and undulating hand movements.

I observed in dismay that the Kathak classes were going too slow and I wondered if all this foot-tapping would break into a full-fledged dance any time soon. I figured I would have to be dancing to a song and not just these random beats in order for the love story to proceed smoothly. Nothing of the sort happened of course and the lessons were aborted within six months. I was left dolefully massaging the blisters on my soles.

After watching Maine Pyar Kiya, I turned to my amused parents and asked them if we had family friends that I could visit for a vacation in India. They did! And they even had a son. But as luck would have it, before my flight even took off, their beloved son had announced that he was in love with the girl next door and by then I wasn’t into love triangles any more. So I spent my vacation falling in love….with India and its people.

Recently, Hollywood, after years of criticizing the blatant escapism showcased by the Hindi film industry, finally caved and embraced the rags-to-riches, love story of Slumdog Millionaire. While controversies over the depiction of poverty in Slumdog continue, as an American, I was more taken by the moving story which spans several years and brings us a saga where tragedy, separation, loss and hardship, are all conquered by the one relentless pursuit of love. In India, love trumps all and I felt like this film captured that spirit.

I find consolation in knowing that I wasn’t alone in my filmi craze. Cousins, friends and siblings were also influenced by the love stories in the popular movies of the time. Unrealistic expectations and dreamy romantic ideas had infiltrated their minds as well. They too have sung in the shower, practiced pick up lines in front of a mirror and danced around the room in a towel like Kajol. I remember watching as my cousins practiced the famous pose of Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic, standing on the edge of a balcony above a sea of busy city traffic amidst the beautiful symphony of random honks. Much to my delight, on one trip to India, I helped a cousin plan many a secret rendezvous with her lover. Objections of their being together by their parents didn’t stop them from eventually eloping. The rage and tragic aftermath they faced from their families caused them much grief but their ambitious first steps together set off a trend in the family. Five other elopements followed in quick succesion within the next three years. Inter-cultural, inter-religious and inter-racial marriages were becoming more common. Old barriers fell away over the years. Thanks to inspiration from the popular films of the time, stale prejudices began to dissolve, bringing together soul mates across these divisive lines.

So all in all, these filmi influences have had the power to unite, bring positive change and offer hope to all of us who wait patiently to find that one true love. In addition to the cute, comic and sometimes foolish things that films have inspired all of us to do without their influence, life, both in love and looking for love, would not be as much fun.

Do You Remember Those Caves? A Poetry Film on Gwalior

Amitabh Mitra — Sat, 7 Mar 2009 00:26:12 EST

do you remember those caves

at the foot of the fort

where we used to play

and the old cemetery

we once hid from the sun

and hordes of maratha warriors

cascading behind a broken window

hunting relentlessly

for stolen moments.

the heart was then a street

pursuing days and nights

and a subdued sky

hid a longforgotten secret.

imprisoned

we traveled the eyes

and hopes

of another day.

Poetry, Art and Film by Amitabh Mitra

Oscars 2009: Slumdog Tops The Grade

Aaman Lamba — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 07:31:12 EST

The Oscars have a certain glamour that outstrips most other award ceremonies. Much of this allure is deliberately cultivated, of course, and given the large number of film awards events, one wonders why the Oscars should particularly matter. They do matter, though, and the nominees and winners are treated with far greater recognition than those of many other awards.

The pop-culture effect of Hollywood is fading fast, though, being replaced by a variety of media sources - from the 'long movies' of television dramas to Internet webisodes. The Oscars don't reflect this, treating only the feature-length films and shorter vignettes as deserving of Academy recognition. Their American bias seems to be giving ground to some extent, with recent nominees and winners in the mainstream category being more representative of global cinema trends.

This year's Academy Awards were pretty much along expected lines, from the presentation to the winners. Many great films of 2008 were not even recognized, ranging from the Swedish teen-vampire tragic romance Let The Right One In to the great Western Appaloosa.

From the films that were nominated, the odds-on favorites were The Strange Case of Benjamin Button and Slumdog Millionaire. Apart from Best Foreign Film, most of the other awards went along expected lines. Slumdog Millionaire picked up eight awards, notably in the technical departments and the big two, Best Director and Best Picture. Benjamin Button took three awards, and Dark Knight two, including the sureshot Best Supporting Actor for Heath Ledger.

Smile Pinki, a feel-bad-feel-good film, bagged Best Documentary, throwing further light on the Indian contribution to this year's Awards. A R Rahman and Rasool Kutty took their place in the spotlight for Best Score, Best Original Song, and Best Sound Editing.

The dark horse was the Japanese film Departures which was not well-known and not a strong contender for Best Foreign Film, where it was up against fine films like Waltz With Bashir and The Class. Conspiracy theorists will no doubt see the fell hand of the Elders of Zion behind this non-event, too bad for them.

Sean Penn and Kate Winslet received the acting awards for Milk and The Reader, shutting out the fine performances by Mickey Rourke and Meryl Streep.

Movie Review: Slumdog Millionaire - Phir Bhi Dil Hai Filmistani

IdeaSmith — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 07:36:52 EST

Slumdog Millionaire is that rare combination of a strong plot and skilful storytelling that marries grit and glamour seamlessly.

You would think that a firang's depiction of India would be all 'exotic desh'...swollen-bellied babies starving outside the Taj Mahal and begging children. The movie does have hunger, poverty, slums, streetkids and beggars. Even the Taj Mahal. But of course, can you realistically expect a foreigner to be able to resist showing that in a movie about India?

And yet, Danny Boyle manages to veer away from cliched expressions and brings us the story of the great Indian dream. Money, love, fame, glamour all after struggle, grit, disappointment and insurmountable hurdles. What's all this hoo-halla about glamourising poverty? Haven't you heard of rags-to-riches tales?

I remember the hysteria that gripped the nation surrounding the first winner of Kaun Banega Crorepati. Why was the show so popular? I doubt anyone going through the Indian education system could really, truly care about learning and knowing more. The quest of knowledge was certainly not what kept people glued to the show. Why then did people dance on the streets, why was there so much excitement surrounding the jackpot success of a guy nobody knew? Because he was one of them. Just an anonymous one of the millions. He represented a dream that was suddenly a possibility. What one of them them could do, the rest could very well aspire to.

What's a boy from the teeming millions doing shaking hands with the most famous man in the country? That's real life meeting larger-than-life. Look me in the eye and tell me that that doesn't touch you.

Movie Review: Ramchand Pakistani

Aditi Nadkarni — Mon, 9 Feb 2009 01:03:04 EST

The name caught my attention. It is not every day that we hear the title of a revered Hindu god and Pakistan in the same sentence. I almost wondered why there hadn't be news of effigies being burnt in India based on the name of the film alone. Has the economy stolen effigy-burners of their job or were they just busy with the upcoming anti-Valentine's Day projects, I wondered. As I began to watch the movie, I was surprised that I had not heard much about this beautifully crafted story based on true events.

Ramchand Pakistani encompasses in a relatively simple plot serious issues such as social reform and border security and yet manages to engage us at times in the complex maze of a woman's emotions and then in the mixed humor that always accompanies a boy's coming of age. This is the story of Ramchand, an eight year old Hindu-Dalit Pakistani boy who strays across the border and into India at a time when relations between the two nations are strained by an ongoing war. His father runs after him like any parent would and the duo is immediately suspected of being spies or terrorists from across the border. They land in a prison in India where they are interrogated and every day their hopes of ever returning to their country slowly dwindle. Amidst this tragic tale of separation are the little stories of triumph and Ramchand's adventures.

As Ramchand grows up in a less than ideal environment, the film introduces us to some grim realities. Caste relations in India have formed the basis of historical injustice as well as current politically-charged events that grow volatile every now and then. In the rural areas the poor treatment of Dalits and the issue of untouchability lives on even as our nation plants a flag on the moon. In the cities we hardly think of these issues because they don't affect us and then a film like Ramchand Pakistani reminds us that we can grimace and fume at the mentions of our dirty underbelly but we cannot do away with the precious lives that this underbelly houses. Ramchand's identity represents irony at several levels. He is a Hindu Pakistani Dalit imprisoned in India, a pluralistic nation where Hindus make up the majority, Pakistanis the perceived enemy and Dalits, the "untouchable" lower castes who have for long borne injustice. We have found superficial answers in terms of reserved seats and quotas assigned for these deprived and oppressed classes. However, the rift formed by discrimination at a social and cultural level may take years to bridge or even longer if we refuse to even acknowledge it.

Just as the hopelessness of little Ramchand's circumstances grips us towards the intermission, the film captivates us with the most basic of human emotions. The woman, a mother and a wife, who was left behind by these two pilgrims, struggles with being separated from her spouse and longs for love. The boy grows up in a prison surrounded by the most diverse group one can imagine. Indians, Pakistanis and Bangladeshi all live as one big dysfunctional family, their lives occasionally punctuated with hope and despair alike.

A child in the dangerous world of adults always makes for a plot that keeps viewers on their toes. Being in a prison, little Ramchand is surrounded by adults whom society has deemed criminal and unacceptable. Knowing that the film is based on true events, I watched the film with constant questions of what would eventually happen to Ramchand and his father. Would they return to Pakistan and reunite with the woman who waited for so long to see her loved ones? Has she waited or has she moved on? Knowing that the film is based on true events, I anticipated the worst and yet was suprised by the film's ending.

Watching a film directed by a woman has always been very interesting for me. Female directors deal differently with humor and emotion in a film. Good female directors, I have noticed, are like deft chefs who balance flavor. They carefully toy with each sentimental nuance of the film, not letting one get ahead of the other. The humor is subtle and even tragedy is somewhat muted under shifting curtains of periodic triumph. The end result for a viewer can be either detached neutrality or a perfectly satisfying adventure infused with a gamut of emotions. Mehreen Jabbar, the New York based Pakistani director treats us to the latter. Cinematographer Sofian Khan compliments Jabbar's directorial genius by capturing the stark contrast of the pale scorched desert region with the richly colorful couture of the women. There are scenes within the film that seem out of an oil painting.

I will never quite fathom the politics and bureaucracy that tempers the otherwise untamed flight of art and so it is beyond my understanding why this film would not be Pakistan's submission for an Oscar this year. I must add, that the lack of an Oscar nomination and presumably inadequate publicity does not stop Ramchand Pakistani from being a deeply moving film.

My Upcoming Film: CoolKat Urbanoir - Life in Amrika

Sonal Panse — Sat, 17 Jan 2009 13:42:16 EST

Inspired by Slumdog Millionaire, I'm going to make a movie featuring 'gritty realism' in the USA. The movie will be called CoolKat Urbanoir.

The story goes like this -

A young African man gets kidnapped and sold as a slave in the US of A. He goes through many trials and tribulations, marries a slave girl, they have children, the children are sold, the parents suffer, fall ill, try to escape, are caught and beaten, try again and escape, join the Native Indians, are uprooted from several reservations and starved, are hunted and die under horrible circumstances.

Flash forward several hundred years.

A descendant of these slaves is born in the most dangerous part of an Inner City neighborhood to an unwed teenage hooker with a cocaine habit. Father unknown. Child is abandoned in a garbage heap. Rescued by a church mission and taken to a hospital. Suffers terribly from drug withdrawal (got the habit from Ma during the pregnancy). Later put in an orphanage and shuffled through endless foster homes. Abused physically and sexually in the foster homes. Goes to an Inner City school infrequently and learns nothing there. Gets beaten up by street gangs to and fro from school. So, to save his own hide, joins up one of the brotherhoods. Condition is that he help them peddle drugs to school children. So he does.

Gets caught. Gets sent to jail. Gets raped in jail. And beaten. Many, many, many times. Gets plenty of tattoos too and decides to do a course in body building as well.

Comes out toughened and mean and with plenty of contacts to further advance the criminal career. Furthers criminal career. Adds pimping and armed robbery to the resume. Starts freelancing as a hitman for the Columbian, Korean, Chinese and Japanese drug cartels.

Gets involved with a white woman who wrote him love letters while he was in jail and 'true love' blooms for a while. Then she gets pregnant and wants to get married. He doesn't want to get married. She says he'll have to pay for child support anyway. He doesn't fancy paying child support for eighteen whole years. He's already been stealing money from the druglords to make ends meet. So he murders her and dumps her body over a bridge into a river.

But someone sees him do this and informs the police. He is arrested and tried.

And gets released on a technicality. The police that arrested him forgot to quote that Miranda dialogue, it seems, and subjected him to racist epithets besides.

Lays low for a while and then takes revenge on the informer (a white man, incidentally).

Then goes on a run. An exhilarating chase around and around the US of A follows. Wonderful scenic scenes. Lots of clambering around the Grand Canyon and so on. Ends up in the American South in a small town where the interbred population are still fanning the fires of the Ku Klux Klan ideology. They gladly beat up the new black man in town and strung him up from a tree outside the town. They leave him for dead....

But, of course, he is still alive. Another man comes along, sees him hanging from the tree and cuts him down (in a scene borrowed/inspired from Hang 'Em High, a tribute to lovely, wonderful Clint Eastwood).

This other man happens to be a smuggler involved in the trade of smuggling Mexicans into the USA. He's home on leave, but is off to the Mexican border again and our hero decides to go with him and see how much this type of smuggling business pays.

Unfortunately luck is not favoring our hero (like it ever did!), and, after a few smuggling rounds, he gets shot at by White Nationalists patrolling the border.

He is rescued by a black US Army sergeant, who gets him to a hospital, visits him, bonds with him and feeds him the 'Join the Army, it's a great life' spiel.

Our hero swallows, gets false identification and joins the army. And is nearly killed in basic training.

Somehow he survives and is sent to Iraq to fight the just war and protect the homeland from the wogs. Unfortunately the wogs know how to kick ass. So life in the army on the warfront is not exactly great. Our hero however gets the chance to rape plenty of enemy women and torture many enemy men. A conscientious fellow soldier complains about his behavior to the 'superiors', but the superiors exonerate him saying he is 'only following orders'.

Our hero is pleasantly surprised. This is the first time in his life that the 'establishment' ever spoke out in his support. However, pleased as he is, he ensures that the 'informant' dies in a friendly fire while out on patrol.

Later, he sees an army poster asking if anyone is interested in touring Afghanistan. Our hero volunteers and has a Rambo-like career there.

He is much decorated and felicitated and comes back home on leave as a 'hero'.

Unfortunately, those pesky people in the Police Department are still on his case. They read what Thomas Friedman wrote about our hero in his usual laudatory style in the New York Times, see his photograph and exclaim "Why, that's the man we've been loooookin' for!"

So they contact the Army. The Army hedges, prevaricates, obstructs, but finally 'honorably discharges' our hero and lets the wolves have him.

The wolves have him only for a short while. Some patriotic folks, indignant that a war hero be held accountable for a long-ago murder of a long-dead woman, help him break out of police custody and drive him all the way to Canada.

He applies to stay in Canada as a conscientious protester. The Canadians don't buy that. They read Thomas Friedman in the New York Times too. They don't want him there.

So he takes a plane to Venezuela. He figures he'll be welcome in Chavez's land. Enemy of my enemy is my friend, that sort of thing. He figures that Chavez, taking a cue from the New York Times, will feature him on his TV show. He day-dreams of using the TV show to kick-start a new career as a rap artist. Maybe he'll even write an autobiography and flog it on Oprah - over videophone, of course. Our hero, you see, after a lifetime of anonymity, is beginning to enjoy the taste of fame.

However, there's fame and there is fame. Sometimes fame hurts. The minute he lands in Venezuela, he is spotted by a Columbian drug-runner. After he disappeared from their midst earlier, the druglords had figured out that he was stealing from them and now they want their pound of flesh.

Our hero is on the run again. He's running out of places to run to though. The USA is out, so also the US Army, Canada and South America. And North Korea, South Korea, Japan, and China - remember the Japanese, Korean and Chinese drugpins? They want him too and they have long arms. Italy is out too. Our hero had run-ins with the Italian Mafia when he was in jail and they're not forgetting either.

Wondering what to do, our hero seeks shelter in a low-dive in a red light area. He is nursing a drink morosely, when a stranger at the bar strikes up a friendly conversation with him. Our hero is initially suspicious, but the stranger, who is called Moshe, appears to have no underhand motives. They get along well. Just then two Arabs jump Moshe and try to knife him. Our hero goes to his assistance, saves him and their friendship is really cemented.

Our hero, over another dozen drinks, finally confides to Moshe about his 'situation'.

Moshe is sympathetic and offers to help. He is on his way back home, and suggests our hero come with him. He'll be safe there.

And so our hero goes to Israel.....

-------

End of Part I. Sequel to follow, featuring lots of scenic scenes from Lebanon and Gaza. Stay glued.

------

So that's the story. Anyone wants to come and act in it? No pay. At least not before we sweep the Golden Globes.

Tapan Sinha Left Us Today

Amitabh Mitra — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 17:55:05 EST

The stones remained hungry

As palaces and kothis overturned

A night crossed over from guarding

An extinct royalty

To streets of Kolkata

Where the youth tore off

Its resplendence

Stabbed by a fury

Of political landscape

Yet the night survived

Its heart throbbed

Images grew from

White and black

Fact and fiction

Summer and winter

And crowded the birds

Once despondent of

Hope

Tapan Sinha merged

With this

Night today

Days of untoward resolute

In its finery

Crystal eyed

He continues to show

Us all.

FimmakerTapan Sinha born on 2 October 1924, left us today. He was arguably the most uncompromising filmmaker outside the orbit of parallel cinema. This poem is inspired by his two movies Khudito Pashan (Hungry Stones) based on a story by Rabindranath Tagore and Aapon Jon, a film about the Naxalite Movement in Kolkata.

The Lord of The Rings is a Bollywood Movie

Fleiger — Thu, 4 Dec 2008 11:51:06 EST

Just a few days back, I was talking to a friend who was ranting about the hindi movies, and the completely over the top masala ingredients added in them to spice them up. After defending the Bollywood for a long time (hey, we Indians may make fun of those movies but we stand together when some outsider does it), I went back to my most recent re-reading of Lord of The Rings.

And I got an epiphany. Here are:

10 Reasons why LoTR is just another Bollywood Masala film:

10. If you are a good guy and a father, you get to die at the hands of The Villain or his Henchmen. Which of course will inspire your kid(s) and others to vanquish the villain for revenge.

9. Things are going very badly for the good guys, when BAM! Help arrives in the form of the Hero.

8. The hero has a bumbling but faithful sidekick (or a group of them), who provides the comic sidetrack, but will lay down his life for the hero.

7. There's a costumed villain, sitting in his snazzy layer, surrounded by costumed henchmen and weird looking followers.

6. The "supporting actress" loves the hero, who cannot return her affections because he is in love with the heroine. But don't worry, she will find her life partner in the "supporting actor" before the climax.

5. The hero and heroine belong to different social groups, and hence her father is not exactly happy about their union, but there is a loving aunt who will help the lovers.

4. The heroine, the one belonging to higher social group in this case, will "sacrifice" her advantages in order to marry the hero.

3. The hero has greedy, conniving, thieving relatives who have their eye on his estate.

2. You can stab him, fire arrows at him, slash at him with swords, poison him. The Hero just goes on and on and on...

1. At moment's notice, there's at least one person who has got to sing up. Sometimes that quickly grows into a group song.

Anybody got any idea which characters I am talking about here?

P.S. The comparison is based solely on the basis of the books, and those who know LoTR as only the movie trilogy may be a bit confused.

Cape Malay Music

Amitabh Mitra — Tue, 25 Nov 2008 08:47:34 EST

Sanjay Dutt, the popular Bollywood actor was recently in Cape Town for a shooting sequence of Chatursingh Four Star. Many Indian movies have been made with Cape Locations as a part of the story but none of the Directors have ever thought of using the unique Cape Malay Music and using it in playback singing. I was in Cape Town at a Writer’s Meet and accidentally encountered this fascinating ‘out of this world’ music which many people term it as Cape Jazz and Ghoema music.

The Cape Malays had a big influence on the genres known as Cape Ghoema and Cape Jazz. This cultural group first arrived on the Cape shores around the end of the 17th century mainly from Malaysia, courtesy of their then English and Dutch slavemasters.

Wikipedia explains Cape Malay music as a speciality that is original to this cultural group. An interesting secular folk song type, of Dutch origin, is termed the 'nederlandslied'. The language and musical style of this genre reflects the history of South African slavery; it is often described and perceived as 'sad' and 'emotional' in content and context. The nederlandslied shows the influence of the Arabesque (ornamented) style of singing. This style is unique in South Africa, Africa and probably in the world. Cape Malay music has been of great interest to academics, historians, musicologists, writers and even politicians. The well-known annual Cape Town Minstrel or Carnival Street festival is a deep-rooted Cape Malay cultural event; it incorporates the Cape Malay comic song or 'moppie' (often also referred to as 'ghoema' songs). The barrel-shaped drum, called the 'ghoema', is also closely associated with Cape Malay music.

It is said that in 1834 at the time of their liberation, small groups of slaves descended into the streets of Cape Town, singing songs to celebrate their freedom. This tradition persists today during the "negro" carnival (Coon carnival), which is held there each New Year.

The "Malay" musical culture has also spread through the townships in the wake of the forced movements of black and half-caste populations towards the Cape Flats - the sandy plain surrounding the Cape. The tradition of "Cape Malay" choirs, and with it, a musical culture which goes back to the age of slavery, still exists today in the old "Coloured" townships, and in certain areas (half-caste) of the Cape such as Bo-Kaap.

It is interesting to know that over the years the Cape Malay Music has blended with Cape Muslim music or South African Islamic music. Desmond Desai an independent researcher and an authority on Southern African Islamic music has done a doctoral work on Ratiep a self mutilating spiritual art form as practised by South African Muslims.On December 16, 2006 one of the stalwarts of Cape Town Ghoema Music, Taliep Petersen, was brutally killed at his home in Athlone. He studied Classical Guitar at the Fitznell School of Music in England and wrote the popular revue called Carnival a la District Six based on New Year Celebrations in Cape Town. He remains an icon of Cape Malay music.

Mac Hendricks is a well known face of the Cape Ghoema music tradition. In a You Tube interview he says that Cape Malay music is a mixture of Indian music, indigenous music of Khoisan, San, Griekwa, Malaysian, Indonesian and the English people. He adds. ‘All the blood of the world is mixed in Cape Town’

I am at the V&A Waterfront. There is music in the air. I follow the strains and find myself in a group of avid listeners under a tree. I am confronted with the best of Cape Malay music. Mr. Pieterson is a wizened old man playing the sax accompanied by his friends on base guitar and mandolin. We are spell bound as the music flows in and takes roots. Suddenly an elderly lady starts dancing, Mr. Pieterson smiles and plays for her. I wanted to dance too. I wish to go back again if only to listen to Cape Malay music.

The next day, my friend Ismail Robinson and his wife drove me back to the Cape Town airport. On the way, he says ‘Look Dr. Mitra towards your left, there is Athlone in Cape Flats home to the Cape Malays. We stay there.’ It is said that there is one thing that is in abundance in Athlone is the willingness of people to help each other. It was previously known as West London and later named after Earl of Athlone, Governor General in South Africa in Nineteen Thirties.I think of a love story between a beautiful Cape Malay girl and an Indian boy which might entice a Bollywood producer to make a movie in the Cape Flats. Obviously the startling colours of Cape Malay music would feature most prominently in such a film.

Reference – Wikipedia

-You Tube