Because real men use tranquilizer darts

The world needs more leaders like him. Mere weeks after sending in his troops to save poor innocent civilians from the horrific genocide being planned for them by the dastardly forces of Georgia, after refusing to back down in the face of condemnation from those liberal fools in the West (really for decisions that his boss made, not him!), after exposing another evil corporation bent on exploiting the poor people – Vladimir Putin has done it again. The judo expert, former spy, proficient horse rider, fisherman and expert baby kisser used his heroic abilities to come to the rescue of a television crew when a Siberian tiger escaped from its harness and charged them. Mr. Putin, who was there chatting casually to some wildlife researchers, did not panic. He shouldered his conveniently placed tranquilizer gun, smoked a cigar, downed a vodka, raised the gun and calmly, nonchalantly shot the beast, which recognized when it was beat and quickly lay down after executing a Russian folk dance. (Note: fear not boys and girls! Putin may be a badass, but he is humane – the tiger is only tranquilized!)

Another critic of the Kremlin met his untimely, unfortunate, mysterious and no doubt all together well deserved death yesterday. While attempting to wrestle a gun from a policeman who had taken him into custody, Mr. Yevloyev somehow managed to shoot himself (or got shot) in the temple. Good thing that the Russian police are investigating the death of this “thorn in the side of Ingush President Murat Zyazikov, a former KGB general.” Justice shall be done.

Enough had been said and written about the Russia-Georgia war, including an amusing debate in FT between Saakashvili and Medvedev. I have viewed Russia as one of the most dangerous countries in the world since quite a while. All I’ll say is that this Russian policy of “we do what we want and if you don’t like it, we take our oil and gas away” reminds me of when those kids who get out while playing cricket sulk - Yeh to try ball thi saale! Main out nahin hoon! Achcha, par bat-ball to meri hai, main le kar chala jaaoonga toh kaise kheloge?

Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses... and I'll give them Burberry

Personally, I don’t care much more for articles breathlessly reporting this great divide between how the rich (and the aspiring rich) and the poor live in the “new India”, the India of “sprawling gated communities, young BPO execs out to make a quick buck and where people are as comfortable eating sushi as they are saag.” Every instance now that I see foreign newspapers awestruck at the shockingly upwardly mobile aspirations of these nouveau riche Indians, I roll my eyes. Unless you’re telling me something new and constructive about poverty in the developing world, and maybe how things can or are being changed, don’t bother. I know that bleeding heart liberals are going to inadvertently spill their lattes in their indignation at the callousness of these rotten middle class people, who dare reach out for luxury goods and flaunt them to show off their wealth, and it makes for shocking reading and everything – all I’m saying is that I’m tired of these let’s-compare-how-people-live-in-the-new-India stories. They’re boring. They’ve reached the end of their ability to provoke or make one think, and as far as human interest stories go, they’re, well, not interesting any more. So please, get some new angles and don’t give the same old lazy spins any more. It might surprise the world, but once people have money, they are going to buy luxury goods and live in gated communities where they can be assured of electricity and go on holidays and spend money on their kids. Because, that’s what they work for. And yes, other people are poor, lots of them, and they don’t get to enjoy all of those benefits. Seriously, instead of being known for beggars and cows, we are now going to be known for beggars and shopping malls. No wait, make that beggars standing hungrily outside shopping malls.

Anyway, Vogue India’s August issue apparently features a photo spread of “supple handbags, bejeweled clutches and status-symbol umbrellas, modeled not by runway stars or the wealthiest fraction of Indian society who can actually afford these accessories, but by average Indian people.” Average here means poor people, the kinds who can’t afford two meals a day. This photo shoot has them modeling Hermés bags and Burberry umbrellas and what not outside shacks and on overcrowded scooters and generally doing the poor people thing. And of course, people are foaming at the mouth and calling this distasteful, and Vogue defends it by saying that they are saying through this shoot that “fashion is no longer a rich man’s privilege…You have to remember with fashion, you can’t take it that seriously.”

I personally have zero problems with luxury goods being sold in India, whether it be in fancy shopping malls or on streets where the poor huddle outside on the pavement (why is this such an issue everywhere? The poor are huddling on the pavement outside whether you’re selling handbags or combs, man.) Do I think this photo shoot is in poor taste? Absolutely. It may be aesthetically brilliant for all I know, and since I haven’t seen the photographs I can’t comment. But using the poor to suggest that they apparently aspire to these goods is downright disregarding reality. They aspire towards meals and housing and education for their kids, not Burberry. I know people in India want luxury, and by all means they should get it if they can afford it. But saying fashion is no longer a rich man’s privilege, and then getting dirt poor people to model $10,000 handbags means you’ve clearly got a missing link – in your head. And that’s not even the best part – apparently, the “models” have not been named in the shoot, because who wants to read something like “Jagan Pande Bhopali feebly clutches a Burberry umbrella. In select stores only. Price on request (the umbrella, not Jagan – he’s available for Rs. 20 a day)”.

Oh, and are the very rich people of India really going to be tempted by stuff they see the very poor modeling? If they have a sick sense of humor, yes. Otherwise, dah-ling, who wants to buy Hermès any more? I mean, I absolutely saw someone’s maid carrying one the other day, you know.

Om Shanti Om: A movie about a star, not just the reel one

"If you want something with all your heart," insists Om, the central character(s) of Om Shanti Om, "then the universe conspires to make it happen for you." Breaking into his trademark goofy, endearing, dimpled grin, he acknowledges that the universe has indeed given him everything he wished for today. It's hard not to blur the lines, as it is very often with Shahrukh Khan, between real and reel life. He might just be making an allusion to his own life- rising from nowhere in real life, and as a Junior Artiste in reel life, to become a mega star, worshipped and adored by millions, despite a relative lack of natural acting capability, something which he acknowledges with good grace (and somewhat of a smirk). You realize, with Mr. Khan on the screen, that his earnest (if sometimes inadequate) performances usually help to give us, the audience, the message that dreams really do come true. Which he reminds us in the movie, can sometimes transcend the screen and mix in with real life.

OSO is not a great movie, or even a good one. Trying to be a spoof and a homage to the masala potboilers of the '70s, it falls into the same traps it lampoons, without urgency, purpose or any semblance of script. Yes, it is a homage to reincarnation, and look!- the bad guy exclaims that "no one could possibly believe in reincarnation!" Hilarious! It would have been funnier if they had gone about it quicker. The movie is far too long, putting in too many songs, over the top melodrama and no real purpose- which are the things it wants to satirise/pay homage to, but falls victim to instead. Arjun Rampal is indeed the most toothless villian ever. I have never seen so many Bollywood stars in a single shot servins so little purpose. And while Deepika Padukone looks gorgeous, she cannot act. I am happier to see her model, where atleast I can imagine her to be fascinatingly brilliant, funny and suitably mysterious.

Kirron Kher, though, hams it up nicely as the ever doting mother, complete with kheer. The "nominations" for Best Actor are suitably funny, especially Abhishek and Akshay, who display a good sense of humor. But of course, the real star of the show, once again, is Shahrukh Khan. Much has been written about him, and much has he been villified and glorified, probably both to an extreme. But you cannot help but acknowledge his self awareness when he says that his family is prone to overacting. You cannot help but laugh when he convinces the hapless producer that the only way to salvage his movie is by an "item number"- and out comes not a slinky starlet in a bikini, but Mr. Khan, shirtless and toned. Because he's right- he is the draw, he is a star, and he can draw crowds better than any starlet can. He is confident in his own star power, secure in his own limited ability and yet all to aware of his own power over the audience. For star power, look no further than the self assured, half wondering, half smirking smile playing on his lips when he stares with passionate intensity into Kajol's eyes in that redundant song. Watch his contented "I just died and went to heaven" smile when he comes face to face with his "Dreamy Girl". Or better still, watch Deepika Padukone's eyes light up with adoration, wonder and amazement when she comes face to face with Om, the superstar, who returns her gaze in a way calculated to make her swoon.

Fame might be a fickle friend, but here's hoping Mr. Khan never loses it. For what he's done for us- made us believe in happy endings, even in real life; made it cool for men to be romantic, and made the average Joe stop in the middle of a street, spread his arms, gaze into a woman's eyes, smile, and croon, "Tujhe dekha to yeh jaana sanam..."
Including yours truly.

Oh, but the book was so much better

Stardust left me very, very conflicted. I wanted really badly to like the movie, seriously I did. It had a great star cast, a talented director who made one of the most assured debuts with "Layer Cake", and it starts off with Ian McKellen's voice wistfully talking about the stars. The movie itself is not bad- far from it, it's one of those old fashioned romantic fantasies, with no big budget special effects, or armies of trolls determined to wipe out humanity, and one special ordinary person who will save the earth. It's a sweet and simple adventure movie, with lots of delightful parts that don't really add up in the end. Charlie Cox is great as Tristran, and completely believable as the boy who leaves his world, and his former self behind to discover quite literally a new place and a new himself. Claire Danes is remarkably "radiant", De Niro is hilariously hamming it up and Michelle Pfeiffer is unbeliavably attractive. And my favorite characters- the seven dead brothers, simply steal the show.

But as with all movies, they changed the story just a bit too much for my liking. I immediately hated it when they changed the beginning in which Dunstan and Una meet- now it's just a random fling, and not the fulfilment of his Heart's Desire. I absolutely detested the way they treat Victoria's character- so now she's just a brainless blonde without a heart (even if they did pick the right actress for the part). And it's the small things that annoy me- the deletion of the small old man, how they completely and utterly changed the climax to make it, I suppose more "heroic" and more "Princess Bride" like (since that's apparently the vibe Matthew Vaughn was going for.) It really pissed me off that it was necessary to show Tristran being all Aragorn and fighting off the witch. Is he less of a hero if like in the book, he didn't actually kill off the pathetic old woman who had been reduced to a pitiful wreck? For all the assuredness Vaughn showed in his debut movie, he seems less at ease with shooting and editing this movie. It seems haphazardly put together, with too many characters and too many sequences not tied down effectively.

The annoying thing is, I actually did like this movie- it's one of those simple adventure movies with a dose of humor and magic that makes you smile and care about the characters. It's hard enough to make a movie about characters rather than wars split up into a trilogy, especially if it's a "fantasy movie". But then I came back and reread the book. As before, Gaiman's writing left me absolutely enthralled.

Then I remembered the requisite Hollywood happy ending in the movie. While I appreciate Ian McKellen's assurance that they "lived happily ever after", and Lord knows I'd love to believe it, there's something about Gaiman's ending of the book, echoing with pain, longing, love and fulfilment all at the same time, that haunts me still.

Star Wars

30 years ago, in a galaxy quite similar to ours, not so far away either, an event of some great magnitude happened. It may not be the most defining event of our world, it wouldn’t register automatically with people, but for many, it defined the way they were to see the world thereon in. 30 years ago, on May 25, 1977, a movie called Star Wars released. And changed this world forever.

Why do I love these movies so much, you may ask (which means that either you’re not a fan, or you haven’t seen these movies). It’s not what you may think, and inadequate as my power over words is, I’ll try to give an answer.

I got into Star Wars pretty late, as a matter of fact. In my first year in university, when an acquaintance lent me the movies. Till then, I had absolutely no idea what this was all about. And I remember quite vividly, quite distinctly, being absolutely captivated by these films. [Note: When I talk about Star Wars, I mean Original Trilogy]. I watched them one after another, mesmerized by the fascinating galaxy I had just discovered, one which seemed way cooler than my own. Now, see, I don’t get people who classify this as a “guy thing” or say dismissively that these movies are “for kids” or that they’ve seen better special effects. They’re missing the whole point.

Star Wars is not only about special effects or huge space battles or laser beams or light sabers (although all that is cool as hell). It’s about an escape from this world, the ability to make your dreams come true, the realization that there’s a universe out there and we aren’t confined by who we were born as, but who we want to be. When Luke grumbles about working on moisture evaporators and then looks out across the horizon, into those twin suns, dreaming his dreams…I know what he feels like. That shot gets me every time. Star Wars tells you that it’s okay to dream, that you can get out there and explore crazy new worlds and meet crazy people and do brilliant things and be more than just ordinary, and it’s okay to want that. It’s okay to not want to be just a farmer. It’s okay to dream big. It’s okay to want to travel the unknown. It’s a big universe with amazing creatures and fascinating worlds and mysterious powers and you’re smack bang in the middle of it all, so hell, why wait? It gives me hope, it gives me a longing to get out.

There’s Luke, and then there’s Han Solo. Everyone wants to be like him. That cocky grin, that sneer, the unabashed manly coolness. When a beautiful princess tells him as he’s being lowered to certain doom that she loves him, he just stares back and says “I know”. How cool is he? Then there’s the Jedi masters- my friend Yoda. “Try? There is no try!”

But of course, the big man himself, Darth Vader. An icon of villainy, of terrifying icy black coolness. The helmet, the hiss…the ability to force choke people who annoy him. His sarcastic, cold one liners- “apology accepted, Captain Needa.” I can’t articulate anything about him without sounding foolish, so I’ll stop.

See, Star Wars as movies are great. Okay, maybe not the last one, but the first two- spot on. You’ve got the essential ingredients of a mythology- the innocent wide eyed hero, the been there done that rough but good hearted scoundrel, a feisty beautiful princess, terrifying villains, the wise mentor(s), great fights and monsters and machines and impossible odds. You’ve got great people to fill these parts. Gripping storytelling, and lightsabers. And the lightsabers. And yeah, I want a lightsaber. I want to be a Jedi, man. So bad. I want to toy with the dark side. I want to….

And then there’s that beautiful score, one of the greatest of all time. Whenever I hear John Williams’ music, I’m transported to another galaxy far, far way. And that in my book is a good thing.

I could go on. About its cinematic influences, about how it revolutionized movie watching and merchandizing and the way the movie business was run and spawned millions of movie lovers and geeks worldwide. But I think all I’m going to do now is go watch Star Wars again. Because that’s the best way to pay homage to it. Apart from getting out there and going for my dreams.

May the force be with you.

Liberation with consumerism, Individuality in uniformity

In light of Szerelem's latest post on “Fat Issues”, I decided to re-post something I wrote ages ago. Remember the Dove “Real Beauty” campaign? I do believe it won a number of accolades. My thoughts at that time:

Have you noticed the ads all over buses for the “Real Beauty Campaign”? They feature women who wouldn’t fit into conventional notions of beauty, with slogans like “Boy or Babe? What’s wrong with short hair” etc. Hmm, some of them are downright silly, but I was like, yeah it’s a good initiative, we need to change public perceptions and so on. Then I saw this ad when I was watching television in which hundreds of these women wearing identical wigs fling them off and dance about with glee- I suppose this is intended to be all very symbolic and impressively significant. The woman liberates herself from the societal perceptions of outer beauty? She’s finally realized that this obsession with stereotypical beauty is more pain than pleasure? No siree, it’s much more than that. A voiceover proclaims something to the effect of Women free yourself! Change perceptions and discover inner beauty with Dove!!

Yes ma’am, step right up, and liberate yourself. Find individualism and break free from stereotyping from all of you using the same damn homogenous product rolled off factory lines and customized right down to the last bit, just for you. It’s so special and unique. Why, you’ll never know that by appealing to your indignant feminist side, they’re just hoping to sucker you into buying more of the same products which enable you to tap into your feminine side and embrace their idiom of conventional beauty. Be individualistic. Now all of you buy the same damn thing.

Nishabd

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me, if you will, to rant. To express my deep and utter disgust, my ire, at this profoundly inept, lazy and contemptuous effort from one of Indian cinema’s self confessed auteurs. This is not a film- nay, not the bold, innovative, raw effort we were promised. Every time now I hear the words “bold”, “different” or “realistic” uttered to describe a movie, little alarm bells will go off in my head.

Mr. Ram Gopal Varma, what in the name of God were you thinking? Okay, I get that this is not based on Lolita, just inspired by it, and considering how it turned out, that’s probably a good thing. So he’s not her stepfather, he’s not driven by lust, and they’re both madly in love with each other. You rope in Amitabh Bachchan, someone who almost no one can criticize today. You take a really hot young woman as his lead. The place is impossibly beautiful. The subject matter is interesting. Then how do you fuck it up so badly?

Low, moody lighting and lingering shots of Jiah Khan’s legs do not an arty movie make. Seriously, does the sun never shine in Munnar? Do they not have lights in the house? Making the movie painfully slow doesn’t make it have an “atmosphere” either. No, I get that it’s supposed to symbolize the lack of warmth and spontaneity in his life and all that crap, but please, it just depressed the hell out of you. And then you have Amitabh “Baritone” Bachchan preaching to the camera- dictating as though it’s a polio advertisement. Seriously, have you heard of telling through actions and pictures, not talking to the audience? Can you not take your movie's title seriously? That’s a mistake the most awful filmmakers make. It probably will shut up the swooning audiences who accept anything Bachchan does, but seriously, grow up. And then the ludicrous dialogue- “Take Light”? Seriously??? Is that supposed to be the cool lingo of the day? Demonstrate Jiah Khan’s flippant, chilled out attitude to life? Because every time she said it with all the appeal of a doormat, the audience burst out laughing. It was ridiculous. Which brings me to Ms Khan herself.

Really, I can accept you saying that these people fall in love because of a connection, not because of lust. There can be connections between people of all ages- look at Lost in Translation. Fine, I can even swallow Amitabh gravely saying that the reason old men like young girls is not because of their youthful jism but due to the fact that they are approaching the end of their lives and are attracted to youthfulness and spontaneity (yeah, right, that’s such bullshit). But it will only be believable if the lead couple shows some, any chemistry whatsoever. Jiah Khan's is the most intensely irritating, stupidly annoying character to inhibit the screen in years. Right from the moment she stepped out of the jeep carrying a bag inscribed with the letters “L-O-V-E”, I cringed. She spoke complete and utter tripe, and her supposedly endearing, cool sullen persona gave her the intriguing appearance of a cow. We were supposed to believe they had a connection. And thus we were treated to her being annoyingly childlike, lazing around the house wearing practically nothing, pouring water on herself, flashing her long legs to the old man. And just so we don’t think it’s physical attraction (heaven forbid!), she spouts pretentious inanities like “Do you love my spirit?” AB: Yes. JK: I love yours too.

Wow. The movie never tired of this “soul-connection-means-let’s-talk-about-pretentious-horseshit-and-the-audience-will-say-wow” bullshit. I mean, seriously. Either make her less annoying and let them actually have any connection worth a damn, or be man enough to admit that it’s all about lust. Don’t treat us like retards. For heaven’s sake, she writes poetry which ostensibly shows her “soul”- and ends a paragraph by saying “take light”.

Mr. Varma, go back to making movies about gangsters. And please, don’t release the Sholay remake. I can only imagine how painful that will be.

Memory. Time. The persistence of both

Walking to the bus stop, laptop bag slung over my shoulders, gym bag swinging from my right one. For someone who for years styled himself as a lover of cinema and books and harbored dreams of pursuing a career in those fields (unrealistic, they might have been, but my youth and innocence were impediments to realization), I admit I have never been one to pay attentions to details. Or even to the blurry outlines, as such- of what people are doing around me, what they’re saying, if things are happening… sometimes, I can go through whole conversations, nodding, not noticing what the person is talking about. It’s like one of those movie scenes, where someone’s talking to you but all you hear is the fuzzy, garbled, over magnified sound of what sounds like Papa Bear discovering that Goldilocks polluted his precious porridge with her human saliva. But I digress.

As I said- walking to the bus stop, laptop bag slung over my shoulders, gym bag swinging from my right one. And I notice these people, everywhere, all the time. They’re probably the only ones I care to notice, make an effort to look at, out of- curiosity? Envy? A sense of lost camaraderie? I know these people, I used to be like them before, if only for a while. The all purpose, infrequently washed, never too loose, never too tight shirt. Bandana, or cap, if the weather requires such. The regulation canvas pants or loose fitting drawstrings. The slippers, with the climbing shoes strung on the back of the backpack which fits more snugly than my own skin does. The quintessential map with the inserted advertisements of BEST CHINESE FOOD IN THE CITY! or LEO’S MASSAGE HOUSE FOR DISTINGUISHED GENTLEMEN! and RAJ’S HOUSE OF FINE SUITS CHEAPEST BEST STICHING IN SIX HOURS. We have categories- the kids entering/leaving college, taking their first big trip together, almost always at some point making drunken fools of themselves and rushing through cities, countries at breakneck speed, scarcely pausing to take in what they see. The couples, with blonde hair, many times the woman with brown dreadlocks, both almost always in loose clothing, an expression of either bored curiosity or inquisitive serenity on their faces. The single tourist, walking around with the smaller day pack, a bottle of packaged drinking water tucked into the side pocket. He or she is more likely to ask for directions. The traveler(s) taking a break from life for a year- just glad to be away from kids bills alarm clocks trains bus stop lunch coffee cigarette breaks laptop meeting deadline shouting client call again yes sir right away sir. The older tourists- no backpacks, but a map always. And a really content smile and a bottle of Tiger beer never far away.

And when I look at them I wonder hey where are you from where are you staying how long have you been here where are you going next what will you do are you liking it can you take me with you please? Please, oh fucking hell, please? Can I come along? I’m like you, you know, even though sometimes I wear a Ralph Lauren shirt and dress pants and hold a black leather bag and I notice you give me a look of pity- I recognize that look, you say he’s one of them. He’s never going to be like us, he won’t travel, just to travel. He won’t sit on the back of a truck winding down a narrow mountain road, sitting on the stones with the laborers who filled them in. He won’t drink steaming hot chai and eat aloo parathas at 5 in the morning just before the bus trundles off. Or walk around Vienna just by himself and being glad he has no camera so he can look and just look. Sit and stare at people. He won’t talk to us and compare notes on where to stay and where to get cheap beer or the best hikes or the most curious museum to see. He can’t tell us where he’s been or where he’s going next. He can’t laugh about filthy toilets or torn mosquito nets and argue into the night about religion politics sex wars cricket movies music food culture poor people Bush’s foreign policy, getting drunk on beers and way too much vodka because he has a presentation the next day.

And I pretend not to notice it, and I walk on. And I catch the bus. My presentation goes off well, it always goes off well.