So, for the second time, the Pharisees
summoned the man who had been blind and said:
“Speak the truth before God.
We know this fellow is a sinner.”
“Whether or not he is a sinner, I do not know,”
The man replied.
“All I know is this:
Once I was blind and now I can see.”
Right after I posted my epic fail review of Ishqiya, bits and pieces of the film started to sink in. Many of the film’s odd choices seemed to gain a significance of their own and, before I knew it, like those clichéd second act endings, they all fell in place, presenting a whole new perspective to the film. Out of the dozen reviews I’ve read of the film, only my friend Satish Naidu’s review seemed to hit the right notes. I strongly recommend reading his review if you’ve seen the film. And yes, spoilers here too (Well, there isn’t really much in the movie that you can’t guess beforehand).
There is a post script, in Ishqiya, to the kidnap set piece where Krishna, amidst a serious argument between Babban and Khalujaan, drives the car away leaving them gaping. She might well be driving away the film there, for Ishqiya, more than anything, is about the resistance to a male view of a world by a female perspective. Ishqiya is a Western alright, with its war-torn landscape leaving no other philosophy to exist other than “might is right”. But that really doesn’t give anyone a license to call it a man’s world. The story unfolds, primarily, in the point of view of the two men, but, rather than being protagonists with clear cut objectives, they are frames of reference – a telescope – using which we view and, unfortunately, try to ‘solve’ Krishna, that obscure object of desire. Yes, they are characters of considerable depth, but they are also, ultimately, peripheral. A quick note, to begin with, about the casting of the film which seems to me like a stroke of brilliance. We have here Naseeruddin Shah and Arshad Warsi, men who have rarely been the flawless heroes, who have made a career out of bumbling and imperfect protagonists. They automatically bring into the movie with them flawed male visions that belong to two different generations. Krishna is played by Vidya Balan, who has had a popular image that could well pass off as an icon of the chaste Indian female. This incongruity between what appears and what is, which defines the whole of Ishqiya, is only furthered by this distance between Balan’s image and Krishna.
Babban and Khalujaan are closer to Truffaut’s Antoine Doinel (Jean-Pierre Léaud) than any other film character I can think of. These men are (con-) artists too, like Doinel, as exemplified in their introduction scene, where Babban tricks Mushtaq with his story and flees with the money. Like Truffaut’s character, who spent a lifetime wondering if women were magic, these men can understand the opposite sex only in terms of art or, in this case, popular cinema (where Krishna is aptly photographed like being frozen in a film frame). It is only through popular film songs that these characters are able to even express their emotions. Khalujaan may make numerous mistakes in his real life, but never does he get the composer of a song wrong. Babban believes dressing up as a movie star will help him woo the girl. As noted earlier, these are men of flesh and blood. They are deeply flawed and they realize their limitations. Babban drags back Khalujaan from his macho, decidedly Western romanticism of taking Mushtaq head-on, as if reminding him that this genre movie is no place for them. In Leone’s Once Upon A Time in the West (1968), Frank (Henry Fonda), upon being asked if he is a businessman, says: “Just a man”. Like Frank, these two crooks understand every shade of men and their behavioral patterns, no matter what age group they belong to. However, for these men, like Frank, women just can’t fall in any category other than in the binary setup of the mother and the whore (Khalujaan tells Krishna that he can’t tell whether she is an angel or a courtesan) that popular cinema has given them.
But Chaubey doesn’t give a comic tinge to his characters as much Truffaut does. Yes, they do deliver those funny lines, but they are serious men. They have their own issues. Babban, also true to Bollywood morality, does not want Khalujaan to sully his mother’s name. Khalujaan, on the other hand, takes his past seriously too, through his possibly deceased (possibly non-extant) sweetheart. He really does believe that he can settle down in life. But these are not their mistakes. They are, after all, real men with real emotions and problems. These are not caricatures that we can disregard easily. In any other film, they could have been the backbone of fine drama. Their real mistake, however, is in believing that they are the only ones with problems, that they are the film. The sin of these flawed men is in believing that the woman they fall for would be unflawed. Krishna driving away the car should have given them a clue. But, products of a patriarchal society and cinema that they are, they never realize that. In fact, the whole film is built upon such male perspectives that see nothing more than what they want to see. Krishna’s husband chooses a male-dominated caste war over his wife’s love. Mushtaq prefers to keep his wife as a mere voice heard over a telephone like a horoscope (announced by a Bollywood ring tone, of course). For KK, the fidelity of the male is nothing more than a small joke. Even we, the children fed on the stereotypes of Bollywood, attempt only to classify Krishna into rigid adjectives – femme fatale, all-powerful, resilient, gutsy, seductive – whereas she may be as vulnerable as the men around her.
The key is the scene where Krishna meets her husband once again. She breaks down, for the first time in the movie, revealing her vulnerability. She stands there, with her motives exposed, being emotionally hit. All this while she had been toying along with the two conmen, for she was far assured of her modus operandi. She offers tea for the man who gives her a better kidnap plan, only to deliberately fire the other one up. Krishna, in the scene in which she sleeps with Babban, clearly reveals that she is only exploiting this lucky situation that has come her way for her own good and with the assurance that and that the plan is on track. Not now. The petty goons are all down now. It’s now man on man, so to speak. It’s the only showdown this revisionist Western will have (My genre-addicted mind would have liked a couple more extreme close-ups). Film critic Baradwaj Rangan, perceptive as always, notes that Krishna is essentially an updated version of Jill (Claudia Cardinale) in Once Upon a Time in the West. That, I guess, is the only kind of classification that Krishna can be subjected to. The strongest point of the movie is that it does not try to define her or push her into a single zone of existence in which she may be only be moral, immoral or amoral. She, like many of us, could well be straddling all three. What we may be having here, far from being a character study, is personal cinema in which the writer and director are sharing our own inability to understand Krishna, and by the fact that she is the only woman in the film (not considering the old woman, who might well be an aged Krishna), women in general.
We, the audience, on the other hand, are frustrated like Khalujaan because of this inability to break her down into stereotypes. When she sucks the blood out of Babban’s thumb, one is tempted to jump the gun and label her a vamp. But she might just be using another lucky opportunity there, to strengthen her chances of pulling off the kidnap. Or may be not. Krishna defies identification, which we have all been accustomed to, through standard templates reserved for women in Bollywood which, in turn, are derived from popular mythological figures. She might be sharing herself with many men, taking turns, but she is far from the ultra-faithful Draupadi that her name means. She might appear to be pining for her beloved, a la Meera, as she sings, but that pining is for something else altogether. She is like Savitri too, but she prefers dragging back her husband to death (Death and Krishna being the two people he tricked) rather than the usual way. In the final scene, she merely attempts to restore back a reality that wasn’t. When she faces her husband again, she might well have paraphrased that legendary Bresson line: “I’d rather prefer you leaving me for the love of another woman than for what you call your intellectual life“. And when Babban watches her undress, there is not only the distance of voyeuristic cinema between them, but also this literal wound of Krishna’s past, which only breaks out during the final confrontation, that adds one more layer of enigma for Babban, and consequently us.
It is the opening and closing scenes, or even shots, that really tie the movie together. The film opens with a male perspective, fading out of black, with Krishna on the bed in a reclining, arguably sexist pose. She appears nothing short of a magical being, which is an opinion only the male could have here (Let’s stick to straight orientations for now). And it is a pose that typifies the attractive woman in Bollywood cinema. From this point on, the film’s male perspective, our own “male” perspective and the Bollywood perspective get tied together. And the film closes, literally, with another male point-of-view. Here, Mushtaq watches the three walk away through the lens of his sniper gun. Khalujaan and Babban walk happily, perhaps with the idea that they’ve understood Krishna and one of them will “get the girl”. What they don’t understand is that the real trouble begins after this (This real-drama-begins-after-the-end-credits-roll facet of Ishqiya is one of the reasons why I was reminded of that Almodóvar film whose title I borrowed for the review). Their belief that they will return to a more conventional cinema zone, in which women are easily deconstructed, may well be shattered the next minute by Krishna. As the film presents a POV shot of Mushtaq watching them through the lens, the black circle closes in on the three, thereby ending the film simultaneously through our perspective, Mushtaq’s and in a manner unique to classical feel-good cinema. Chaubey’s film is cynical in a way. It breaks into a new world from within a undoubtedly male world of Bollywood and, at the end, restores that new world back to its obscured state. It unveils the groundbreaking Krishna through a male vision and, then, locks her back using the same, as if suggesting that popular cinema, itself included, will never understand “the woman“. Well, that acknowledgment is a start.
February 3, 2010 at 7:09 am
“So, for the second time, the Pharisees
summoned the man who had been blind and said:
“Speak the truth before God.
We know this fellow is a sinner.”
“Whether or not he is a sinner, I do not know,”
The man replied.
“All I know is this:
Once I was blind and now I can see.”
Love it JAFB!!!! Ha! Well, you’ve exonerated yourself most exquisitely, not that you needed to! I haven’t seen this film, but I am as always mightily impressed with you aesthetic and analytical gifts, which once again rise to the occasion gloriously. I certainly was able to process the comparisons there with Antoine Doinel and Truffaut as well as Leone.
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February 3, 2010 at 9:14 am
Thanks Sam. I realize now that it wan’t the movie that was unprovocative, it was me who had shut down all the senses while watching the film….
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February 3, 2010 at 5:31 pm
A most satisfying analysis of the film.
Another wonderful movie reference at you service – MELA.
The ending nevertheless bothers me. I hope to address it soon.
Applause!!!
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February 3, 2010 at 5:45 pm
Satish,
I think that shocking statement (was it Lucas? I forgot) is indeed true that there are only about a dozen unique stories in all. It’ll be a really interesting game constructing such chains.
Ishqiya -> Mela -> Sholay -> The Magnificent Seven -> Seven Samurai
A really revealing thought. But I also believe that these two characters are closer to the small timers of The Hidden Fortress (How about a chain for that?!) than the seven brave Samurai.
Arigato gozaimasu.
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February 4, 2010 at 4:05 am
A film that has made you write TWO reviews (well one review and one afterthought/correction anyways) is a film that makes me curious.
Will have to watch it then.
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February 4, 2010 at 9:05 am
Oh yes, Do watch it.
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February 4, 2010 at 7:45 pm
Plenty of Kurosawa references…
Minor ex)The use of “red” in (a.l.a Ran) many a scene, subtly done.
Infact the entire exposition is a throwback to early work of Kurosawa (pre-color days) and the movie heads towards the resolution, its a switch to Sergio Leone.
Hit the nail when you mentioned the “Hidden Fortress”, I was thinking of the same thing….
The two fellas did resemble the small timers but far far less theatrically comic and far more resourceful and interestingly Krishna, to me, seemed a female version of Mifune, a lone Samurai (only without the sword and all the jazz) ferocious, focused and yet so detached.
I may be wrong and completely biased but I’m a Kurosawa Fanboy! so pliss excuse:D
Ps: interesting film…i mean, the one that induces a lotta discussion.
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February 4, 2010 at 7:57 pm
Boy, that was quick!
Wonderful. Mifune, eh? Interesting. Chaubey’s film obscures Balan as much as Kurosawa’s elucidates Mifune. You see, it has so much potential, only some of which squandered. A few more shots and setups exploiting the genre and the widescreen and voila!
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February 6, 2010 at 12:53 am
The following is a passage from the review posted on Indian Auteur.
“He seeks to create a backwater world where the only dominant hue is that of the dust, and the overwhelming smell is of the sweat from the consistent attempts at flaunting an obnoxious version of masculinity. A world where a woman’s heart is won over not through the commonplace notions of charm, wit, or humour – but through the underlining, at every opportunity, by every male, or their masculine status – through the preparation of a better criminal plan, a better adeptness at working with pistols, or a longer beard. A world heavy with the atmosphere of impending conflict – between individuals, or between castes – where the chances of remaining alive are inversely proportional to the amount of debt you owe to someone. At the end, even when a man’s infidelity is discovered, the wife and the mistress have no real qualms about sharing him between themselves, but a woman cannot be shared, and her possession is the clearest single symbol of the preservation of honour; deprived of which, a man is not afraid to turn on his longtime accomplice or punch him in the face. It is also a world where a small plastic figurine of a nude woman hangs to the rear-view mirror of a vehicle driven by men. The world he aspires to create is misogynist, but based in reality; it is devoid of morals, but when is the world ever just?
In the middle of a world ruled by such primitive notions of masculinity, he lets female characters be the cause of each narrative twist, the initiators of each event within the story, and the influence for each decision taken by every male character. Leading the pack is the most emphatic female character written in recent times. She is not a femme-fatale for she is not a martyr; or a heroine for she is not docile – but simply enough, as Chaubey would have hoped – someone who does not create a fuss between being a virgin and a whore. That Balan kills the scope of the character by playing her in the most self-conscious, self-reflexive manner possible, (so much so that even when she abuses, you can almost sense the surprise in her voice at her own temerity) is a matter of a bad acting performance. Here, however, the review wishes to exude only of the bridge between initial ambition and eventual achievement. The long, yawning gap – one that can be not through conversation, or dialogues; but how these exchanges are staged – not through criminal bad-assery, but how it is shot – not through a melodiously composed soundtrack – but through its placement. However, with Ishqiya, even if Chaubey is assured of his narrative ambition, he just does not have the aptitude with his cinematic apparatus to consummate it.And it is terrible that he doesn’t; because the earnestness of his ambition, as is extolled upon earlier in the review, is so transparent and evident, that you are almost hoping that he manages to fulfil it. It is as if, as is the case with each new Bollywood film, it begins with the making of a huge promise, which as you go on, becomes too much overwhelming for its own ambition, and by the end, goes haywire.”
A lot of the observations about the morally ambiguous and unready to fit into any particular mould female character have been made in the review; as also the observation about the seeming misogyny(which you choose to call sexist) that pervades through the film, and thus, the point about Krishna always being subject to a moral filter that is the male gaze.
These latest realisations on the film, however, do not make the film itself any better, since Krishna as an idea still exists merely on the paper. It is a classic case of a write-up on the film being more interesting than the film itself; for your prism of judgement is so evolved that you actually perceive a rather badly executed character as one that you wish it was, and also present it as fact. It is as if, through your review, you exact your own wishful fantasy about the nature of the character. Most of it, however, is not true, since similarly to how words in your review describe the character so brilliantly, almost making it seem rather irreverent for a Hindi film, Krishna exists clearly as a beautifully written concept on some paper – that never quite translated on screen. And it is a surprise that a gifted writer like you, who usually acknowledges cinema as cinema, and criticises it as such, falls into the same trap as Rangan, who usually allows evidence presented within the film to pass and ends up constructing his own notions about it – thus, through his perceptive mind gifting the film an intelligence that it never possessed in the first place.
It is essential thus, to note that an instinctive response to a film is often the best and one that any film writer worth his salt should attempt to rationalise through words. Afterthought, such as this one, often leads to the application of a certain romance to the film that you remember it having, but do not remember seeing it have. For a hopeful version of Krishna exists in your mind, and in hindsight, the hope becomes the opinion.
Even with great critical revisions of old films, as I am sure you are aware of, a second viewing of the film is mandatory. I suggest you view the film again, and see if it provokes you this time around.
If you enjoy it, however, the best to you.
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February 6, 2010 at 9:17 am
Debojit,
Thanks for stopping by. I love the IA review, even more now, because it offers rich alternatives, which is only good for debates. My responses inline:
“…even when a man’s infidelity is discovered, the wife and the mistress have no real qualms about sharing him between themselves, but a woman cannot be shared, and her possession is the clearest single symbol of the preservation of honour; deprived of which, a man is not afraid to turn on his longtime accomplice or punch him in the face. It is also a world where a small plastic figurine of a nude woman hangs to the rear-view mirror of a vehicle driven by men. The world he aspires to create is misogynist…”
Debojit, I do agree that the world outside Krishna’s is very questionable on feminist grounds. But that, I think, is one of the points of investigation of the film. Krishna is an exception by all means She is fighting a lone battle on many levels. If the lifelong partners start bickering, Krishna reminds them that it is not all ABOUT them. She merely seems to be using this macho perspective, exploiting its loopholes.
“for your prism of judgement is so evolved that you actually perceive a rather badly executed character as one that you wish it was, and also present it as fact.”
About the first assertion: no, really. If it were true, I wouldn’t have gone for a revision in the first place. I’m only learning. As for the second, I believe I’ve only based my evaluations , to a large extent, on concrete facts from the film – shots and scenes. It’s really my bad if I’ve not been able to sound objective. Apologies.
” Krishna exists clearly as a beautifully written concept on some paper – that never quite translated on screen. ”
Debojit, I’m really doubtful about what this “translation” consists of. If you are talking about the aesthetic consistency, I believe that the film has been fairly careful not to let its stylistics contradict the script. If I remember correct, the perspective of the film is never severed from the gaze of a male, mostly the two crooks. There is some respect and distance maintained while it presents Krishna. There is no pretension of deconstructing her, which, in fact, would have run the rist of being misogynist.
Also, in the first half hour of the film, which I remember better than the rest of the film, there is considerable cinematic rigor, with even the plastics of the image being used. Having said that, I must also acknowledge that, as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, that I realize that, strangely, I’ve forgotten many shots and even scenes of the film. There might just be a chance that the film may have contradicted itself there. But, as of now, I feel that there is some sizable amount of cinematic exploration undertaken by the film, which I think I’vehad written about in the review.
” through his perceptive mind gifting the film an intelligence that it never possessed in the first place.”
Debojit, it brings us back to that classical debate on where the value of a work of art lies. Let’s stick to cinema for now (On a side note, here is Girish’s article regarding that, which, I think, you would have already read). I believe, if cinema is not go down to a point where it becomes merely a puzzle shared by the filmmaker an his audience, the latter should be given as much importance, if not more, when it comes to assessing the quality of a film. Cinema being an enterprise where the artist is often far removed from his audience, it also follows logically that the audience “makes” the film, to a large extent. If what all those wonderful filmmakers wanted their audience to do – to involve themselves and reflect on the film in their own way – has some worth, it should also be acknowledged that these reflections can, justifiably, go off the text of the film.
Let’s take the recent article on Devdas in IA by Harry Tuttle. A third person reading might come to the conclusion that Bhansali is a genius of cinema, with a sound set of stylistics. What we might see as tropes of Bollywood cinema, might appear as meaningful compositions to a foreigner to the industry. Same is the case with those “fluke masterpieces”. Of course, such a relationship might run the risk of reading too much into the film, but when those arguments can be backed from evidence from within the film, their validity remains intact.
“It is essential thus, to note that an instinctive response to a film is often the best and one that any film writer worth his salt should attempt to rationalise through words. “
This is a statement that I’m afraid I have to disagree with. If it were so, our film histories would be a lot different now. No Kane, no 2001, no Vertigo. One, it would make film-viewing as some kind of examination where you try to score as much as you can in one shot. Two, it makes the reviewer to become the prime determinant of its quality. In such an arrangement, the bias, state of mind, mistakes and the inability of the reviewer may affect his/her evaluation. The point is that, I believe, an assessment that is far removed from the darkness of the cinema theater provides considerable emotional distance from the film and hence the faculties to better judge it. And that, if I am not being too short sighted by daring to say this, a revision always gives you a better picture (no, pun not intended, and not always true of course).With respect to this review, for all you know, if I had been keen enough, this might have been my instinctive response. As long as one is able to provide evidence from a film, no matter if it is te first draft or the 10th revision, to strengthen arguments, the just film can’t be discarded.
“Even with great critical revisions of old films, as I am sure you are aware of, a second viewing of the film is mandatory. I suggest you view the film again, and see if it provokes you this time around.”
Yes, agreed, I believe the second viewing is essential here. In this particular film, especially because I believe I was wallowing in some other thoughts while watching this film, I’m sure I would be able to note some facets that would either boost or break my arguments. But may be I’ll wait for the DVD.
Cheers!
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February 6, 2010 at 3:08 pm
Srikanth
Thanks for replying.
“” Krishna exists clearly as a beautifully written concept on some paper – that never quite translated on screen. ”
Debojit, I’m really doubtful about what this “translation” consists of. If you are talking about the aesthetic consistency, I believe that the film has been fairly careful not to let its stylistics contradict the script. If I remember correct, the perspective of the film is never severed from the gaze of a male, mostly the two crooks. There is some respect and distance maintained while it presents Krishna. There is no pretension of deconstructing her, which, in fact, would have run the rist of being misogynist.”
The perspective of the film is never severed from the gaze of a male, but not that of the two crooks, but of the film director himself. Therefore, while two scenes clearly reveal an intent to present to us a subjective perception of Krishna that both Khaalujaan and Babban have-:
a) The virgin – Khaalu witnessing her perform the bhajan. Which would have worked as a charm if Babban had incidentally, not dropped in on the scene, thus, in a way, sharing Khaalu’s perspective of the situation, and thus, not allowing the gaze to be exclusive anymore.
b) The whore – When she enters a room and strategically lets there be a small opening in the doors, so as to let Babban see her undress.
While b) is a valid example of a male’s gaze existing within the film, seduction as a tool is used often within each Hindi film, for instance, even when the builder visits his beauty parlour mistress, as his blindfold is opened, he ‘sees’ the mistress and is seduced by her ostentatious appearance. I believe, however, that such conscious effort to represent Krishna through the filter of a male perception of her does not pervade through the film; and is infact, rather situational. In fact, Khaalu and Babban discuss her nature only once amongst themselves(in the scene where they contemplate about whether she is ‘masoom’), and are, throughout the rest of the film, rather private about their attraction towards her, and instead of trying to unravel her puzzle as the film would like you to believe, are only trying to ward off competition from each other in getting her to bed. She becomes not only an object of their desire, but also one that will offer no resistance to it. I do not see her as a puzzle, except in narrative ambition. Which is to say, that the puzzle does not arise from her inherent nature within the film – she is not a mystery like Madeline Elster in Vertigo is(a purer example of a ‘male gaze’ trying to unravel a female one), or even, Vicky is in Raging Bull(you never know quite till the end if she did sleep with someone else or not) – but from random narrative twists, she suddenly decides, for instance, to kidnap the rich builder. The decision comes so out of the blue that the character is not a puzzle anymore, but simply enough, eccentric. Much like it will be flawed to pronounce Mr.Blonde a puzzle in Reservoir Dogs only because he suddenly decides to cut someone’s ears off.
I agree that she does question the atmosphere of faux-masculinity that surrounds her – typified mostly by her insistence on having her husband give up arms, but in equal measures, she also is fascinated by similar masculinity – her reaction when she discovers Khaalu’s adeptness at making the plan to kidnap the builder, or asking her estranged husband the question – “Mucche kahaan hai?”. The point is, it is not as if her character is of a consistent graph of represents a certain agenda within the film. She just. Does. Whatever she feels like.
“About the first assertion: no, really. If it were true, I wouldn’t have gone for a revision in the first place. I’m only learning. As for the second, I believe I’ve only based my evaluations , to a large extent”
Ofcourse. But your rather modest opinion of your own ability does not take away from the truth one bit. It is not completely implausible that if you were to reimagine a number of films, they would be much better. :)
“I must also acknowledge that, as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, that I realize that, strangely, I’ve forgotten many shots and even scenes of the film.”
But ofcourse. You are not conducting an analysis of the film on a visionneuse. It is but natural. However, cinematic translation may refer to a larger construct than merely specific scenes or shots. Because while a theme may be exhibited in a particular shot(as in the shot of the minute opening between the doors in order to allow Babban’s voyeurism inside the room), it might be contradicted by another(as in the case of her admission to Khaalu, “Aurat ka jab pati nahin hota, toh sharir ki lalsa ka ehsaas aur tez ho jaata hai.” or something to the similar lines), thus establishing that the distinction between the virgin and the whore is not as clear as we may like to believe. Cinematic translation is essential, for, dare I say it, the film itself did not prompt a revisionist response from you, but a friend’s review did. In that scenario, application of ideas to a film that make it greater in hindsight might just be an approach worth re-examining.
“Cinema being an enterprise where the artist is often far removed from his audience, it also follows logically that the audience “makes” the film, to a large extent.”
Ah, which follows from the early 20th century literary dictat that ‘the author is dead’. However, if the audiences were all allowed their own versions of the film, how can we dispute ANY review, or ANY criticism of the film? How can we ever say an Armond White or Taran Adarsh critique is bad while a Sarris critique is good? Cinema, much as it is art and relies on sensory responses, is also, unlike other forms of art, a science, and as such, relies on evidence much more than say, music. Simply because, the evidence exists and is permanent. Much like how asking someone to justify their response to a painting might be an exercise in futility, if someone were to brandish about an opinion on a film never seeking to rationalise it only because he is allowed his own version of the film, what is the point of cinematic evidence in the first place?
“Let’s take the recent article on Devdas in IA by Harry Tuttle. A third person reading might come to the conclusion that Bhansali is a genius of cinema, with a sound set of stylistics”
The crucial difference, however, is that each of his belief is supplemented with his presentation of an evidence from within the film. His essay, while prompting you to rewatch the film, also challenges you to reevaluate your own opinion of it.
That said and done, if cinema criticism is an act as arbitrary as this, and there is no monolith for each critic to refer to, or as Woody Allen said in Crimes and Misdemeanours – “No pattern”, then there is no point to it as well. For then, it simply becomes the act of rationalising a personal experience of a film, and not the film itself. It will be devoid of any consensus and that is a scary thought.
“This is a statement that I’m afraid I have to disagree with. If it were so, our film histories would be a lot different now. No Kane, no 2001, no Vertigo.”
The value of these films were not realised in hindsight or in retrospect. Most of the critiques that indeed brought them to light were written as instinctive responses. That they are pieces of cinema, and as such can afford a virtue of being produced in 1941, but watched in 1969, gives them a better chance at posterity than say, a book, which only in a rare instance, would transcend its own era if it slips into oblivion once. Also, whether it was Chabrol at Cahiers, or Ciment at Positif, or Wood; their discoveries were novel for them, even if the world had witnessed these films before.
“One, it would make film-viewing as some kind of examination where you try to score as much as you can in one shot.”
Ofcourse not. That is why I suggested a second viewing. I am merely against a revision that functions in a hindsight, and not without the act of watching the film itself, for that usually grants a romantic tint to the glasses.
“The point is that, I believe, an assessment that is far removed from the darkness of the cinema theater provides considerable emotional distance from the film and hence the faculties to better judge it.”
Completely. I never suggested that a film may completely be unravelled in first viewing(that’s too much of a Kael stance anyway), but each unravelling, in my humble opinion, should be preceded by a viewing of the film. Thought on a film, ofcourse, is welcome at any point, but it should not be removed from evidence, again.
I hope your viewing of the film vindicates your opinion of it.
Cheers.
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February 6, 2010 at 11:20 pm
Oh man, I dunno how my reply got deleted. Here I write again:
Hi Debojit,
You say Krishna is just an eccentric character. I say the film eschews conventional psychoanalysis. Let me not try to justify this now, for I would need to gather a bit more evidence for that.
But about re-evaluations: Say a film works completely on an allegorical level. As an audience, I, first, take the film at face value and say it’s badly done. And after an hour or two, I start grabbing shards of the film and see that there’s more to it than a simple story. And soon, I’m able to break through. There’s no need of watching the film again then, IMO. It’s just a fresh perspective that you’ve missed. And it may all fall into place once you discover what path to take. This is what happened here. Once I posted the review, as I went through the plot details of the film, a lot of questions surfaced and it looked like there was another way I could see the film. I’m not sure if you can call it hindsight. It’s but merely a partial correction of a more unthorough analysis.
I’m not sure what you find problematic – the method of revision and reviewing or the review itself. I don’t know, Debojit, but does it really matter if the film was seen again or if it was recollected after some time or if it was after a dozen viewings that a revision was written, as long as the arguments of a review are valid and reinforced with evidence from the film?
Of course, I’m all for “Believe so?, prove it”. As I said, an opinion is plain wrong if not backed by evidence within the film. Simple. Just that one can’t go on matching these arguments (backed by evidence) with what the director may or may not have intended. As the last paragraph of the article by Girish says, one can provide evidence for both praising and trashing a film, by selectively quoting details that support that point of view (as it happens with almost every film, the latest with Avatar). I’m not sure such a film can be labeled as contradicting itself. It’s just the way we see the films. I guess we have to embrace both POVs and take the film for what it is instead of trying to compromise or fight and arrive at a midpoint, summarizing a film using one adjective.
Cheers!
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February 7, 2010 at 7:03 am
Srikanth
“Just that one can’t go on matching these arguments (backed by evidence) with what the director may or may not have intended.”
If criticism is not second-guessing the director’s intentions(or better acknowledging them) through synchronising a general perception about them with the evidence at hand, then there is no point to criticism itself. I hope you appreciate the magnanimity of your own statement.
Which is where auteurism comes in – through the study of an entire oeuvre or a comprehensive view of a person’s work, the insofar patterns become more discernible. However, with a debutante, such an approach is dicey and thus, one must use only one artifact – that of the film.
“the last paragraph of the article by Girish says, one can provide evidence for both praising and trashing a film, by selectively quoting details that support that point of view”
Which is why I mentioned that ‘cinematic construct’ is the whole film and not scenes or shots within it, for an intention might or might not pervade through the film.
Also, Mr.Shambhu’s article clearly is a classic example of the conflict between new criticism and auteurism. While auteurism is admittedly an approach by which the film is watched, the more important question might not, in the larger scheme of things be, ‘what is auteurism’, but ‘what is an auteur’.
“I don’t know, Debojit, but does it really matter if the film was seen again or if it was recollected after some time”
I believe it is essential. For if we are talking of evidences, how reliable is a viewer’s recollection?
My problem, if any, exists in the fact that a recollection may not be the most reliable method by which to arrive at the presentation of an evidence. While it is easier to extend an original thought, to completely subvert it should ideally require more than a mere recollection.
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February 7, 2010 at 12:04 pm
“If criticism is not second-guessing the director’s intentions(or better acknowledging them) through synchronising a general perception about them with the evidence at hand, then there is no point to criticism itself.”
– This is where I seem to have a problem. I’m not questioning auteurism. I’m just saying that it is often a far reaching exercise to diss an argument (with evidence from the film) because the director may not have intended that at all. Again, one can read the article on Devdas at IA and wonder if Bhansali intended those meanings, beautifully written, with those compositions and scenes at all. I say that if it is there in the movie and if the interpretations are valid, then why try to invalidate them by matching them with the director’s intention?
“While it is easier to extend an original thought, to completely subvert it should ideally require more than a mere recollection.”
– Then, I guess, that your qualms are with the review itself (I’m not particularly defending this review. As I said, this might have well been my original review had I seen the film in a different way before posting the first). If the evidence taken from the film for the arguments is valid and presented without ambiguity (even if it was obtained by recollection), doesn’t the process become irrelevant?
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February 9, 2010 at 5:26 am
Srikanth
Thanks for replying.:)
“why try to invalidate them by matching them with the director’s intention?”
The debate between auteurism and new criticism that never seems to end. I guess we have to see where Tuttle’s coming from. An interpretation for him is not enough, for then he relies only on the artifact, he also then has to connect it to the creator of the artifact, and thus, the effort to synchronise perception(interpretation) with intention. Otherwise, as you said, we would all have our own films. To me, a lack of consensus, as I said earlier, is scary. Ah, I guess I am a closet auteurist. :)
“If the evidence taken from the film for the arguments is valid and presented without ambiguity (even if it was obtained by recollection), doesn’t the process become irrelevant?”
Which takes us back to the first point. That your recollection, if not instinctive and immediate, may not be perfect, and may just be an encapsulation of many other ideas on the subject. Regardless, I think we can move on.
Do let us know what you think of the film when you rewatch it.
Cheers, till then!
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February 11, 2010 at 3:49 pm
Will do, although I’m not sure when that’s possible.
Thanks and Cheers!
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March 20, 2010 at 5:39 pm
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