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9/10
Real and restrained, a poignant coming of age drama in rural Assam
20 November 2018
Warning: Spoilers
In a world that desires everything pretty, life can be harsh for those cursed with beauty. For one, it ogles at them without any inhibitions; for another, it assumes that things come easy to them easily by virtue of them being so desirable.

Rima Das' Bulbul Can Sing tells the story of Bulbul, a pretty teenage girl, and her friends in a village in Assam. Rima, similar to her earlier 2 films, sets the tale in a land she grew up in - a land whose tales and prejudices she understands. Early in the film, Suman asks Bulbul to tie her hair, as flowing hair is considered a bad omen - an invitation to spirits of young dead women with unfulfilled desires. Bulbul (translated as 'nightingale') and Bonnie, both young, at the age of discovering love and developing bodies, find companions among boys in their school. Suman (translated as 'flower'), a boy yet to understand his own sexual identity, finds it comfortable to hang out with the girls, a fact for which he is regularly bullied in school.

There's a scene in the middle where the gang plays Ludo, a game that relies on equal parts skill and chance, and Bulbul appears to be winning, when Suman insists it is by chance, akin to how she is favoured by their teacher for her looks. Suman, conflicted and repressed by the social norms of the land, would lead to a series of tragic events later. The girls are captured along with their boyfriends by a group of village men, who thrash them, in a tensely framed scene, though the violence is primarily psychological and forebodes further ostracism. Unlike Bulbul, who I believe knows better about the unfair world, Bonnie couldn't face it anymore.

Rima, a one man army, writes, directs, designs, shoots and produces the film. The set of non-professional actors, and Rima fulfilling the various demands of filmmaking, make a film that is raw, giving a sense of urgency - there is a genuine urge to tell this story. Not every shot in there is perfectly focused, and one sees people new to the camera - but everything in there belongs there - real people in their actual environments.

I can only imagine the restraint with which Rima tells the story - Bulbul finds herself accompanying Bonnie's mom after the incident, sitting by the river side, tying the hair. I kept asking why would a film with events of such tragic proportions would want to end in visuals of beauty. Bulbul's father wished she would sing, though she could't sing confidently in an audience. But she can sing, and she now sings when she is alone, with no one to hear it. I can only try to answer it - she, as well as Suman, and Bonnie's mom, are survivors, of one manner or another, a fact they have accepted and assimilated, to survive in this otherwise 'pretty' world.
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10/10
Sensitivity in filmmaking
3 April 2018
The Other Song is a documentary about a journey in the search of a lost song. 'Why' did Rasoolan Bai, a famous thumri singer in the early 1900's, changed the lyrics to one of her songs with the passing years - and what can it tell us about the times they lived in and the world we live in now.

The filmmaker have successfully become part of lives of the people they are documenting - it shows, in the topics of conversation and in the manner of conversations. It's the kind of camaraderie one develops only when one has been listening and has genuinely been interested in the ways of living of the person, the kind most people often refrain to engage in, for the fear of sharing unforeseen unlikely problems. It's clear they have been in the homes of these people many a times before the camera has rolled. And thus, when they have conversations on the camera, it is often at a level which makes it seem that the speaker isn't emotionally aware that they are being filmed.

The lady in question, a singer in her prime, now in her waning years, who has acquired a position of administrative power in the community around her, tells the interviewer happily a story about an encounter of her with a member of certain royalty that she performed for sometime in her youth - and how she rejected his advances to court her wittily. The one thought that crossed my mind during her dialogue was a hint of voyeurism, even if unintentional - does she know the kind of intimacy shared between her and the interviewer will be accessible to people currently not in the room; would she have opened up if anybody else was there present. But before my guilt could deepen further, the film shows the woman watching the same footage on her TV quite sometime later, apparently forgetting what she had said before, and smiling at the recollection through the video, and taking the conversation ahead. This is sensitivity. My cloud of guilt was dissipated - here are filmmakers who sensitive about their subjects, and are willing to take both their audience and participants in confidence of each other. It takes time - no wonder it took the filmmakers whatever time it took to complete it - but it reflects.

I got to watch the film through Asheesh Pandya, under his course on Sound Design here at NID, and I am extremely thankful for that.

The film has a lot of interesting things to say, and I hope I shall get to delve into it in greater amounts later - I am inclined to think that the best way to approach a topic as broad as women and society can be effectively tackled through an issue that appears tangential to it. The film appears to change streams midway, from music to discussions of nationalism in the pre and post independent India - maybe it was topic they discovered on the journey, or maybe it was always there in the back of the mind - nonetheless, the film is richer for it.
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3/10
This time, it's boring also. And highly patriarchal. And lame.
16 November 2015
Salman Khan movies might have been lame, they might have been dumb, but one thing they never were, boring. This time, it bigger, sweeter, and a new low even by 'bhai' standards, plainly boring, to the point of being irritating.

I have personally loved Rajshri's brand of cinema, especially the 90's decade, which more or less established Salman as the noble, humble, heartthrob 'Prem'- on the shoulders of Sooraj Barjatya. They single handedly set marriage trends – whether it be musical chairs, long lavish melodious premarriage celebrations in Hum Apke Hain Kaun, or be it ladies 'sangeet' introducing family members in bollywood style in Huma Saath Saath Hain, while being inclusive and politically correct. But they were always enriched with beautiful songs, brilliant supporting cast, a believable story and decent A- stars.

Sooraj and his Salman-Prem should have worked again. Prem should have been back. Legally and critically. At nearly 3 hours of lecturing about various topics – brother-sister relationship, property settlement, a football match between men in kurtas and women in sarees – with not a single whistle-podu moment or digestible one-liner, this was unbearable. The only appreciable thing I can find is the set and art-direction.

While Sooraj Barjatya stayed ahead of his times, assimilating the will of the youth and traditions of the established during his outing in the last 2 decades, his recent films don't have that charm that invites you to watch them again. I can watch Maine Pyaar Kiya again and again; Hum Apke Hain Kaun is still a staple on Diwali every year on TV. But the rigidity on traditions, and political correctness make it plainly unbearable (along with the irritating lyrics – aayo, paayo, laayo b#$).

Nevertheless, Bhai, just like his characters on-screen, is never wrong.
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10/10
Patient, but rewarding, it's a celebration of life.
21 April 2015
Warning: Spoilers
Let's study the premise – The oddly named Laila (Kalka) suffers from Cerebral Palsy, and belongs to a middle class family, the parents – a southerner married to a Punjabi. She is musically talented, as is her mother (Revathy) and falls for someone normally abled in her band, with an imminent heartbreak in sight.

Discovering one's sexuality and identity in a teenage environment is itself an involving affair; add to it the the burden of social stigma that comes with such visible anomalies.

Laila moves to US on a scholarship, along with her mother, where she meets Khanum (Sayani Gupta), a blind gay girl who has come out of the closet, and a cute writing assistant (William Moseley); and entangles herself between her relations with all of them.

Whatever written up to here might suggest you a melodramatic, graphic, sad or too alienating an experience. It might suggest you that it might be a movie for ones with the less digestible tastes in cinema.

This, by all means is a celebration of life, and a story of acceptance of one's own identity, though presented through someone with more visible issues, but something that is a constant struggle of all of us.

The scenes where she comes out to her mother, and the passive aggressive talks that ensue, the intimate scenes with Khanum, or when she approaches the shopkeeper for a sex toy, are subtle and brilliant. Bathrooms and toilets play an important part in the narrative – revelations – personal and social come from situations in these places of privacy – acceptance of one's fate, discovering secrets, one's or others', and turning points in relationships, and building of a bond, of love, motherly or otherwise.

It beautifully highlights how a different sexual orientation is nothing more than an anomaly for our Indian settings, much alike Cerebral Palsy. But, acceptance occurs in both cases, only time and perseverance, and honesty can be relied upon. Along with it comes an honest discussion on the problems of faith and identity crisis that arises for bisexual persons, when involved in relations with people of either gender, something that we can understand from a third-person perspective only.

Technically, there isn't anything one should be complaining about. Mike McLeary's soundtrack is brilliant – the perfect vibe for a cross cultural movie as this. The casting is brilliant – Revathy, as the caring but traditional mother, shall remind you of everything that a mother is and can be.

The placing is slow by regular standards of Bollywood, but is infinitely rewarding. The climax had me thinking of who it is sitting on the other side of the table – who is she dating. And it surprised me; the metaphor in her choice may be unrealistic at first, and but she discovers her sanity in a world that keeps challenging her sanity.

It's a blessing, this movie, though I am sad this shall get washed down among all the the other releases this week, when people shall get busier watching costume clad heroes fighting with the same one- liners, seen and discussed 100 of times on the net.

In love with Kalki.
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Mardaani (2014)
10/10
A rare realistic movie in Indian commercial cinema
22 August 2014
Mardaani is a brilliant movie, and especially so because it comes in a time so crowded by the larger-than-life police cop, who is way beyond falling into physics of regular procedurals. The casting is picture perfect, and the dialogs, not crispy, but suited well. I appreciate the fact that they didn't push in any songs (except for one song in the end in the background, but that is acceptable), and the movie respects intellect and reality (lending it an 'adult' rating). The whole negative cast of the film is so well cast, (partly because its from a real life story), that I couldn't take my eyes off. Its a recommended movie, (and definitely a better watch than the Expendibles.) and I am happy that people have sensibilities in them to make meaningful cinema.
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