tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3270947408486395722024-03-05T21:32:36.462-08:00Filmi~ContrastA girl from the "true north" gets schooled by the global south in film, literature, and lifeMiranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.comBlogger123125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-48325766373722863272018-10-01T08:15:00.002-07:002018-10-01T08:52:26.790-07:00Bipasha বিপাশা (1962): A tale of three rivers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm9UcCm_HOIYHRQJypOoWhfLNBnfH2PMrKg8zkUQslGsFHfE3kDpBYg6_xVS0pfAV2M11a1blw7ml73AQ1KBIJ9qND6gDDu9CqbXf3esJPmXLRvtcUD9c9VFX5vUjTfClDT3_51hz941o/s1600/Bipasha_post_0.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="346" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm9UcCm_HOIYHRQJypOoWhfLNBnfH2PMrKg8zkUQslGsFHfE3kDpBYg6_xVS0pfAV2M11a1blw7ml73AQ1KBIJ9qND6gDDu9CqbXf3esJPmXLRvtcUD9c9VFX5vUjTfClDT3_51hz941o/s320/Bipasha_post_0.png" width="320" /></a></div>
Bipasha (Bengali, 1962) is concerned with reconciling cultural beliefs about spatial identity and meaning with the political realities of independence and division. It also intends to redeem the personal trauma and shame of the children of Partition. In order to achieve these monumental tasks, Bipasha engages in an aggressive and relentless flow of narrative symbolism. But if you can manage to rise above the torrent of religious, nationalist, and spatial mythology, it's a film that will reward patient viewers.<br />
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<h3>
<b><span style="color: #274e13;">GEOGRAPHIC BACKGROUND</span></b></h3>
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Bipasha, our heroine, shares a name with the traditional Sanskrit title for the Beas river, Vipas विपाशा or Vyasa. In Bengali, as "v's" become "b's", the protagonist is alternately called Biyash or Bipasha. This scripting choice seems to intentionally link the heroine to the mythological river as it is known in both the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beas_River">Rig Veda and Mahabharata</a>.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgES1LtLBcAVD-XKnzWvWVBNIwJEc92SMfjqfgWEthNzxlsfC0Rgp1WBNK7pdky8aZGdv-1_0TIXmGjbZ2E9G_076wc5VUoOiYqsMu7-IdgS2EaJv8mcAJjHndi5HG_itEYIzfWVSWkPoA/s1600/Bipasha_Beas+River.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="503" data-original-width="855" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgES1LtLBcAVD-XKnzWvWVBNIwJEc92SMfjqfgWEthNzxlsfC0Rgp1WBNK7pdky8aZGdv-1_0TIXmGjbZ2E9G_076wc5VUoOiYqsMu7-IdgS2EaJv8mcAJjHndi5HG_itEYIzfWVSWkPoA/s320/Bipasha_Beas+River.png" title="Beas Watershed" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://gis.lib.virginia.edu/catalog/stanford-rq886ws4385">Beas Watershed (Stanford, 2012)</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Historically, the river is also legendary for defeating Alexander the Great's ambitions in the subcontinent--for <a href="https://www.dawn.com/news/1227122">at the banks of the Beas, Sikander's armies lost their taste for war</a> and refused to march any further.<br />
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The modern Beas flows through the Punjab Plain, and is a major tributary of the Indus. In the Partition of the Punjab, the Beas fell on the Indian side of the line. Post-partition, the Beas remained a subject of contention between Pakistan and India. After a number of stop-gap agreements, in 1960, the Beas was officially allocated to India's governance under the <a href="https://www.britannica.com/topic/Indus-Waters-Treaty">Indus Waters Treaty</a>. In 1962, India's newly-minted official claim to the river may have been fresh in the minds of Bipasha's politically informed viewers.<br />
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<h3>
<span style="color: #274e13;">THE STORY</span></h3>
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Bipasha (Suchitra Sen) has just passed her exams at a Catholic mission college, but is seemingly filled, like many a graduate, with existential doubt about her future prospects. Even her friend Yashoda cannot seem to lift her spirits with a healthy prescription of procrastination.<br />
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Predictably, (for those who have seen a few Uttam and Suchitra pairings), Bipasha is abruptly pulled out of her melancholic reverie by the obnoxious neighbor in the flat next door, one Dibendu (Uttam Kumar). Dibendu is engaged in loudly declaiming a poem about how he has conquered a Bipasha, reached into her heart, and stolen a pebble from it. Fuming, Bipasha storms into his flat and demands an explanation for his rude behavior. He claims that he dove into the river, Bipasha, and retrieved a rock from the bottom. He's also darn proud of it, and swears that everything's been a funny misunderstanding, a coincidence one would only expect to see on stage. Bipasha isn't convinced, and walks out after a hefty tongue lashing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFmW135RDJ4QiWql7tdEuq0bOM1gSNfnd8Pj3wAFRHoN33gvbkeNQLxd3AkKTZaMVKueE7fZIo0_9A3KTzzHadY60nGke4YSiwDs764Z_sF0n1GrJurKlWvE3xxh-PoAnzCZnbUEfrew/s1600/Bipasha_Post_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="690" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicFmW135RDJ4QiWql7tdEuq0bOM1gSNfnd8Pj3wAFRHoN33gvbkeNQLxd3AkKTZaMVKueE7fZIo0_9A3KTzzHadY60nGke4YSiwDs764Z_sF0n1GrJurKlWvE3xxh-PoAnzCZnbUEfrew/s400/Bipasha_Post_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Of course, she spies a news story in the paper that confirms his story about the engineering student Dibendu Chatterjee's exploits in the Beas river. Shamed, she tries to make amends, but finds he has moved house permanently. She then visits her swami-ji (Chhabi Biswas), but surprisingly not for confession, but rather to tell him she has gotten a tribal scholarship (i.e. a murky plot device) to work in Panchet on the Damodar river, also the site of a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panchet_Dam">newly completed dam</a>. He tells her that she has "fought much in her life, but can proceed without fear" (see image #1 above). It is the audience's first clue that perhaps the source of Bipasha's moodiness goes beyond her quarter-life crisis.<br />
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Bipasha's first order of business in Panchet turns out to be attending an elaborately choreographed performance of the story of the goddess Ganga, the personification of the holy Ganges. (You can watch the performance <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jE-vrF5IGJk">here</a>: [3:37-13:33] or search for the film on YT with English subtitled narration of the myth of Ganga and Shiva. I treasure the often thoughtful dialogue of '60s Bengali films, and heartwarming serenades are everywhere, but it is a rare treat to see an extended group dance sequence, especially of this caliber, in a Bengali film of the period.) <br />
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Suchitra Sen as Bipasha displays perfect degrees of increasing intensity here. Her reactions to Ganga's lines about the river's greater purpose--to give life to the nation--feel visceral and authentic. It's a great example of the power of showing over telling. Later we hear a single flirtatious line comparing Bipasha to the goddess Ganga, but here we see her realization of this metaphorical connection play out in real time.<br />
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Bipasha is shocked to find that the author and director of the play is ... Dibendu! A coincidence actually occurring at a theatre this time... how droll, what delightful foreshadowing. She goes backstage to make her apologies, and finds that he is quite unaffected by her insults, and just happy to see her again. All is as it should be, who could stay mad at that sweet upturned face for long? It also turns out Dibendu is working as some sort of engineering management position related to the newly constructed dam. SYMBOLISM, guys.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I AM PANDIT-JI'S INDIA, HEAR ME ROAR</span></div>
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After a flirty chai-time visit and an accidental run-in or two, the two strike up an acquaintance, and we find out that Bipasha's mother was Punjabi, and her father, a Bengali Brahmin--thus explaining her fluency but her "non-Bengali" looks. (Whatever <u>that</u> means, but y'all, my money's on the short hair.)<br />
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But since things are progressing a bit slowly, Bipasha takes matters into her own hands and decides to be rather blunt in laying out what she wants...<br />
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... Further visits from her one friend in town, Mr. Dibendu, सिर्फ, শুধু. The look on his face as he realizes that she's no longer flirting, but deadly serious, is delightful--it is the sort of pay-off one counts on in the famous chemistry of Uttam and Suchitra's onscreen partnership. Like a properly educated Bengali boy, Dibendu asks about the massive Punjabi quotation on the wall. Bipasha no sooner recites the Sikh saying then she falls into a fiery flashback of her experiences running from the Partition violence in Punjab.<br />
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She recounts to Dibendu the horrors of the flight to India. She and her father were part of a group that was beaten to death on the road. She fell into a ditch and escaped the violence and rape, but woke to find her father dead. A kindly Sikh man and his son took her under their wing, but the son died in the course of the journey, trying to protect Bipasha and his father.<br />
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Trained in filmi ways as I am, I fully expected the Sikh fellow to adopt Bipasha. But instead he leads her to the safety of the new border post and then tells her that though they both SEEM alone in the world, the entirety of India now belongs to her. (Also, have a nice jeevan, beTi, while I pledge my remaining days to asceticism).<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">PROPS TO THE FREAKISHLY ACCURATE CASTING/PORTRAYAL OF THE YOUNG BIPASHA</span></div>
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Eventually she found her way to the Swami-ji, and the mission school, but she continues to feel alone in the world. Dibendu admits that he too has no close family either, but was raised by his grandmother, who alone showed him love amongst his aunts and uncles, and left him her property when she died. Two little orphans, united by their PTSD and loneliness. A "<a href="http://www.bethlovesbollywood.com/2011/07/more-70s-filmfare-fun.html">dil-squish</a>" moment if ever there was one.<br />
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From this new stage of intimacy, Dibendu and Bipasha get cozier in the rain and by the river, etc. etc. Finally, Bipasha asked to pay a sick call on a dubiously healthy looking Dibendu. After re-making his bed and thus proving her domestic skills, they settle into a cuddly wink-wink discussion of the future: theirs to be precise. </div>
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From his portrait on the wall, Tagore looks down at the young lovers with the grim appraisal of the seasoned poet laureate, noting that the course of true love doth never run so smooth.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKT8AYBVrscGbXXs980q6BkKzAhsjUkrpMEtrzz0MmzCqsq9DOrGATRRTORstPrQDs5hyphenhyphen3Z3DP5V04_G7T1JOTq2vZw4cbrid090htmzSVzpm9jODqeqbasXUEZm0jSWBY5_vtbBV_NcE/s1600/Bipasha_1962_340.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="493" data-original-width="675" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKT8AYBVrscGbXXs980q6BkKzAhsjUkrpMEtrzz0MmzCqsq9DOrGATRRTORstPrQDs5hyphenhyphen3Z3DP5V04_G7T1JOTq2vZw4cbrid090htmzSVzpm9jODqeqbasXUEZm0jSWBY5_vtbBV_NcE/s400/Bipasha_1962_340.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I'M IN LOVE WITH THIS RIVER, NO WAIT, I'M IN LOVE WITH A RIVER GODDESS, NO WAIT</span></div>
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Yup, on the eve of their wedding, Dibendu receives a mysterious letter and disappears before the ceremony.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I WILL NOW PAINT MY PARTING WITH THE SAME CARE I GIVE MY EYEBROWS</span></div>
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Refusing to admit that he has abandoned her, Bipasha gravely covers her own parting with sindoor and proclaims herself Dibendu's wife ... to the horror of everyone in attendance. She sets off to track down Dibendu. On her own again, but this time, full of purpose.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">IF YOU HADN'T NOTICED, THIS IS MY DEVI SIDE. MY RIGHT SIDE IS FOR DOMESTIC SCENES. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #38761d;">Spoilers below...</span><br />
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Bipasha's detective work leads her to follow the address of the letter to Dibendu's uncle. Turns out Uncle served some rather nasty family history to Dibendu the night of the wedding, with some ugly legal action on the side. <br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">BENGALI REMAKE OF "IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE." MR. POTTER: SCREEN TEST #38</span></div>
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Surprise! Dibendu was born a month early, and his father denied that Dibendu was his son IN COURT. Dibendu's mother admitted she was not married to his father at the time of Dibendu's conception. IN COURT. So, yes, Dibendu, we are disinheriting you because apparently that is something we can do despite your grandmother's wishes because COURT. Also your parents are alive but want nothing to do with you, obviously. Bipasha proudly, if sadly declares to Awful Uncle that she is Dibendu's stree, but only sort of, because it is now obvious he ran off to save her the shame of his parentage.<br />
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A brief aside: I maintain that अदालत-drama is always the <u>worst</u> in filmidom, even when it happens long ago/far away and doesn't consign the majority of screen time to legal high jinks.<br />
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Meanwhile, a dejected and decidedly gone-to-seed Dibendu is searching the kotha district of Allahabad, where his uncle claims his ma was last seen. He gets it into his head that the tawaif's voice he hears is also his mother's voice, making a fool of himself by stumbling into a private performance.<br />
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Rushing to overtake him, Bipasha arrives in Allahabad, heading to the police station first. Here the police are helpful for once (shades of Kahaani), and somehow direct her straight to Dibendu.<br />
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But Dibendu wants nothing to do with her and screams at her to leave. Because she's a faithful stree, and frankly, Dibendu looks ill, she plops right down on his armchair as he falls into a nightmarish sleep.<br />
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Nobody rocks a fever-dream sequence like Uttam, and this particular picturization is as chilling as Nayak's. A crowd runs after a black-clad Dibendu through a claustrophobic alley, taunting him with various insults about his parentage, his mother, the shameful state of his birth. Finally he breaks from them to cringe behind a pile of garbage, while the crowd yells, "Kill yourself." Dibendu wakes up in a cold sweat, with these last two words pounding and repeating in his ears. His eyes light on his shaving kit. No prizes for guessing his next plan.<br />
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Poor Bipasha gets to awaken to his suicide note, and his heartbreaking confession that he cannot let her be tainted by the sin of his birth. She runs after him, but is confronted by a crowd around a pool of blood on the street. Not a great way to start one's day. Seems that the suicide attempt was not completely successful, and Dibendu has been rushed to the local hospital. Bipasha tries to visit, but is rejected by Dibendu once again.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">OH NOW THAT YOU'RE ACTUALLY SICK YOU DON'T WANT ME HERE, HMM. </span></div>
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She takes comfort from the presence of her swami-ji, but all is not as it seems. For the swami-ji is taking the details of Dibendu's story RATHER personally and seems to be doing some investigating of his own.<br />
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At this point in the film, a person familiar with masala tropes might guess that the shame of Dibendu's parentage will be resolved after all. And yes, there's a Nirupa Roy-level "Ma-BeTa" reunion to look forward to. Furthermore, Allahabad is obviously not a coincidental destination for the climax of this story. Allahabad is the home of the <a href="http://wikimapia.org/9453026/Triveni-Sangam">Triveni Sangam</a>, or the confluence of the three holy rivers, the Ganga, Yamuna, and mythical Saraswati. This is the site of the Kumbh Mela, where every 12 years impossibly massive crowds of believers come to find spiritual cleansing and a release from the cycle of death and rebirth.<br />
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I would not have been surprised if Allahabad had just been a symbolic location, a place where Dibendu was fated to meet his parents and find out that the truth of his parentage was not as awful as he had thought. And while these things certainly happen--this is popular cinema, the public expects a certain payoff--they only happen after a much more personal climactic event.<br />
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Bipasha convinces Dibendu to have a real talk. Not the kind where he has a meltdown and pushes her away. She speaks eloquently, softly, and powerfully.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">DAMMIT SHE SOUNDS SERIOUS. </span></div>
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In her kind but firm way, she tells Dibendu that he was an innocent child and should bear no sin for what his parents did. Their marriage or children will not carry the weight of the past generations. Dibendu will be their first ancestor, the beginning of a new line.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">SHH, THIS IS FILMI-LAND, WHERE WE LIVE FOR AWKWARD FACE TOUCHING</span></div>
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This is some radical stuff. But hey, it's ok, because we know that Bipasha represents Ganga, and therefore Dibendu is transformed by her words. He agrees. With them, all things will be new.<br />
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<h3>
<span style="color: #274e13;">FINAL THOUGHTS</span></h3>
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Sure, you can find propaganda laced throughout Bipasha, but it's not a propaganda film. It is political, but it is also profoundly hopeful and radically modern. Where it finds a hurt, it also seeks to heal. In sum, its empathy surpasses its philosophical ambitions.<br />
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I have a great weakness for films that take a grand political problem or situation and project it on to the volatile passions between lovers. But often in Indian cinema these stories end tragically, or, alternatively, present a moral solution that is somewhat stilted or fatalistic. In this case, Bipasha succeeds in telling a story that deals with a raw recent past, engages in some serious steps towards philosophical and emotional catharsis, and manages to give the main couple a happy ending. Ok, yes, it does take a hard pass on telling Bengal's own history of Partition (into West Bengal and East Pakistan) in favor of telling a safer, more distant tale of violence, destruction, and displacement in the Punjab. But to me, this was a brilliant way to address the overarching pain of the displaced Bengali, without opening the local Pandora's box, so to speak.<br />
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The use of a Sanskritized Hindi rather than Bengali, Urdu, or Punjabi (not to mention the word "Hindustan") for the flashback scenes was also an interesting choice. It places the film firmly within new national borders and nationalist sentiments. Yet neither Pakistan nor Muslims are mentioned, as far as I could tell. Its worldview is structured by a Hindu-centric, Nehruvian ideal of public space. Building the new nation is paramount, a nation that is neither held back by the fear and trauma of Partition (embodied by Bipasha's experiences) nor the sins of one's forefathers (embodied in Dibendu's family history).<br />
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Together, Bipasha and Dibendu present an ideal model for the emerging Indian citizen. Bipasha, the displaced and orphaned citizen of a divided land, is healed by her partnership with Dibendu. In him she finds the companionship, belonging, and family she has so long lived without. And likewise, Dibendu's shame is washed away by Bipasha's loving absolution. His caste, his parentage, his inheritance--is nothing--his future with Bipasha is everything.<br />
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One walks away with a clear message: the children of Nehru's India should rise above loss, caste, and the crimes of the past and work to bring prosperity out of the land. After all, it's no accident that Dibendu the engineer (the industrializing mind that tames the river) falls in love with Bipasha (the representation of the river goddess) living and walking near the new Panchet dam project. Ultimately, Bipasha and Dibendu must overcome their obstacles and come together as one, as their partnership represents the symbolic marriage of human aspirations and nature herself.<br />
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Still, I can't help but bless the production team that decided to give this story a progressive and redemptive twist. The same message could have conceivably been filtered through heavy-handed moral scare tactics or misogynistic plot devices. Instead, this film begs the viewer, "Be healed. Heal one another." Bipasha is a certainly a symbol of the displaced, traumatized child of Partition. But she is also a real person with agency, a survivor who fights for a better life for herself and her partner. She pursues Dibendu in good times and bad. He may have written the play in the first half, but she writes the new script for their life together. And in the moment Dibendu listens to her, and chooses to be the first of a new generation, we viewers, regardless of our nationality, can also choose to be free of our own ancestral burdens.<br />
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In this way, for me at least, the situated questions of a postcolonial, industrializing nation are transformed into timeless answers for anyone who cares to listen. Good art can do that.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-55277636268056132252017-12-07T01:47:00.000-08:002017-12-07T05:11:00.288-08:00Colonial novels: the good, the bad, and the ugly part I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't know if I've ever talked about my deep dislike for Kipling's much beloved Kim, but for me it represents everything I don't want in a colonial novel. Kim is a British street ruffian involved in various military and private schemes in turn of the 20th-century northern-India. He speaks Hindustani better than English, adopts a Buddhist holy man, and gets into various scrapes on a pilgrim trail. The social hierarchy of the British is ridiculed, but at the same time, reified through Kim's character itself. Even if the Indian characters are allowed to be human and flawed and layered in the way Kim is--Kim's Tom Sawyerish superior cleverness ultimately exemplifies the subtextual British imperial superiority. It's a hard trait to swallow in an age of postcolonial criticism (if not the true disappearance of Empire). To be clear, I'm fond of The Jungle Book and Just So Stories, so I'm not so much a Kipling-hater as a Kim-detractor. I also don't love the way Kim is written--it's snobbish and spends a great deal of time talking about the attributes in horses and philosophy I find least interesting.<br />
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" /></a></div>
In contrast, last year I finally read Conrad's The Heart of Darkness (I know one is supposed to read it in school but it was never assigned to me, maaf kar do), and although I found the philosophy and descriptive prose riveting, the faceless and animalistic way that black Africans are drawn left me feeling queasy. That's hardly a revelatory critique, but Kim seems a humanizing, progressive work in comparison--despite the fact that it brings me no literary joy.<br />
<br />
A lot of people (especially in the sphere I find myself in these days), perhaps rightly, avoid colonial fiction altogether and choose to champion postcolonial fiction. Unfortunately, I'm not so great at appreciating present-tense prose (kill me now unless you are actually translating your book from a present tense-heavy foreign language) or magical realism (why not just call it fantasy in need of anti-depressants?), so this category often loses me with it's stylistic trends. I do read postcolonial fiction that suits my stylistic tastes when I can find--it's just that Nadine Gordimer and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie etc. are not without plenty of blogger commentary.<br />
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For me colonial fiction reaches its zenith in the 1920s-1940s, when empires were falling and folks were starting to question the imperial mission. Questions and shifting loyalties and cracks in international edifices begin to appear everywhere. What luck! It's also my favorite period of popular fiction, so I'm doubly biased. Anyhow, I've read quite a bit of fiction in this category in the last several years, and below I shall sort them based on my own arbitrary criteria into the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Just because and just so.<br />
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Note: My list below only includes work by white settler colonial writers, because their flaws and successes happen within the same conversation: the discussion of how to critique the oeuvre of the oppressor.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #38761d;">Ethical points: This work:</span></b><br />
<ul>
<li>Questions or examines the behavior, system, or mindset of imperialism</li>
<li>Portrays non-European characters in humanizing and interesting ways</li>
<li>Engages in self-reflection of main character's European colonial interaction with non-European colonized people</li>
<li>Heart, humanity, beauty expressed</li>
</ul>
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">Stylistic points: This work:</span></b><br />
<div>
<ul>
<li>Provides pure entertainment</li>
<li>Provides philosophical or poetic or descriptive pleasure</li>
</ul>
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<b><br /></b>
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<b><span style="color: #274e13;">THE GOOD</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">Kingfishers Catch Fire (1953) </span>Rumer Godden<br />
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span><a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/28/cc/83/28cc83c874e7e4f0c1bce82980b25202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/28/cc/83/28cc83c874e7e4f0c1bce82980b25202.jpg" width="138" /></a>Rumer Godden grew up in East Bengal on a tributary of the Brahmaputra, and moved back and forth from England to India until the end of WWII. Her unusual early childhood years are fictionalized in The River, later made into a pretty, if a bit tone-deaf film by Jean Renoir. Though it's hard to find a mainstream review that doesn't compare her Indian novels to A Passage to India (which she admits was a revelation for her in the 1920s), in my opinion, her novels collectively hold more authentic emotional and critical weight.<br />
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This particular novel is a heavily autobiographical account (see her memoir, A Time to Dance, No Time to Weep, for the slightly more literal version of the story), fictionalizing her hungry years as a single mother in Kashmir. In reality, Rumer's husband had gambled away their house and fortune and the two maintained separate households during the war years in lieu of an immediate divorce; with Rumer receiving next to no financial support. Instead of going back to an England that had never felt like home, especially in the midst of the waves of air raids, she (and her character) choose to find a place in Northern India to wait out the war. This novel depicts that attempt to live on next-to-nothing (though she explains that many around her had literally nothing) in rural Kashmir near Srinagar. The protagonist, a mother of two children, is hardly a typical memsahib. She speaks and writes Urdu, her closest friends are local Hindu and Muslim merchants, and her children are brought up in an uncouth way (that surely represented Rumer's longing for her own freedom as a child at her Assam home). At first the situation feels idyllic. But she finds herself in deeper and deeper cultural water as the years pass.<br />
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She doesn't realize until the eleventh hour that she has been creating enemies of the locals through a series of ignorant, seemingly small lifestyle choices. When her entire family falls sick of a mysterious illness, she begins to believe that she is being poisoned. Eventually, the would-be murderer is unveiled, but it is here that the protagonist's own position as a hostile outsider in the locals' eyes that is truly revealed. As this situation was taken straight from Rumer's experiences, the novel's nuanced and intellectual treatment of the fictionalized "villain" of her own nightmare stands out as an almost superhuman feat of self-examination and social critique.<br />
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<u>6/6</u><u> points</u>: all the ethical points, but is certainly not an "entertainer." Thought-provoking, philosophical, if anxiety-inducing tale.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3r7wo2WkxJ6TL8bLLFx8zJIZykbaZ6DbpqogiTONsaYP9e_Wcb0qy38iubABkILlasfrIhg0mwYNLpN-9OWC2U74ujamKrTqtFg4Zb-Y1-6oHoPeziCzluHT1L_52PeSwTlsm4t6C18/s1600/a+passage+to+India.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="257" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3r7wo2WkxJ6TL8bLLFx8zJIZykbaZ6DbpqogiTONsaYP9e_Wcb0qy38iubABkILlasfrIhg0mwYNLpN-9OWC2U74ujamKrTqtFg4Zb-Y1-6oHoPeziCzluHT1L_52PeSwTlsm4t6C18/s200/a+passage+to+India.jpg" width="128" /></a><span style="color: #cc0000;">A Passage to India (1924) </span>E M Forster<br />
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This needs no introduction. I feel it is a better novel for the conversation it launched than its actual content...which sometimes feels contrived, if strongly sketched.<br />
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<u>6/6 </u><u>points</u>: Reflection and questioning drives the plot, the characterizations are fascinating, but it's missing a bit of heart. Entertaining? In the way a noir film keeps you on the edge of your seat and refuses to answer your questions . . . yes.<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;">The Lady and the Unicorn (1938) </span>Rumer Godden<br />
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This story flows from Rumer's time as a dance teacher in Calcutta and her distress over the way *Anglo-Indians (then called Eurasians) were treated by mainstream (i.e. white) colonial society. As she herself was marginalized as a working woman who associated with the Eurasian set, it was even more personal of an issue for her. It's a very early example of her work, and thus verges on a syrupy melodrama she avoids later, but is still an evocative picture of ugly racial and class tension amongst "good society."<br />
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<u>5/6 </u><u>points</u>: explores gray areas of representation and still manages to entertain while questioning the system.<br />
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*Sometime I'd really like to write or read an analysis of Anglo-Indians in Bengali film and literature. For those bloggers who watch Bengali cinema, what are the depictions that stick out to you? For me, Rina in Saptapadi (1960) or that one working girl in Mahanagar (1963), come to mind.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjJMGCxkJoTCtJ-1MZUIWZhESTp60-8VnRoEsAHe-sL81ObjaJqLANyjkzVUumHQz5chOE7HL-tBr9MdUEDQ1vcfDiNK5rfisy9sbl1pSaxKf3fL_jVN4lOac2kwlzH_G8hZcLWz9X28/s1600/The+African+Queen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="177" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjJMGCxkJoTCtJ-1MZUIWZhESTp60-8VnRoEsAHe-sL81ObjaJqLANyjkzVUumHQz5chOE7HL-tBr9MdUEDQ1vcfDiNK5rfisy9sbl1pSaxKf3fL_jVN4lOac2kwlzH_G8hZcLWz9X28/s200/The+African+Queen.jpg" width="141" /></a><span style="color: #cc0000;">The African Queen (1935) </span>C S Forester<br />
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90% of this novel is a description of a perilous river journey undertaken by two misfits, a crotchety trader and a spinster missionary woman. Symbolically or not, the emblem of the "civilizing mission", the woman's missionary brother, dies in the first pages of the novel, leaving her free to experience the "real" Africa, or at least the real wilderness. "Natives" are nowhere to be found here, really, except as moving targets or potential converts. If you've seen the Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn film, you've definitely experienced a more satisfying version of the story. What the book touches that the film can't is an earthy exploration into the mindset of two lovable, if tremendously ordinary, white settlers in an extraordinary situation. The examination of colonialism is perhaps more a critique of imperialist gains or losses on the African continent in WWI. Defending a lake or a jungle which can only marginally be claimed for any European power by a sane observer, suddenly becomes the height of absurdity. Here, Europeans are out of place and useless in aggregate, it is only the individual human spirit that matters.<br />
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<u>4/6 </u><u>points</u>: Heart is everywhere here, it is ultimately the only "winner" against the unfeeling elements. A lot of points lost for the invisibility of black Africans themselves.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKppDMo2z6wD9WfxpRN4Erj2_TqF5jJkZDFKvaZ8s_0XUR77P2EGzp5cAF9JDxgA0-MqhsuRPS6zg1_h86pPkDJO10m3bXHBMJ3eRSjIj8ca0Vgn4tiX5u2EHRIDEVI-ZUM5ihPciDL8M/s1600/Oom+Schalk+Lourens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="164" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKppDMo2z6wD9WfxpRN4Erj2_TqF5jJkZDFKvaZ8s_0XUR77P2EGzp5cAF9JDxgA0-MqhsuRPS6zg1_h86pPkDJO10m3bXHBMJ3eRSjIj8ca0Vgn4tiX5u2EHRIDEVI-ZUM5ihPciDL8M/s200/Oom+Schalk+Lourens.jpg" width="131" /></a><span style="color: #cc0000;">The Complete Oom Schalk Lourens Stories (1920s-1940s) </span>Herman Charles Bosman<br />
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There are two popular readings of Bosman's works in South Africa these days. One, people see his work as an outdated send up of early 20th century Afrikaner/Boer farming society that is unacceptably affectionate in the wake of Apartheid's terrors. Two, his satirical short stories are beloved for their intricate commentary on the absurdities and not so <a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=lekker">lekker</a> aspects of plaas lewe (farm life). Bosman gathered most of his material living in the real farming community of Groot Marico in the Northwest province of South Africa. His most popular narrator, Oom (Uncle) Schalk Lourens is a fountain of humorous tales about feuding farmers, Boer war tragedies, starry eyed arrogant youths and aging commandos, ghosts and the supernatural, and endless dorpie (village) archetypes.<br />
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I wouldn't blame any black South African who finds him completely unpalatable. Bosman's tone is almost unfailingly jocular, even in his saddest stories. Bosman may seem unforgivably callous towards social issues and injustices to the modern reader. However, his strength lies in his ability to reveal both the ridiculousness and the humanity in extreme Calvinism or Boer bigotry or rural ignorance or cultural taboos. All is treated to an equal helping of irony and laughter. Afrikaans folks still regard Bosman with some degree of awe: because this settler/pioneer farming culture (not at all unlike the German and Scandinavian farming culture from which I hail) has never been satirized with more biting accuracy. (The <a href="https://www.marico.co.za/HCBosman/Index.htm">Groot Marico Bosman</a> festivals also look painfully similar to Midwest literature festivals, and I'm still laughing about it.)<br />
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Like every brilliant satirist, he is divisive. If you read his stories for black African representation, you may see offensiveness where I see harsh critique. Either or neither of us may be right, Bosman's true beliefs are shrouded in the legends with which he surrounded himself until his early death in 1951.<br />
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<u>4/6 points</u>: One of the wittiest AND the most poignant writers I've ever come across. To me, he is<br />
Saadat Hasan Manto crossed with Mark Twain. And if that doesn't make you want to pick up his literature as a complete uitlander (outsider), I don't know what will.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNPcgIo0UxLixO29Y3Yyw_lTxJfavyxcK0Ocnb0Nwh0FGXX1R8hVRAyKMw5LiGpVVewVT8ySHxxSguatGipIV72NhxUVCc7Cf6KtJ_uccb5oiJMFu9QDYkXmQTItBy0SiKkUPXI4IA_tw/s1600/Circles+in+a+Forest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="179" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNPcgIo0UxLixO29Y3Yyw_lTxJfavyxcK0Ocnb0Nwh0FGXX1R8hVRAyKMw5LiGpVVewVT8ySHxxSguatGipIV72NhxUVCc7Cf6KtJ_uccb5oiJMFu9QDYkXmQTItBy0SiKkUPXI4IA_tw/s200/Circles+in+a+Forest.jpg" width="127" /></a><span style="color: red;">Circles in a Forest (1984) </span>Dalene Matthee<br />
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This South African classic stands out for its understanding of the environmental destruction endemic to the colonial era (whether imperialist extraction or through unthinking settlement of the wilderness). It also provides a rare analysis of class and cultural differences in settler colonialist society in South Africa. In some ways this is an apologist treatise for poor white Afrikaans farmers, and in other ways, it is an indictment of the entire settler project. Dalene is read religiously in Afrikaans educational institutions, but her flaw in this--her best work--is that she almost completely ignores racial oppression amongst the many injustices (often British-imposed, an ongoing theme in a century of bitter Afrikaans literary memory) she critiques. As it was released in the last days of Apartheid censorship, perhaps this is understandable, but it doesn't make it quite forgivable. Still, an amazing read for those who can give it room to be a product of its time. You could also watch the 1990 film starring a young Arnold Vosloo, but it's more interesting as a representation of cinema from a transitional South Africa than for anything it does well (which is little).<br />
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Note: Matthee's stories are set in her home near the resort towns surrounding Knysna forest, <a href="https://mg.co.za/article/2017-06-13-climate-change-evident-in-cape-storm-and-knysna-fires">where a tragic series of fires wiped out many communities earlier in 2017</a>. People have blamed climate change for the ongoing drought conditions in southern South Africa, but either way, it points to the continuing necessity of prioritizing conversations about tourism and human-environment interaction in developing states; and the disproportionate effects of environmental catastrophes on low income and informal settlements.<br />
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<u>4/6 points</u>: What it loses to National Party propaganda, it almost makes up for in its hardscrabble protagonist's fight to protect nature from the encroaching global capitalist threat. What, that sounds strangely relevant to today's issues? That's because it is.<br />
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Next time: The BADDDDDD ... at least in terms of colonial critique and self-examination.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-72922316855875642842016-12-20T09:03:00.002-08:002016-12-20T09:35:24.980-08:00Life updates: Where I'm headed next year (and where I've been)<a href="https://cache-graphicslib.viator.com/graphicslib/thumbs674x446/2065/SITours/johannesburg-combo-city-sightseeing-hop-on-hop-off-and-soweto-tours-in-johannesburg-154616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://cache-graphicslib.viator.com/graphicslib/thumbs674x446/2065/SITours/johannesburg-combo-city-sightseeing-hop-on-hop-off-and-soweto-tours-in-johannesburg-154616.jpg" width="320" /></a>So, in February of this last year, I had the chance to visit Johannesburg, South Africa. My best friend (who I met in elementary school in MN, but is now expat-ing her way around the world teaching at international schools) was getting married to a lovely Afrikaans fellow whose family lives in Joburg. It was a whirlwind two weeks of sightseeing and wedding events and late night chats about history and politics over braii, but let's be honest, mostly Cape wyn (barbecue and wine in Afrikaans). The wedding itself was at a lovely game lodge in Free State (a few hours south of Joburg), with beautiful views and hordes of vicious mosquitoes descending from the thatched lodge roofs at night.<br />
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Mosquitoes or no, when I sank into my seat on that plane going home, I felt pretty conflicted. Despite moments of difficulty one always has in new places, I felt like I had found a place I could *maybe* actually live and thrive. The weather was just right, the people friendly, the environment just enough like home in terms of available food and daily comforts to give a modicum of sanity. And yet, there was so much that was radically different and, well, as my best friend puts it, "South African society is like crack for social scientists." So, in April, I started on an eight month mind-eff of a process of applying to grad school and navigating South African bureaucracy to get back to Johannesburg.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know, another personal post</td></tr>
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At the same time, I've been working through a lot of my personal baggage about my South Asia and Hindi-Urdu studies, which I had to let fell by the wayside for a number of reasons. One, I knew that Delhi as an environment for study (something my academic friends pushed me to consider) was just out of the question given certain quirks of health that I have. My jaw disorder alone doesn't do well with intense crowds and noise, and I have to eat a very limited diet in order to make sure other long-term problems don't flare up. Practically, my heart tried to pull me in that direction for several years, but my head told me it would be foolish to expect myself to be able to handle that environment for more than a few weeks at a time. I also realized that the academic field of South Asian studies was frighteningly small--a bad outlook for building a potential career. Beyond even that, I was trying to process my experience with my Hindi-Urdu studies, which looked great on my transcript, but was in practice rather traumatic because of the maddening dysfunctionality of my university department. After the trials of my last two semesters, the language itself became somewhat tainted for me (which makes me more upset than anything specific I actually experienced there).<br />
<br />
In some ways, this has been a really blessed (there's my inner Midwesterner coming out, ha) year. I<br />
have had a lot of time to spend with my family and friends who are still in Minnesota. I took some professional development classes for geography teachers with the local association MAGE, which gave me more pedagogical and technological tools to engage students in my last semester of teaching AP and world geography. MAGE also asked me to present at their fall workshop/conference, where I got a chance to share some of my super-nerdy strategies for using world cinema to teach social studies. I read a lot of world and classic fiction books and saw probably 50 films of different stripes, which y'all will probably get some posts about soon (whether you want them or not!). I dug into some new language study: Mandarin (semi-formally) and Afrikaans (informally). My new stepmom (very new--as of two weeks ago) is from Beijing (also one of my favorite places I've ever traveled), and I'm having fun trying to interact (badly, albeit) with her in her home language. And obviously, Afrikaans is spoken by a significant minority in SA, and more importantly, by most of my friends there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Narcissus--the book more than film--helped me deal <br />
(maybe I'll leave that to another post about Rumer Godden) </td></tr>
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I was hoping that by engaging with a world entirely other than South Asia (though I've read some fiction and kept Hindi and Bengali films in my heart), I would eventually get back to a place where hearing Hindi didn't trigger anxiety attacks and feelings of personal betrayal. (Obviously, a discarded plan can bring both personal loss and a guilt over one's own faithlessness, however irrational those feelings may actually be.) Thankfully, over the last two months, I've seen that strategy begin to work.<br />
<br />
Though I've certainly had every advantage in terms of being an international applicant, it's been a mind-eff of a year. Half the time I thought it wouldn't work out at all. Even at the moment I finally finished my applications, most of the universities in SA were shut down over the student "Fees must fall" movement. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/64/70/28/647028091a769efb99daefd9bf93d2d7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/64/70/28/647028091a769efb99daefd9bf93d2d7.jpg" width="320" /></a>But, long freaking story short, the universities reopened, I got a couple of acceptance letters, and last week I finally was granted a study visa. So, now, as long as things continue to go smoothly with arrangements for housing, finances, registration, etc., I will be at the University of the Witwatersrand (affectionately known as WITS) in Johannesburg by February, 2017. I'll be studying "migration and displacement" at the African Centre for Migration and Society. Maybe if I like it (and they like me) I might even stay on another year or so to continue studies in public health or health sociology.<br />
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I'm excited and scared and delighted for this new plan. Maybe I'll love it, maybe I'll hate it, but either way, I'm sure it's going to be a real adventure. I hope you'll stay tuned.<br />
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P.S. I am in the middle of this fabulous Bengali film, so look for a post on that soon.<br />
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*The first photo isn't mine, but those towers are a pretty famous site when you're driving away from Joburg to Free State. The second screen-shot is from No Regrets for our Youth (Japan, 1946), an anti-fascist Akira Kurosawa film that I strangely got the urge to watch after our *ahem* American election. The fourth is of jacaranda trees in Joburg (via pinterest).Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-42036632500004046702016-04-14T20:03:00.001-07:002020-04-26T10:07:47.163-07:00Decolonizing My Social Studies Classroom: using cinema to challenge mental maps <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://static01.nyt.com/images/2014/06/27/world/27GERTRUDE1/27GERTRUDE1-master675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://static01.nyt.com/images/2014/06/27/world/27GERTRUDE1/27GERTRUDE1-master675.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of the most famous "Arabists", Gertrude Bell and TE Lawrence,<br />
visiting the pyramids with Winston Churchill in 1921.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Area studies folks love to talk about the creation of "imagined spaces" and "perceptual landscapes". Once you scratch beneath the veneer of this sort of jargon, it's easy to understand why the concepts these terms describe are currently en vogue. Forget about the porous border between Pakistan and Afghanistan, virtually all borders are now recognized as somewhat fictitious and (at least) intellectually insecure. They are the ultimate anthropological artifacts, and arguably the most largest monuments of individual human intervention. Outside of territory exchanging hands through collective <a href="http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/the-balfour-declaration">negotiation</a> and invasion, ordinary people such as politicians (like James Balfour of the infamous <a href="http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/the-balfour-declaration">Balfour Declaration</a>), navigators (like <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/historic_figures/cook_captain_james.shtml">James Cook</a>), empire builders (like <a href="http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-32131829">Cecil Rhodes</a> of DeBeers and Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe), and explorers (like one of my more dubious heroes <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2007/06/the-woman-who-made-iraq/305893/">Gertrude Bell</a>) created the 20th century and 21st century world map.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://easteurotopo.org/img/europe_map_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://easteurotopo.org/img/europe_map_large.jpg" height="279" width="400"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Europe: 1900 (<a href="http://mavericktraveler.com/eastern-europe/">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As recently as in our grandparents' or great-grandparents' lifetime, the familiar map as we know it didn't exist, or at least, or at least, was free to be re-imagined and reshaped at will. Four or five generations back, some of my ancestors lived in Prussia. That territory then became German, then Polish, then German, then Polish again. Reportedly, my great-great-great grandfather Kruger, a goat boy who married a goose girl and migrated to the U.S., was obsessed with the military exploits of Frederick the Great and Napoleon until his death. For him, borders were surely loose concepts, at best. But to many people born after the mid-20th century, the lines between political entities probably seem immutable. Unless, that is, you happened to live in a disputed ethnic homeland, a hinterland with valuable resources prone to occupation, or in a recently established state, etc. <br />
<br />
Which begs the question, who are the 21st century guardians of this awareness of map-making and map-breaking?<br />
<br />
Well, high education rates aside, they probably aren't residents of North America. U.S. citizens post-1950 tend to look at world maps with a combination of boredom and awe, and to me the reason is twofold. One, we have not had to relearn the U.S. map since 1959, when Hawaii became the 50th state, and two, we have not experienced a significant war for territory on the contiguous North American continent since the conflict between U.S. troops and Pancho Villa in the Southwestern U.S. in 1916. (Unless you count the long process of "displacement" of indigenous people during "peaceful" frontier settlement.) When even the possibility of change to a nation state's borders exists outside of living memory, that nation state can easily come to believe in its own permanence, and through the rigidity of that mindset, to see other places as equally permanent. <br />
<br />
We are not the best people to ask about spatial imagination.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/0Ok0expLH1o/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0Ok0expLH1o?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
The United States of Eurasia (MUSE) </div>
<br />
However, let's forget for the moment the modern notions of sovereignty and nation states. When we turn to the idea of "regions" we find, perhaps, the best example of imagined space. Contrary to our common mental categories and divisions, Asia is actually not (gasp) a separate landmass from continental Europe. The most radical social scientists and politicians *might* divide the regions by tracing a finger down the Urals and including the Northern European Plain (the most populated tract of Russia) into Europe as a whole. After all, it's got "Europe" in the title. But anxieties about Russian expansionism run deep, and after all, we don't really want to encourage Russian inclusion into civilized Europe, do we? Therefore, anything in the Russian sphere of interest cannot be Europe. It's Eurasia, at best, Asia at worst. And therein lies the moral problem: meaning, Asia as the ultimate "other", of course.<br />
<br />
For most of us, imagining Asia and imagining Europe amounts to the exact same action.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX89dzwWGltUizp5nh9p8FN4WHY2Do_TR9ADqjvp4IlS-nn0jI8-hWl1ou4HMR41gGAiS2DInEVk1ottVUTn2iFFmmRwSrYPl281lPPCf7kzqPi6Hb2QB-Mxsapwn7xcUwwOklLj7Y5Gg/s1600/Arranged_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX89dzwWGltUizp5nh9p8FN4WHY2Do_TR9ADqjvp4IlS-nn0jI8-hWl1ou4HMR41gGAiS2DInEVk1ottVUTn2iFFmmRwSrYPl281lPPCf7kzqPi6Hb2QB-Mxsapwn7xcUwwOklLj7Y5Gg/s400/Arranged_1.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arranged (2007)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We cannot, at this stage, easily do one activity without involving the other. Perhaps, once upon a time (let's say 500 years ago), the two were free to imagine each other without much interference. But at some point in the European-defined Age of Exploration and Colonization, the wires got forever crossed. As Ashis Nandy points out in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Intimate-Enemy-Colonialism-Paperbacks/dp/0198062176?ie=UTF8&keywords=ashis%20nandy&qid=1460647637&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1">The Intimate Enemy: Loss and Recovery of Self Under Colonialism</a>, the colonized person/nation's concept of self is no longer self-generated, it is dependent on the colonizer's image of that person or nation; so much so that even the act of rejection of the colonizer's imagined world only further cements the boundaries of the worldview that the colonizer created.<br />
<br />
These internalized limits and categories certainly create political boundaries on paper and on the ground, but even more so, they create our mental maps--our personal and societal vision of the world. They decide not just where Turkey begins and Bulgaria ends, but what that transitional space signifies, and why it is necessary in the first place.<br />
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In order to decolonize the classroom, the invisible assumptions underpinning these mental maps must be (A) recognized and (B) challenged.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #783f04;">In other words, students must be freed to re-imagine space. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCKx-NaX_PgOiSHPQawKxoFDkla66z0VGKd_Yy6QMAAJlYM9gB6fVr3A15zvHCvmVs9H5IMCvunsVUwyjC-k6E4EnNsvlYw7gUBqfZbti_yqpw1OBpwYs-Lj5VALooNtCHzCyejB0lItw/s1600/Never+on+a+Sunday_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCKx-NaX_PgOiSHPQawKxoFDkla66z0VGKd_Yy6QMAAJlYM9gB6fVr3A15zvHCvmVs9H5IMCvunsVUwyjC-k6E4EnNsvlYw7gUBqfZbti_yqpw1OBpwYs-Lj5VALooNtCHzCyejB0lItw/s400/Never+on+a+Sunday_5.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Never on a Sunday (Greece, 1960)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #660000;">Top assumptions ...</span><br />
<br />
1. Colonial and neo-colonial mental maps have fixed, timeless borders.<br />
<br />
2. Colonial and neo-colonial mental maps have black and white categories that place people in black and white spatial roles.<br />
<br />
3. Colonial and neo-colonial mental maps exist outside the individual's ability to critique or change. BUT when colonial and neo-colonial mental maps DO change, it is because the West has decided to change the rules (which is legitimate), or because the non-West has decided the rules must be changed (which is obviously illegitimate).<br />
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<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #660000;">And the challengers are ....</span><br />
<span style="color: #f6b26b;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #783f04;">1. Films about explorers (to open students' minds to the unknown)</span><br />
<br />
As colonial as the word "explorer" admittedly sounds, exploring is a comfortable transitional role for an American to assume, a role that asks students to treat the world as a new place without any "<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/45451-isn-t-it-nice-to-think-that-tomorrow-is-a-new">mistakes in it</a>", to learn to turn a fresh eye to unfamiliar landscapes. "Explorer's" films highlight plucky individuals grappling with hostile landscapes and shifting borders. They can introduce discussions around the constant modernizing quest to tame the wilderness and to scramble for resources, but without reverting to tired American bedtime stories of Lewis & Clark or Davy Crockett ... while simultaneously avoiding placing the student immediately in a a position of uncomfortable ignorance or defensiveness.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkpEECLCM_44ftwDLeBZ6Qs7wts7pX1l3m5r-yWor4BUuZ3jU09uO3EVybUW-xaWu0zqpOCLF_Hf_yKsSUM4dE43p2W7W-PEyy16zjJVvnnq9Gw0dgOnBdjxm4xR66MCyd7x-2ytoTHc/s1600/Letter+Never+Sent_14.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkpEECLCM_44ftwDLeBZ6Qs7wts7pX1l3m5r-yWor4BUuZ3jU09uO3EVybUW-xaWu0zqpOCLF_Hf_yKsSUM4dE43p2W7W-PEyy16zjJVvnnq9Gw0dgOnBdjxm4xR66MCyd7x-2ytoTHc/s640/Letter+Never+Sent_14.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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One of my favorite films to use for this purpose is Letter Never Sent (1960), a beautiful and terrifying Soviet film about a group of scientists on an expedition to the Siberian interior to search for natural resources "for the Fatherland".<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWdmnTeO5lqhWU73SDRYYmhfLYj8h4B0xwBjwo3ohn9zvwHlS-sEpMBjuC1iSoKRvuD8VwhRAH1TZXQj2QWbELUddzrmyeBc07C-HnrfEZ0nXhFPYY6-FGo_XzZ9UmC5T3eJWPjdbH198/s1600/Letter+Never+Sent_10.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="475" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWdmnTeO5lqhWU73SDRYYmhfLYj8h4B0xwBjwo3ohn9zvwHlS-sEpMBjuC1iSoKRvuD8VwhRAH1TZXQj2QWbELUddzrmyeBc07C-HnrfEZ0nXhFPYY6-FGo_XzZ9UmC5T3eJWPjdbH198/s640/Letter+Never+Sent_10.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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In the first half, the film mostly seems concerned with the popular "civilized man turning savage again" trope, comparable to The Lord of the Flies or well, every season of LOST. However, in the second half, the group is decimated and separated by a massive forest fire. Then, the only question is, will any of them survive to return to their families again? And was the venture worth the risk?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh721DWp_TC3AMXy5rNgWeoQ-CMDE7f-XArCO3wVlX7ekAk-VXEu-ONy2XFOqL_61acRjrGr-nPLCYORSb3M3PvjGkteC9bwKl9o15OHSqJIDRmdp9CzYphNIFNSYUDVU9Z8h8S5_qA2Q/s1600/Letter+Never+Sent_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="483" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh721DWp_TC3AMXy5rNgWeoQ-CMDE7f-XArCO3wVlX7ekAk-VXEu-ONy2XFOqL_61acRjrGr-nPLCYORSb3M3PvjGkteC9bwKl9o15OHSqJIDRmdp9CzYphNIFNSYUDVU9Z8h8S5_qA2Q/s640/Letter+Never+Sent_5.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Watching the African Queen (1951), or The Naked Jungle (1954) might also be entertaining examples of White Man and Woman vs. the Wild. But it's hard to beat LNS for pure cinematic value or environmental realism. I often lean toward making students watch older films when possible, but this is an easy subgenre to find in recent action and adventure and science fiction (if not always in parent-friendly films), and a relatively painless way to to remind students that most of the earth's territory was once uncharted.<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #b45f06;">2. Films about the alien and stranger (to entangle students' emotions in other people's realities)</span><br />
<br />
Though they're often tearjerkers, films that portray stateless persons, refugees, separated families, etc. are helpful in showing the human impact of political boundaries and bureaucratic red tape, and the humanity on both sides of a border. This is a pretty common genre in art house international cinema, but so far, Baran (Iran, 2001--pictured below) and Lakhon Mein Eik (Pakistan, 1967) have gone over well in some of my classes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZm4fkpEatd7ELXiz8h7sSTpZ5Qtf4bfLednXKhuSBB97JGl-dJjrOyPsXplWtpo09mznC0giCDGm89_QQsPM5WTSYOzwYds0bFp5NE_OeDREix1FvtaIfQqjttxtt391aoxQigwhJyq0/s1600/Baran_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZm4fkpEatd7ELXiz8h7sSTpZ5Qtf4bfLednXKhuSBB97JGl-dJjrOyPsXplWtpo09mznC0giCDGm89_QQsPM5WTSYOzwYds0bFp5NE_OeDREix1FvtaIfQqjttxtt391aoxQigwhJyq0/s640/Baran_5.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Any story about immigrant experiences could achieve a comparable end. Ultimately, I want students to think about what it means to navigate invisibility, hostility, and displacement. West Side Story (1961) and Fiddler on the Roof (1971) are excellent jumping off points, since U.S. students often have some familiarity with these stories and settings. English Vinglish (2012) is also probably a good choice, as it's both amusing and fairly universal in its themes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbiPoBTIx-CKCSD6E4o1iswZlrD_DIAJfR2bXJl6Y2f2oiiBPLNcOctUgT4wC8kGk_IAgUVn16aPkfP7U42yQ4Bh9w7zN7IaKh6i8-96rrV8mhR7ambtkpPSMQoJimlUh5CaadLEhTrA/s1600/English+Vinglish_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbiPoBTIx-CKCSD6E4o1iswZlrD_DIAJfR2bXJl6Y2f2oiiBPLNcOctUgT4wC8kGk_IAgUVn16aPkfP7U42yQ4Bh9w7zN7IaKh6i8-96rrV8mhR7ambtkpPSMQoJimlUh5CaadLEhTrA/s640/English+Vinglish_1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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As long as you can create an emotional reference point to humanize later discussions, or even a vocabulary to use across the board, I generally find that students will feel a kinship with similar, if more complex struggles elsewhere. If they watch Fiddler on the Roof and talk about anti-Semitic pogroms, then later we can discuss ethnic cleansing in the Balkans or East Africa with a bit more second-hand displacement experience with which to ground our conversation.<br />
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[Note: Of course, there are other ways to provide a similar second-hand experience. In my geography class last year, we did a refugee crisis simulation--where some students got to be the European gatekeepers and some "got" to be Syrian and North African refugees.]<br />
<span style="color: #783f04;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #783f04;">3. Films about revolutionaries and rebels (to shift students' expectations of the "other")</span><br />
<br />
This is one of my favorite categories of film. Half the time these films were released as propaganda serving some party on the political spectrum or some particular regime. But they are still fascinating, inspirational, and for U.S. citizens at least, enlightening. We tend to think of most other countries' citizens as disempowered in comparison to Americans, while simultaneously fearing the power that other countries' citizens may choose to seize.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnEz1uYHhmEVcbIprkV4R5cmiZZCQ4-vyqe62Cm2HDGiyi2CHK7X5MatBIRJqviIxyw_-xtyL4KckE7KRkJYm6L3gG1HPUC6RKyBwWyjJgvB1TTyLdRp0upcnQoqGeqmbQFlo5pNmkDE/s1600/Red+Detachment+of+Women1960_41.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="459" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimnEz1uYHhmEVcbIprkV4R5cmiZZCQ4-vyqe62Cm2HDGiyi2CHK7X5MatBIRJqviIxyw_-xtyL4KckE7KRkJYm6L3gG1HPUC6RKyBwWyjJgvB1TTyLdRp0upcnQoqGeqmbQFlo5pNmkDE/s640/Red+Detachment+of+Women1960_41.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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I love the following films both for entertainment and discussion purposes: Lawrence of Arabia (1960), The Last Bridge (Austria, 1954) The Hunger Games films (2012-2015), The Red Detachment of Women (China, 1961), Kommunist (USSR, 1959), Battle of Algiers (Italy-Algeria, 1966), Island in the Sun (1957), and Baaz (1953).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VaZlhAh6bxGkefayQa2r_33Veo-p05u_qt7K5NIz5PXSCG-WUhnSJYQ_KaCZJmZaMq5BYkYZw8SKFZzUDEDDnhEE__k2p_W3oN1U-fXpoqS3gUQK6C1qQvdGewV1xXVL9OeCOKxJ-vw/s1600/die+letzte+bruke_8.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_VaZlhAh6bxGkefayQa2r_33Veo-p05u_qt7K5NIz5PXSCG-WUhnSJYQ_KaCZJmZaMq5BYkYZw8SKFZzUDEDDnhEE__k2p_W3oN1U-fXpoqS3gUQK6C1qQvdGewV1xXVL9OeCOKxJ-vw/s640/die+letzte+bruke_8.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<u>Note</u>: despite the appearance of the above list, I don't try to turn out communist sympathizers (nor do I push my students toward the American left or the right), but I do like to turn out students who respect revolutionary ideals in theory, and the right/ability of other people groups and oppressed populations to try to change their circumstances.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSASgDxPW3ZYPS46rnxEkccHU9O_oT4Fgej_GgGlY-iXrbQ70H89HXHCI6PiBls6HjUFT99DS_uB2Y86k7M1adGX7aihls8r_Y3tpC0caT6CiQCWA1QmKoRe6c6f2-GJ1EmkzLutz-XfI/s1600/Baaz_9.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSASgDxPW3ZYPS46rnxEkccHU9O_oT4Fgej_GgGlY-iXrbQ70H89HXHCI6PiBls6HjUFT99DS_uB2Y86k7M1adGX7aihls8r_Y3tpC0caT6CiQCWA1QmKoRe6c6f2-GJ1EmkzLutz-XfI/s640/Baaz_9.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #660000;">My next experiment ... </span><br />
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Next year I think I'm going to have my students watch the surprisingly relevant Vincent Price/Samuel Fuller film about a forger who tried to "steal" an entire U.S. territory: The Baron of Arizona (1950).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqn8WnsplffkVHBpcPYbrXrm0YI6vP76o0mdUslpboH5WWRVy9jEYdyr6zAr4fauioRUZLkWwYKsEDcu-483j3WuO7HAbw-vSRNSHg8hMaYV7J3CY6Q-l_GBSI2mpwP2t7RAph-P4rq0/s1600/The+Baron+of+Arizona_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqn8WnsplffkVHBpcPYbrXrm0YI6vP76o0mdUslpboH5WWRVy9jEYdyr6zAr4fauioRUZLkWwYKsEDcu-483j3WuO7HAbw-vSRNSHg8hMaYV7J3CY6Q-l_GBSI2mpwP2t7RAph-P4rq0/s640/The+Baron+of+Arizona_2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'll probably pair it with a reading on Cecil Rhodes and/or other famous landgrabbers, along with a conversation about land redistribution in postcolonial nations.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000;">In conclusion ...</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhspB-gYQ0qa7fcl4HItCxns1lwL8EWWIZlAAM7rVXSDe1xCeA2SNvLRpDKTaFKHBidLan5Z0NvdETJYTbVieDY0Sp-j3dlFa3YcsRPXwmXPk18dSm59HoZpcYMBINqTKm8yE1HpVrWt_A/s1600/Sabarmati_11.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhspB-gYQ0qa7fcl4HItCxns1lwL8EWWIZlAAM7rVXSDe1xCeA2SNvLRpDKTaFKHBidLan5Z0NvdETJYTbVieDY0Sp-j3dlFa3YcsRPXwmXPk18dSm59HoZpcYMBINqTKm8yE1HpVrWt_A/s400/Sabarmati_11.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sabarmati (1969)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
If a student's mental map is neo-colonial (favoring the Western world in all matters of spatial choice, definition, and agency), then in order to decolonize the classroom, the teacher needs to shift the balance of power in the imagined space first by:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #783f04;">1</span>. Encouraging creativity and curiosity when envisioning the possibilities and limits of human use of the landscape (even if it means temporarily letting students slip into easy colonial roles)<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #783f04;">2</span>. Fostering empathy for people who don't fit well inside those limits<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="color: #783f04;">3</span><span style="color: #b45f06;">.</span></span> Giving students a chance to spend an hour or two rooting for people who challenge those arbitrary boundaries or their own comfortable categories<br />
<br />
Pedagogically, it's all to easy to stop here ... having hopefully encouraged the growth of empathy and awareness, if nothing else. But mental maps are also drawn from a specific lookout point--from the ground we psychologically stand upon. And that choice of ground is often suspect. As Prof. Harry Goruba (University of Cape Town) points out:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Yes, the view of Cape Town from here is as stunning as it is panoramic — just as the tourist brochure tells you. What arrests you here though is not really this view but the vision it encapsulates: the vision of an era when the world was out there for the taking, when Africa was envisioned as a vast landscape, lying supine at your feet, waiting for the lights of civilisation and commerce to shine over it. It is this panoptic vision of a world under the gaze and surveillance of an imperial man that hits you in the guts: this, in essence, is the modernist dream of encyclopaedic knowledge and control over native subjects. This is one way of thinking Africa from the Cape: the modernist, imperialist version that Cecil John Rhodes embodied and envisioned. It is a vision that represses other peoples, other histories, other knowledges; rather than a dialogic engagement, it privileges a mono-centric, colonising view of the world. [Excerpt from: <a href="http://thoughtleader.co.za/readerblog/2011/07/05/how-not-to-think-africa-from-the-cape/">How not to think of Africa from the Cape</a>, 2011]</blockquote>
<span style="color: #783f04;">So, I'm adopting a fourth goal, elusive though it may be to attain. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #783f04;">4</span>. Helping students develop the mindset of a "borderlander", a concept inspired by the life of Czeslaw Milosz and developed by Krzysztof Czyzewski. Milosz was a Lithuanian-Polish poet (and one of my favorites), author of the anti-totalitarian work "The Captive Mind", and also Nobel Laureate. He hailed from a region of Lithuania that changed national "hands" many times through his lifetime.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Behind my thoughts is the practice of the borderland. Can one “practice” the borderland? If we understand by this term a certain territory, it would be more appropriate to speak of “cultivating” or “exploring” the borderland. But I am speaking here about a territory that is not necessarily situated in a specific place (for example, a state borderline); rather, I am referring to an area crisscrossed by internal borders, where the inhabitants speak different languages, pray in different temples, or have different national identities. In multicultural areas like the territories of the former Jagiellonian Commonwealth, the word “borderland” described not only a place but also a certain ethos or tradition.The way those notions used to be perceived is reflected in the very term “borderlander,” which refers to a person with tangled family roots who is characterized by tolerance, empathy, critical patriotism, a resistance to ethnic phobias, fluency in many languages, and curiosity about otherness. <b><u>A borderlander loves his or her small homeland but is open to the outside world</u>. </b>[Emphasis mine] (<a href="http://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?cc=mqr;c=mqr;c=mqrarchive;idno=act2080.0046.404;rgn=main;view=text;xc=1;g=mqrg">Source</a>: Line of Return: Practicing “The Borderland” In Dialogue With Czeslaw Milosz. By Krzysztof Czyzewski; Michigan Quarterly Review, 2007.)</blockquote>
<div>
<div>
It may not be a radically decolonized perspective, but it's a start. </div>
<div>
<br />
Now it's your turn! What (semi-accessible) movies would you recommend to expand my resource cabinet, and what do you think are the most important neo-colonial assumptions that affect our mental maps?</div>
</div>
Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-89886404386293126182016-04-11T12:28:00.004-07:002016-04-11T13:17:02.583-07:00Decolonizing my social studies classroom (one film at a time)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcF6fjw3jSCxe2nQKqoX7P0odr9HenbakIaifD2qzdfz-d2XUCH5fflhobtDGQxoULlOhekD2UQz9iSdP5inxsnnn83-lpKIEGc3pKoHM1ktT5_VpDRiHxHuMlsD3zLfaqUOpcXn_fkDM/s1600/Halfofayellowsun_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcF6fjw3jSCxe2nQKqoX7P0odr9HenbakIaifD2qzdfz-d2XUCH5fflhobtDGQxoULlOhekD2UQz9iSdP5inxsnnn83-lpKIEGc3pKoHM1ktT5_VpDRiHxHuMlsD3zLfaqUOpcXn_fkDM/s400/Halfofayellowsun_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
In my world geography course, my students know that I have one golden rule: don't bore me, and I'll try my darndest not to bore you. Using current events alone, it's relatively easy to find a hundred bits of interesting information about other places and spaces and repackage it all in sensationalist terms. Obviously, everyone "loves" a crisis (that isn't happening to them). If you can (at worst) get students to learn a little bit about another place while talking about its problems, or (at best) help them learn to treat each new country as a separate entity with a complex narrative ... that's probably more than they'll glean from their regular diet of news headlines on Facebook trending.<br />
<br />
But teaching history is a bit trickier.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.slate.com/content/dam/slate/blogs/the_eye/2014%20new/06/03/140603_EYE_3.jpg.CROP.original-original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.slate.com/content/dam/slate/blogs/the_eye/2014%20new/06/03/140603_EYE_3.jpg.CROP.original-original.jpg" height="268" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Satirical Stereotype Map of the World (<a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/the_eye/2014/06/03/martin_vargic_s_map_of_world_stereotypes_makes_no_attempt_at_political_correctness.html">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
First, at the secondary level, there's this inconvenient and unfortunate reality that by the end of the year, most classes never get much past the unit on WWII. Obviously, several important things have happened since then; a lot more than can be compressed in a rushed four week treatment of American military escapades or the U.S. civil rights movement at the end of term. But, more importantly, when the lens is moved slightly outward from the center of North America, the same period of history is suddenly revealed to be an era of rapid globalization and decolonization, of an increasingly industrializing and democratizing global south, of countless multipolar tectonic shifts that cannot be tamed or explained by the stubby historical measuring stick of the Cold War. Ironically, this temporally cramped, myopic focus on robust American political and cultural activities during the same period paints a picture that is in itself protectionist, de-globalizing, and re-colonizing. So, right, exactly the opposite of the emerging global reality. And worst of all ... it's boring. <br />
<br />
How can one expect American students to be interested in a world that is defined only in relationship to perceived U.S. wins or losses? Yes, at first glance, this may *seem* the best way to make a foreign culture relevant to a person firmly planted in their home culture, but this is really the pedagogical equivalent of a person feigning public interest in a romantic partner who apparently has no other life outside the romance. Sure, the chemistry might be there, the power dynamics might be exciting, but what are you going to talk about afterward? The weather?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.historic-newspapers.co.uk/Images/yearPapers/1963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.historic-newspapers.co.uk/Images/yearPapers/1963.jpg" height="320" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Literally the first result when you search the<br />
year 1963 on Google Images (<a href="http://www.historic-newspapers.co.uk/old-newspapers/1963-newspapers/">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Furthermore, learning about JFK's assassination for the umpteenth time may be useful in civics class, but it's the height of folly to assume that (A) students will still care at that point of mindless repetition, and (B) that this one, single, event in American history is more important to talk about than other events happening the same year <u>everywhere else</u>. <br />
<br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">For example, three far-reaching events that also occurred in 1963: </span><br />
<br />
*Josip Broz Tito named President for Life in Yugoslavia<br />
<br />
*Police raids in South Africa capture numerous African National Congress leaders, including Nelson Mandela<br />
<br />
*The first Bond film, "Dr. No" is released in the U.S.<br />
<br />
But, why should students be interested in these events any more than the death of a president they never knew?<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">For some, it's enough to draw the cause and effect connections across the temporal landscape:</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
1. Tito remained in a sort of benevolent dictatorial power until his death in 1980. His demise is generally considered the beginning of the process of Balkan fragmentation and the rise of ethnic nationalism that generated the Balkan wars of the 1990s.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://v1.sahistory.org.za/pages/people/special%20projects/mandela/images/72-2c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://v1.sahistory.org.za/pages/people/special%20projects/mandela/images/72-2c.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://v1.sahistory.org.za/pages/people/special%20projects/mandela/gallery.htm">Source</a>:</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
2. Mandela remained imprisoned for the next 27 years, the ANC went further underground (and out of SA entirely), and eventually emerged as the primary negotiating partner in the development of the new post-Apartheid constitution in 1993. Of course, though it's maintained its majority representation in the South African parliament, and remains for many the party of Black liberation and Mandela, the ANC has been constantly beset by corruption and legal charges against its most prominent representatives in the last 15 years--most recently--with the <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/mar/22/jacob-zuma-south-africa-nec">accusations of state capture and the constitutional court ruling against the current president, Jacob Zuma</a>.<br />
<br />
3. 26 Bond films have been released to date, and could there really be another film series that better reflects the the new retro-European ideal of neocolonial power? Certainly, one couldn't find another franchise that beats Bond in illustrating the mythologization of Western intelligence services in the Information Age.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i2.cdnds.net/12/20/618x881/movies_james_bond_poster_gallery_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i2.cdnds.net/12/20/618x881/movies_james_bond_poster_gallery_1.jpg" height="400" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.filmposter-archiv.de/filmplakat.php?id=22932">Source</a>:</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But for the other 9 out of 10 students, these correlations will mean nothing at first. A long collapsed Yugoslavia and a genocide that happened in a mythical time (today's high school students were born after 1995) means nothing to them.<br />
<br />
What *might* mean something to them is that they've heard and hummed the James Bond theme their entire life, and maybe they like the movies. Or maybe they DON'T "get" the movies, but are kind of curious about the phenomenon itself.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">Entertainment is personally relevant. Entertainment entertains. </span><br />
<br />
Or, to give another example, the first image above is from <i>Half of a Yellow Sun</i> (Nigeria, 2013). Significance to world literature or film aside, there's nothing like some drunk postcolonial sociology to make a film worth seeing. If you're a sociology nerd. For most non-Nigerians, the heart-rending personal stories within the story are what might make it worth giving up a Friday night at a Marvel film ... not the social commentary. BUT, the social commentary and unique cultural points of view are still there to be absorbed, nonetheless.<br />
<br />
So, instead of asking my students to read a textbook and take history tests chock full of dates they will forget tomorrow, I decided to design a curriculum that would take students through the years of 1945 to 2016 movie by movie, one pop culture moment after another, with political scandals and propaganda in scores, and without confining ourselves to the casually self-centered historical comfort zone of American life.<br />
<br />
It's still a work in progress, but it's been quite an interesting two years of teaching this course ... to say the least. I've found a lot of things that work, and a lot of things that don't, and over the next few months, I'm going to write about it; focusing on the pop-culture items, documentaries, and discussions from around the world that I've employed to try to make the scary places outside our American borders (A) personal, and (B) interesting to my world history students.<br />
<br />
I hope you enjoy!<br />
<br />
<u>Note</u>: I am a tutor who teaches middle school and high school classes at a small academy in the Twin Cities, MN, that provides non-traditional students with a part-time, private-school-esque experience. Thus, I have a bit more room to experiment and to develop curriculum than the average public school professional.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-7696927460913245502015-10-19T19:30:00.003-07:002015-10-23T09:11:40.113-07:00Songs of SensualityAfter about a month of the cold from hell, I thought I might as well jumpstart my blogging habit again with a bit of scandal. Well, it's at least scandal by degrees. Given the limitations set by censors and tradition, Indian song sequences have to work overtime on the metaphor front, and I'm not complaining. After all, who really needs explicit content when you can have the charm of the unseen ... the imagined ... and the forbidden? Inspired by Conversations Over Chai's great <a href="http://anuradhawarrier.blogspot.com/2012/06/my-favourites-sensuous-songs.html">post on the same topic</a>, here's my own list of classic Hindi and Bengali songs that explore sensuality, physical affection, and longing.<br />
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1. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QOnNpvUdvY">Udhar Tum Haseen Ho</a> (Mr. and Mrs. '55, 1955)<br />
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This song marks the point in the film where Madhubala's character finally falls for her soon-to-be-divorced "husband" (Guru Dutt). I don't think Madhubala was ever more alluring than in this scene, in a dark, romantically cut skirt and upturned face, gliding along a balcony under the moon and heavy breeze. And Guru Dutt, casually walking in his rolled-up sleeves out from the shadows of the garden ... Well, it all screams "Gothic romance." (I suppose the de facto abduction supports this reading as well, but don't bother me with the facts.) Yet the overall effect is not of power struggles or helpless heroines or personal manipulation. It's just a hypnotic suspension of time and space and reason, the coming together of two souls who can finally see each other clearly in the moonlight.<br />
<br />
2. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVb0ch0XCBg">Jodi Bhabo</a> (Chaowa Paowa, 1959, w. English subs)<br />
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Possibly the most beautiful Bengali song I've ever heard, it plays a crucial role during this retelling of It Happened One Night. As you probably know, the haughty heiress has to face her own prejudices and her attraction to the working class reporter eventually, and in this version, it is the reporter's ability to shed his middle-class vulgarity and sing (what ho, a working man poet?!) a socially critical piece of poetry that does the trick. Unlike in Chori Chori's version of the tale (which papers over the classism), the heiress's painful shift from pride to shame to a sort of desperate attraction is documented in Suchitra Sen's face during this song. It's a beautiful knife to the heart.<br />
<br />
3. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgRRqszXRFY">Jhakhon Bhanglo Milan o Mela</a> (Barnali, 1963 w. English subs)<br />
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<br />
Sharmila Tagore and Soumitro Chatterjee star as misfits thrown together for the day. She's a poor student, he's the listless heir of a rich family. He tries to delay her from the realization that her fiancee is currently getting married to someone else (i.e. someone richer) at his uncle's home, while she works through different stages of grief and anger and abandonment. Eventually, the two head to the harbor in Kolkata, and charter a small boat. She sings heartbreaking rabindra sangeet, and he tries to set his growing interest in her aside to let her mourn.<br />
<br />
4. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CmmIUKOgz8">Song from Surjasikha</a> (1963 w, English subs)<br />
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<br />
This song makes me laugh if I think about it too much. Uttam Kumar and Supriya Devi are a doctor and nurse, respectively, in a sexless marriage of convenience. Well, convenient for him, at least, as it serves the doctor's ascetic-inspired values of single-minded community service and that other value of yeah, let's have a clean house with a supper on the table. Nurse is way ahead of him, and has to play her cards right to turn her marriage around. In this song, Uttam spends the majority of the shots staring at Supriya with the most comical adolescent look on his face, like, "Hai Ram, you're a girl." Shabash, great diagnosis, doctor sahib. Notable: neither of the protagonists sings the song (it's on the radio), but rather do a sort of complicated dance of avoiding and staring and porch-traversing as they contemplate the straightforward message, "You're my beloved companion."<br />
<br />
5. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_u-nPPn1yMI">Haseena Dilruba</a> (Roop Tera Mastana, 1972)<br />
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You really have to be on board with the Jeetendra factor to like this one, but hey, between 1969-73, no problem for me. And Mumtaz is stunning here; glowing and playful and masterfully coordinated with the decor. The song runs the gamut of funny (maybe unintentionally), sexy, and that peculiar 1970s idea of glamour ... you know, chiffon curtains everywhere, shaggy round floor rugs, fancy dressing gowns. It's notable for being a rare example of a positive female character getting married and consummating said marriage under false pretenses without any display of guilt, and the rather un-subtle climax of the scene, where the hero dives for the heroine's choli hooks with much determination. Good luck my friend ...<br />
<br />
6. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeQGqEQq9qw">Aaj Rapat Jaye To</a> (Namak Halal, 1982)<br />
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<br />
This script was really just an excuse to accommodate fabulous songs, and Aaj Rapat could fight Parveen Babi's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f5bEkgKTZmw">golden death stage</a> for the sexiest of the lot. The magic is helped along by brilliant choreography and controlled flooding, but you can't manufacture chemistry. Smita Patil often seems unapproachable to me in other films, but she's certainly obliging here, and I think gives Zeenat Aman a run for her usual title: Most Believable Enjoyment of Wet Sari. (I mean, it can't be that great, you guys.)<br />
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7. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0TDpM7mFAY">Kate Nahin Kat Te </a>(Mr. India, 1987)<br />
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_2083461263"></span><span id="goog_2083461264"></span><br />
Not sure how I feel about Anil Kapoor starring in a song of sensuality, but <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XuGIA9wRT-o">lez be honest</a>, Sridevi is almost a couple all to herself in this piece. By the end, she's so worked up she doesn't need much of anyone for a good time. Notable: Let's acknowledge the sheer genius in shooting an intimate scene where the naughtiness is definitely happening right before everyone's eyes, yet is still completely inaccessible to the censors.<br />
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<u>Note on my choices</u>: For the most part, I tried to pick sequences that were absent from other people's "sexiest thing evah" lists. Everyone has beaten the Anamika, Fakira, Kabhi Kabhie, Sharmilee, and Blackmail horses to death (which explains the dearth of 70s films on the list), so those were out. The songs above all involve potential couples, which removed songs of solo longing; eliminated the odd genre of domestic voyeurism songs, such as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=himwydt4IIY">this one</a> from Abhinetri, or <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aGfva0GU5U">this one</a> from Manoranjan (which make me uncomfortable anyway, as my American horror film upbringing always tells me that someone is about to be murdered at the end of these songs); and also disqualified vamp seductions and item songs. I realize now that most of my picks either fall into the "unintentionally funny" or "finally emerges from long-held prejudice" categories, but that seems quite like life, so I won't mess with a good thing.<br />
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Let me know what funny or socially conscious sensual songs you would have picked in the comments!Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-7489882705634780342015-08-24T13:05:00.005-07:002015-09-08T16:43:27.857-07:00An Indictment *Ahem* Review: Sohni Mahiwal (1984)This is another one of those semi-rare Indo-Soviet co-productions, and one I'd never heard of before. On the surface, it shares some features that lend Ali Baba Aur 40 Chor so much camp charm ...<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">1. </span>It's an interpretation of a beloved folktale (one of the four great romantic tragedies of the Punjab). </div>
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<span style="color: #e69138;">2.</span> It stars a Deol (Sunny) as a hero and a Zeenat (in her post-Insaaf Ka Tarazu avenging woman avatar) as an outlaw.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">3.</span> It highlights some "exotic" Uzbek locations, design, costumes, and architecture.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">4.</span> It's got an A+ KNIFE DANCE, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKSJ9wRdR40">Chand Ruka Hai</a>." (Has anyone made a Bollywood master list of these? Hema has quite a few to her name, including <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFn2oM0neUc">40 Chor's</a> but c. the 80s, I prefer Zeenat's, as she channels dominatrix over domestic goddess.)<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">5.</span> Horse stunts and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buzkashi">Central Asian sporting traditions</a> that, sorry yaar, Feroz Khan got his hands on first (there must have been some Dharmatma fans in the house).<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">6.</span> A very little bit of visual effects (OK it's no open-sesame disco cave or creepy-wali jinn, just an actress in faux clay with some fancy editing). </div>
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<span style="color: #e69138;">7.</span> Hero's best bro is strikingly, not Danny Denzongpa. He should be. But he isn't. wait, you say Danny isn't in Ali Bab Aur 40 Chor either? Um, he should be. (How is it possible that there are two '80s Bollywood films calling for vaguely "Central Asian" features without him?)<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">8.</span> An epic love story! To be clear, as the star-crossed, nadi ke paas lovers, Sohni (Poonam Dhillon) and Mahiwal (Sunny Deol) together are the unfortunate result of producers thinking that A pretty thing + B pretty thing = onscreen chemistry. Luckily, dosti + bromance try to make up the difference.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WE actually do have chemistry but this wouldn't get past the censor board</td></tr>
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What this film fails to deliver in romance, it makes up for in attempted social commentary. Yes, this is one of those rare films to portray, if only via subtext, the exploitation of pottery.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6VfUevEq0bBl3tIjgyt6DXJy4jM8o932XSXlBB74-gmMdQ4NLMefDYqn0MMpsYsdeiqsk5zRNToaVeYksSPhW8ejdxeCLeYX5zes6u0x2aP6P-gi6prYieey8qOwnXOemZ5ANzd_cLOQ/s1600/sohni+mahiwal_1984_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6VfUevEq0bBl3tIjgyt6DXJy4jM8o932XSXlBB74-gmMdQ4NLMefDYqn0MMpsYsdeiqsk5zRNToaVeYksSPhW8ejdxeCLeYX5zes6u0x2aP6P-gi6prYieey8qOwnXOemZ5ANzd_cLOQ/s640/sohni+mahiwal_1984_4.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meri jaan, I'm totally gonna haunt you a la "Ghost" if you mess this pot up</td></tr>
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Early in the film, Izzat Beg/Mahiwal's uncle brings back a vessel imbued with magic powers. It is in this pitcher that the hero first gets a glimpse of his beloved. Disturbingly, this pot seems to have been pressed into a life as a migrant worker. If 2015 taught us anything, it's that such situations are but a FIFA scandal away from being exposed as human trafficking.<br />
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Religious figures, even the storyteller himself (a fabulous Shammi Kapoor, perhaps as poet and author Hashim? It's unclear to me), are just as culpable in this non-consensual gray market.<br />
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Sohni often uses earthenware to keep men at a distance, seemingly oblivious to the pots' needs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This pot is as unadorned as you my love only it's actually useful</td></tr>
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Yes, she does steal an intimate moment alone with a chalice, but this mostly just reveals her elitist bias toward metalwork.<br />
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Don't even get me started on the "reckless endangerment" charges that could be leveled at these folks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqvL0vfBQaPQYEHj9aCOumnEIa9XquNZintQQPMwn0gk3BRmZJbJ22nGJxDrT0L8ovupAETnuTC__bLsaVwanL3a-lmACXzTpC8WpVQ05qhT1t8AK6M2QmYfF-0Li8iiv9ZxXp__Q5A0/s1600/sohni+mahiwal_1984_34.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqvL0vfBQaPQYEHj9aCOumnEIa9XquNZintQQPMwn0gk3BRmZJbJ22nGJxDrT0L8ovupAETnuTC__bLsaVwanL3a-lmACXzTpC8WpVQ05qhT1t8AK6M2QmYfF-0Li8iiv9ZxXp__Q5A0/s640/sohni+mahiwal_1984_34.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you love something, set it free</td></tr>
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The story of Sohni Mahiwal may traditionally be the tale of a potter's daughter and her foreign lover, their subsequent violent separation by family and villagers, her forced marriage and continued rendezvous with banished aashiq, and their untimely death in the river after their meeting pot (I kid you not, it keeps them afloat when they cross the river) sinks. But looking for the new twist on an old story, the three directors (!) of this film dare to ask ... what happens to nice normal vessels-next-door when they are taken far from home and thrust into greatness? </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx67Pr9UzIfKTQ9_NnEKIQEYr7T6DqqaSNojc2O8Ny1QbcnA6uGtIDo5rOvdywFQwPw4GlvH9HJXuZi_PszYmW_uM8SpzoBPoC2JQT2xWBcbupHnyhyphenhyphenRJon3exwnXVA2u1-9y2cyc2Daw/s1600/sohni+mahiwal_1984_27.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx67Pr9UzIfKTQ9_NnEKIQEYr7T6DqqaSNojc2O8Ny1QbcnA6uGtIDo5rOvdywFQwPw4GlvH9HJXuZi_PszYmW_uM8SpzoBPoC2JQT2xWBcbupHnyhyphenhyphenRJon3exwnXVA2u1-9y2cyc2Daw/s640/sohni+mahiwal_1984_27.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sadly, pots were definitely harmed in the making of this movie</td></tr>
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Aww, well, y'all tried at least.<br />
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<span style="color: #f6b26b;">In conclusion ... </span></div>
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Sohni Mahiwal is undeniably pretty, but it doesn't hold up under the actors' lackluster performances, the repetitive soundtrack, or the legacy of previous Indo-Soviet collaborations. So yeah, <a href="http://halfwaythruthedark.tumblr.com/post/127358678288/the-way-we-watch#notes">you should learn from my mistake and skip this one</a>. Unless you want to press the fast forward button and play "spot-the-lady dacoit." It's really too bad when the most entertaining 10 minutes of a feature is a secondary character's violent flashback.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietHzhB7IdDGFPDZs8WOVjfqAhqzJFDoz6lIcDPWubClFkMjPQ0grSnCwwgpmeDUaRBxqww0EqRZ09lg2F2i0Zn7vbv5yEPKqRmB87Es33L5lfefVqusk00AlI68rw9qLhSE26zvLb518/s1600/sohni+mahiwal_1984_29.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietHzhB7IdDGFPDZs8WOVjfqAhqzJFDoz6lIcDPWubClFkMjPQ0grSnCwwgpmeDUaRBxqww0EqRZ09lg2F2i0Zn7vbv5yEPKqRmB87Es33L5lfefVqusk00AlI68rw9qLhSE26zvLb518/s640/sohni+mahiwal_1984_29.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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This film does make me want to see Abdullah (1980), if only to get more ZPH (Zeenat Per Hour) demonstrations in desert terrain. And, praise be, Danny actually IS in Abdullah. As it should be. I suppose it would also be a shame if this film defined the classic for me FOREVER ... so I should probably seek out a more successful telling.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">Your turn ...</span><br />
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Did you grow up with a version (print or film or TV) of this story that you loved? (It certainly hasn't been as popular with filmmakers as Heer-Ranjha.) If you know of one, do tell, as I hear Pran and Tanuja are also seeking a better version in which they can star together c. 1968.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uIlkM0erzmVmFy2yS7CJTtzK9k0FQqSbCdmTE0I5fDL-SpqDKzDZ9wD2TFSQX_zjX79YROADB6FzCnIvo9Q8nu4-x_z9IpOTTeOJ_TmFYQgsTtlWQyhksB1q3DvTNZ4o7Nvi-0dRNHg/s1600/Sohni+Mahiwal_pran+and+tanuja.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uIlkM0erzmVmFy2yS7CJTtzK9k0FQqSbCdmTE0I5fDL-SpqDKzDZ9wD2TFSQX_zjX79YROADB6FzCnIvo9Q8nu4-x_z9IpOTTeOJ_TmFYQgsTtlWQyhksB1q3DvTNZ4o7Nvi-0dRNHg/s640/Sohni+Mahiwal_pran+and+tanuja.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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If you're not Punjabi, is this story on your radar? What's more, is Poonam Dhillon even on your radar? I'd be curious to hear what y'all think.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">Note</span>: If you are annoyed by the gratuitous label in the corner of the screen caps (it was the best print on YouTube, so what can one do?), my tone of jest, or any great and wonderful plot twists or dialogue bits that I missed because of a lack of subtitles, my apologies. </div>
Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-82247238765783073312015-08-05T14:28:00.003-07:002016-04-18T17:42:12.965-07:00Catching Up: World Lit EditionIf winter weather makes me want to curl up in front of the silver screen, summer weather often drives me outdoors with a book. So, instead of the usual film-catch up session, let’s talk books. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIoKjKxk1wCFtMFiO_CcW6S7MQxB9WOOY2tRYHJ4mHUExQftMjGTvh7ZPUr6EYPIaGa0phB1vMsa_2LM_zLgZbD0ehgHnlhkfEfESPQtjZUgHxBTRhNYbuqsGAyLVpvqcUtF9LJ9-fLD8/s1600/World+lit_Ismat+Chughtai.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIoKjKxk1wCFtMFiO_CcW6S7MQxB9WOOY2tRYHJ4mHUExQftMjGTvh7ZPUr6EYPIaGa0phB1vMsa_2LM_zLgZbD0ehgHnlhkfEfESPQtjZUgHxBTRhNYbuqsGAyLVpvqcUtF9LJ9-fLD8/s200/World+lit_Ismat+Chughtai.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Ismat Chughtai</span>. Worth it if you read Tahira Naqvi’s translations. But I suggest getting a collection with a glossary at the least, and some explanatory intros to each story at best ... because the context of her stories may be a mystery to you, and her casts of twice and thrice related characters might prove impossible to keep straight. Still, if you pay attention (or understand the world of the zenana or the customs of the Muslim community better than I do), it’s easy to appreciate the broader social commentary and Chughtai’s dry sense of humor.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9LSnHo3s8uy-unUpZz4Shk91vb79udwF_l5i7FTXrIOxUIbraURTOAZpH7-7h1kOZ-9oejGJOqB3yUGcrIokFMv04mCW3F0wNedWz4sBlva3UwsZWqfo1LjIGuihS7NzSZw3Ie8Y9io/s1600/World+lit_Tagore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip9LSnHo3s8uy-unUpZz4Shk91vb79udwF_l5i7FTXrIOxUIbraURTOAZpH7-7h1kOZ-9oejGJOqB3yUGcrIokFMv04mCW3F0wNedWz4sBlva3UwsZWqfo1LjIGuihS7NzSZw3Ie8Y9io/s200/World+lit_Tagore.jpg" width="125" /></a><br />
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Rabindranath Tagore</span>. I’d read a few of his short stories before, including the ubiquitous <u>Postmaster</u>. But more recently I read <u>The Home and the World</u>. Personally, I’m a sucker for stories about revolutionary movements and especially personal disillusionment among the revolutionaries themselves, (plus I loved the film), so this pick was a no-brainer. As a whole, <u>The Home and the World</u> reads like a psycho-philosophical thriller (if there is such a genre), where almost all the action of note takes place in the three protagonists' increasingly urgent self-analysis and verbose interactions with one another; in their manipulations and calculations and (eventual) self-immolation in their own conflicting ideals.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6GwzWiVVhyphenhyphenPmqDy2zs1JiS5gsIJX5o9c6HOCJ-aBKo9-4E3pAt-V2kEJoTeULD6l_otvRMYeV83sxsZXPb4uHBjtcOtdy0FY3BHktAHlafVgJ4dvG9qJhApYX3VXGlY9Cc-90NgpOYI/s1600/World+lit_Sigrid+Undset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6GwzWiVVhyphenhyphenPmqDy2zs1JiS5gsIJX5o9c6HOCJ-aBKo9-4E3pAt-V2kEJoTeULD6l_otvRMYeV83sxsZXPb4uHBjtcOtdy0FY3BHktAHlafVgJ4dvG9qJhApYX3VXGlY9Cc-90NgpOYI/s200/World+lit_Sigrid+Undset.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Sigrid Undset</span>. One of only thirteen women to win the Nobel prize for literature (ummmm?), Sigrid was awarded for her published work on medieval Norway and Sweden. So far, I’ve only read the first installment of her most popular work, <u>Kristin Lavrandsdatter</u>. Happily, Undset doesn’t fetishize the past, as so many historical fiction writers do as a matter of course. And neither does she make the medieval era (normally my idea of hell on earth) seem unbearable. Also, the characters are stuck in another time, and never venture out of the mindsets of a pre-modern era. In Undset's simple presentations of daily details, the main character emerges as an individual wracked with sexual and religious guilt, but very much determined to snatch some happiness out of her life in spite of it. As my friend said, “This book is so very ... Catholic.” It really is, although, it might appeal to anyone brought up in a culture steeped in both the lows of religious shame and the heights of religious mystical experience. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWYmekzVm1MrK3SAZgZxO8Y83W1AhRfI4dhqREA-pTs35RqoD_0HYBecXTmCViCsXoaHsU8TktQhCKpTtAi-YvdQ-OTLGBJpOFsYU7P5rSQNbPr9Cjs5f_FTDPoxY2f-31Ysv3WXB1zk/s1600/World+lit_Winifred+Holtby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWYmekzVm1MrK3SAZgZxO8Y83W1AhRfI4dhqREA-pTs35RqoD_0HYBecXTmCViCsXoaHsU8TktQhCKpTtAi-YvdQ-OTLGBJpOFsYU7P5rSQNbPr9Cjs5f_FTDPoxY2f-31Ysv3WXB1zk/s1600/World+lit_Winifred+Holtby.jpg" /></a><span style="color: #0c343d;">Winifred Holtby</span>. Often described as well-kept secret, Holtby was a 1920s and '30s social reformer and writer in England, and great friends with the better-known Vita Sackville-West (though seemingly not one of her lovers). Holtby’s defining work, <u>South Riding</u>, was also her last, as she died in her mid-thirties. <u>South Riding</u> is an ambitiously broad view of a fictional district in Yorkshire ... with a cast of characters spanning a wide breadth of social stations and political views and professions. Sarah Burton, the new headmistress of the local girls' school, embodies the one viewpoint (of many) that the modern reader will probably find relatable. But unfortunately, the novel spends at least two-thirds of its time with other characters’ perspectives. As sociological literature, it’s fascinating; but it’s far too politically conscious to be psychologically authentic. I’m glad I read it, and I think it will stick with me, but I can’t count it among my favorites. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd367v1tf2PTiArIrSiHXRLl9hvR00kCDcKUnzhtVNCQvxW4DU6reeKZL2LqaQU9Si3BX3PYhHm-hOfCA6Goxgfgm8hdCz99l4pZJFfbDgygvnYgdAdnLfoES6u1jtSp9a8qjjhLCDjXM/s1600/World+lit_Laura+Esquivel.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd367v1tf2PTiArIrSiHXRLl9hvR00kCDcKUnzhtVNCQvxW4DU6reeKZL2LqaQU9Si3BX3PYhHm-hOfCA6Goxgfgm8hdCz99l4pZJFfbDgygvnYgdAdnLfoES6u1jtSp9a8qjjhLCDjXM/s200/World+lit_Laura+Esquivel.png" width="130" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #0c343d;">Laura Esquivel</span>. It’s been years since I spent any significant time trying to learn about Chicana or Hispanic culture (I admit that this makes me a bad American). This time, my book club forced me to temporarily shift my gaze from South Asia to south of the border. <u>Like Water for Chocolate</u> is one of those books that I previously had classed with Marquez and Rushdie’s work ... thinking it was going to be *ahem* self-important and drowning in its own symbolism. As it was, Esquivel made me laugh, didn’t make me angry, and didn’t depress the hell out of me, so I count it as 1 for Esquivel, 0 for Marquez (who I never get through), and -1 for Rushdie (who alternately entertains me and enrages me). <u>Note</u>: The movie (poor 1992, you have not aged well) is good for a different kind of laugh.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwuCOcc2ndF2t68ppPKTdaLcgcQNao82WNYm3-cdPP_J-TFEJmruVsYPugQ5HwhJHBrtHTPx1RVthBFBRQ6m_nSB9hlAyetMApXuyfA9Yh1T0kmllSzWbU_aG6O08PLrHvIXsAAkbXeR0/s1600/World+Lit_Selma+Lagerlof.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwuCOcc2ndF2t68ppPKTdaLcgcQNao82WNYm3-cdPP_J-TFEJmruVsYPugQ5HwhJHBrtHTPx1RVthBFBRQ6m_nSB9hlAyetMApXuyfA9Yh1T0kmllSzWbU_aG6O08PLrHvIXsAAkbXeR0/s200/World+Lit_Selma+Lagerlof.jpg" width="133" /></a><span style="color: #0c343d;">Selma Lagerlof</span>. Though this Swedish Nobel Prize winner’s “great” work seems to me like a massive and unnecessary portrait of an undeserving subject (<u>Gösta Berlings Saga</u>), her novella, <u>The Treasure </u>or <u>Mr. Arne’s Money</u>, is a perfectly ghostly little read for a stormy evening. Murder, high morals, female friendship, Scottish fiends, and a prescient hound populate this macabre Swedish tale. In the public domain, you can read it for free this October and settle in with some pumpkin chai for a quick, spooky adventure.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lDZjGepo6g-fZI-xlyRufHXnvxKRXmELND_seM6IHYUdt_10DYttgq2Zv8Dxhx2mhw5wU0CEOQ7IaFaJBIaOtMeWeUpRxvd5PSVKL-fyZ3TuW72hqDE1hwSXcqB8LcNIiOdDmR_ULFk/s1600/World+lit_Qurratulain+Hyder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0c343d;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8lDZjGepo6g-fZI-xlyRufHXnvxKRXmELND_seM6IHYUdt_10DYttgq2Zv8Dxhx2mhw5wU0CEOQ7IaFaJBIaOtMeWeUpRxvd5PSVKL-fyZ3TuW72hqDE1hwSXcqB8LcNIiOdDmR_ULFk/s200/World+lit_Qurratulain+Hyder.jpg" width="133" /></span></a><span style="color: #0c343d;">Qurratulain Hyder</span>. Ok, I haven’t yet read <u>Aag Ki Dariya</u> in translation, which I guess is everyone’s favorite Hyder classic. But I did read <u>Fireflies in the Mist</u>, as the online summary promised me revolutionaries, love among partisans, violence, disillusionment ... all going off together like fireworks in pre-Partition Bengal. In fact, all those things DID happen in <u>Fireflies</u>, but not in the way you (really, I) want them to. Every event manifests artfully out of synchronization, as in the best tragedies and the worst poems. The translation (Hyder's) feels badly edited, over-rich with superficial detail; and yet, the regional situation and interpersonal conflicts are still gripping. Significantly, it is the most politically-centrist and self-aware of the three female protagonists (the Hindu, rather than the Christian or Muslim), that makes out all right through all the regional disasters and tricks of fate that destroy her comrades’ families. Hugging the middle and jetting off to the Caribbean when the home fire gets too hot seems to be Hyder’s prescription for success (or at least, survival).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86FZSYRdfRjl_aS-hMSAzVuUtVKpxYilW_aGSdN3yjqM7_ByroQWHNTMZyu2gEwfqZay2JzVsObR5yiWj8hobTMoxRSnrjzmAsN-3yVXTsI8f3iSLZDjEv59otubSjAkdA0ZY-lhpvwc/s1600/World+lit_Sunil+Gangopadhyay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg86FZSYRdfRjl_aS-hMSAzVuUtVKpxYilW_aGSdN3yjqM7_ByroQWHNTMZyu2gEwfqZay2JzVsObR5yiWj8hobTMoxRSnrjzmAsN-3yVXTsI8f3iSLZDjEv59otubSjAkdA0ZY-lhpvwc/s200/World+lit_Sunil+Gangopadhyay.jpg" width="130" /></a><span style="color: #0c343d;">Sunil Gangopadhyay</span>. I recently made my book club read <u>Aranyer Din Ratri</u> (in translation, of course), and while I enjoyed the themes and the fable-like quality of it all, the movie is better. Heck, Sunil himself is better elsewhere. The translation *might* be a factor, but I think that the novel is more satisfying when approached as a short story. Each character is comically pitiable (if not quite despicable) in his or her inability to get beyond his demons, his social training, his ego, his urban assumptions. In verbalizing this stark truth, the book tends to use situations rather than motivations. Unlike <u>The Youth</u>, you won't find much narration here to take you into any of the characters' inner worlds (not that you'd want to get closer, you might catch something). Jokes aside, like a lot of the 1960's Bengali film youth, these four young men have more dignity than pocket money, and more pocket money than compassion. Despite their assumed good "bhadralok" breeding and education, they are loose cannons in a non-industrial setting, causing havoc in the little town and nearly getting themselves killed at several turns. Autobiographical novel or no, one can't help but assume that Sunil meant this one as a cautionary tale, asking, "Are you really above such people or such problems?" The silent refrain, "Probably not." <u>Note</u>: Another lesson learned, this is too Bengali-specific to be a good American book club book, despite its brevity. </div>
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<span style="color: #0c343d;">Nadine Gordimer</span>. The only author on this list that I think I could love, this anti-apartheid activist and Nobel Prize winner started off “simply” enough with a British South-African girl’s coming of age tale, <u>The Lying Days</u>, published in 1953. Depicting yet another side of political revolutionary life, it turns out that Helen, the sheltered and colonial-mine-raised protagonist, is not so much tripped up by regional violence or injustice or the new Nationalist government, but by the militantly bohemian culture of her chosen social set. When she eventually rejects the impotent progressiveness of her fashionable Joburg circle, Gordimer finally leaves Helen (and us) in a place of welcome emptiness. Helen embraces her disillusionment as a new beginning, a space that can now be filled with something better (if unknown). For [a young] Gordimer, the question is not how to survive a revolution or a movement with your body intact, but with your soul still human, still the genuine article ... not to be swallowed by the politics or the people, but refined into something definite and individual and still capable of spontaneous, uncensored conversation. In this goal, one’s greatest asset proves to be a real friend, preferably one allergic to insincerity and newspeak. Gordimer’s blessing breathes through the final pages: If you must be intimate with a person or a set of ideals, may you remain yourself, for what use are you as anything else? </div>
Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-58566986186073072052015-07-19T16:19:00.001-07:002016-04-18T17:40:57.138-07:00False Dilemma Opinion Poll: Filmi Families<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHkoW6xuhmZ8yor4mf62GBP6bCFiDo-RG_pz48t3CHrPbtpq2jujx4pPu9DVjWqZs7sGTIm3qt7MkmrrZKCFaDNPROyK39eDzPEwtMpOmGIY31lldYn3spojLbGP2qy6hdBaJKogseyw/s1600/Patthar+aur+Payal_13.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHkoW6xuhmZ8yor4mf62GBP6bCFiDo-RG_pz48t3CHrPbtpq2jujx4pPu9DVjWqZs7sGTIm3qt7MkmrrZKCFaDNPROyK39eDzPEwtMpOmGIY31lldYn3spojLbGP2qy6hdBaJKogseyw/s400/Patthar+aur+Payal_13.png" width="400" /></a></div>
SIRF EK HI RAASTA!<br />
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Weigh in with your choice of two famous family members in the comments below! You cannot answer "Both! Ufff, dono!" because this poll is unfair. Also, my apologies if examining any of these pairs feels like that trip to the eye doctor where they flip through different lenses asking, "1 or 2, 2 or 3, 5 or 14" and you really have no opinion one way or the other (because they amount to the same thing).<br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">1. Kishore Kumar or ... Ashok Kumar?</span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>: Hai, what have I done? Probably Ashok Kumar because of his onscreen staying power and consistently excellent performances. I can't or won't count the playback brilliance factor because that's NOT a fair fight.<br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">2. Supriya Pathak or ... Ratna Pathak? </span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>: With that growly voice and sometimes-swagger, Supriya is more compelling to me at this point. But I wish I had known them both in the 80s c. Idhar Udhar.<br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">3. Vinod Khanna or ... Akshaye Khanna?</span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>: Duh. VK ... I am thus-far allergic to his sons' performances.<br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">4. Tanuja or ... Kajol? </span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>: I've actually seen Tanuja in more films at this point, and she's a good performer and all ... but she never really wins me over and often projects a kind of emotional strain that isn't pleasant to watch. Kajol can also be grating on screen, but I still like her in spite of it. So I suppose it's Kajol. <br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">5. Vijay Anand or ... Shekhar Kapur? </span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>. Better to ask, Mr. India or Blackmail? Based on the films I've seen so far, well, Shekhar wins by a one point lead (one can't forget Masoom, even if those Elizabeth movies were dull as paint and I haven't been able to stomach Bandit Queen in full). But if I see a few more early Vijay films I might feel differently.<br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">6. Salim Khan or ... Salman Khan?</span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>: Salim of Salim-Javed over Salman bhaiya any day. [I will probably make a rare trip to see a Hindi film in the theatre for Bajrangi Bhaijaan, however.]<br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">7. Salim Khan or ... Helen? </span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>: [crosses self] Helen-ji, please forgive the question, we know not what we do.<br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">8. Dharmendra or ... Hema Malini?</span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>: Aren't they one person now? Like some superimposed super-being? No? Then, hmm, Dharmendra by a very narrow margin (that should by rights not be able to accommodate a Deol thigh).<br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">9. Sonakshi Sinha or ... Shatrughan Sinha?</span><br />
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My answer: I liked Sonakshi in Lootera (before I promptly forgot about the film), but I'm extremely fond of ol' Shotgun, not least because I'm amused that whenever I show my family a movie with him, my mother inevitably goes "Who's that?" and starts rooting for his nonsense rather than the hero's.<br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">10. Sharmila Tagore ... or Saif Ali Khan? </span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>: Saif Ali who? Where are my Sharmila movies? I need them to remain in my sight at all times and I'm concerned that I do not yet own a copy of Nayak (despite an attempt to purchase and receiving an Anil Kapoor movie for my pains)... especially given the fickleness of YouTube and the general slowness of Criterion to release a remastered edition along with all the other popular 60s Ray films.<br />
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<span style="color: #38761d;">And a bonus question:</span><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #274e13;">11. Yash Chopra or ... B.R. Chopra? </span><br />
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<u>My answer</u>: Can I bend my own rule and say YC in the 70s and BRC in the 80s? No? Well, then I choose Ittefaq (it is my blog header after all) and thereby choose both.<br />
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There's no end to the rishta and khandaans (or even the Khans) of Bollywood, so I'll cap this here.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-92014534245539359052015-07-14T22:51:00.000-07:002015-07-15T09:57:13.106-07:00Anatomy of a Debate: Jab Jab Phool Khile (1965)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeb_CPJpp4-322KECPrdTsBWbckmjjY3i0dS59eCZD3YFrNGOMKPRl9Rck3cH1H7XKe7zSijra9_k0OGQajr_2FGoBEtM1atSmX1Xfc7r7he3iVoigm16d71qV5LVVWnCwK3so2ghtOgk/s1600/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeb_CPJpp4-322KECPrdTsBWbckmjjY3i0dS59eCZD3YFrNGOMKPRl9Rck3cH1H7XKe7zSijra9_k0OGQajr_2FGoBEtM1atSmX1Xfc7r7he3iVoigm16d71qV5LVVWnCwK3so2ghtOgk/s400/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_1.png" width="400" /></a>After a recent re-watch of Jab Jab Phool Khile and several conversations about both its merits and flaws, I am again reminded that as a lover of JJPK in the Bolly-blogosphere, I am very much in the minority. For a series of reasons, this film tends to generate extreme reactions of both affection and disgust from modern viewers.<br />
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In my experience, people tend to sum up their opinion of Jab Jab Phool Khile in one of the following ways.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNi50jcShsewnaiuRE9Vv_WP7UeME5ji5B-8nDoydlCyGiZ7MsI1bSxbddDHb3vIkVnwfx8wowde61sih8dF_MNkCZ3OXHYDX36K57FqwZPulqcRk_ygx_ns5RHzQ0XGq0OJQU7P2tpMA/s1600/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_13.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNi50jcShsewnaiuRE9Vv_WP7UeME5ji5B-8nDoydlCyGiZ7MsI1bSxbddDHb3vIkVnwfx8wowde61sih8dF_MNkCZ3OXHYDX36K57FqwZPulqcRk_ygx_ns5RHzQ0XGq0OJQU7P2tpMA/s400/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_13.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I imagine Yeh Samaa was a revelation for certain impressionable youths</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #e69138;">1. "What a 'sweet' film, I grew up seeing those songs on Doordarshan. Mohammed Rafi was certainly in best form, then. And did you know that Shashi Kapoor studied and ate with shikara-wallahs to prepare for this role?"</span><br />
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Asking someone of this stripe to criticize JJPK would be like asking me to pass judgment on the home-sweet-home-is-best (but just for the woman) motifs in The Wizard of Oz (which is a film that appears in my earliest memories from age two, and continued to be my childhood obsession for long after). Even for those who have no special history with JJPK, this is an essentially non-critical, nostalgic, song-oriented position which holds that pretty + old = good.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZO4YQBwO_jeSvGAkQNySAkGlTmr5KjxFj8r7JvJ3tZWVSsePMD9cJ_pyjVGqcKCZx0OUQvJGtcilD3n0Yv39aenKAcbWw1iYP91T5Mb8S9_7MDDSzzc4B5mgdt3ipIy61DuUCtr8Cbo/s1600/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_10.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZO4YQBwO_jeSvGAkQNySAkGlTmr5KjxFj8r7JvJ3tZWVSsePMD9cJ_pyjVGqcKCZx0OUQvJGtcilD3n0Yv39aenKAcbWw1iYP91T5Mb8S9_7MDDSzzc4B5mgdt3ipIy61DuUCtr8Cbo/s400/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_10.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ideallaedi here's the Lolita scene!</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #e69138;">2. "The film represents a reactionary swing towards imagined rural values, and imposes them on the foreign-returned, educated, upper-class, city-bred female." </span><br />
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For most of those who read the film this way, the (negative) critique flows naturally from the analysis itself. Progress is good, but Nanda is portrayed is bad, therefore Nanda is punished for her progressiveness, and even gives it up for the sake of the unreasonable reactionaries and cruel boyfriend! So much bakwaas. Dispose and delete. In contrast, though, I suppose there are also plenty of folks out there who, having read the film this way, would celebrate its championship of a simpler, traditional, and maybe already extinct way of life. [Also, if you happen to lean Marxist, you're certainly not going get caught rooting for a corporate zamindars' plan to control his daughter's marriage and thereby keep the daulat in the family and the bloodline pure.]<br />
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<u>Note</u>: I'm fairly certain that the above "feminist" critique represents the opinions of 90% of the Bolly-blogosphere.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjmm60FuGna6ElLJEBFml9yrRTDC0V8Wnd2RW8X_cBoNOm_cjsOl8IbjFpZKh5GaldvZeGFS-d7slqPULGFy1QhdAWvdDdLpERW4Cg8gA19IoohbDB-4HgF2S017ynd_11W5_JgfdxAg/s1600/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjmm60FuGna6ElLJEBFml9yrRTDC0V8Wnd2RW8X_cBoNOm_cjsOl8IbjFpZKh5GaldvZeGFS-d7slqPULGFy1QhdAWvdDdLpERW4Cg8gA19IoohbDB-4HgF2S017ynd_11W5_JgfdxAg/s400/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #e69138;">3. "As in the later Dil Se, the romantic couple of Jab Jab Phool Khile embodies the ongoing ishq-nafrat relationship between India and Kashmir." </span><br />
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Poetry, even poetic catharsis can be found here, if one is looking for it. And for the politically minded romantic, it must be something indeed to watch the final scene ... as the privileged Indian ladki almost kills herself trying to concede to the Kashmiri ladka's demands and win him back. Also, it's worth asking whether or not this is accidentally-on-purpose a Muslim/Hindu love story, on top of everything else.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">4. "I liked it but I can't defend it. Still, you should see it, it's a classic." </span><br />
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Fair enough.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">5."Cute film. Liked the outfits. And the lake. The songs were catchy." </span><br />
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O Enviable Being who can enjoy a film without feeling the need to reflect on every detail, teach me your ways.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">But who in their right mind is going to root for this family's status quo?</span></td></tr>
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In a richly layered film like Jab Jab Phool Khile, there's a little something for anyone (provided they take classic films seriously to begin with) to love or hate.<br />
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I can understand and respect most of the above views ... even those who long for "homegrown" values and simpler times have my sympathy. I have close family members who operate on a similar wavelength, people who are distressed by big cities and pollution and noise and promiscuity. What am I to say to them? No, you should enjoy that world's violence and artifice? You should jump on that train so you won't get left behind? Even if the destination repulses you? Someone in my family said, just last week, "I need to be living out in the country, you know. When I'm in big groups or at parties, I get overstimulated. I just see people's problems. There's too much noise."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_MOstYxSC_3QiyQDFOFwIc0OtNxDxwKz9CLzTwcN_u5e_QeQr56R_GTLjsOiH-dI-7tcSxDejt1XS5mMEIZAPGJK0kuJBOH3OYdygVtElDau7xVM7TIgLCvaxD8XV3ZGwfq93Hiuoeo/s1600/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_8.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_MOstYxSC_3QiyQDFOFwIc0OtNxDxwKz9CLzTwcN_u5e_QeQr56R_GTLjsOiH-dI-7tcSxDejt1XS5mMEIZAPGJK0kuJBOH3OYdygVtElDau7xVM7TIgLCvaxD8XV3ZGwfq93Hiuoeo/s400/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_8.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mythical deserted waterfront</td></tr>
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As someone who grew up in the country, I understand this, even as I personally feel torn between the memory of the rolling hills of my childhood home, and the potential for new experiences and knowledge and culture that a city life brings. But I also know that peaceful pastoral days can eat up your life before you know it, never bringing a harvest ... and that fresh air is often intellectually stagnant.<br />
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As someone who grew up in a very conservative milieu, I also want to fight the traditionalist machine that only lives to reproduce exact copies of itself. So, in theory, I could rage at JJPK's dismantling of The Modern Woman's new-found independence. Still, I find myself dragging my feet, in this case.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKFtAKvkgJHDewhTiK9xqtLziiSWG8hMhsHRYbgHn5XwJo5F44MeBpPVm2-6LT55n9XwJKKekE4oglN8aB12gWEiUMn7hqqI1yttH3UKmo4Z4JvWqKg8PUBQLxdgBgZ2PiA9o1GhHvkg/s1600/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_20.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwKFtAKvkgJHDewhTiK9xqtLziiSWG8hMhsHRYbgHn5XwJo5F44MeBpPVm2-6LT55n9XwJKKekE4oglN8aB12gWEiUMn7hqqI1yttH3UKmo4Z4JvWqKg8PUBQLxdgBgZ2PiA9o1GhHvkg/s400/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_20.png" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div>
While I don't pretend to know anything substantial about what it is to be Kashmiri or to live or travel in Kashmir, certain stories set in the region awaken for me the intangible essence of traveling from Mostar to Sarajevo and back to Zagreb. But if I can't describe the power of those more concrete travel experiences, I certainly can't describe the more abstract draw to a place I haven't yet been. My interest also might say more about connecting to an outsider's (Bollywood's) narration of a story that is not really its story to tell in the first place. [There are some powerful stories to be had here though, propaganda, one-sided-truths, romanticization or no.]<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjg-g4_dm5YCasxey3r4ly1CeOcYe6UbQZuXam64vcI4n26n45evEYQyvbOB8pQMJMgqzWo3XyI1PO4LCCz9Ir-drdcP-ybkImLvHXij_jIDsgv5kfXEeznSonquug2Euwcr0AxjwEE6s/s1600/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_16.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjg-g4_dm5YCasxey3r4ly1CeOcYe6UbQZuXam64vcI4n26n45evEYQyvbOB8pQMJMgqzWo3XyI1PO4LCCz9Ir-drdcP-ybkImLvHXij_jIDsgv5kfXEeznSonquug2Euwcr0AxjwEE6s/s400/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_16.png" width="400" /></a>To those who want to dismiss this film based on the ideals of modern identity politics or feminist concerns, I can only say, "This is not your identity at stake here, this is a story. It's malleable. It can mean more than you think it means. Perhaps the central woman isn't a woman, but India. Or perhaps she's not India, but rather Modernity. Or could it also have less meaning than you ascribe to it? Perhaps the woman is just a girl who found something worthwhile outside her (grasping and villainous, let us remember) family and community ... and decided to make a sacrifice to keep it. If that's her personal choice, shouldn't one accept it based on those same political ideals of self-determination? Also, does the film require you to agree with her choice? You are just as free to see it as a cautionary tale."<br />
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And I could further talk about the value of subtext and performance over dialogue, and the Hindi dialogues vs. the English subtitles. I could argue that the film is more powerful in deed than in word, that Nanda and Shashi's performances are more in reactions than actions, and the film is *perhaps* less "offensive" in its original language. Even so, I could further argue that this is another time and place ... and shouldn't be weighed against our own. (As Filmigeek has done <a href="http://www.filmigeek.net/2007/08/jab-jab-phool-k.html">here</a>, in a review I much appreciate).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS5jGi-zhdZaM2mywjizN68OeXwB2KiXToI9EJC6OFz7zZzU-JdJ7r3xCW7uisAJZKK4OrbzNNclBkKgZuQOHGBLc_fkB4-iwPnXFGlIwcjfhVRQFN5yNRIh9K2mAoVVtem_7obrwE80U/s1600/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_19.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS5jGi-zhdZaM2mywjizN68OeXwB2KiXToI9EJC6OFz7zZzU-JdJ7r3xCW7uisAJZKK4OrbzNNclBkKgZuQOHGBLc_fkB4-iwPnXFGlIwcjfhVRQFN5yNRIh9K2mAoVVtem_7obrwE80U/s400/Jab+Jab+Phool+Khile_19.png" width="400" /></a>Still, for me, most of these concerns were not much in my mind during my first experience with Jab Jab Phool Khile. First of all, it is a GOOD film, and as such, sent me far away from my own thoughts ... too far away to immediately judge or compare my opinions to that of others. I was more concerned with my own experience, frankly. To me, JJPK expressed the longing one can feel for someone or something or someplace that is not of one's own world. One fated day, the "pardesi" or foreign thing appears, captures the "desi" heart, and then leaves ... leaves you with no way to ever be whole again. Some part of you will always be with that far away place or person. It follows, then, that you will also never be completely home again. And yet, there is no way to fully inhabit that other, foreign life, either. Yes, Rita and Raja experiment with (mostly in Raja's case) each others' way of speech and dress. But ultimately, Raja will always be most comfortable in his phiran and shawl, and Rita her mod apparel. (Though I would pick Raja's any day over those satin gowns and skin-tight churidar-kameez.)<br />
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Like the protagonist of my earliest film obsession (The Wizard of Oz and its sequal), the lovers of JJPK have had a transformative experience, and now will forever be straddling two worlds. Raja will never be home without Rita, and Rita will never be whole without Raja. A neat filmi ending couldn't really resolve this tension, nor could we believe it if it tried. At least this film dares to give that struggle a voice.<br />
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"<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmxvcR7AHvQ">Jiska naam mohabbat hai voh, kab rukatee hain divaaron se</a>."Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-84764364661378137312015-06-29T17:11:00.005-07:002015-07-14T14:35:59.938-07:00Glam from the Ranch: Betaab (1983) Even though Betaab seems to have been massively popular at the time ... I've never heard anyone recommend it or discuss it by name. So maybe we should talk about what makes this film stick out from its peers ... even 30+ years later.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">The gist: </span><br />
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Separated childhood friends Sunny and Roma (Sunny Deol and Amrita Singh) meet again as adults in ***Betaab Valley, when Roma returns for holiday . He's a devil-may-care rancher, she's a devilish heiress.<br />
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He realizes who she is.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQbNtEOQ0di_qecXzyovrQVU_84Ml_Ntvzpjks_SRRwyfB_vYB_tfn1sSvgDPWPG8q_qsj1-3GYh2sv2QcBJ2kyIL-MNbRC5Zx3xfMogCgPLJW-igWlgmTXmRcwgD6ernsBuRSnNnqGQ/s1600/Betaab_42.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQbNtEOQ0di_qecXzyovrQVU_84Ml_Ntvzpjks_SRRwyfB_vYB_tfn1sSvgDPWPG8q_qsj1-3GYh2sv2QcBJ2kyIL-MNbRC5Zx3xfMogCgPLJW-igWlgmTXmRcwgD6ernsBuRSnNnqGQ/s640/Betaab_42.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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She has no idea who he is. But, of course, she takes an immediate dislike to his impertinent ways.<br />
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They bicker and almost kill one another and she deliberately destroys all the out-buildings on his farm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvtdtawAT4ir4PF3NEhpTo_qOi1RWgADVYfuaXrvHTlVnZoO0HylEdA-vHcT1rOfs6SHDHIE4IXXle2aDyV1KIF0q7sxZntArnpBxQZBSlVaV3H_OVJqVLOkIZPnD0eMiQ84PpmYE1UR0/s1600/Betaab_44.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvtdtawAT4ir4PF3NEhpTo_qOi1RWgADVYfuaXrvHTlVnZoO0HylEdA-vHcT1rOfs6SHDHIE4IXXle2aDyV1KIF0q7sxZntArnpBxQZBSlVaV3H_OVJqVLOkIZPnD0eMiQ84PpmYE1UR0/s640/Betaab_44.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">luckily, she didn't get the waterslide</td></tr>
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'Course, when Roma's found out, she's also "forced" to stay on the farm to repair the damage and by extension, get to know her childhood friend all over again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5faAmp4VnQBsQIIZ9VRqtre_GO1hCIUstHOyr9OO66qZpBedapG43SH4f4USFlJlH6ZDMstatt1C-pUtOq7w9qx7b1cCk5qT1gP9P2H49isMZsLZq_vHyZSxhCqm4mzdWyAQ-G0gaho/s1600/Betaab_45.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5faAmp4VnQBsQIIZ9VRqtre_GO1hCIUstHOyr9OO66qZpBedapG43SH4f4USFlJlH6ZDMstatt1C-pUtOq7w9qx7b1cCk5qT1gP9P2H49isMZsLZq_vHyZSxhCqm4mzdWyAQ-G0gaho/s640/Betaab_45.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not the way to rebuild a chicken-coop, darlin'</td></tr>
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Fortunately, Sunny's Ma (Nirupa Roy) is off looking for farm equipment or something, and has no idea how scandalous the situation at the farm is quickly becoming. (<u>Note</u>: I know I've seen this gimmick before in a Hollywood movie, but I just can't remember where. Maybe some screwball comedy ... seems like something Katherine Hepburn would have to do.)<br />
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By the time she finally figures out who he is and is de-thorned enough to commence embracing, Big Daddy shows up and objects to the snuggles. (I know this is a Tennessee Williams thing but I can't help using it to describe Shammi Kapoor characters.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgykL4PGHqUwnNnjn0LJUhbLqk9uhViIR28jv3r0k0uTMHTpiMEuZJswiVynaBwnqn3fyFEt_hapCOHtYlDJilr3bzBcULnA-bix5UoqFtgi9CLbJFqbI3S0jBip-6AJNCCLzdC2uVcUB8/s1600/Betaab_26.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgykL4PGHqUwnNnjn0LJUhbLqk9uhViIR28jv3r0k0uTMHTpiMEuZJswiVynaBwnqn3fyFEt_hapCOHtYlDJilr3bzBcULnA-bix5UoqFtgi9CLbJFqbI3S0jBip-6AJNCCLzdC2uVcUB8/s640/Betaab_26.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Turns out, the two families have a messy history (duh). Scenes from The Man From Snowy River (released just a year earlier) may be invoked. Etc. Etc.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">The audience bait:</span><br />
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This film contains two kissing scenes (without much fanfare), a snake-bite/poison removal orgasm (as if nagin symbolism ever needs any help) ...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9234be8kKFqJJenrg_PieaTp3ik3G7B7N17LaTOv4qMA5rYxJfPUpJ-BfEK4pcaSQQGOwPdtZqkcP5VxRpa0tkMbgx6twU0_GmPjBN8I5Frb6dXad7xu-N4JATC5_rs9XX_9UrDywEF8/s1600/Betaab_10.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9234be8kKFqJJenrg_PieaTp3ik3G7B7N17LaTOv4qMA5rYxJfPUpJ-BfEK4pcaSQQGOwPdtZqkcP5VxRpa0tkMbgx6twU0_GmPjBN8I5Frb6dXad7xu-N4JATC5_rs9XX_9UrDywEF8/s640/Betaab_10.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">just when you think you've seen it all</td></tr>
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... gorgeous Kashmiri locations ...<br />
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... a castle and a strange art-museum-inspired gazebo ...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIF4PbHSokIyWpPUIV2z_QPoRMS6J2Dagj8jg_Xn47oh8euXWfyDFSG-aVnhnD4JDronNin-Cvtu97nFjTe454YrwVsFEFEPcfdvUblGKwrgxS6H7Ya7mAf89aOJc5zbBnGkjRJxLocvI/s1600/betaab_gazebo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIF4PbHSokIyWpPUIV2z_QPoRMS6J2Dagj8jg_Xn47oh8euXWfyDFSG-aVnhnD4JDronNin-Cvtu97nFjTe454YrwVsFEFEPcfdvUblGKwrgxS6H7Ya7mAf89aOJc5zbBnGkjRJxLocvI/s640/betaab_gazebo.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am in love with this monstrosity. </td></tr>
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... a well-paced script from Javed Akhtar, and A LOT of Sunny Deol.<br />
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(Like there's chest hair coming out of the seams, and maybe check your viewing device for stray fur balls at interval). Luckily, this is taazi roti-Sunny, just out of the film industry oven, and relatively free of the stiff mannerisms of his later days. [Or romances with co-stars a third of his age: *ahem* I Love NY.] The director did everything he could to exploit the family genes, it seems to me. Sunny is really the sexualized debutante in this production, and groomed bachpan-se, too. You can tell just by his frequently donned short-shorts, signature Deol wear that could only be more of a tradition if they weren't so much shorts as a robe or a blacksmith's skirt. A smart business move, as he was the star kid from a massively publicized family scandal, and people were more likely to be heading to the theatre to see Sunny, Dharmendra ka bacha, than a potentially disposable new starlet. (I mean did anyone see Heropanti for a better reason?) Still, he's not just a pretty face, either. His horsemanship is to be envied, and his comedic timing is pretty good, with the exception of some poorly-advised fake laughter.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbkhQvwYaHmVFAmXo0BrDPcCUZ_XueaiQGjs9SWj2tYnsmyYDw6fDyotDk3JyM3vdXPovxpJDESPitMNRael-Z2Ni0znKRaxAs31EWVp2Tz-evk1xTEMkMgDUHxLdumcXnrzrkNyMjIQ/s1600/Betaab_46.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbkhQvwYaHmVFAmXo0BrDPcCUZ_XueaiQGjs9SWj2tYnsmyYDw6fDyotDk3JyM3vdXPovxpJDESPitMNRael-Z2Ni0znKRaxAs31EWVp2Tz-evk1xTEMkMgDUHxLdumcXnrzrkNyMjIQ/s640/Betaab_46.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">glam but not so glam as you'd expect</td></tr>
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Amrita Singh clocks in a debut performance as the heroine. Though she's rough around the edges (especially in her early dialogue delivery) you can't quite look away from her theatrics. My favorite thing about her is that she's believably vicious. Something about the look in her eyes and her cat-like way of lunging makes her scarier than the average romantic lead. Hema could use a whip, and I hear Amrita gets one of her own in Mard, but I don't really think she needs anything but her finger nails do to serious damage. That is, until she sheds some of them in the second half. If you like Bollywood heroines to be more riot grrrl than girl-next-door, you'll probably like her. Frivolous though it may be, I also have to mention that she wears the hell out of a pair of trousers...the staple of her wardrobe throughout the film (she never switches to saris). Also, Amrita was one of the best things about the recent 2 States (2014) for me, so it was fun to see how she got her start.<br />
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The well-matched physicality and athleticism of these two leads certainly must have contributed to the film's success. When they're not riding bucking horses, tumbling in the grass or hay or in the water or in the mountains, they're jumping off of roofs, throwing chickens, catching chickens, and playing chicken on the road ... jeep vs. truck vs. hairpin curves.<br />
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Really, some of the action made me nervous, especially the dubious horse stunts. I'm not sure how much of it was stunt-double work, either, which points to either excellent framing and choreography, or terrible safety practices.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmiaNwfY09ZkjODYPppuXVaOWpJuhK26XZo7s0BUquYv_D2fFKP_Ae-37Y_h9ymFtReLjJfnDV_NQaYBUe1CYefewlxgIDBoPBz19wLUq4MebIqTVwT-NPzz3UyFWIykp2S9MWgwj4SQ/s1600/Betaab_48.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmiaNwfY09ZkjODYPppuXVaOWpJuhK26XZo7s0BUquYv_D2fFKP_Ae-37Y_h9ymFtReLjJfnDV_NQaYBUe1CYefewlxgIDBoPBz19wLUq4MebIqTVwT-NPzz3UyFWIykp2S9MWgwj4SQ/s640/Betaab_48.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty sure that's actually Sunny. Mithun did a similar stunt the year before in Aamne Samne, clearly Bollywood was obsessed with Raiders of the Lost Ark (can you blame them?). </td></tr>
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If you're looking for '70s standbys, you will find Prem Chopra and Nirupa Roy once again in comfortable roles (though leaning more toward portrait than caricature, here) as villain and matriarch. It also occurs to me that they had 2-3 x longer careers in same-same supporting roles than Sunny had in the lead ... but maybe that's to be expected. Shammi Kapoor brings a human sparkle to the alternately gruff and benevolent crorepati.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioMD2Zn88N_8P41paY17RESqXopNMjR87ehD90XLq0sOdlD4Kn8JYpqjXUNtWmTEIVy2HIpwg3aNkQsHQNCrcElF7Cq9vtqVFGiW5frgC4U29xI2oLveysV2ANVQ_4hkaw2f_4MKNf214/s1600/Betaab_29.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioMD2Zn88N_8P41paY17RESqXopNMjR87ehD90XLq0sOdlD4Kn8JYpqjXUNtWmTEIVy2HIpwg3aNkQsHQNCrcElF7Cq9vtqVFGiW5frgC4U29xI2oLveysV2ANVQ_4hkaw2f_4MKNf214/s640/Betaab_29.png" width="640" /></a><br />
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Annu Kapoor also shows up for a welcome and touching role as the family nauker; a self-described "chhota aadmi" who still manages to help his favorite rude heiress out in a time of need.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEsl8ALqJ2cRan5In7yjn_jDN6uiLZhyphenhyphenzUaCZ0SKe9A0lxQB_bl5byLd3jnDlh0tCdZwlz250ou1KjhdDQS1dTLY3wb_hfGPL4fumZJJVgSAqnRVSmp5CNAmcfUb7DmvTu1et2UGVUkA/s1600/Betaab_50.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEsl8ALqJ2cRan5In7yjn_jDN6uiLZhyphenhyphenzUaCZ0SKe9A0lxQB_bl5byLd3jnDlh0tCdZwlz250ou1KjhdDQS1dTLY3wb_hfGPL4fumZJJVgSAqnRVSmp5CNAmcfUb7DmvTu1et2UGVUkA/s640/Betaab_50.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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But by far the best supporting performance came in from the <a href="http://masalazindabad.blogspot.com/2011/08/no-animals-were-harmed-in-making-of.html">anipal</a> actor ... a yellow lab with remarkable dishooming abilities (canine-fu?) and amazing restorative powers. (People never recover from GSWs in Hindi films, but thankfully, nobody seemed to tell the dog that rule.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAMav-tn2pUn8dSFB22pzDqItvOUCVvmcpMYG7cgciiScH4XpW2WC1aR0nZqdu_zNHHWDiLgyVFDmKMYhHlF1NSjOw6S2ZF8Kd-j5sJ-wMKSzbfnaWAcWWpZ_2EhufIUZvK3Otp9-i14/s1600/Betaab_53.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIAMav-tn2pUn8dSFB22pzDqItvOUCVvmcpMYG7cgciiScH4XpW2WC1aR0nZqdu_zNHHWDiLgyVFDmKMYhHlF1NSjOw6S2ZF8Kd-j5sJ-wMKSzbfnaWAcWWpZ_2EhufIUZvK3Otp9-i14/s640/Betaab_53.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nc7X2cO1fCM">Here comes the dog, strong and brave</a>!"</td></tr>
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<span style="color: #e69138;">The sum of its parts: </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQEQWFvzgwPjDMjoCA4jIvmxDeG2dUYerY7EnK-3y8V-ASMnrBnqN_pYNiqXo6VAOR4nU9-BwDQS1CBdCz3eJpN1mzd_-xVsxHGz1bNoCKk1oxJy9ABvLHoM7WXOAjyEwd3b0kVx2FWaI/s1600/Betaab_23.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQEQWFvzgwPjDMjoCA4jIvmxDeG2dUYerY7EnK-3y8V-ASMnrBnqN_pYNiqXo6VAOR4nU9-BwDQS1CBdCz3eJpN1mzd_-xVsxHGz1bNoCKk1oxJy9ABvLHoM7WXOAjyEwd3b0kVx2FWaI/s640/Betaab_23.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWGtjqv19ZA">You gave each other a pledge? Unheard of, absurd</a>." </td></tr>
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Values-wise, I appreciated the attitude towards parental authority in this film. As far as I can tell, Roma doesn't spend any time feeling guilty about her father's disapproval of her romantic choice, and neither Roma nor Sunny put up with patriarchal abuse. Worlds away from DDLJ, thank God.<br />
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Sunny does cook up a bit of a taming of the shrew project for Roma, but it hangs more upon natural consequences than his will to dominate. He just wants his friend/sweetheart back, which is about as innocuous as it gets. And even when she's a bit tamed, she doesn't lose her edge entirely, or give up her ability to make decisions for herself.<br />
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So, ok, this film doesn't do anything new, but perhaps that's too much to ask of a star-launching vehicle. Even so, it's pleasant-viewing, with few of the usual wasted scenes, and creative wide-shot cinematography. You may or may not like the six R.D. Burman songs... for me they were just so-so. Still, Betaab has the gleam of new talent and the support of the old, and enough is as good as a feast. And the dog, did I mention the dog?<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">The rationale:</span><br />
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I know some of you are thinking, BUT WHY? Recently, when a former prof of mine compared Sunny's career in the 80s to some commercial (but critically ignored) mass hits of the 50s, I had to laugh. But I realized I couldn't in good conscience continue to giggle about Sunny without experiencing the height of his stardom for myself. Now that I have, well, I wouldn't mind seeing more ... maybe even films that better fit the "obscure" half of the "obscure hit" equation.. But I draw the line at ... No, actually, I have no idea where I draw the line anymore with Hindi films. The minute I draw one, I resent it and immediately want to see the other side. All you have to do to get me to try a new category I have vowed not to watch is to talk it up while I talk it down. Eventually, the curiosity will get the better of me.<br />
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***Did you know that the Kashmiri valley was named after the film, not the other way around? Thanks, A.B.! That's going to end up in my South Asian geography unit next year, I can tell you that.<br />
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<u>Note</u>: I saw this on a whim, so pardon any mistakes in details from a lack of subtitles (though the Hindi is easy to follow and anyhow, you really don't need to understand the dialogue to understand this film) and the sub-par cropped screen caps.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-60628357931475936172015-06-08T23:05:00.001-07:002015-06-09T12:08:15.196-07:00Pakistani Film Reviews: Saat Lakh (1957) سات لاکھ"Finally" the first Pakistani film I've seen that can rightly join the ranks of the South Asian romantic comedy (with classics like Chori Chori, Mr. and Mrs. '55, some 70s and 80s middle cinema, Chupke Chupke, etc.), Saat Lakh (1957). As it stars Sabiha Khanum and Santosh Kumar, the first couple of 50s Pakistani cinema (and married in real life soon after this film released), I was certainly expecting sparks. And that's about all you get in Saat Lakh. Sparks, but never a fire.<br />
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The hook did bode well. Kausar Banu (Sabiha) is an orphaned heiress who is compelled to marry (by one of those pesky parental clauses) to inherit a fortune of 7 lakhs three times over in land and assets. It seems that if she doesn't, her brother (Himalaya Wala), a boozy gambler will inherit instead. Though she hates the institution of marriage, she's compelled to take the will's stipulations seriously. Despairing to find a feller on the sunny side of 60 (perhaps because of her haughty temperament, perhaps because her brother's reputation) Kausar runs into a bit of luck, or rather luck runs into her, when a young man (Santosh) pursued by the police climbs through her window.<br />
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Strangely, the man, Salim, admits to being a suspect in woman's murder, but he begs for her assistance. Clever Kausar sees the opportunity. She offers a deal. She will cover for him when the police arrive, but only if he agrees to marry her. Salim hesitates (resenting her power play), but when the police knock at the door, he's ready to repeat "qubool hai" and "manzoor hai" with the best of them.<br />
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The two get married that evening, and Kausar discusses the situation in private with her lawyer. They come up with a plan. She will take hubby to her bungalow in the mountains for the necessary first few days of marriage. After three days, vakeel-sahib will call the police and tell them to arrest the new husband, and Kausar can settle down happily ever after with her cash.<br />
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Of course, as soon as the newlyweds arrive at the bungla, it is clear that Kausar will have to work to keep Salim in the dark to what their marriage really is. The separate rooms certainly give him a clue. BUT in heady hill station air, anything can and will happen.<br />
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A few days at the bungla, some triangular drama with a local flower seller and dancer (newcomer Neelo, whose career was launched by the biggest hit of the film, Aaye Mausaum Rangeela) . . .<br />
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. . . a snake, and a thunderstorm, all bring the two newlyweds into a state of mad sexual tension. Kausar also starts to realize (duh) that Salim can't possibly be a murderer.<br />
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(Note: I liked the folk tale symbolism of having the first night scene in the bedroom be one of unrequited lust, and the second, a chance for Salim to save Kausar from the snake about to attack during the storm. South Asian paintings often depict snakes and storms as visual emblems of desire and lust, but it seems to me that these things are being defeated here ... intentionally. Whether this symbolizes heroic love over erotic love, or their upcoming separation, I don't know. It was suitably dramatic and reminded Kausar of her own weaknesses, so perhaps that's enough.)<br />
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Things almost certainly would have escalated, except that Kausar forgets how many days have passed. When she realizes that it is the calendar date of the police's arrival, she tries to call off her vakeel, but is too late. (Darn vacation house hours.) The police are already at the door. Kausar tries to explain away the charge, but to no end. Salim is carried off to jail.<br />
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It's the second half that tells us whether or not Salim is actually a murderer, whether he will be acquitted, and surprisingly more extensively, how many bewafai songs will have to be sung and virginal tawaifs sacrificed before he can forgive Kausar of her actions. Also, shady brother and his drinking crew must be defeated.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcoPerKLNB1ci7HbDSn9O_e164CqI8dxTwQO_2J01uicb4PrarFTyTUn-NZ7lAi8qRn96yYQ2JQde3WuFNBnIf3ObEyqKP3A-7Tm5p6OrApUq7gY3PM-QdV3d4KXp6m1GrhxYXWKb2rfc/s1600/Saat+Lakh_1957_4105.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcoPerKLNB1ci7HbDSn9O_e164CqI8dxTwQO_2J01uicb4PrarFTyTUn-NZ7lAi8qRn96yYQ2JQde3WuFNBnIf3ObEyqKP3A-7Tm5p6OrApUq7gY3PM-QdV3d4KXp6m1GrhxYXWKb2rfc/s400/Saat+Lakh_1957_4105.png" width="400" /></a>Sadly, much of what is worth seeing in this movie takes place before the last hour. I can give the film the benefit of the doubt that perhaps the dialogue was more interesting than I could appreciate, but the plot itself was painfully old hat. Two or three songs in the second half, however, were brief oases. I read somewhere that the unusual thing about Salim's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOyWb86rfnU">bewafai song</a> is that his lyrics talk trash about the heroine ... during a time when songs tended to idolize lost loves.<br />
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This brings me to the aspect of the film that was most enjoyable--Sabiha's flawed heiress.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwryBwd3WcWkb5elZhPsBYi8oQjDdmukKOwupYzwuzx-wAh0AgdtN2WIggQFojzSxAjANNQiVAFkEwNdQhTbwNK6Qp_JHBWsSr9uaXtGBWH_Hvi3LsX3HDa78Qoff2wzaLKIEtejal4tY/s1600/Saat+Lakh_1957_26.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwryBwd3WcWkb5elZhPsBYi8oQjDdmukKOwupYzwuzx-wAh0AgdtN2WIggQFojzSxAjANNQiVAFkEwNdQhTbwNK6Qp_JHBWsSr9uaXtGBWH_Hvi3LsX3HDa78Qoff2wzaLKIEtejal4tY/s400/Saat+Lakh_1957_26.png" width="400" /></a>When industries put women on pedestals, trying to catch a glimpse of the being at the top sometimes gives me a headache. But Kausar is not the dangerous vamp or the good town girl or the seductive dancer only existing to stoke jealousy between would-be lovers. She's messy, and I like that in people.<br />
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This helps the portrayal of their mutual attraction. It's just not as safe and guarded as I expected. He spouts some funny lines before trying to make a move (something about how "this is SO not how a suhaag raat is supposed to go") and after rejecting him, she slinks around the bungalow the next day, barely able to keep her growing interest in check. When he meanders off to the woods, she follows him and communicates with him frankly ... commenting on his bad mood and pushing him towards the reaction SHE wants. In general, this is a character reminiscent of early Nargis or Katherine Hepburn roles ... where the woman is powerful and intelligent and confident, but desperately needs some basic human kindness added to the mix. Since she's allowed to be a sensual being, and since we are allowed to see her fight her feeling of burgeoning love for personal rather than religious reasons, it's easy to be invested in her side of the story. *Spoilers* I get the sense that she is reformed a bit in the second half, but mostly the two lovers are ultimately reunited because others force Salim to confront his misunderstandings.<br />
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Santosh is pleasant to look at and has a good presence ... I only found him lackluster during the admittedly formulaic later scenes. But his role pales next to Sabiha's in this film, so it's hard to tell exactly what else he has to offer. If nothing else, I'm sold on their onscreen partnership. Ooh la la.<br />
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I shall leave you with Sabiha's lone number, "Ghoonghat Utha Loon" a flirtatious song about a veil that seems to mark her personal transformation from playing house, to real love. (Is this the equivalence of the mid-film sari dance/sari shift in Hindi cinema?)<br />
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*No subtitles here, so please forgive any errors in plot or analysis!Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-84098739796627372102015-05-28T17:48:00.001-07:002015-05-30T07:34:55.003-07:00Pakistani Film Reviews: Ek Hi Rasta (1967) ایک ھی راستا<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Filmi~Contrast's fascination with Pakistani actress and dancer, Rani, continues with Ek Hi Raasta (1967), a love story between an outlaw and a tawaif, and the rise and fall of a female dacoit.<br />
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But first, Rani. A couple of months ago, I realized I wasn't the only blogger fixating on her performances. Richard at <a href="http://roughinhere.wordpress.com/">Dances on the Footpath</a> had discovered her a few years back, and I'm thrilled to not to be alone in this interest. Richard just finished a lovely tribute to Rani (her death anniversary was May 27th), and in the way only he can, curated some of his favorite Rani dances. If you want an introduction to the Rani-magic, you can't do better than spend some time with <a href="https://roughinhere.wordpress.com/2015/05/27/for-the-22nd-death-anniversary-of-the-exceptional-pakistani-dancer-actress-named-rani/">his post</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExoY1VkiTbR_rpvmsp8voDk2ivV2wUydNkuT4y6x5hP9zynGy1z9-fauD0I7yuRTVHg05cIy1NtIoQvpb3CtzfhooSTH0xudVSC6BwEdvFiVoFU5j4X5Ww-q5kA2uvUyFB2bJQIslc5w/s1600/Ek+Hi+Raasta_1967+1968_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiExoY1VkiTbR_rpvmsp8voDk2ivV2wUydNkuT4y6x5hP9zynGy1z9-fauD0I7yuRTVHg05cIy1NtIoQvpb3CtzfhooSTH0xudVSC6BwEdvFiVoFU5j4X5Ww-q5kA2uvUyFB2bJQIslc5w/s400/Ek+Hi+Raasta_1967+1968_5.png" width="400" /></a>But why all the fuss? I guess ... she's an easy performer to love, and impossible to miss. You don't watch a Rani performance and wonder if it's that same girl from that other film, or just a look-alike. Nobody looks like her, much less *ahem* moves like her. When watching films with low budgets, poor preservation, missing sections, sound distortions, and no English subtitles. one needs a concrete incentive to make up the difference. Rani is that, for me. I can't say that her acting is more than adequate (she doesn't really get beyond the standard emotions), but she always manages to upstage everyone else in the room with her singular and almost masculine way of using physical space. Where other actresses might play it safe, keep things sedate and ladylike, Rani projects energy and movement. She's always big and imposing and confident, and when the occasion calls for it, she knows how to work an hero-esque action sequence or physical showdown or a seduction number (see Richard's post).<br />
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Given her physically intimidating style of theatrics, if she was working in Hindi cinema in the 60s, she almost certainly would have been confined to vamp roles. But in Pakistan, while playing several famous tawaif characters (including Umrao Jan), she played mostly positive roles, as far as I can tell. Whether this was because her peak period, in the late 1960s and early 70s, was especially open to diverse expressions of acceptable femininity (as 70s Bollywood was starting to be), or because she still manages to project "chasteness" along with everything else, or <a href="http://cineplot.com/rani/">because she allied herself with some powerful figures in the industry</a> (through her marriage and professional partnership with director Hassan Tariq), it's hard to say.<br />
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But how to approach Rani fandom? Personally, as she excels in a variety of dances (especially cabaret and folk styles), I generally pre-assess her films to see if she gets enough chances to strut her stuff. And with four dances + three montage-y songs all picturized on Rani, Ek Hi Raasta was a no brainer.*<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrwx9QJV-V51nrtt4TguMFXuB-DrESJpeOKF9PxCE9B9wCGmM7Snfk8Pp9v-buvRc__ab82f6WjKfLoHRMXZXiUVJDCi5R-sqo8Fyd9cSy1b3AbTiE52P2Ii6Vw5LN2ZvzodcTN1KWNAM/s1600/Ek+Hi+Raasta_1967+1968_44.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrwx9QJV-V51nrtt4TguMFXuB-DrESJpeOKF9PxCE9B9wCGmM7Snfk8Pp9v-buvRc__ab82f6WjKfLoHRMXZXiUVJDCi5R-sqo8Fyd9cSy1b3AbTiE52P2Ii6Vw5LN2ZvzodcTN1KWNAM/s400/Ek+Hi+Raasta_1967+1968_44.png" width="400" /></a>While not exactly frequenting "best-of" lists, I would argue that this film offers an entertaining twist on a stock plotline: good farmer Badal (<a href="http://cineplot.com/sudhir/">Sudhir</a>) becomes a dacoit when he crosses some bad elements in the district, mainly a corrupt police commissioner and his associates. I'm not positive on the exact reason for his persecution, but it seems he is blamed for the willful destruction of his home village (which was probably a personal attack on him by the same authorities). After escaping prison, he becomes an outlaw. Around the same time, fresh-faced Putli (Rani), the estranged daughter of a town official, catches the lecherous commissioner's eye. When asked, the unscrupulous baap arranges for his daughter to meet him at an appointed place. Of course, it is the commissioner who is waiting for her inside the room. And as we all know, after being raped, Putli has no other course of action but to become a tawaif to support herself and her mother. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From top left clockwise: Sudhir, unknown actor playing commissioner (?), Rani, Talish.</td></tr>
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Of course, it's only a matter of time before Badal visits Putli's kotha, soon making it clear that he wants the lion's share of attention. This sets up one of the best running gags of the film. One of the other clients is uncomfortable with the presence of the outlaw and calls him a chor. With dry humor, Badal replies, "Chor nahiin, daku." [This kicks off a series of dialogues in which a person in power will call one of the two protagonists a name, only to be rebuffed with a preferred identifier. It never gets old hearing marginalized characters stick up for themselves.]<br />
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Enter honest police-wallah (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Talish">Talish</a>), who realizes that the best way to find Badal is to harass the daku's favorite courtesan. This doesn't get him far, at first. Putli still has little knowledge of Badal, other than that he's chased a few paying clients away. Police-wallah comes up with a plan to encourage the connection, sending Putli to the outlaw-controlled region to be "captured" by Badal.<br />
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Badal is clearly-head over heels in lust for Putli ... especially when she breaks out the flamenco-y gypsy number at his camp. It might be the standout dance of the film, if only for the pop-fantasy element of the captive seducing the captor. Here, the film shifts from a tale of woe and injustice to something closer to old Hollywood swashbucklers. Shades of Baaz (1953) are everywhere. But the idyllic camp-life is disrupted by a wedding procession. And who is it but the corrupt official at fault for Badal's mother's death, all bedecked out as a groom. Badal takes swift revenge, killing the official mercilessly. Afterwards, when he realizes what he has done, he laments to Putli. Unfortunately, the very same official he killed also happened to be her father.<br />
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Distraught, Putli goes through with the plan, running off into the wilderness, and leading Badal (on her tail) right into the hands of the police. Still, she's torn, and sings a fabulous song, "Parvane, jal na jaana, shamaa nazar ka dhoka hai." (Moth, do not burn, the sight of the candle is a deception.) Here, too, the melody echoes songs from Baaz.<br />
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Badal escapes on the way back to town, and Putli goes back to the kotha. But soon she meets Badal again on her own terms, when she takes in a revolutionary. Here I have to concede my ignorance, as the reason for the ongoing populist uprisings in this film that escape me. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be Partition violence, or local tribal wars, or revolutions against the corrupt rural government. No idea. But the film makes you feel as if revolutionaries are in the right, and Badal soon thinks so, too. After getting pouty that Putli has taken in another outlaw that isn't him (which is mostly played for laughs), they run off together and join the revolution proper as dacoits in love (but they're mostly in love with blowing things up, I think).<br />
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The rest of the film will probably be no surprise to those familiar with Westerns and outlaw stories (Bonnie and Clyde, Butch and Sundance), but it's still a lot of fun to watch.<br />
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I have a low tolerance for messy beginnings (which plagued this film), but I have to say I liked Ek Hi Rasta more and more as it went along. I'm never going to say no to a female dacoit, and Rani as that dacoit is as much as I could ask. (Other than finding a copy of that elusive Rakhee-Vinod dacoit film from the 80s, that is.) I'm just sayin', the woman knows how to use a bayonet.<br />
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I also kind of love that Ek Hi Rasta's idea of a dacoit is someone who can go anywhere at anytime, as long as he is wrapped in a curtain. Need to get into the masjid? No problem. The kotha? Please and thank you. The police wale building? They won't look twice until you throw off the sheet and start waving your gun around.<br />
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Talish has the standout male role in this film, if only to employ his lovable character-actor versatility. After running into him several times, I would categorize him as the Madan Puri of 60s Pakistani cinema: equally comfortable as a cackling villain, a dedicated cop, or a traditional baap.<br />
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I liked the fearless on-the-nose transitions, like between a dialogue where the dacoit says he eagerly awaits the moment when he is no longer a "daku", but "Putli ki saathi" (Putli's companion) and a lone desert ride with the pained vocalized refrain "Meri saathi..." But overall, this film usually uses songs to push the story foward, and smartly (Hassan Tariq did direct, after all), Rani is the lead in ALL of them, while Sudhir is usually just the observer or the object of interest. Quite all right with me, as at this stage, he was far past his romantic hero heyday (which I have yet to see in action so ... can't be sure what that heyday was like). He was best when delivering humorous dialogues, or threatening people in his headdress and fake Sikh beard.<br />
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Still, if you aren't convinced, find the film on YouTube (with the exception of the one above, the songs aren't uploaded separately). Skip to the mujras (which aren't perfect technique-wise, but are fun and well shot) and montages, and if nothing else, the gypsy camp number at 102:30 is delightful.<br />
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*As this film did not have subtitles, some scenes were missing, and some of the dialogue was very colloquial/hard to hear because of the audio quality, I hope you'll forgive any errors in my narration of the plot.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-85187011272588232602015-05-26T18:20:00.002-07:002015-05-27T09:29:32.958-07:00Nikaah (1982)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The image above depicts Nikaah's heroine's second (!) wedding night, which occurs while her first husband is still alive (!). Also, the story isn't resolved by a death, imprisonment, or pregnancy. Can this really be a Hindi film? In short, yes, but maybe *Urdu* film would be more accurate.<br />
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[Since there aren't a million reviews of this film on other blogs, I'll summarize the plot before I pick it apart. Spoilers below, including a discussion of the ending, marked separately for those who want to be surprised.]<br />
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Old college-acquaintances, Niloufar (Salma Agha) and Haider (Raj Babbar) run into one another after a long stretch of lost contact. A poet in school, he's now a gainfully employed writer at a magazine, and he shares some mostly one-sided reminiscences about his crush on her in their university days. But Haider is suspicious when he sees Niloufar, who he knows married into money, dispute a small fee and take a bus home. He follows her and finds that she lives at a women's hostel. Kindly, he approaches her a few days later, asks her to a cafe, and entreats her to tell him of her real situation. She goes on to tell him what happened after his advances were rebuffed. Cue long flashback.<br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Perhaps we should install some art on the ceiling to make these moments more interesting for us. </span></div>
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Upon graduation, she had married her childhood sweetheart, Nawab Wasim (Deepak Parashar). It seemed a natural match, but right after their wedding night, the Nawab wins a bid to build a five star hotel in Mumbai. They travel to Mumbai together [ostensibly] for their honeymoon, but Niloufar ends up spending most of the the trip alone in their suite or on the breakers outside their hotel while her husband is off conducting business.<br />
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The "lucky break" business deal ends up taking the Nawab out of the house at all hours. Perhaps unused to so much responsibility, or just because he's a self-absorbed ass, Wasim repeatedly fails to show up for dinner dates, and movies, and parties. He also doesn't seem to know how to use a phone to let people know he won't be home. Expected to stay home and socialize or keep herself amused all day, Niloufar quickly starts to feel the effects of such an isolated, unreliable existence.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAnj4DLLehBVdrzD2MYaWByX4046_PCAqzPxJNDVcccZ1GBB8TNsiW2fHP11e8kbrh2cNAGWmXbv5Yet5p5e6CWQ5gCbllJ-lKqMxr1VbE156DwI8UOA1Z7YPq0SyGLuj6VMcdwHQFVpk/s1600/Nikaah_32.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAnj4DLLehBVdrzD2MYaWByX4046_PCAqzPxJNDVcccZ1GBB8TNsiW2fHP11e8kbrh2cNAGWmXbv5Yet5p5e6CWQ5gCbllJ-lKqMxr1VbE156DwI8UOA1Z7YPq0SyGLuj6VMcdwHQFVpk/s640/Nikaah_32.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Luckily she has one staunch ally in Iftekhar, who keeps making chai that she won't drink alone.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJ9fUOR7BFqxf6FhBGaI6AVhZXfupezpPDyW2SbYLLWELk2mCdZKQ8WhWz6P7jV4d6xbEBdVAWzyiQeAOWKImikJ4tnvwT8tR9Xv4Zcs0RUT-A2n5hK4Z5-QMHtBYCURcQ7LRN9t3QG0/s1600/Nikaah_37.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJ9fUOR7BFqxf6FhBGaI6AVhZXfupezpPDyW2SbYLLWELk2mCdZKQ8WhWz6P7jV4d6xbEBdVAWzyiQeAOWKImikJ4tnvwT8tR9Xv4Zcs0RUT-A2n5hK4Z5-QMHtBYCURcQ7LRN9t3QG0/s640/Nikaah_37.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Whenever Wasim does come home, the newlyweds either fight over his tardiness, or some comment Niloofar has made about his frequent absences to their in-laws, which Wasim takes as a loss of face with his family. Over their first year of marriage, his temper tantrums grow more and more frequent, and her rejection complex deepens. Eventually, when he fails to show up for their first anniversary party, Niloufar breaks under the pressure and goes upstairs (gasp).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT3P4ZGxjTOkw2CZT0DgTHPTE__gU7wsKSi_yr9l7dPiAZC813UkTQpOe6nHZP8em-U4asTzZ0FA24Bf4tGpnGTF6MkzyxLTXo4Cy5Bhq8FGUiAX2cHMO7sCzDNdtKe3Ttx4Lu8zyj6k/s1600/Nikaah_34.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT3P4ZGxjTOkw2CZT0DgTHPTE__gU7wsKSi_yr9l7dPiAZC813UkTQpOe6nHZP8em-U4asTzZ0FA24Bf4tGpnGTF6MkzyxLTXo4Cy5Bhq8FGUiAX2cHMO7sCzDNdtKe3Ttx4Lu8zyj6k/s640/Nikaah_34.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Gossipy guests take offense and leave, and Wasim comes home to an empty house and "massive" blot on his social standing. The two have a high-pitched argument, in which Niloufar dares to stand up for herself, telling him she doesn't deserve such treatment and that he doesn't deserve her physical affection.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9W29jwyZgdChpSiMtpwLIpRoNcm8qGxOpR5Bah11YUq-yPeUuHCkkNzvYGygXSnr0-3hLOVOFgOOh_vCSExLa3AoK_a91_5oe2olP_JuTic7ZQyf0a2AFkkPSZ06hUqfXSyZdVPukykk/s1600/Nikaah_41.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9W29jwyZgdChpSiMtpwLIpRoNcm8qGxOpR5Bah11YUq-yPeUuHCkkNzvYGygXSnr0-3hLOVOFgOOh_vCSExLa3AoK_a91_5oe2olP_JuTic7ZQyf0a2AFkkPSZ06hUqfXSyZdVPukykk/s640/Nikaah_41.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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This doesn't go over well with Wasim, who pronounces the dreaded, "Talaq, talaq, talaq." And just like that, Niloufar is out on the street. Still, she now has an ally and friend. When she is assaulted at her new job, Haider arrives just in time (diffusing the situation with nary a dishoom) and whisks Niloufar away for a good cry-chat on the steps. [Note: this man is like the elusive Rocky-Road of potential suitors.]<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKf9_qClt8eOH6njOiCYj7moLqKW9_Yz8z7lRdBFt-AObqXsbUF-PgOSOWpU4YNsTmCxw_sHcVlHlhfs82PrraRDQkRIGsYHd4BG5D2AEaxrFVPo2HeYG2tiuTzApxNZ3MhyaOMqSJKE/s1600/Nikaah_28.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNKf9_qClt8eOH6njOiCYj7moLqKW9_Yz8z7lRdBFt-AObqXsbUF-PgOSOWpU4YNsTmCxw_sHcVlHlhfs82PrraRDQkRIGsYHd4BG5D2AEaxrFVPo2HeYG2tiuTzApxNZ3MhyaOMqSJKE/s640/Nikaah_28.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">What, no covering of my head? You want to talk to me and help me process this? </span></div>
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The rest of the year passes pleasantly, until her ex invites her for dinner on the date of their anniversary. When Niloufar doesn't show, Wasim has his own breakdown (which is very satisfying, I must say). But Niloufar is watching after all, and when Wasim begs her to come back, she walks out. Faithful manservant begs too, but she tells him she knows her path isn't with Wasim any longer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aOl_3ijDmLJklas2ic9u41tB9q3xgLC-cSioeHMRKVL7FHFflyXaBkJd03hcavFgRiXR2Q3wqgNrK2WVYK2nXwvw6QquBY-Af-A-8aI3HU7a9at08aXXuDxebdkbc6ntOTuWpY_hgV8/s1600/Nikaah_26.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aOl_3ijDmLJklas2ic9u41tB9q3xgLC-cSioeHMRKVL7FHFflyXaBkJd03hcavFgRiXR2Q3wqgNrK2WVYK2nXwvw6QquBY-Af-A-8aI3HU7a9at08aXXuDxebdkbc6ntOTuWpY_hgV8/s640/Nikaah_26.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's when she tells Haider the same thing that night in his office, that he is finally free to ask, "Could you see your path being with me?"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvdS-He5GC1hBqU3m5JxA9f3JZU-Lh0dbV86dEkQGHstzSEZmMlv6_maN1DORQFwzf_l8w3SlZznJ0Ra_ssjLyv3SszckQ__iXXKbDYgQZHlBdNeThA7aT76YRnV3ughsr1yvtpmKMJM/s1600/Nikaah_27.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvdS-He5GC1hBqU3m5JxA9f3JZU-Lh0dbV86dEkQGHstzSEZmMlv6_maN1DORQFwzf_l8w3SlZznJ0Ra_ssjLyv3SszckQ__iXXKbDYgQZHlBdNeThA7aT76YRnV3ughsr1yvtpmKMJM/s640/Nikaah_27.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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She can, and they decide to get married. Haider proves to be a polar opposite sort of spouse--attentive and funny and inclined toward playing hooky from work instead of staying out to all hours. They develop a playful relationship, and seem to have a lot of fun together. Still, there is much left to be sorted out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsILRFoMRPHtt-5V_Fc_r0nZjak754VPTCrWWlwqZZOyJRsjPTqeEcqOVVYgSSCPv8a3sInvf9aWfUWziLil3jOXnu62rsLi0gNgfnvS5_LSczp-osukfTr-A25bF8fjsr-py91HKIFn0/s1600/Nikaah_15.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsILRFoMRPHtt-5V_Fc_r0nZjak754VPTCrWWlwqZZOyJRsjPTqeEcqOVVYgSSCPv8a3sInvf9aWfUWziLil3jOXnu62rsLi0gNgfnvS5_LSczp-osukfTr-A25bF8fjsr-py91HKIFn0/s640/Nikaah_15.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Wasim hasn't given up, instead, he sees her marriage as an opportunity to fulfill the sharia requirement of halala nikaah: the woman's second marriage to someone else required before the first couple can get remarried. But does Niloufar feel the same? And more importantly, can Niloufar and Haider handle the shadow of her past relationship and the interference of her ex?<br />
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From the opening "epic" prologue about women and their unfair lot, Nikaah sets out to tell the other side of the story. And not only that, it tries very, very hard not to ruin this goal in the last act.<br />
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In fairness, before we go on, I want to be clear that "favorite actor" stepping stones probably won't lead you to Nikaah. For 70's film lovers, Iftekhar can be seen now and then in a magnificent red beard and dark manservant's achkan or expertly brandishing a towel and chai platter. Asrani appears briefly to advance either the comedy or the dramatic stakes, and gleefully takes the the male lead in a magnificent [really kinda feminist] <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=56QJXKGXzf4">wedding qawwali</a>. But the male leads in the film as a whole didn't excite me at all, I admit. And at first, it appeared my assumptions were confirmed. Raj Babbar and Deepak Parashar demonstrated the liveliness of set pieces spouting poetic dialogues. By the end of the first half, it seemed clear that the relative unknown in this equation, Salma Agha (a Pakistani actress and talented playback singer who went on to win the playback singer award for Nikaah's lovely <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUGqLyf5nAU">Dil Ke Armaan</a>) did less acting with far more results.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Oe8X0Pr6v2hILYBc7CXTTNhfRu0wfdvvdlEV2JBgHDIspAUp7wyk28CfVZ8m_gHNv77rqAzHD4Bv0tbmjdKnVDIZUXqYXAVwdwphR6HvfiG9p5sBIb-uya7pkp3CKdY0bl5w-SEGCwY/s1600/Nikaah_33.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Oe8X0Pr6v2hILYBc7CXTTNhfRu0wfdvvdlEV2JBgHDIspAUp7wyk28CfVZ8m_gHNv77rqAzHD4Bv0tbmjdKnVDIZUXqYXAVwdwphR6HvfiG9p5sBIb-uya7pkp3CKdY0bl5w-SEGCwY/s640/Nikaah_33.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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But it turned out that Nikaah faithfully follows the emotional journey of Niloufar. She barely thinks of the kind, but sometimes ridiculous Haider in the beginning, as her whole life is wrapped up in her first marriage. So, neither do we. But as she gets to know Haider over the second year, he becomes more attractive. And by the third year, he's the perfect contrast to Wasim, and a breath of fresh air for the audience. He comes home early, leaves late, asks her where she wants to go and follows through, and is all together a fun person to actually live with. Basically, this is a rare moment when good writing and casting actually support one another ... as Raj Babbar successfully creates a character the audience can love and even be surprised by. Even, dare I say, a role model.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaaUAVQx5w25QMNuVLkMj8fjET3MFEDgOeAzNMKXfCQu1w7Az7l-nV5erlqx2_Xxy62E8fOb9cFoEmMKY_3OKvOmZwktLqIBSkzz2Pth2TMooArdWM_fNHEkaspiARNEMzVsJcro1E_hs/s1600/Nikaah_21.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaaUAVQx5w25QMNuVLkMj8fjET3MFEDgOeAzNMKXfCQu1w7Az7l-nV5erlqx2_Xxy62E8fOb9cFoEmMKY_3OKvOmZwktLqIBSkzz2Pth2TMooArdWM_fNHEkaspiARNEMzVsJcro1E_hs/s640/Nikaah_21.png" width="640" /></a></div>
And this is something that not every "strong woman" film can boast. There are a lot of classics with women of steel, women of God, women of the kotha ... women who overcome every difficulty, and never give up. Men have these films too, countless films full of heroic conquest. But only rarely comes a film that models strong male-female partnership, with men who are strong enough to sacrifice their ego for the little daily indignities and negotiations, and women who expect to be treated not like goddesses or martyrs, but like human beings. This is what Nikaah champions--the value of mundane goodness.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQR_N3zs-YuZKqTde6nYaASJkbOsxoPG8JyTddOIfuwN7sXCUkj00uvarDtFZL2R5fBo1arLGiLez2kREQH79YoJtrE_UFZ11aIclC8F11kwsj3ev1zrDluo9vYRTbpahRyugN_tqG08/s1600/Nikaah_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQR_N3zs-YuZKqTde6nYaASJkbOsxoPG8JyTddOIfuwN7sXCUkj00uvarDtFZL2R5fBo1arLGiLez2kREQH79YoJtrE_UFZ11aIclC8F11kwsj3ev1zrDluo9vYRTbpahRyugN_tqG08/s640/Nikaah_3.png" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">Why yes, both the men are framed under inscriptions spelling out the name of the Prophet, while the woman is centered beneath the name of God. What does it mean? You decide.</span></div>
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Driving these points home is Nikaah's ending, which at first looks to be a textbook filmi climax (even narrated in a meta fashion in a penultimate scene). But Niloufar isn't going to be punished for remarrying, either by society or fate or human weakness ... even if the set-up looks to do just that. Because of course, Haider mistakenly finds a note from the ex and a melancholic diary entry by Niloufar, puts two and two together, and thinks his wife wants to remarry Wasim ... and he takes it upon himself to give her up.</div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc;">It's also been a while since I've seen a non-Ma character so expertly use melodramatic religious performance to call out the wayward men in her life. </span></div>
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The woman in question will have none of it. She tells Wasim that she isn't going to be treated like "property," and tells Haider that she won't be given a "gift" she doesn't want or allow him to be a "martyr" for her. In an epic showdown, she tries to leave both of the men. But Wasim saves the day, proving a voice of truth (for once). He notes, rightly, that while he wanted her for his own happiness, Haider is only interested in giving her happiness.<br />
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And a film that only wants happiness for its twice-wedded, independent, and childless heroine is definitely a keeper.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-80434730342817325402015-04-13T17:02:00.001-07:002015-04-13T17:40:02.343-07:00Catching Up: Hindi and Bengali ReviewsI have got into some questionable habits this semester ... rushed survey reading over leisurely film watching, listening to educational podcasts more than listening to music, trying to read in Urdu more than listen in Urdu, and searching YouTube frantically for documentaries to show my students instead of digging for that elusive one film I just heard about with English subtitles. This is not to say I haven't watched any films ... when I look at my watchlist from the last three months, it's extensive. A lot of it is international cinema rather than Indian cinema, but hey. So let's do some catching up! (So I can move on.)<br />
<br />[No plot summaries today. That’s the best thing about “mini” reviews. I'm not obliged to give something one can often get on Wikipedia or other, senior, blogs.]<div>
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<span style="color: #e69138;">Bengali films</span> </div>
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I must say I've neglected my Bengali interests most of all, of late. Forgive me, dear Mahanayak and Supriya-ji. I DID watch Ray's Pratidwandi (1970) ... and liked it quite a lot. It was angry and helpless and explosive, but still managed to entertain. I can't say the same for Jana Aranya, which pushes a bunch of my anxiety buttons and is destined to wait for the day when I can stomach the second half. (I guess I am impressed at how often it manages to trigger my worry and frustration as a younger person in an unstable economy, so, shabash?)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJ47AUoqgGGEo1jWQwOvO7X5bO8TBmIe2_H7Ge1Tb2baqRwp9iIdhqEjMC6Xf_7gXQn-PKStmKv8auxm1h4zZvQPWkFSApZyH2S1qJYN4apjNBxiT1Nyyf-9zympm3gYYkXU8nzyP2_s/s1600/Shesh+Anka_21.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJ47AUoqgGGEo1jWQwOvO7X5bO8TBmIe2_H7Ge1Tb2baqRwp9iIdhqEjMC6Xf_7gXQn-PKStmKv8auxm1h4zZvQPWkFSApZyH2S1qJYN4apjNBxiT1Nyyf-9zympm3gYYkXU8nzyP2_s/s1600/Shesh+Anka_21.png" height="217" width="320" /></a>Ok, and I also saw Shesh Anka (1963), a thriller starring Uttam and Sharmila. It's been written about extensively elsewhere, and so I was sort of spoiled as to the outcome. Still, I enjoyed how it integrated aspects of Hitchcock's Rebecca and some of the tropes of his work in the 50s with a South Asian filmi moral code. The scenes with Sharmila and Uttam driving about on dark country roads are fun just for the witty repartee, but might also send chills up your spine. As they pause at a train-crossing, Uttam has an inadvisable (and fabulous) fit in the driver's seat, and you really start to wonder what kind of man it is that Sharmila's character has decided to marry. </div>
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And then I saw Lookochoori (1958), a romp with Kishore Kumar in a double role as a set of Bengali twins trying to make it in Bombay. This allows for a wealth of Bong-centric humor, fish-out-of-water gags, and some peak period Kishore-as-actor song picturizations. Also, look out for Anup Kumar as an envious office clerk with aspirations to be just like his happy-go-lucky co-worker. This reminds me that I really enjoy "Kumar brothers" inside jokes, and I think someone (not me) should write about meta-humor in their onscreen collaborations. </div>
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<span style="color: #e69138;">Hindi Films</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhswN_bu0AimHVAlNOW13mqHmw0fvW517HcWxEzfhTc6J8Fra8W02eiPdwKvy1qA-g7Veam4TNJWAmyNJ19Cyya2tcY-oodNCDZQS33vRZ6izggtGORsumcy3f8HeTD8JgRTKhrCm74ctM/s1600/English+Vinglish_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhswN_bu0AimHVAlNOW13mqHmw0fvW517HcWxEzfhTc6J8Fra8W02eiPdwKvy1qA-g7Veam4TNJWAmyNJ19Cyya2tcY-oodNCDZQS33vRZ6izggtGORsumcy3f8HeTD8JgRTKhrCm74ctM/s1600/English+Vinglish_1.png" height="167" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear Shashi, baristas are nice in Minnesota. Actually, most everyone is.</td></tr>
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In interest of providing some shock factor in this post, I will admit the following: I did not see English Vinglish (2012) until a month ago. No joke, but maaf kar do, anyhow. Overall, the film left me a bit cold. The first word that comes to mind is "commendable," which doesn't portent good things. Yes, it does combine hot button topics, "woman's empowerment" and "Indians in the U.S." and "second language learning" together in a competent way. You never have time to get offended over little inaccuracies or exaggerations, because the film moves fairly quickly, and has built-in temporal suspense. (Oh no, but will she learn English in three weeks or not? Oh no, but her family has come early! Oh no, but the *wedding is on the same day as graduation!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzL7JTMg-zP1b0hjOmksCeUQzsyw9hyQEfY13KFztfa6Jey7TxymT-7jYVeOXZeal7zVPi0II_W20D-3ZGth39vSnrjZwDwKlHuEmGAYMU7xmcMHB2U3FIjwWLNANHgYO2MCgcSczqZSM/s1600/English+Vinglish_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzL7JTMg-zP1b0hjOmksCeUQzsyw9hyQEfY13KFztfa6Jey7TxymT-7jYVeOXZeal7zVPi0II_W20D-3ZGth39vSnrjZwDwKlHuEmGAYMU7xmcMHB2U3FIjwWLNANHgYO2MCgcSczqZSM/s1600/English+Vinglish_2.png" height="166" width="400" /></a>But for all of the empowerment, it's a bit sad, too. It's especially sad in it's truest moments. This woman isn't going to be as downtrodden as before, but she's also locked into a social situation that is never going to give her the opportunities she deserves. She's going back to India, and yes, doors will open to her through English skills... but it seems to me that her family will never give her much room to spread her wings. Once a condescending and controlling husband ... probably always so. </div>
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*Note: Are desi weddings EVER as chill as the one in English Vinglish? Wait no, are non-desi weddings ever as chill as this? Because this was the least believable aspect of the film for me. English in three weeks? (Maybe, when you've spent a lot of time around it). Families having a change of heart? (Well, filmi comeuppances are nice fantasies and I won't complain too much.) BUT. Wedding days (much less the month beforehand) are madness and the sister of the bride definitely would NOT have time to help aunty with her problems, much less drive her to school or try to make up for her absence ... etc. etc.. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_qQI0RJDieKGEFnEsxoVv0IeuOc81bNADdXbCSWBQd8rGUt9XYBsIZ856zYe17j4LzcHqYbx-Ji18WgZgFNf_pObAnOVKDRsTvT4LYe78lBxkyDoZvDLuUmKEvJnNSCL_f2Aej9uhnk/s1600/Hasee+To+Phasee_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_qQI0RJDieKGEFnEsxoVv0IeuOc81bNADdXbCSWBQd8rGUt9XYBsIZ856zYe17j4LzcHqYbx-Ji18WgZgFNf_pObAnOVKDRsTvT4LYe78lBxkyDoZvDLuUmKEvJnNSCL_f2Aej9uhnk/s1600/Hasee+To+Phasee_1.png" height="166" width="400" /></a>I enjoyed Hasee To Phasee (2014) quite a lot (even though I felt the actual plot was not as strong as the characterizations), but then so did everyone else, I think. Both the hero and heroine are unconventional in a non-glamorous way. They're still over-the-top film characters ... but near enough to resemble the messy person you feel like on the inside. (Or maybe that's just me.) It's a story that delights in human imperfection ... and seems to make the case that love of imperfection is real love ... or perhaps, that when you love someone's flaws (not just their socially acceptable facade), you know you have found something real. Also, coming from a society (like India) that too often prizes a narrow range of male/female qualities, I appreciate a film that advocates for broader tastes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiR_BJpr-7cXk-a5-leb0Drq_D7YUcc9vp22fsjq6DyKvIEPSVF-PriLfxLtVWR34slddrJrDhvYUu_w6G7kvkzDeymlPa-jEA1I0TVbk4yigcoUJnaVUWS_mYyQbzvEWBVVJ9QajPTlg/s1600/Chaudhvin+ka+Chand_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiR_BJpr-7cXk-a5-leb0Drq_D7YUcc9vp22fsjq6DyKvIEPSVF-PriLfxLtVWR34slddrJrDhvYUu_w6G7kvkzDeymlPa-jEA1I0TVbk4yigcoUJnaVUWS_mYyQbzvEWBVVJ9QajPTlg/s1600/Chaudhvin+ka+Chand_1.png" height="302" width="400" /></a>Chaudhvin Ka Chand (1960) has finally been conquered. Now, to bitch about the work involved. Hmm, yes, Waheeda and Guru should have a hard subbed "Warning: Electricity!" in the screen below them at all times. And Johnny Walker was (surprise! or not) the most sensible person of the bunch. But I can't get past a deep hatred for Rehman as a "sympathetic" figure. He's not. Sorry. Just, you can't make me feel for him. His characters are irritating and repulsive, and best when playing to those strengths. And the "humorous" Muslim social side plot is only bearable because of Johnny Walker. Can someone just edit out like 70 min of this film? Thanks, much. </div>
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Purab Aur Paschim (1970). Can you hear that sound? That's me chuckling and snickering uproarously through the first two hours in this three hour mess/masterpiece (OK and sort of crying in the last hour). It's the textbook example of a film desperate to be both technically innovative and morally conservative. I know I'm not saying anything new, this film is notorious for its tie-dyed traditional propaganda. Also, can we talk about the brilliant dichotomy of condemning sexual and moral "decay" while all the while showing as much of it as possible? It's a time-tested formula in Bollywood (and probably old-Hollywood, too) but I've never before seen a Hindi film from the 70s that both glorifies and demonizes "immorality" in such perfect synchronization.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNp2wfZFkjIrq957qLoOhgRrHaQki0UvApUIgr297OlHvTvNGcDPVbASOnHHzwA3MkwdIBcWAEFtqr5HkH5zquoglGi2XbpeFsLZZEICpqgBYOxaD1W2dW8EmupLVcwL4egitTaf6rvkw/s1600/Purab+aur+Paschim_9.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNp2wfZFkjIrq957qLoOhgRrHaQki0UvApUIgr297OlHvTvNGcDPVbASOnHHzwA3MkwdIBcWAEFtqr5HkH5zquoglGi2XbpeFsLZZEICpqgBYOxaD1W2dW8EmupLVcwL4egitTaf6rvkw/s1600/Purab+aur+Paschim_9.png" height="302" width="400" /></a>Actually, most things in this movie arrive in perfect syncopation. You'd be hard pressed to find another film of this era more attuned to the marriage of score, shots, and script. It's a pleasure to watch, and wherever it lacks in likable characters (you know, when Pran, Madan Puri, and Ashok Kumar aren't around) it will so thoroughly drench you in verbal or visual symbolism that you can't possibly walk away without feeling something.<br />
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This was also the film that *almost* made me like Saira Banu ... if only in contrast to Manoj Kumar's pompous Bharat. Is it possible that Bharat is the corporeal manifestation of an entire generation of desi-parent's secret fantasies? Actually, transplant his patriotism to America, change his religion to Christianity, and he fits pretty well with the good-Christian boy next door mythos. "No person he can't convert! No woman he can't win! No temptation he can't resist! All while mysteriously finding time to graduate with honors!" For all that, Manoj is believable in the role (make of that what you will). </div>
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Actually, the idea of hero as missionary or moral leader is probably one of the most important themes, here. The film is an important, if black and white, view of culture shock, partition memory, second generation immigrants, and value shifts in diaspora populations. It's also a prodigal son story, multiplied by ten. Yes, those who have been living abroad have been tainted ... but roots are powerful, and old values and ties can easily prevail against Western vices and fads and you know, that whole rapey thing you acquired abroad. The Ganga can wash you clean, if you so choose to repent ... and luckily your abandoned wife (or, you know, country) won't ever divorce you or remarry.<br />
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In Purab Aur Paschim, Bharat (the place, not the character), is the well of all that is pure and good and transformative, both for Indians AND the West. This conceit is perhaps a peculiarity of the age ... when the avante garde thing to do was to mix in a little sitar and Hare Ram Hare Krishna into everything, stir, and rake in the popularity (and cash). While the film doesn't completely miss the humor in this phenomenon, it also seizes the moment. It veers oddly evangelical along the way to calling lapsed believers/patriots, etc. to repentance.<br />
Or, perhaps it's just an elaborate after-school-special starring Pran. </div>
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Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-36746709553419236702015-03-22T16:42:00.001-07:002015-05-28T19:29:59.343-07:00Pakistani Film Reviews: Aurat Raj (1979) عورت راج<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You know that one subset of B films in international film industries dedicated to providing a "titillating" reversal of gender norms? I'm talking about all those films proclaiming "Island of Women!" "Kingdom of Women!" "Female Planet!" and so on. The one where a bunch of manly astronauts land on a planet with no men, populated with castration-happy Amazons and are made into slaves. (I think Star Trek--TOS used this one multiple times.) Despite the power swap of it all, the trope is generally just another avenue for fantasy. "Men ostensibly being exploited by women" becomes another brand of female exploitation. I honestly expected Aurat Raj (Woman Rule or Woman Kingdom) to be the same, but I was wrong.<br />
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A long-suffering wife (Rani) is daily beaten and cheated-on by her drunken husband (Waheed Murad). But when he brings home a mistress, it's the last straw. First she tries to get a divorce, and then decides to go BIGGER, and take her grievances to the streets. Led by the oppressed wife, the majority of wives and mothers rise up against their husbands, fathers, father-in-laws (notably, Sultan Rahi), cheating boyfriends, pimps, etc. and take over the country. First by campaign, then by violence.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLSVHpLknEZgVzBso7BVeqKkwsb_but0VmrDqe74Gb9cneCe92ERy3B3SfVJphqz__n8N2zLFFfvQeQR2rXRGt-G_OKsjulzKpuKl6DPBgjxs4OPC8MLqJx3i0VaOTsPuJGDXtqZO44Q/s1600/Aurat+Raj_pictures1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="481" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLSVHpLknEZgVzBso7BVeqKkwsb_but0VmrDqe74Gb9cneCe92ERy3B3SfVJphqz__n8N2zLFFfvQeQR2rXRGt-G_OKsjulzKpuKl6DPBgjxs4OPC8MLqJx3i0VaOTsPuJGDXtqZO44Q/s1600/Aurat+Raj_pictures1.png" width="640" /></a>Finally, a mysterious bomb goes off and turns the men into badly rouged, hirsute, high-voiced, dupatta wearing ... well, men. But also, and more importantly, victims. All. And the women? Transformed into devil-may-care, growly, tight-trousered, leering, smoking, and rapey politicians, soldiers, and goondas. Rani becomes <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jinjur">General Jinjur</a> (seriously, though, right down to the art nouveau helmet and epaulets) *ahem* I mean the supreme leader of the Aurat Raj.<br />
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Before you can say "just deserts," all the losing husbands are forced to entertain (not what I'd call it, but still) the new leader with song and dance. General Rani (I'm going to call her this because I didn't catch a name) doesn't accept her husband at first, and he's forced to do a number of humiliating seduction dances to win her recognition. She acquiesces after her ego has been stroked enough, but the minute another man shows up at court with a sob story (set upon by rapey females who have ripped his kameez), she casts hubby off. Immediately, he's captured and forced into the life of tawaif (in one of the best parody sequences of the film).<br />
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While all this is going on, we're shown snippets of many other emblems of the new order: women accosting and assaulting men in the street, roaming female dacoit bands, women abducting men on their wedding day, women saving men from rapists and the men falling in love with their saviors, women convicts duking it out in prisons and then going full yeh dosti ...<br />
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In other words, in maybe a dozen major film scenarios in which South Asian films have traditionally cast men as the subject and women as the object, the tables are turned. Basically, instead of an exploitation fantasy, we find ourselves down the rabbit hole of filmi tropes, the world turned upside down to reveal social problems and sexism in a humorous way.<br />
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This VERY strange film was the brainchild (written, directed, produced, etc.) of Rangeela, a jack of all trades Pakistani comedian. Apparently he was inspired by a short story about matriarchal societies and by his own progressive politics. An intensely personal project, it was also a massive financial disaster, AND a film the government censored pretty darn fast. You can read more back story <a href="http://www.dawn.com/news/1125708">here</a>, if you'd like.<br />
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Personally, I've never been in such a muddle about a film as I am about Aurat Raj. It might be brilliant, and it might also be one of the worst things I've ever seen. Almost every pro could be a con (and vice versa) depending on how you look at it...<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">Waheed Murad and Rani</span><br />
<u>Pro</u>: apparently a popular pairing in the late 60s and late 70s, they do have a lot of screen presence.<br />
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<u>Con</u>: they don't get to use their own voices (or interpersonal chemistry for that matter), for the majority of the film, and Waheed is almost unrecognizable in his feminine avatar. </div>
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<span style="color: #e69138;">The rapid editing and trippy cinematography</span><br />
<u>Pro</u>: because it keeps things moving, and at least we're not staring at grass grow.<br />
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<u>Con</u>: because the film didn't need that many shots or the stock footage and half the time we don't know where we are or who we are with.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfh6FeFSXcjb5WaFM89Cdlzh4tyVzh5RnRYiaPAq1aAYx51JnZmYToisebJYgNN3LLZnBx-14cjQ_9WmMbhqDFn7bIIV4uz0tGGAVZwLMds7NLXSAUm5hGvX7YiPhdeNiMF73gm-2wuE/s1600/Aurat+Raj+1979_35.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSfh6FeFSXcjb5WaFM89Cdlzh4tyVzh5RnRYiaPAq1aAYx51JnZmYToisebJYgNN3LLZnBx-14cjQ_9WmMbhqDFn7bIIV4uz0tGGAVZwLMds7NLXSAUm5hGvX7YiPhdeNiMF73gm-2wuE/s1600/Aurat+Raj+1979_35.png" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #e69138;">The songs</span><br />
<u>Pro</u>: about half served the parody goal very well, the best being maybe the early battle-of -the-sexes qawwali and a call-to-battle chorus at the end.<br />
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<u>Con</u>: the other 8 or 9 numbers are kind of grating and repetitive.<br />
<span style="color: #e69138;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #e69138;">The voice swap</span><br />
<u>Pro</u>: it does make the power transfer more humorous and effective.<br />
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<u>Con</u>: you get tired of it after five minutes.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">The clothes swap</span><br />
<u>Pro</u>: men wearing the burkas and churidars and the women wearing the ultra-tight flares, military <br />
costumes, and leather jackets does serve to add two necessary qualities: humor and sex appeal.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTY1m27aIR0kOjdwdgPX2JcCGfZaahWlfQqY1yQLls43ob4gqQQZ4w0YG31K0FxxpdpjgPW1OjEAZVIj0jI0o1MxXV2pK6jMFCCa8DHxDcjluBKslO2xJdKzBcBryDfWOvwwTcrwT4Es/s1600/Aurat+Raj+1979_41.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTY1m27aIR0kOjdwdgPX2JcCGfZaahWlfQqY1yQLls43ob4gqQQZ4w0YG31K0FxxpdpjgPW1OjEAZVIj0jI0o1MxXV2pK6jMFCCa8DHxDcjluBKslO2xJdKzBcBryDfWOvwwTcrwT4Es/s1600/Aurat+Raj+1979_41.png" width="400" /></a><u>Con</u>: IF you have a high tolerance for ugly (in the first case) and the culturally specific novelty (in the second).<br />
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<u>Note</u>: while there's clearly a fetish factor to all this ... the gender reversal is not sexualized in the way the "Island of Women" international cult trope would be. The girl-fights are shot like guy-fights ... with scowls and kathunk slaps and flips. All the women are exaggerated in their masculinity, just as the men are in their femininity. It looks better on the women though...oh so much better. Waheed Murad is the best looking of the fellers even in horrifically baggy lavender salwar-kameez. However, this is not saying much. They are a grotesque bunch.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">The vignette style narrative</span><br />
<u>Con</u>: we spend a lot of time with folks we don't necessarily care about, in the name of a funny or pointed skits.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7d_XrUAZ9zvfDURHpHlIUc1zKMXLfH9O1jDNCDvkton0vVudcJaOmEzRI8la3eDrdqMhx9BaIoslAJHWhoiE-6uy7LebFitW7QbI5ZU3lbajyh9dZmkQLZ_5P7DlngYqfKbsziXsBQ_E/s1600/Aurat+Raj+1979_56.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7d_XrUAZ9zvfDURHpHlIUc1zKMXLfH9O1jDNCDvkton0vVudcJaOmEzRI8la3eDrdqMhx9BaIoslAJHWhoiE-6uy7LebFitW7QbI5ZU3lbajyh9dZmkQLZ_5P7DlngYqfKbsziXsBQ_E/s1600/Aurat+Raj+1979_56.png" width="400" /></a><u>Pro</u>: we get a lot of amusing nuggets out of it, like all of the scrappy female street fighters (who I have a feeling were mostly the same three woman dressed up in different funky hats and jackets), gun happy dacoits, and a bandit who licks her machine gun as an intimidation tactic. </div>
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*Spoilers*<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">Power corrupts</span><br />
<u>Con</u>: the downside of the aurat raj is that it is instantly as oppressive and exploitative as the male dominated version. This is certainly an interesting way to showcase the trials of the average woman in a misogynist world (and certainly would make a great SNL skit), bu it doesn't particularly make women look good (except in the aforementioned costume department).<br />
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<u>Pro</u>: it seems to say that in patriarchy or matriarchy, male or female rule, gender inequality and victimization is not OK. In fact, the film ends with a stamp of approval on the frame that "fixes" this inequality. Even with an "it was all a dream" cop-out at the end, the film doesn't soften the message. In fact, both in the dream and out, it's the husband who apologizes, learns to fight for both parties, and begs for reconciliation. I don't know about you, but my inner radical feminist can go home now. </div>
Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-46009766971650924282015-03-19T17:43:00.001-07:002015-03-19T20:39:38.110-07:00Review: Funky Bollywood--The Wild World of 1970s Indian Action Cinema<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If someone had told me three years ago that I would fall in lust for Bollywood films, I would have heartily laughed it off. Likewise, I would have scoffed at the thought of Bollywood B films from 40 + years ago getting stuck under my skin. Given that I know a fair few cinephiles who won't give Indian films the time of day, I'll make a wild generalization and say that we Western film buffs react this way because we have no idea what we're missing.<br />
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Unfortunately, if you pick up the average cast-off Bollywood tome at your local Half-Price, you'll probably walk away unenlightened. Mother India, Pyaasa, and rain-drenched saris will fit too easily into already established inner dialogue. And perusing a Great Important Film list will only sour the that negative conversation further. Poverty? Visible sighs? Lists of "unreadable" and "unrecognizable" names? Long-winded explanations of subaltern subtext? NO KISSING? No thanks.<br />
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What some of us really need is not just a Top 100 or a Bollywood 101, but a Bollywood <u>Genre</u> 101. A hook, not a net to capture all us non-conformists and connoisseurs ... ok, ok, snobs. Something to lure us in with the strange and unusual and yet oddly nostalgic. Something that promises easy excitement and popcorn potential. Something evenly patterned but generous with the thrills to keep us ADD stimulation seekers in one place even minus browsing capabilities. Like that weird movie marathon you find on television when your Wi-Fi isn't working.<br />
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Luckily, Todd Stadtman, of <a href="http://diedangerdiediekill.blogspot.com/">Die Danger Die Die Kill</a> and Teleport City, has produced just such a "Gateway Drug" (as he puts it) for my favorite genre of all, Bombay's addicting '70s urban action cinema. Ok, yes, he omits most of the '70s mustachoied dacoit dramas, the melodramas, the family socials, the HM comedies, etc. But the book is all the better for it. If you're not ready to bite, let me sweeten the pot. (This is a masala-heavy cinema blog, so I reserve the right to mix my metaphors as much as I like.)<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">"Funky Bollywood" is divided into four main sections: </span><br />
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<li>A "Starcast" introduction laid out like a cast and crew spread in one of those magazines you can buy for $20 but just read at Barnes and Noble instead. It's fun and snappy and outlines both the reaches of each star's power, and the unique niche they filled in the '70s industry. For those of you who might be wondering, BOTH Rajesh Khanna and Amitabh Bachchan are included in the seven featured "Heroes." And although Todd omits some of my favorites (like Rakhee), he does include Zeenat Aman and the Telugu star Jyothi Laxmi, so you can see that this isn't any old best actress list from the Times of India. Here you'll also find profiles of playback singers (Kishore Kumar), screenwriters (Salim-Javed), composers (Kalyanji-Anandji), supporting players (Pran), directors (Prakash Mehra), and those hardworking professional villains (Jeevan). </li>
<li>A succession of movie reviews, guided by both Todd's personal sensibilities and his abiding commitment to give spectacular failures a seat at the table, too. (If nothing else, the rest of the films look better in comparison ...)</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>An "interval" gallery (YESSSSS)--with all the photos and posters you could want (even though the rest of the book is well stocked with visuals)</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>And finally, the second half of film reviews. Includes spotlights on two genres within the action genre: spy films, and westerns. </li>
</ul>
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Also, like a good masala film, Todd provides a snappy prologue and epilogue to bookend the action, and a set of symbols/key to help you keep track of the Bombay storytelling tropes (doubles, bromance, etc.) in each of the films.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">On a more personal level, I have two comments: </span><br />
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1. Seeing an ode to my favorite era of Bollywood (and some near unknown films to boot) in lively print and color does my heart good.<br />
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2. I don't have to content myself with looking at the pictures, because I actually enjoy reading the minutia of Todd's commentary. Now that I wrote that, it sounds far more condescending than I intended. But we've all sat through the dry academic tomes about Bollywood (or at least, we've tried). A lot of them serve as better reference books than commuter train reading. But while Funky Bollywood is a deceptively educational book for the beginner, and certainly a refresher of familiar territory for the long-time fan, it aims to entertain first. Here, it's worth quoting Todd's breakdown of KSR Doss' cult "revenge" film, Rani Mera Naam:<br />
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"Is it trashy? Stupid? Gaudy? Lurid? Indeed it is. But, also, like its heroine, it commits these crimes in pursuit of a worthy goal."<br />
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Anything this book lacks in SERIOUS COMMENTARY (meh), it makes up for in wit and aesthetics, and in its not-so-secret goal of filmi evangelism. Also, you might find a new favorite among Todd's motley selection of urban thrillers. I'm going off to make some lists (OK, YouTube playlists) right now.<br />
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"Funky Bollywood" seems to be everywhere in San Francisco, but you can get yours on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Funky-Bollywood-Indian-Action-Cinema/dp/1903254779/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1426810641&sr=1-1&keywords=funky+bollywood">Amazon</a> or <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/funky-bollywood-todd-stadtman/1120512270?ean=9781903254776">Barnes & Noble</a>.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-5731845878661836312015-03-10T13:21:00.004-07:002015-03-10T18:03:53.209-07:00The Forty-First (1956)This review is part of "The Russia in Classic Film Blogathon," hosted by Movies Silently. Check out the movie and blogroll <a href="http://moviessilently.com/2015/01/23/announcement-russia-classic-film-blogathon/">here</a>.<br />
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Some movies beg the accompaniment of a list or two. Female revolutionaries? Check. Wait, no, Female *snipers.* Check. (Probably a pretty short list, that, unless you count exploitation cinema, which abides by a whole 'nother set of rules.) Propaganda film? Check. Russian civil war story? Check. Sovcolor remake of black & white Soviet silent film? Check. Furthermore, the story is rich with nationalist and patriotic trope-ry.<br />
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Because you can head <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Forty-First_%281956_film%29">here</a> for a more detailed plot summery, I will keep my retelling brief. Instead, I'd rather focus on this film's connections to international cinema and the questions it raises for me about the expectations for women in nationalist narratives. [This post will be rife with spoilers, as it's impossible to say anything about this film's message without discussing the final scene. You have been warned.]<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXiuVSyLi39lFoFPjHinhu08kIZ7Qa0GdarmWDIVVtbIRGc6vGa3O_c2Vh_bdlx8ivuvUQUXlf5SfxznHWD8zAFeZ9vZCAR69jGNeiXUAwVmtKu1CDbLsQY8YEl-7xnuOmpB_w4B2v_2I/s1600/The+Forty+First_18.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXiuVSyLi39lFoFPjHinhu08kIZ7Qa0GdarmWDIVVtbIRGc6vGa3O_c2Vh_bdlx8ivuvUQUXlf5SfxznHWD8zAFeZ9vZCAR69jGNeiXUAwVmtKu1CDbLsQY8YEl-7xnuOmpB_w4B2v_2I/s1600/The+Forty+First_18.png" height="278" width="400" /></a>It's the *ahem* Soviet propaganda version of 1918. The war between the Whites and Reds has not yet been resolved. [The important thing to remember is that White is bad and Red good in the Soviet imagination.] Maria (Izolda Izvitskaya) is a hardened sniper in the Red Army. She and her company are marching through the Karakum desert, when she spies a rival army caravan from afar and picks off two of the soldiers, giving her forty total kills. Uncharacteristically, she misses the man who would have been her forty-first, Lieutenant Otrok (Oleg Strizhenov).<br />
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Swiftly, the survivor is captured and discovered to be carrying some mysterious war intelligence for the White Army. This makes him a valuable prisoner indeed, and Maria is tasked with watching over him. But because he looks and acts rather <strike>like Cary Elwes</strike> dashing, is both charming and well-educated, and because she's the only women for hundreds of miles probably, a tentative comradery grows between them.<br />
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On his part, he seems to enjoy her shaky attempts at revolutionary poetry, and tries to hold back his laughter at her expense. She has a certain glow, it must be denied. (I need to get me some of that socialist realism make-up, it makes one look invincible.) And yes, she's rough and uneducated, but he comes to respect her dedication to the cause. Still, a shadow hangs between them, as she is bringing him to his death. However, not before they are shipwrecked on an island alone together (you'd have to be there, it sort of makes sense), and they finally let themselves fall into tempestuous cast-away love. Obviously, such bliss must be sacrificed--there's a war on, after all.<br />
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Helmed by one of my favorite directors, Grigori Chukhrai, and released in 1956 at the beginning of the Kruschev Thaw, the characters here are still bound by the severity of Soviet ideology. But, take note, these folks are characters, not puppets, with believable motivations and semi-believable actions. It's definitely not a pure propaganda film about the early Lenin years like 1959's Kommunist with Yevgeny Urbansky, nor does it share the ambiguities and moral questions of Kalatozov's The Cranes are Flying (1957), the maddening unfairness of war expressed in Chukhrai's Ballad of a Soldier (1959), or even the mild Stalinist critique of his later Clear Skies (1961). It falls somewhere in the middle. Yes, each of Chukhrai's films within this period are intensely personal accounts of war and the aftermath of war, and The Forty-First is no exception. But by sympathizing with the enemy (and even more literally, with the enemy's stories and story-telling) while STILL advocating a personal sacrifice for the larger mission, The Forty-First digs its heels into safe territory.<br />
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It's still near enough to no man's land to provide some thrills, however.<br />
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*Biggest spoilers below*<br />
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Of course, I'm hinting at the fact that although romance is allowed <u>temporarily</u>, it's doomed to be ended by Maria's final act: shooting Otrok when he is about to be rescued by a White Army ship. For those of you feeling some deja-vu, you have good reason. It's a scene that bears more than a passing resemblance to Fanaa (2006), in which *spoiler* a Kashmiri woman kills her would-be militant husband, instead of letting him be air-lifted out to support large-scale terrorism.<br />
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Both stories trade on doomed romance that transcends earlier loyalties ... for a time. Both emphasize rejecting a beautiful enemy for a more beautiful country. Both use the desert island trope: one on an actual island, the other a snowed-in Kashmiri lodge. But while the protagonist in Fanaa has to kill the father of her son, and thus destroy her family (or save it, depending on your point of view), Maria was never a nurturing figure to begin with. It's easier to understand how her military training would take over in a moment of crisis.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmZzjXEe2A7lijjiTL0wey_Brmn85aacLJ9c7YvXkicPEMj1eE4k6Wrtop7rhjnew7MMcvdCJAdCDA4d7jP25zj6hOQKkHYMqVpjrlcN4MUYPskhIm6q-iMu4dVLYlmmSUN3hJ9Z5Blo/s1600/The+Forty+First_22.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwmZzjXEe2A7lijjiTL0wey_Brmn85aacLJ9c7YvXkicPEMj1eE4k6Wrtop7rhjnew7MMcvdCJAdCDA4d7jP25zj6hOQKkHYMqVpjrlcN4MUYPskhIm6q-iMu4dVLYlmmSUN3hJ9Z5Blo/s1600/The+Forty+First_22.png" height="276" width="400" /></a>I don't mention this because I think it's easier to execute one's lover than one's husband (Sophie's Choice much?), but it surprises me that in both cases, the Indian and Soviet ideals for the average woman (mother, wife, worker) are being superseded by the "higher" call or "need" of one's country. A film from India in the 50s, especially in the rather socialist Mother India (1957), sure. And in Soviet society in the 1950s, absolutely. Obviously, society trumps the individual in socialist narratives. But in Fanaa? An Indian film from the last dozen years? That's SO 60 years ago, guys. I guess nationalism and patriotism still need the same kinds of stories to achieve their ends, no matter to what country you pledge allegiance.<br />
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Following on the heels of that thought, it's important to note a similarity in the "means" not just the ends of this kind of fatalistic patriotism. Without artistic value, persuasive cinema can't keep people in their seats, much less spur them toward a certain kind of action. Both of these films trade on natural beauty to create an atmosphere of enchantment, even in, nay, especially when framing personal tragedy. The visuals of love and loss conjure up fairy tales, not history books. And in this, we see both the sneakier subtext of patriotism (the land is oh-so-important in national propaganda), the transformation of natural space into supernatural space (where anything can happen), and the dueling romanticizations of country vs. lover. Maria chooses the first, of course. Given Chukhrai's flare for "Romance with a capital R," one can almost understand why.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-61926920291925359692015-02-28T14:07:00.001-08:002015-05-28T19:30:10.565-07:00Pakistan Film Reviews: Lakhon Mein Ek (1967) لاکھہں مین ایک<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU90Dnwyu1GDg6e333r2UZvhFO-go9QeLNUMEUbdTMI6xZE9QJUavtIzxBx9KFUo_1HEmpa2CAZBcoPumCAF6bNHyOqSeSU03Qlbw5NGwQH3npNuKDZT4U7htlaGHOh9pXxBE_Ytb15Vc/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_22.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU90Dnwyu1GDg6e333r2UZvhFO-go9QeLNUMEUbdTMI6xZE9QJUavtIzxBx9KFUo_1HEmpa2CAZBcoPumCAF6bNHyOqSeSU03Qlbw5NGwQH3npNuKDZT4U7htlaGHOh9pXxBE_Ytb15Vc/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_22.png" width="400" /></a></div>
There's something to be said for trans-border romances. Or rather, nearly everyone has something to say through them. Just like Desai seeks to resolve deep social rifts through separated brother motifs, trans-border romances can speak to the ache of helplessness and loss people feel when separated from loved ones by arbitrary lines on a map.<br />
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Even more often, in Hindi cinema, I feel this sort of Partition echo is sublimated into rural/city romances, where two people find a connection despite their differences, but are torn apart by the fatefulness of space and local politics. In this category, some sugary Mithun and Ranjeeta Kaur romances (Rajshri, all) immediately come to mind, as well as a lot of Dilip Kumar film plots from the 50s. And when I say sublimated, I don't mean there isn't inherent meaning in conflicts of clan vs. clan, or caste prohibitions, or urban vs. rural lives being worked out through cinematic romance. But it does seem that Partition memory might be the larger conceptual touchstone that turns localized story-lines into something universal for the viewer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAASjFWsVO7MhUHq-c7UaktpHvLIPaU8Eu1cZaRGoV2usThaYJa4HXsmgtYeHLY5HxeiiCNwH2pX61nU9Dq5rOlzq7HOUO8coX_9PxJfPuGYOgBWIdwDmxPF8eKzRIij19VL-SfFV__D4/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAASjFWsVO7MhUHq-c7UaktpHvLIPaU8Eu1cZaRGoV2usThaYJa4HXsmgtYeHLY5HxeiiCNwH2pX61nU9Dq5rOlzq7HOUO8coX_9PxJfPuGYOgBWIdwDmxPF8eKzRIij19VL-SfFV__D4/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_2.png" width="400" /></a>[Spoilers below. It's hard to discuss this film without them.]<br />
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Pakistan's Lakhon Mein Ek (1967) gives us one of those satisfying moments in cinematic history when such subtextual story-lines become maintext. Starting from the first days of Partition violence, the story follows two Hindu and Muslim families in Kashmir, whose families are joined "by chance" in the chaos.<br />
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In self defense, the Hindu patriarch flees to India, but is accidentally separated from his young daughter, Shakuntula.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthHAPIj9_2DStP2H8SMRCd89H7m6PE3cNBmrlpv4M6UogjPWNJWJPk72uUVp21yZzcFKbF5GoHaZzxOo8-LMJAEsu6vBkfzHhDwgKmvFLfTgAhBQuCXgC7LVIex55xa7eMtZl5EWSOtg/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhthHAPIj9_2DStP2H8SMRCd89H7m6PE3cNBmrlpv4M6UogjPWNJWJPk72uUVp21yZzcFKbF5GoHaZzxOo8-LMJAEsu6vBkfzHhDwgKmvFLfTgAhBQuCXgC7LVIex55xa7eMtZl5EWSOtg/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_4.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the better moments of Talish's probably signature theatrics</td></tr>
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Luckily, she's saved from a mob murder and adopted by her Muslim chacha (Talish). Muslim uncle's son, Mehmood, is lost and wakes up in a field hospital with amnesia. After running away from the hospital, he's adopted by a jolly Kashmiri lorry-walla, Dildar Khan. In a pleasing conceptual triangle, the two families are split over India, Pakistan, and the liminal space of the border roads. Thus, we're free to jump forward ten or fifteen years to when the kids finally get interesting.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnpKUjacADlFBQeMV7-9Heyej0ONU4XGWYpxyr1TCFIWP89WAf3aLCrdC5VXIPm-8C2h_YizNypvymQVQP_tm6DLse7wkNHm02ZruzsrsQOM6rbpev_55K4p5-86ERy91lYbcZTZh6zA/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUnpKUjacADlFBQeMV7-9Heyej0ONU4XGWYpxyr1TCFIWP89WAf3aLCrdC5VXIPm-8C2h_YizNypvymQVQP_tm6DLse7wkNHm02ZruzsrsQOM6rbpev_55K4p5-86ERy91lYbcZTZh6zA/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_5.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mehmood has 150% more style than substance, but at least he tries.</td></tr>
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Mehmood (Ejaz Durrani) is now the jolly lorry driver, and is accompanied in his adventures by a slightly senile Mr. Khan. Shakuntula (Shamim Ara) is [unsurprisingly] a beautiful and dutiful adopted daughter, and has taken over the shepherding work from her uncle. One day, her sheep block the road and force Mehmood to stop and wait for the shepherdess to pass. They hurl insults, but instantly realize they have a connection.<br />
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After some convoluted events, Mehmood manages to stick around town for a bit, in order to romance Shakuntula, and frolic in the jaw-dropping scenery.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poor little lamb doesn't get to frolic ...</td></tr>
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This doesn't go over with the lecherous village astrologer, who instantly schemes to break the two lovebirds up. Unfortunately, in this conservative world, all he needs to do is talk to Muslim chacha and throw some shade at Shakuntula's honor. She's immediately confined to her home, at her uncle's weepy insistence that he is the temporary guard of her family's izzat until his Hindu friend returns. [Ok, but GAG.]<br />
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Lecherous astrologer also tattletales to Mr. Khan, and Mehmood is then chastised for "hugging" a Hindu girl and thus taking her honor, and is ordered back on the road. [Gag me again, but the anti-hug rant is hilarious in a way, too.] Oh ho, but Mehmood can't possibly drive safely in such a state of grief, can he? [To you 99% of lorry drivers who actually keep your emotions in check on the job, I am sorry. Cinema has done you ill.]<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A better view of KITTEN <a href="http://halfwaythruthedark.tumblr.com/post/111583090633/lakhon-mein-ek-pakistan-1967-mr-khan-adopting#notes">here</a>. </td></tr>
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One accident later and he's back at the rural hospital, where he loses his recent memory but remembers his real parentage. Poor Mr. Khan... who adopts a stray cat in place of his the son who has erased their years together. [It's cuter than Mehmood and probably won't be amnesia prone, so maybe it's a good trade.]<br />
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Poor Shakuntala, too, who must woo dear Mehmood all over again. However, this time he has the benefit of remembering their childhood romps. Unfortunately, the new adult romps are interrupted by the massively inconvenient return of the Hindu patriarch, a broken but kind man, who has been stuck in an asylum for years. Shakuntula is immediately ordered to return with him to India. [Why he would want to go back is beyond me, as the film makes it clear he been ill treated primarily because of his loyalty to Pakistani friends.]<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBPWM2Zk3sDcIKAYxcusUMrC81Yzf_fy1AzAYU6KCquRhGVvWsrI57HWNyUBa0DTXU6onM1gEuabz1z-CevxDpxd1aNUYfXPjytrn5UOWrvhMpzR40XiCiOV0gxJp7PYt2IlxFKI4ZXc/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_24.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBPWM2Zk3sDcIKAYxcusUMrC81Yzf_fy1AzAYU6KCquRhGVvWsrI57HWNyUBa0DTXU6onM1gEuabz1z-CevxDpxd1aNUYfXPjytrn5UOWrvhMpzR40XiCiOV0gxJp7PYt2IlxFKI4ZXc/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_24.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hindu papa confused by the judgy locals and grosssssss pandit</td></tr>
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Biggest *spoilers* below.<br />
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Shakuntula tries to elope with Mehmood, to her credit, but to his credit [I guess?] Mehmood listens to his father's pleas to let Shakuntula have the Hindu life she was meant to have, and to not dishonor their families. [Fair enough, although why he's not in a puddle over giving up someone who's effectively his daughter is a mystery to me.]<br />
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Of course, India STILL does not treat them well. Shakuntula is a social outcast. She is apparently tainted because of her years spent in Pakistan. Her father wants to get her married, and enlists a super-creepy pandit to match-make. [I mean there are some scary pandits in Hindi cinema, but this one would definitely twirl his mustache if he wasn't required to shave it off.] The only man who wants Shakuntula is the local rape-y forest ranger. To appease her father, Shakuntula marries him anyway. Things do not go well.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HpynHlIDYoCg9ne8l_-BGp0Y9nj-d_ooM-zyhMkYWN4XBG8l8OEIjqwEVyDsbOQt_L3Z1ubZaP6NQzDW5wfgp1OUf7D2N7q4Dc9JFbXvJdivQPxK-EjxjJmGalT8YwUL0GS7H0nYJSg/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_10.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HpynHlIDYoCg9ne8l_-BGp0Y9nj-d_ooM-zyhMkYWN4XBG8l8OEIjqwEVyDsbOQt_L3Z1ubZaP6NQzDW5wfgp1OUf7D2N7q4Dc9JFbXvJdivQPxK-EjxjJmGalT8YwUL0GS7H0nYJSg/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_10.png" width="400" /></a>The appeal of this film to the contemporary viewer is pretty obvious. A view of Partition from the other side. A Hindu/Muslim romance. Lorry-love. [I swear, this is a whole genre, akin to Westerns or swashbucklers.] The simultaneous propagandization of the Indian state AND humanization of individual Hindus. But also of note:<br />
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<b><span style="color: #e69138;">Time and memory erasure </span></b><br />
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10 or 15 years pass and the adults are older, but really no different. They haven't grown as people or <br />
changed in loyalty or taken new paths. I guess this fits the idea youth has of elders--that of a static generation without adaptive qualities. Think of all the strong/weepy masala mothers who change little as time lapses and their sons grow older. Hindi films tell stories like this, and I expected the adults wouldn't change too much. What's interesting is to to see the same theme play out in Mehmood's (a young man) loss of memory. South Asian films LOVE the amnesia trope, but to write a son with two fathers, neither of whom can he remember concurrently, seemed a pretty obvious symbol for Kashmir. [But, you tell me.] <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig34Ot9q2n8Ux3MzTR7uLAlnl2sQ1XUzS5GMtO_8RI6fAvsZDQZpJznIn1a_LThlJ9A3kczOoGVQbjPoHk24yfVaK4Nwo3FhrttHj3FhLmGM0qj7ZX61EbhQo4iDHBsS2qGcLL6R5FTrk/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_7.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig34Ot9q2n8Ux3MzTR7uLAlnl2sQ1XUzS5GMtO_8RI6fAvsZDQZpJznIn1a_LThlJ9A3kczOoGVQbjPoHk24yfVaK4Nwo3FhrttHj3FhLmGM0qj7ZX61EbhQo4iDHBsS2qGcLL6R5FTrk/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_7.png" width="400" /></a><b><span style="color: #e69138;">Blood ties as trump cards</span></b><br />
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Should you be loyal to your roots? Or to your experience? Your parents? Or your caregivers? There's a lot of symbolism going on here ... with multiple adoptive parents ... all of whom are cast aside or cast themselves aside when the biological parents return. I could be wrong, but this feels very fatalistic to me ... as if all of what has happened has been an anomaly that the universe must put right. Hindus belong on their side, Muslims theirs, and Kashmiris, you're just bound to be forgotten, what rum luck, sorry.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #e69138;">Women as symbols of family honor</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQAx8cOWPlvVTX3-pziT0SGpIDuLvQXpv5R20V_YwHkjKDBeEVNaMA80gnXkOrWmJVWKB4Nlf8LjVfBw4o-q0uiU89xUUIjcv2Ymt2JirS5l-1oxPETsPsNT6AhbPY44cCCD4Pv8kxHmc/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_16.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQAx8cOWPlvVTX3-pziT0SGpIDuLvQXpv5R20V_YwHkjKDBeEVNaMA80gnXkOrWmJVWKB4Nlf8LjVfBw4o-q0uiU89xUUIjcv2Ymt2JirS5l-1oxPETsPsNT6AhbPY44cCCD4Pv8kxHmc/s1600/Lakhon+Mein+Ek_16.png" width="400" /></a><br />
GAG. But as always, it's interesting to see how some films subtly undermine the tradition by showing (A) how easily it can be manipulated, (B) how easily people's intentions and actions can be misunderstood, and (C) how badly it works out. Also, while the older generation is against mixed marriages, the younger generation is SO over that.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #e69138;">Justified violence is still destructive</span></b><br />
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It's hard to explain unless you've seen the end. But the film is not gung-ho about violence, even when it's used for self-defense. Based on a few scenes in the film, and the climax, I would guess that somebody behind the film was advocating for pacifism, or at least, making a case that while the men are off fighting, it's the women who suffer. Coming on the heels of the 1965 Indo-Pakistan war, this seems significant.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #e69138;">Hinduism and Islam are given equal respect </span></b><br />
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Hinduism as an individual's religion is caricatured here, but in a sweet way. While the details feel a bit exoticized, Shakuntula is not simplistic in her lonely devotion. She prays as fervently in her wilderness temple as any of the Muslim characters do in private. She even has an encounter with Krishna in the guise of her beloved. This all feels progressive, even if it may prompt a few smiles from actual Hindus. [As I'm sure the caricature of Christians and Muslims often does in Hindi films.] I don't think there's actually a single scene in a masjid, all of the religious scenes are in tiny mandirs. Don't get me wrong, the depiction of the Hindu religious <u>establishment</u> and Indian society itself is extremely negative. But in a Pakistani film in the '60s? Giving us a chaste, near-perfect Hindu heroine, and letting her dream of her Muslim beloved as Krishna seems moderately gutsy to me.<br />
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Obviously, what this film lacks in entertainment value, it makes up for in social significance. You can see it in a beautiful subtitled print on tommydan's YT channel.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-62424399164547076372015-02-21T18:58:00.002-08:002015-03-01T08:17:43.724-08:00Mera Gaon Mera Desh (1971)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU4gDYYWSo7UAgASsegp-SUwsHqN3c_kHsrXswykCbo-1USHwI6-fILhlJCc1CQD4itnTppfBSOVGHlWPfmmS92JitwFDq0FNk4qP2TIaOGE_-FypVIK7kGzWuD08ISZ6luFD38GRq55c/s1600/Mera+Gaon+Mera+Desh_13.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU4gDYYWSo7UAgASsegp-SUwsHqN3c_kHsrXswykCbo-1USHwI6-fILhlJCc1CQD4itnTppfBSOVGHlWPfmmS92JitwFDq0FNk4qP2TIaOGE_-FypVIK7kGzWuD08ISZ6luFD38GRq55c/s1600/Mera+Gaon+Mera+Desh_13.png" height="310" width="400" /></a></div>
Once in a while, I hear about a film that seems AMAZING and I immediately decide to save it, lock it down, keep it secret and safe until such time as I choose to give it its due AND avoid any spoilers if I can help it. Occasionally this backfires. Not every film can live up to such high expectations.<br />
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But Mera Gaon Mera Desh (1971) is worth the wait. I've been saving myself for this one for SO long (in Hindi film time anyway) that the abstinence campaign perhaps made the consummation sweeter. Pardon the horrible analogy. Seriously, though. In this case, I put it off because there's only so many top tier Indian westerns, and after seeing Kucche Dhaage and Sholay so early on, I needed to keep one for the road.<br />
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Lots of folks have gushingly summarized its plot, so I don't think I will write it up in full. However, the uninitiated should see it for:<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">1. Cinematography</span>. Raj Khosla, duh.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">2. The location</span>. The village being attacked (by the perhaps most iconic Vinod Khanna dacoit of all) is satisfyingly anchored in space. The town looks and feels like a 3-D puzzle, the dimensions provide both suspenseful exposure and claustrophobia, the action flowing through the stacked houses and cobbled streets like rats through a maze. It reminds me the most of French-Italian films shot in the Algerian Casbah, like Pepe Le Moko or The Battle of Algiers. With action like this, who needs an original premise?<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">3. Time</span>. There's lots of time devoted to well-crafted conversations, to deeper emotional realizations, or to suspense. This certainly speaks to the level of care behind the camera and in script development, but whoever edited the film knew what they were doing, too.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">4. Music</span>. I think there was actually a background score? Somebody can correct me if I'm wrong, and perhaps it was lifted from a lesser known spaghetti western, but it works. I love hearing tense guitar-strumming during emotional moments, rather than whining strings.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNgkAPF0ozfV33lcgqa_ndFnozwiEbyGHe6xO1aa66XJ9BIMFxgD-1tPu3GFl3KjlbWKjuPHCDstCTz7ASewYssNsCcTt4HGRETL6rf1CezCcSCibwtn1s78BbDnNSnKJGTP664Tkc8Hw/s1600/Mera+Gaon+Mera+Desh_17.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNgkAPF0ozfV33lcgqa_ndFnozwiEbyGHe6xO1aa66XJ9BIMFxgD-1tPu3GFl3KjlbWKjuPHCDstCTz7ASewYssNsCcTt4HGRETL6rf1CezCcSCibwtn1s78BbDnNSnKJGTP664Tkc8Hw/s1600/Mera+Gaon+Mera+Desh_17.png" height="310" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #e69138;">5. The performances</span>.<br />
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*Thankfully, Dharmendra inhabits this serious avatar's manly attire without adding a halo.<br />
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*Asha Parekh is fun and flirtatious and sometimes gets to join in the events to the point of MAKING A DIFFERENCE.<br />
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*There's a poor 7 or 8 year old kid who runs around naked from the waist down in the first half of the film. I mention it, because I wonder if he ever lived the role down.<br />
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*Laxmi Chhaya makes you believe in her ill-fated character's choices, weighting potentially forgettable scenes with raw physicality and angry resignation. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GlIxmUWJXnULvSkCFVJaUkV7vB-BzyVFtHOE9xA3ND6_G9C1Jo-rmtzQSgNP9CfTZ7FWy0mDfrRDdfOer3Zgw_0OuRvB12RXKNO55NCuruWUhQKpzqoFy7Mw5bYlKd7iEy8KDI6Spp0/s1600/Mera+Gaon+Mera+Desh_29.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0GlIxmUWJXnULvSkCFVJaUkV7vB-BzyVFtHOE9xA3ND6_G9C1Jo-rmtzQSgNP9CfTZ7FWy0mDfrRDdfOer3Zgw_0OuRvB12RXKNO55NCuruWUhQKpzqoFy7Mw5bYlKd7iEy8KDI6Spp0/s1600/Mera+Gaon+Mera+Desh_29.png" height="306" width="400" /></a>*Vinod is as good at being evil as I expected ... once again impressing me with his ability to use horsemanship as a dramatic accessory... especially as an instrument of intimidation.<br />
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*The secondary characters are weak and in need of a savior, but still lovable enough to make you root for the town's continued existence. Just when you think, "Gosh, let this town of cowards rot," you're pleasantly surprised by a show of comedic bravado. Few "bandit-ravaged township" Westerns manage this. (The Magnificent Seven with its cloying farmers and villagers comes to mind.)<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">Caveat:</span> The biggest downside to the film is the violent treatment of women. But, that's a blight on most contemporaries in the genre. I don't like it, but this film doesn't seem to like it either.<br />
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I'll leave you with the best use of innuendo I've seen in a seventies film in a while...<br />
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Dharmendra's character first visits the house of his new employer/uncle/adopted baap. The rishta of it all is convoluted. The important thing is, D's character has a new lease on life and is being served food by his new village girl crush.<br />
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They start flirt-bickering via a discussion of whether or not Dharm can handle spicy food, but dear Work Uncle [naively] puts his foot in.<br />
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Ummmm.<br />
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Yeah, that was my reaction too.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-88472766551314567772015-02-02T11:15:00.002-08:002015-02-02T11:24:00.003-08:00Ohm Shanthi Oshaana (2014)Ohm Shanthi Oshaana has a bunch of traits that double as both flaws and strengths:<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">1. The massive Aiyyaa (2012) hangover.</span> Look no farther than OSO's plot: Girl stalks boy, boy doesn't seem to be interested, girl holds on to her hopes, eventually-maybe-probably finds boy IS into her after all. (I feel like others have mentioned this similarity already, pardon me for rehashing it.) But the imaginary relationship Pooja (Nazriya Nazim) builds with the much older and more serious Giri (Nivin Pauly) is less magical here than in Aiyyaa (read: more painful). Mostly because we've all been Pooja at one time or another in our youth, and we also know it's called a "crush" for a reason...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwKYNe_6A9k7rp3-FAiM4wzoAeR7CQPZWWOkOJ2aG7D8ocwYX0WB3vHy67XfHBQhRCNndMi-hIU49ybBotjJCbOTdJEaodHki8i5pvdM4QfqJYJDLhfeJWVa2QyjQJvynAAuvZDHTUUI/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwKYNe_6A9k7rp3-FAiM4wzoAeR7CQPZWWOkOJ2aG7D8ocwYX0WB3vHy67XfHBQhRCNndMi-hIU49ybBotjJCbOTdJEaodHki8i5pvdM4QfqJYJDLhfeJWVa2QyjQJvynAAuvZDHTUUI/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_4.png" height="171" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #e69138;">2. The tendency to invest in detail.</span> The movie sets up all the characters that surround Pooja with a series of humorous, collage-esque, snapshots. Sort of like Cranford crossed with Clueless. Or a pleasant short story you read at the coffee shop on Saturday morning. You might question the overemphasis of quirky town-staples, except that these characters collectively make up the heroine's psyche. Pooja's father and aunt, more than anyone else, bridge the divide between sketch and home video. But BECAUSE OSO spends so much of it's relatively short runtime with secondary characters and Pooja's limited first person perspective, we never really get to know Giri beyond his reputation. We know Pooja intimately (or as well as we can know her in a film trying to be a bit tongue-in-cheek), and we see her build a rapport with multiple side-characters, but all of this only casts a brighter light on the lack of a rapport between the "lovers."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3DKFpknwVi9JK7bd2gNG2Svo1AcwxT5INmHdHcFCu_6yiTwl3yoLxd9nqecL8yNvV2bCUJNbtDUXZZ4oqqt_x_pK1uqq-ooMVD0b6SbZZhk-XGLRs4vq2TCK_4lTDPK0YzEgCqNf9M8/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_6.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3DKFpknwVi9JK7bd2gNG2Svo1AcwxT5INmHdHcFCu_6yiTwl3yoLxd9nqecL8yNvV2bCUJNbtDUXZZ4oqqt_x_pK1uqq-ooMVD0b6SbZZhk-XGLRs4vq2TCK_4lTDPK0YzEgCqNf9M8/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_6.png" height="168" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #e69138;">3. The attempt at showing long lasting platonic relationships between men and women.</span> Good, but underdeveloped, just like the romance. Also, one of the reveals sours this theme... and you end up feeling that one of the friendships was just a red herring.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaaljGka-VFu4_mRONWk1UDo_Si7HULzPIFeofNtpawcSjx1jzAURRplZGXAbQnFQ5dPpIy-GFHdD80cSrGYjgqnNTbdmRrei9aKp4S-dkC7fV50d7j8iLDTrxAn12M_3vAD7qn_7x_s/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGaaljGka-VFu4_mRONWk1UDo_Si7HULzPIFeofNtpawcSjx1jzAURRplZGXAbQnFQ5dPpIy-GFHdD80cSrGYjgqnNTbdmRrei9aKp4S-dkC7fV50d7j8iLDTrxAn12M_3vAD7qn_7x_s/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_2.png" height="167" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #e69138;">4. The idea that everyone experiments with life, and sometimes it takes a while to find the right recipe. </span>It's hardly a subtle theme. Pooja's aunt is a specialty winemaker always mucking about in the cellar with a different brew, her father is an amateur chemist trying to discover a miracle drug, her mother is a cooking fanatic and is always trying to perfect new recipes. All of this should add up to a film that recommends experimentation--and I think it tries. I *think* we're supposed to realize that there's a time to experiment and wait, and a time to just go all out and order exactly what you want off the menu.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCmjjrFEenK9JTaMQ2VZjNM6E8ahyphenhyphenFkNwhDznQ69OFVNzwnfatpckkXH991PKtaqwQeW7nuuSFCa1sdqvb9nbB3hFrbRtE1V0l1M68pBhkDf1VcViKVO68zzMMe5JAYDj6ilOzLuX_40/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_9.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCmjjrFEenK9JTaMQ2VZjNM6E8ahyphenhyphenFkNwhDznQ69OFVNzwnfatpckkXH991PKtaqwQeW7nuuSFCa1sdqvb9nbB3hFrbRtE1V0l1M68pBhkDf1VcViKVO68zzMMe5JAYDj6ilOzLuX_40/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_9.png" height="168" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #e69138;">5. The runtime. </span>As much as it's nice to see a film that isn't weighted down with excess and flash, we couldn't everything we wanted in the film because it was too short. Yes, at two hours with only a couple musical sequences (which are definitely not big performance numbers), somehow OSO doesn't have enough time to pull off a satisfying romance. Or maybe it veers off formula too much and then doesn't know how to get back to the main road.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXv-xp07rrG02ICy_rFajyIX84xJQOKLeiWwfdPu2Axrp0BSxiyiBJw2NV7b3BCmCJBEFcMJydvIZBlB6tOzlvujA9SREU6rgLOfWKLc_smpDA5rZFoAnDw-v5uTdsLwGjshQadq86TWM/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_10.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXv-xp07rrG02ICy_rFajyIX84xJQOKLeiWwfdPu2Axrp0BSxiyiBJw2NV7b3BCmCJBEFcMJydvIZBlB6tOzlvujA9SREU6rgLOfWKLc_smpDA5rZFoAnDw-v5uTdsLwGjshQadq86TWM/s1600/Ohm+Shanthi+Oshaana_10.png" height="170" width="400" /></a>Nothing substitutes for relationship-building. Aiyyaa manages to make me feel as if the two leads will get along splendidly once the conversational barrier is finally broken near the end of the film...most probably because it breaks its own limited (if fantastic) perspective once or twice to show us a glimpse of what the object of the heroine's desire really thinks of her. Even with more dialogue in Nivin Pauly's hands than Prithviraj ever got in Aiyyaa, and certainly a role with clearer motivaions, I can't get away from the feeling that Giri and Pooja might actually be mismatched. It's not that he's poor and she's rich, he's Hindu and she's Christian, vagerah vagerah, but that I don't see anything but respect between them. And sure, respect is SOMETHING, but their vastly different daily jobs and interests (so painstakingly set up) might prove to be a bigger hurdle than any differences in social status.<br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;">5. The progressive politics.</span> The ethics of the film are magically-scaffolded into place. Like a <br />
YouTube video with a disabled comments section, the film puts forth a semi-feminist and pluralist ideology with a happy-go-lucky spirit, inviting no internal criticism. Still, it seems quite remarkable in its devil-may-care approach to female-empowerment, parenting, inter-caste and interfaith relationships, and dowry critique. For me, the best moments ebbed and flowed with the presence of Pooja's father (Renji Panicker), an absentminded doctor, and also the film's clearest moral voice: especially in the themes of hands-off parenting and religious pluralism. Despite her sometimes reckless ways (especially in his community's eyes), he never rebukes his daughter EXCEPT when he feels she is being untrue to herself (in her quest to get the boy she wants). And no matter what she asks for, he gives. Perhaps indulgently, but also as a vote of confidence. And *spoiler* to the end, he's proved right in his assessment of her character.<br />
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I guess this is one of those dishes that's missing something, but definitely worth trying on your way to something better.<br />
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<u>Note</u>: If there's one, single, unmissable moment in this film, it's Pooja's fantasy of a potential groom viewing (instead of the usual bride viewing scene), with Nazriya literally reversing the masculine gaze and Nivin playing the bashful candidate serving tea to the visiting family. It's not that Pooja doesn't retain something nearing this agency in the rest of the film, it's just that I cared about it more in the guise of farce than dumbed down into a formal drama.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-65959645653866045042015-01-26T12:25:00.002-08:002015-01-26T12:33:34.746-08:00An interview with A Place Like Me in a Girl Like This<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEqtRAr2hlw6VdV6y2ScKx9RsOpjV1UZBh7-v2byKyNIvG5-vgNQQuaTbmCXJzi252TCSlms8hnk6xghyphenhyphent_LnofhxaT6QnEolhaxQyLPgLymFk6kH2wSpnAODfAu2KJx1qJKuM3LNGu3g/s1600/Baaz_18.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEqtRAr2hlw6VdV6y2ScKx9RsOpjV1UZBh7-v2byKyNIvG5-vgNQQuaTbmCXJzi252TCSlms8hnk6xghyphenhyphent_LnofhxaT6QnEolhaxQyLPgLymFk6kH2wSpnAODfAu2KJx1qJKuM3LNGu3g/s1600/Baaz_18.png" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
About a month ago I wrote something to kick off a new series of <a href="http://aplacelikemeinagirllikethis.com/category/language-loves-me/">language learner interviews</a> "Language Loves Me" at the travelogue: <a href="http://aplacelikemeinagirllikethis.com/">a place like me in a girl like this</a>. Mikaela (the woman behind the site) is a thoughtful interviewer, and it was fun to sit down and try to describe what:<br />
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*Hooked me on Hindi films<br />
*Drew me to Hindi/Urdu study<br />
*What keeps me interested<br />
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Along with a brief, loving examination of what (I think) makes Hindi/Urdu such a fascinating language AND where to go for language learning resources. Hope you enjoy it! The article can be found <a href="http://aplacelikemeinagirllikethis.com/hindi-loves-me-mirandas-love-affair-with-%E0%A4%B9%E0%A4%BF%E0%A4%A8%E0%A5%8D%E0%A4%A6%E0%A5%80-%D8%A7%D8%B1%D8%AF%D9%88/">here</a>.<br />
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P.S. I think Mikaela is starting a big Korean souvenir giveaway, so check that out, too!Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-49889599833732631992015-01-24T15:14:00.001-08:002015-01-24T16:06:18.167-08:00Bandhe Haath (1973)I get why Bandhe Haath isn't as well know as it might be. This Amitabh isn't a full throttle star (it released a few months after Zanjeer) and the story lacks emotional focus. But still, there is much fun to be had with the right expectations. Those being, that this is something to heal the '80s or late '70s saturated brain ... when you are are pro-groove, but formula-weary.<br />
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Shyamu (Amitabh Bachchan) is a chor. He's been brought up in the house burgling profession, and he's pretty good at it.<br />
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But when his mentor in crime is injured, and Shyamu is mistaken for a respected playwright during a getaway attempt, he gets a brief taste of the sharif-aadmi life.<br />
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And he likes it. He also really likes the stage dancer he is expected to work with, the luminous Mala (Mumtaz).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-JWxw3aYTBH3M-6-2tSa2dtw4jgh-XMCzx7C2HQVGIsXpfWUInUE3154fclK1wJET1-XYpJVme_8A6YjQ2O8cqiFKhiuQN1-A1HSWiGQ9DbVLoL_vfjpZ9dGsqrmdeCU8zTFywHT8vc/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_12.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-JWxw3aYTBH3M-6-2tSa2dtw4jgh-XMCzx7C2HQVGIsXpfWUInUE3154fclK1wJET1-XYpJVme_8A6YjQ2O8cqiFKhiuQN1-A1HSWiGQ9DbVLoL_vfjpZ9dGsqrmdeCU8zTFywHT8vc/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_12.png" height="486" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't think that was the idiom you were looking for</td></tr>
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His mentor (Madan Puri) is worried and laid up with a broken leg, but still lays the guilt on Shyamu, threatening to rob the hospital where he's recuperating alone (!) if Shyamu doesn't help. Strangely, Shyamu doesn't actually give in. He wants out of the business. Guru-ji goes through with the risky job, and meets a bad end.<br />
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With the death of the elder thief, the police investigation spurs Shyamu to leave town. He discovers that the real playwright, Deepak (Amitabh Bachchan) is deathly ill AND a doppleganger.<br />
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After a crisis of conscience (how cool would it be to have this guy's life?), he dresses Deepak in his own shifty clothes and calls a doctor. But it's too late. Before he knows it, crafty Shyamu becomes the clever Deepak, sort of by default.<br />
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This means a cushy job at the theatre and a chance to "collaborate" with a very willing Mala.<br />
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Still, Shyamu has left more loose ends than he realizes ... and a dedicated and superfly police sleuth (Ajit) is on his trail.<br />
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I promised lots of style, and I don't think you'll be disappointed on that end. A release date of '73 means less manic action, but it doesn't mean LESS less.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QG-EzpaaofxV9dOpXqre0bmXvB6JJMbRpzA68fjs9RTcGhYj0B06JBg0LeQPZ-Fe0LEWTHjo3Jm572xp2PJ9xyIWftd3hA5ltgc4Os8N_4lysGHziKpuy5Vse-2h9rHcLWmHWUQN40A/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_29.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QG-EzpaaofxV9dOpXqre0bmXvB6JJMbRpzA68fjs9RTcGhYj0B06JBg0LeQPZ-Fe0LEWTHjo3Jm572xp2PJ9xyIWftd3hA5ltgc4Os8N_4lysGHziKpuy5Vse-2h9rHcLWmHWUQN40A/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_29.png" height="482" width="640" /></a></div>
Personally, I love soaking in the moment when the wedding cake mansions of the '60s cinema become the Bavarian gingerbread houses of the '70s...something I would date to films released in 1973. The juxtaposition of rosy lingerie and orange bedside lamps perhaps says it all. And speaking of lingerie ....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLJO3F5N7NADFv-AEhyG8KwD8zqQlb7E01BBxyy2HlJskfr3IfmrkMwOjLFOb4zGlS1hSECQ47bHYCSE_Zd_eRIPUddAQIMsq2DCIntntUBJanBIy7yGesEdit-JLoEuK9_ql_3EeNp8/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_8.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLJO3F5N7NADFv-AEhyG8KwD8zqQlb7E01BBxyy2HlJskfr3IfmrkMwOjLFOb4zGlS1hSECQ47bHYCSE_Zd_eRIPUddAQIMsq2DCIntntUBJanBIy7yGesEdit-JLoEuK9_ql_3EeNp8/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_8.png" height="484" width="640" /></a></div>
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<u>Note</u>: What I want to know is why the heck older Hindi films are fine with bra appearances but my copy of Queen (2014) actually blurred out an unworn brassiere in one scene. Actually the n*pple hat and exposed cleavage were all left uncensored in in Queen, so now I have zero idea what goes through these censor's heads. Since when did underwear become more scandalous than the body parts it covers?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih71rjiF2gpMNEX0qkdqPXfrii0NW4dIZF6ZFPNj9oxeapkYK6-e0JaVUbixMIOBCVHY_xvQlTPhRgdW72vNH1JUiM8eiEgAAo6BjXbxQwTv2BLQjcD1q5THy2nhVERXU6QhymzoJkwcA/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_32.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih71rjiF2gpMNEX0qkdqPXfrii0NW4dIZF6ZFPNj9oxeapkYK6-e0JaVUbixMIOBCVHY_xvQlTPhRgdW72vNH1JUiM8eiEgAAo6BjXbxQwTv2BLQjcD1q5THy2nhVERXU6QhymzoJkwcA/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_32.png" height="482" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ranjeet is also superfly in Bandhe Haath, but that was expected, I think</td></tr>
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Besides the general attention to fun sets and costumes, Bandhe Haath is really in love with the blue lighting, right from the opening "chor" montage.<br />
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It's an appropriate atmosphere for a film about a cat burglar, I suppose, but it's also right pleasant on the eyes. (One of my least favorite aspects of the 70s is the films that seem to take place in a never ending noon, to the point where your eyes ache for a badly lit night sequence.)<br />
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Mumtaz wears some fabulous stuff as usual (the early 70's Bombay styles were pretty good for a curvy figure), and she has several fun (if sort of WTF) tribal and rural-inspired stage dances.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Lm8g_IqMz98kutl7T4atX_zca_1Bia0R2ttJK2JV0jEoTldwHfmEJ6aRuUUaMOXcnhjrj9DHmUk19HGWSGoboQ1ShhGwGJ8-Hx9BISS_63Wzu9SfBMf6m174h_-ovQVSCU-KTPK0e4w/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_7.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Lm8g_IqMz98kutl7T4atX_zca_1Bia0R2ttJK2JV0jEoTldwHfmEJ6aRuUUaMOXcnhjrj9DHmUk19HGWSGoboQ1ShhGwGJ8-Hx9BISS_63Wzu9SfBMf6m174h_-ovQVSCU-KTPK0e4w/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_7.png" height="482" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In one of these dances, Amitabh appears in an Indian kilt. You heard that right. </td></tr>
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But "Nahiin!" Mumtaz is not my favorite Mumtaz. She's so fun in films with spytastic intrigue (like Sachha Jhutha & Roop Tera Mastana) where she has more information than the hero (and thus more power), that I hate to see her exist to be pushed around by her feller's lies and shady past.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-yCIW8MLiA1RJ7YulmbDTogfSNFoA_XaNIhrcPNKl4ILePZbnvNYKgxpADI5V_DoJpRDkX2mIEpc88etmR8OBFBs5s1lmXGs6AntU8lEop0G4LWsMjf9XGfxpOIvpOiMX6tG0cEnP0Kk/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_37.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-yCIW8MLiA1RJ7YulmbDTogfSNFoA_XaNIhrcPNKl4ILePZbnvNYKgxpADI5V_DoJpRDkX2mIEpc88etmR8OBFBs5s1lmXGs6AntU8lEop0G4LWsMjf9XGfxpOIvpOiMX6tG0cEnP0Kk/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_37.png" height="484" width="640" /></a><br />
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In general, I don't exactly appreciate the way the female characters crap-out (agency-wise) in the second half, but for once, some of the guys get their shit together, so, I guess it's not all bad.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7EkhRv2hfF-cvEFkBScVkJW-ZV23viDs95FgvXeDvIG3oimFL4hQ74zG-MzfXuXoCdho53p7GyXTG7n4MxdurkmN_7xA7aqeEqpNdQ5qqEd0Pt0AxSFPsBGosjyh1VgedmoF9RhZKJg/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_42.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7EkhRv2hfF-cvEFkBScVkJW-ZV23viDs95FgvXeDvIG3oimFL4hQ74zG-MzfXuXoCdho53p7GyXTG7n4MxdurkmN_7xA7aqeEqpNdQ5qqEd0Pt0AxSFPsBGosjyh1VgedmoF9RhZKJg/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_42.png" height="474" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also decent father alert</td></tr>
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The most surprising aspect of this film wasn't the occasional divestment of formula, but rather, the action. Shyamu's two fights with Ranjeet's gang come out of nowhere and run long, but they're 100% worth the screen time. The stunts feel anchored in space, the camera moves dynamically, and the set is used sort of like you would see in a good fencing scene; with choreography born of of furniture and prop placement, not just fancy footwork. Honestly, I couldn't stop smiling throughout. I don't usually think of Amitabh at this age as an action star, but clearly, all he needed was the right team behind him.<br />
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Across the board, Amitabh turns in an interesting performance in Bandhe Haath. [Fortunate for us, since he's the only story here, barring comic subplots.] It's not trademark anything (angry, humorous, or pompous), which is why this is the perfect film for anyone feeling Bachchaned out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_KU5e8qe8gyl3jlUmr_O-rio2w5eoA-PWZ9d20cdtXlmODwidut8XHIDFnWNbmY2BNHY-OSnrJDo4X0vsPI3KXaYV_kaKgrMqPJmtLJT_iXE4D0sC__o-f3bu97OyfFiBeLhnm-LvL8/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_44.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_KU5e8qe8gyl3jlUmr_O-rio2w5eoA-PWZ9d20cdtXlmODwidut8XHIDFnWNbmY2BNHY-OSnrJDo4X0vsPI3KXaYV_kaKgrMqPJmtLJT_iXE4D0sC__o-f3bu97OyfFiBeLhnm-LvL8/s1600/Bandhe+Haath+1973_44.png" height="476" width="640" /></a></div>
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Chi, chi, chi. When you're tired of Bachchan, you're tired of life. Don't let it happen to you.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-37207672950433840682015-01-19T00:13:00.002-08:002015-01-19T21:21:40.811-08:00Safar (1970)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1TtdZdKltRSFNrZ6q9fi1k0yxBBN2fJJXK-F1zedo1RtdNQTpGTnFeGzSjFf22lwxY5jb6X-UwRl5hImuxkbi3Y1HSJdNw_A9Ap6vKXPHMO2_6R5ccQd4sWmcZVdPazrvD1l0AJVnu0U/s1600/safar_6.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1TtdZdKltRSFNrZ6q9fi1k0yxBBN2fJJXK-F1zedo1RtdNQTpGTnFeGzSjFf22lwxY5jb6X-UwRl5hImuxkbi3Y1HSJdNw_A9Ap6vKXPHMO2_6R5ccQd4sWmcZVdPazrvD1l0AJVnu0U/s1600/safar_6.png" height="300" width="400" /></a>It's far too long since I posted anything on Rajesh, I admit, but it's almost as long since I saw anything of his worth seeing. This is my fault, probably, as I recklessly burned through a lot of his best stuff early on. So to those of you who've been waiting patiently for some RK loyalty* (especially respected readers Filmbuff and Suhan, who have urged me not to leave Rajesh too far behind), I hope this fits the bill . . . <br />
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<u>The set-up</u>: Promising medical student Neela (Sharmila Tagore) meets struggling artist Avinash (Rajesh Khanna). The two quickly develop an intimate friendship. But when Avinash's strange health symptoms prove to be terminal, he begs her to marry the elder brother of the boy she's tutoring, Shekhar (Feroz Khan) who has expressed interest. Neela agrees. It turns out to be a good decision at first--as the two share some explosive chemistry, and Shekhar seems to want her to pursue all her long-held goals. But since they don't share the special communication Neela has with Avinash ... their secrets and insecurities spell trouble ahead.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYrruzy7YWlZv5uldSmFEQSk_0OWf42kumVGIl1ZfzR6aSRFnwhBdR0al8X1vDPSQxNdRQ-Xc1rrFVvP-YSx0e30gUBJitgJ8WA5vHpZsjlNbL6t1iD0BNVVURnYx3n8XSNLeJK_oMjE/s1600/safar_10.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHYrruzy7YWlZv5uldSmFEQSk_0OWf42kumVGIl1ZfzR6aSRFnwhBdR0al8X1vDPSQxNdRQ-Xc1rrFVvP-YSx0e30gUBJitgJ8WA5vHpZsjlNbL6t1iD0BNVVURnYx3n8XSNLeJK_oMjE/s1600/safar_10.png" height="298" width="400" /></a>Despite some good performances and unusual themes, Safar is not an easy film to watch. It suffers from overly methodical pacing--there are fewer dramatic high notes than you would hope for in a plot including a love triangle, cancer, proxy proposals, a woman working her way through cardiology school, and an increasingly jealous husband. It tackles big topics, and makes big claims, and then misses by a mile. [The dialogue is credited to the same writer who did C.I.D., Aag, and Mard ... so it's easy to see how the verbal hits and misses would both be spectacular.] While not parallel cinema by anyone's definition, there's a devotion to realistic progression of events and conversations, and a dedication to letting events follow from each character's driving motivations.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RDkauXDmlgBZqB7ENWiO_ejW6G9_cWzFeaKG-UFqoI7F9y7k0Qu6sukRpv-uqHDXHOmgv1F4G5dXNzLPzvb1E7lYPKOmP51G4-sbyr0EFH-nDrnKYnp_eqCvQGdBh6FhmWNFwZm1Kg0/s1600/safar_27.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RDkauXDmlgBZqB7ENWiO_ejW6G9_cWzFeaKG-UFqoI7F9y7k0Qu6sukRpv-uqHDXHOmgv1F4G5dXNzLPzvb1E7lYPKOmP51G4-sbyr0EFH-nDrnKYnp_eqCvQGdBh6FhmWNFwZm1Kg0/s1600/safar_27.png" height="302" width="400" /></a>Many moments that aren't especially well-crafted strike home JUST because they diverge a bit from formula. In tone, it reminds me the most of Dastak, released in the same year. Safar's clearly aiming at more of a commercial crowd (like I said, the plot elements advertise melodrama), has a budget for locations and side plots ... but still, its middle class sensibility and unique blend of traditional and modern ideals edge it nearer art house tearjerker than popcorn matinee. Looking at some of the earlier works by the director, such as Anokhi Raat (1968), the description of which screams experimental to me, it's easier for me to guess at what Safar is trying to accomplish: something thoughtful with enough tears and remonstrations to keep you in your seat.<br />
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Director Asit Sen was barely on my radar before this, although it turns out I've already seen a number of his films. Now, I'd like to watch more ... simply to tease out his similarities to other Bengali directors and the parallels between his various films. So far, its easy to see his preference for surprise twists! in the final third of the film (meh), the medical profession (gadgets and technobabble!), boat/river metaphors for death/life (kinda heavy), admirable women working at various levels of social respectability--Sharafat's dancer, Amar Prem's prostitute, Deep Jele Jai/Khamoshi's nurse, and Safar's surgeon (refreshing), and women dealing with different kinds of social rejection or ostracism from their community (a standby theme in all of his films that I've seen). Even more curious is that while he worked with plenty of mainstream actors, as far as I can tell, it's his films with a focus on a central female's life that have remained popular.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3104CuCHa6-D8ITiS8FfHbJNvhhMO7ImBS6YV08YAmz-V34213qakKsvkKfnetHkyGRuWXhTzx1UjSxfRHUJhMSdjdlPPfYwe-EpwcH6pJPOLecDvzeOFyYBOttlnjtkXEsFNMDGZtc/s1600/safar_32.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3104CuCHa6-D8ITiS8FfHbJNvhhMO7ImBS6YV08YAmz-V34213qakKsvkKfnetHkyGRuWXhTzx1UjSxfRHUJhMSdjdlPPfYwe-EpwcH6pJPOLecDvzeOFyYBOttlnjtkXEsFNMDGZtc/s1600/safar_32.png" height="298" width="400" /></a>In terms of regional film-making grammar, I think Sen ended up making a <u>Bengali</u> film about a problematic marriage in <u>Hindi</u>. To back that up? First, there's the lack of choreographed songs. Most are in bedrooms and hallways--claustrophobic Bengali specialties. The rest are in mountain or river locations, accompanied by sedate activities. Then I'd say that the use of topical, metaphorical conversations to further the character's misunderstandings and their perception of deeply ingrained differences is a standard feature of 1960s Bengali cinema. As is the use of nuanced economic pressures at crucial points to undermine a character's mental or relational stability. In classic Hindi films, it is *often* enough that a person is (A) motivated by jealousy and (B) does something stupid. In '60s Bengali films, environmental stressors tend to be used with political pressures and family pressures to erode someone's judgment and push them over the edge. I think you could make Safar in Bengali with Uttam and Suchitra c. 1970 (think their Nabarag) and it wouldn't lose much of its essence <u>as a story</u>. It might even be improved by a shorter runtime. Regional trends aside, a film anchored upon conversation is hard to sustain across 2/12 hrs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUbb1K13kZSdVRR3I8lZ-GTleDV8k-DXMbZ3TM_DglnTHjIESO0V8oGUY6odv_h6yxzsBGgS5MVpY9fHIk89_XRXNm9GEzf0ChvB2rIdEc3SqtcLZ6IozXn_yneYVYyzt9wFK_63BWEg/s1600/safar_33.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyUbb1K13kZSdVRR3I8lZ-GTleDV8k-DXMbZ3TM_DglnTHjIESO0V8oGUY6odv_h6yxzsBGgS5MVpY9fHIk89_XRXNm9GEzf0ChvB2rIdEc3SqtcLZ6IozXn_yneYVYyzt9wFK_63BWEg/s1600/safar_33.png" height="301" width="400" /></a>Possibly related: people talk <u>a lot</u> in a film ostensibly about bad communication. Accidental irony? Or clever juxtaposition?<br />
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This is a good performance from Sharmila. She's best, I think, in the more sensible (rather than moralizing) dialogues, in scenes with her teenage science student, and in her character's believable switch from sexy intellectual (with Feroz) to unguarded schoolgirl (with Rajesh) ... changes that fit these chemistry and emotion driven relationships (respectively).<br />
Feroz as Shekhar, the high-flying <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pzaeCeYdyJDHfzo0oV4kH2eYZju58iNt0iGJH47GLXITdUwIwAUT7CCVPUNO7o54u8ZMFJnchCoEhtkIlqqQF7bjy7AscUB8dWkZ3W5T-gSzpa1xsgrF5K79C9cQTSPyjFh-vdNXI3o/s1600/safar_39.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pzaeCeYdyJDHfzo0oV4kH2eYZju58iNt0iGJH47GLXITdUwIwAUT7CCVPUNO7o54u8ZMFJnchCoEhtkIlqqQF7bjy7AscUB8dWkZ3W5T-gSzpa1xsgrF5K79C9cQTSPyjFh-vdNXI3o/s1600/safar_39.png" height="298" width="400" /></a>businessman and (eventually) suspicious husband, is perhaps the post powerful role in this story. Yes, I did just write that, I guess. I do love Rajesh's sensitive and tortured Avinash--but frankly, such a human, mesmerizing performance from Feroz was unexpected (given other things I've seen). Cool factor sure. Bluster and heroics I've watched. His angst I've appreciated. But for once, something self-contained and purposeful, without being overdone. In fact, I swear you can see him exerting directorial influence over his own scenes, as they tend to use blocking, physicality, and zooms to achieve an edgier effect than the rest of the film. Might have been a nightmare for Mr. Sen, but I find it compelling, so, whatever. <br />
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Still, all the actors get time on screen that is unusually naturalistic ... a chance for them to shoot from the hip. Feroz almost literally ... as he gets a Western inspired showdown scene with some creditors and guitar strumming accompaniment. It was also fascinating to see the proto-Rajesh and Feroz egos collide ... you completely believe that these two men would be of comparable interest to the same powerful woman. One is energetic and impulsive, the other weak and over-analytical. One offers excitement and romance, the other idealism and bosom friendship.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5amNfpWSn-ttvZ38FyeA47N_HW-ysyGAhOGPCQ0WfNUpDbvk1TtFAaOHIOmiMGww8kvSd6Nr9UfiZ65iKnKr-stW-YseNb7-A3_b8VtS-qKODw_7nu1dQEiSCg-DTq502PegdjaQ0qA/s1600/safar_38.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5amNfpWSn-ttvZ38FyeA47N_HW-ysyGAhOGPCQ0WfNUpDbvk1TtFAaOHIOmiMGww8kvSd6Nr9UfiZ65iKnKr-stW-YseNb7-A3_b8VtS-qKODw_7nu1dQEiSCg-DTq502PegdjaQ0qA/s1600/safar_38.png" height="297" width="400" /></a>People have been telling me to see this film forever. One look at the plot summary and you'll know <a href="http://memsaabstory.com/2009/04/28/safar-1970/">why I balked</a>. "Unfair" is right. BUT, y'all were also right that this is prime material for Rajesh appreciators. He's still so new here that one is tempted to throw out a lot of cheesy descriptors like "fresh faced" and "earnest" and "bright." But when you compare this with the hardened Rajesh characters in The Train (1970) or Ittefaq (1969), his diverse talents at this stage belie those adjectives. His role in Safar--Avinash, the young artist with cancer--is filmi-gold . . . and thus effing tempting to phone in. But he didn't. All you really have to do is look at that spot in the upper right corner of the frame and spout wisdom, and you have *cough* every non-alcoholic filmi invalid ever and maybe a hit. And also something laughable to present-day eyes. Mostly, this is not laughable stuff. Even though Avinash is an uncompromising white hat, he's not without darkness or struggle. Because he's terrified of his impending death, his scenes of existential reflection scrape away his veneer of perfection. He hasn't really lived yet, so when he sings <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nI51ESCus1U">zindagi ka safar, hai yeh kaisa safar</a>? koi samjha nahi, koi jaana nahi [loosely: life's a journey, for what purpose is this journey? no one understands it, no one really knows it], you feel betrayed, too. And when he begs the girl he loves to marry someone else, it's not forced goodness. It's a desperate, panicky kind of logic--a bid for one person's happiness instead of two people's sorrow.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHsUaFTru7Mq_U1NOupCh_Tt4NHY6W_IC1eVFP6_DY2pyptTHLQUBi7XV36JrPdw-SfwIJ2UewkyiILDiL7mrQS9gAoWsviPMTWY_zBCEC0e_a3wUz8cl4IlpzsZH1NZAE3i5mQZoJhO4/s1600/safar_29.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHsUaFTru7Mq_U1NOupCh_Tt4NHY6W_IC1eVFP6_DY2pyptTHLQUBi7XV36JrPdw-SfwIJ2UewkyiILDiL7mrQS9gAoWsviPMTWY_zBCEC0e_a3wUz8cl4IlpzsZH1NZAE3i5mQZoJhO4/s1600/safar_29.png" height="298" width="400" /></a>Unlike other musings along a similar topic (*ahem* Kal Ho Na Ho), the bride isn't given away. She's mostly in control. I don't think she would have married just anyone--she had already established a compelling rapport with Shekhar. In nearly every scene, she furthers her own will and opinion (usually in opposition to others). In the ongoing conversations about "trust" and "understanding" she always comes back to the fact that she trusts herself: her own perceptions. She's even supported in this by her VERY egalitarian family--who say she is "her own guardian" in major life decisions. [Likewise, Avinash isn't the self-sacrificial "ex" immediately ... he has to work through some occasionally hilarious reactions to his rival. And in a serious moment later, when he realizes Shekhar is being a tool (lez be honest), he doesn't instantly let him off the hook.]<br />
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This is all so progressive that one starts to suspect Neela must be punished for her empowerment. In this story's domestic sphere, there isn't *quite* enough room for a woman who sees herself as an equal partner and unbound by traditional gender norms. Almost, but not quite. Her husband ends up interpreting her secret sorrows and work ethic as disinterest, and she pulls away in frustration when he declines to tell her of his struggles. They end up giving each other so much space that they feel shackled to one another. In this film's universe, she just can't have love AND a higher calling, she can't be a domestic goddess AND be a famous surgeon, and there's no way she can both have a male friend AND a husband. At least, *spoiler* that's what the ending seems to tell us by default.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVDhOnzo9pv680P9o4B5XDSLO_egaqCKR6jTdzS3aW5IchqBwGHuN_K1Og62LQL0s-Qu3Fd-tsmLHVtar7Mz2OAfvLUd_HDm3XhB446txF4AvsIAIFJFWRmbLHscoLw6wGDR59Jretihg/s1600/safar_40.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVDhOnzo9pv680P9o4B5XDSLO_egaqCKR6jTdzS3aW5IchqBwGHuN_K1Og62LQL0s-Qu3Fd-tsmLHVtar7Mz2OAfvLUd_HDm3XhB446txF4AvsIAIFJFWRmbLHscoLw6wGDR59Jretihg/s1600/safar_40.png" height="298" width="400" /></a>It's not that Safar's ending is "unfair" in a traditionally sexist way, but rather, it's fatalistic where it could have been progressive. Instead of a strong woman who works through issues along "the journey of life," this is a strong woman hounded by other people's issues--problems she is expected to fix. Like in Amar Prem, Asit Sen doesn't really blame Sharmila's character for all the things that happen to her. If anything, she is deified in her chosen profession and in her good intentions. But of course, as in Amar Prem and Ray's Devi, the price for deity is more than any woman should have to pay.<br />
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*P.S. Y'all, this is my hundredth post, so I thought it would be appropriate to return to Rajesh. If Shashi provided the initial bridge to the classics for me, Rajesh is the one who kept me there ... providing a multi-film experience that was consistent enough to keep me interested when everything was scary and new. And because I'm dubiously contrary at heart, I needed someone who was sort of dusty and unwashed and unloved (as far as I knew, then) to explore on my own.Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-327094740848639572.post-51141405541437704802015-01-08T17:49:00.002-08:002015-05-28T19:30:22.645-07:00Pakistani Film Reviews: Ishara (1969) اشارہ<div>
Written, directed, produced by: Waheed Murad</div>
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">Set-up and hook</span></div>
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Struggling artist Aamir (Waheed Murad) ...<br />
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. . . meets Alia (Rozina), a wealthy family's ward, when he's "caught" fixing his bike in front of her hostel and brought before the headmistress for questioning.<br />
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Alia manages to avoids Aaamir for like a day, and then is properly wooed at a group picnic. It's not long before the two are sighing into each others pleasant faces and over long spiral phone cords and on shady park benches.<br />
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Well, when she can manage to ditch her family on the few holidays she has from her boy-hating boarding school, that is. And avoid snooping (ok, curious) friends.<br />
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More serious roadblocks to love may or may not include: oops, Aamir's female patron, Reshma, is in love with him; and oops, Alia's aunt wants to get her married to the mustachioed heir of the house;<br />
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AND major oops, Alia feels beholden to her aunt and will probably say yes to mustache-cousin just out of gratitude.<br />
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">Performances</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpbsj1FbDWHIhIrxjXRbGZKwgV6O49rTHiaFYYcMPkU5CknZ1Sia2bDKa7YP0GyHqy-FSzCvocIAFlZMeiu0xjwPD0XqMZd3ucucrqDT5h7kx5_VJ4umjz2A1RZPwB6ZcsbeqQp32Rl8/s1600/Ishara+1969_32.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpbsj1FbDWHIhIrxjXRbGZKwgV6O49rTHiaFYYcMPkU5CknZ1Sia2bDKa7YP0GyHqy-FSzCvocIAFlZMeiu0xjwPD0XqMZd3ucucrqDT5h7kx5_VJ4umjz2A1RZPwB6ZcsbeqQp32Rl8/s1600/Ishara+1969_32.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">where DID I leave my cell? never had this problem with my pink wall-phone</td></tr>
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Story-appropriate (read: sweet). Errs on the side of heavy-lidded stares over shout-y theatrics. This is my first Waheed film, and I have to say that even if Aamir is pretty dull for an artiste-type (zero misbehavior), Waheed himself is charming. Rozina didn't make a huge impression, but she's adequate. Just don't ask me to pick the actress playing Reshma out of a line-up.</div>
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">Perks</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKBUEasop5N9AKS0yqft-gC7GszOxxYXp29-lG3ZHHX6L5E7zofvnrzwW1mG56P-IW5gqcOuV3OlOA-TAszCY-Z7mTlv8Cat6a-2LVNZSsxR_3fDkaDjdsDLpyF3IuKAKU2pHg8BiQYA/s1600/Ishara+1969_38.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqKBUEasop5N9AKS0yqft-gC7GszOxxYXp29-lG3ZHHX6L5E7zofvnrzwW1mG56P-IW5gqcOuV3OlOA-TAszCY-Z7mTlv8Cat6a-2LVNZSsxR_3fDkaDjdsDLpyF3IuKAKU2pHg8BiQYA/s1600/Ishara+1969_38.png" width="400" /></a>Lots of variety in locations and creatively edited sequences. Definitely isn't a point and shoot film, evidenced by the very first frame, a "first person" dolly cam angle down an alley spliced with Aamir's narration "This is the street where I live, etc." A few shots flat out surprised me, as I've never seen comparable angles used in same era Bollywood.<br />
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<u>An album to own, honestly</u>....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTmS2SzmTWCk9WwabULLY4gjva7i1mKTEBzo8wXP01RBK8bpEo6KlzBNuhH32HXfpgin1wKpAC5swj3v6S31qGvlHbdbShIh42sNiRW4wXsWMqF2Z4B-ryN0IOTS3VbvjfepU1PLzLX3w/s1600/waheed+murad_7.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTmS2SzmTWCk9WwabULLY4gjva7i1mKTEBzo8wXP01RBK8bpEo6KlzBNuhH32HXfpgin1wKpAC5swj3v6S31qGvlHbdbShIh42sNiRW4wXsWMqF2Z4B-ryN0IOTS3VbvjfepU1PLzLX3w/s1600/waheed+murad_7.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<li>A piano ballad/sequence with three major characters lamenting their doomed love story, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d47dYrhghNw">Main ik bhoola hua naghma hoon</a>. [I love these on principle, and this is a catchy one.] </li>
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<li>Aamir's intro song performed on his bike: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rcbs9YqPUxk">Mat punchho aaj achanak</a>. </li>
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<li>Unmissable parody: an aging <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5x09NZD4nkE">rock 'n' roll cabaret</a> </li>
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<li><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UWdTrjOqHI">Flamenco fantasy "akhri baar mile"</a> [last meeting] sequence (link is colorized)</li>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vt6ekydOVH7GeiKLQSQPdNreIeAdzzLB1oR85w2yWE6sM_c9mELYWX9F1wcKEqGLSl0v4TEvpcsMHVICjr5NiN_DbTCcDajFkP8Y9516-g5MsePsULxmOmQRpA_TPEspVA6zrpwhuao/s1600/waheed+murad_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vt6ekydOVH7GeiKLQSQPdNreIeAdzzLB1oR85w2yWE6sM_c9mELYWX9F1wcKEqGLSl0v4TEvpcsMHVICjr5NiN_DbTCcDajFkP8Y9516-g5MsePsULxmOmQRpA_TPEspVA6zrpwhuao/s1600/waheed+murad_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<u>Some heroes acting heroic</u>!<br />
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*Aamir wins the gentleman award. Reshma keeps her head pretty well, for a spurned woman. But due to niceness overload, no one ever says what they need to say to get what they want. As a Minnesotan, I really know *ahem* nothing about this phenomenon.<br />
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">Annoyances </span> </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKgPMw_MjhOMnLjBKlUGIqwscWNSp-BTnkkZHtI3q_GqnGkj8OWleNCACsNP0sPArYGN4zfQhvtY5cVO1cjnxVNB332YZkxj2SqMQJk8TFH_SSnYG5iO7IHvfvSqViOsGkhBMxZY7rmc/s1600/Ishara+1969_18.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKgPMw_MjhOMnLjBKlUGIqwscWNSp-BTnkkZHtI3q_GqnGkj8OWleNCACsNP0sPArYGN4zfQhvtY5cVO1cjnxVNB332YZkxj2SqMQJk8TFH_SSnYG5iO7IHvfvSqViOsGkhBMxZY7rmc/s1600/Ishara+1969_18.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">betrothed cousin was the only one allowed to be a little naughty </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Few. The comedy borders on comedic, with a funny sideplot about a classical music student who can only hit a proper sa-re-ga-ma scale when she's crying.<br />
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<u>Gender stuff</u>: the flip side to Aamir's consummate chivalry is over-earnest passivity. If you are looking for an action hero, look far, far away, or at the screen next door playing a Punjabi film. And the women--self-sacrificing, but mostly behind closed doors.<br />
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<u>Picture quality</u>: Not great, could be a lot worse. I expect some of the locations would be gorgeous, if you could see them properly.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxGIO3grttT8NiI149WVqPLoIYw60mWriK60h5UGVVAFagif8V_ul62-R8xTQ_9a4ZTuC9wXPnwdd9L7QygDBXsx5A5L7vMie0sl1SGSnBMjdslwMvZeGmu8wMiYuYD-iso_LicfVwhs8/s1600/Ishara+1969_40.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxGIO3grttT8NiI149WVqPLoIYw60mWriK60h5UGVVAFagif8V_ul62-R8xTQ_9a4ZTuC9wXPnwdd9L7QygDBXsx5A5L7vMie0sl1SGSnBMjdslwMvZeGmu8wMiYuYD-iso_LicfVwhs8/s1600/Ishara+1969_40.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">YOU be happier! no, YOU!</td></tr>
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<u>Weepiness level</u>: low, even with the multiple depressed shaadi se pehle folks.<br />
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<u>Coherence</u>: Pieces are missing from this print. How random people are socially connected in this movie is a mystery, maybe because of subs; maybe Aamir just knows people 'cause he's a friendly dude.<br />
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<span style="color: #ea9999;">Oddities</span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBexz1BxioCDwJtfXRAsCnsy5dlAG5-MgLITzw3L35bUEozqTxSozwSH370esCs8WFwaJ2bDUDNB7liAtE-epakrwdBaIHq1Xd41vQMyaVWDOuvNcU-d_Fmq_lOvmFVi_4wmKVBp96jU/s1600/Ishara+1969_21.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBexz1BxioCDwJtfXRAsCnsy5dlAG5-MgLITzw3L35bUEozqTxSozwSH370esCs8WFwaJ2bDUDNB7liAtE-epakrwdBaIHq1Xd41vQMyaVWDOuvNcU-d_Fmq_lOvmFVi_4wmKVBp96jU/s1600/Ishara+1969_21.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we are a 50 year old boy band! whoever heard of such a thing?!</td></tr>
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*A music teacher's daydream about a long-haired, aging pop group known as "The Bugs."<br />
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*The fact that none of the boarding school girls seem to have anything to study except love notes...no, I guess that seems about right.<br />
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*Aamir is virtually never seen at his patroness' house. Why have a patron if you aren't going to paint at their beautiful studio? I mean, if you can't ignore the cougar crush-vibes, then maybe you shouldn't be an artist at all.<br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;">Verdict:</span> Watchable. Downloadable. Maybe lovable. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LM16Kf_JznMY88m_NHThd4eI24kLScCBn7TETYCd-mYUr8c5HRNIjFq7mb9UOLd6arLvLFgS8ZCeUiweXOu_pj_5OEPmlfdx7DgCz4JzG0bxrOwY78hLxMnDcEokhQnpWDBxYDxpZqY/s1600/Ishara_akhri+baar_2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LM16Kf_JznMY88m_NHThd4eI24kLScCBn7TETYCd-mYUr8c5HRNIjFq7mb9UOLd6arLvLFgS8ZCeUiweXOu_pj_5OEPmlfdx7DgCz4JzG0bxrOwY78hLxMnDcEokhQnpWDBxYDxpZqY/s1600/Ishara_akhri+baar_2.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't leave! How can I be sure to meet another Pakistani film as nice as you?</td></tr>
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If you like fluffy 60s romances with a lot of a good humor, boarding school gags, and breathless puppy love a la Annette and Frankie, then the film as a whole might appeal. </div>
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<u>Note</u>: Generally, I don't find Pakistani films with subtitles, so if you've seen the film and want to correct a plot point, please do so in the comments. </div>
Miranda http://www.blogger.com/profile/13418800569507952654noreply@blogger.com1