Pursuing an educational degree of one's liking has its own perks, the most important of them being the opportunity to be a part of a crowd equally in love with your liking. I experienced a similar bliss as I attended the 10th edition of the Bangalore Film Festival during the last weekend.
As my brother and I waited in the pleasantly surprising long queues to watch one marvellous foreign film after another, we were absolutely delighted to find the people before and after us discuss the works of a Turkish filmmaker or worry over the state of Russian cinema. The crowd at the film festival turned out to be so great that a huge applause erupted as the words 'Palme d'Or winner' appeared in the opening credits of The Square and I just couldn't help myself from shedding a few happy tears.
Why couldn't these film festivals happen every weekend?
After I admitted to my mother on Saturday night that my brother and I had watched 5 foreign films back to back the entire day, my mother asked me with a very serious face, "Didn't you get a headache?"
Why couldn't these film festivals happen every weekend?
After I admitted to my mother on Saturday night that my brother and I had watched 5 foreign films back to back the entire day, my mother asked me with a very serious face, "Didn't you get a headache?"
I threw her an indignant look. "I watched 5 really good films", I replied. "Still, didn't you get a headache?"
I decided to write a screenplay about the travails of a son, a film buff, whose mother is exhausted even by the thought of going to a movie theater. And I also managed to catch 5 more great films the next day, without a headache, and with some notes below.
****
Grain (Turkish)
A black-and-white beauty that presents an apocalyptic world where survivors are chosen based on certain criteria and are sent to either a barren region where no plants grow or to a fertile land where genetically modified crops are continuously modified to overcome their shortcomings against nature.
The protagonist, a scientist who sets out to set right a shortcoming, eventually comes to realize that soil and seeds untampered by man are the only way towards permanent harvest. Filled with scenes of acid rain, deaths due to unknown epidemics, and a burning tree, the film made me pay closer attention and more respect to the trees that welcomed me outside the movie theater.
With some of the scenes in the first half of the film being visually arresting and symmetrical splendours, I wondered if a sad and dark Wes Anderson film would resemble Grain.
****
Such is the life in the Tropics (Spanish)
As the film ended and the credits rolled out, I felt that I had watched a realistic Tamil film. With a story revolving around power abuse, land encroachment, forbidden love, elusive justice, and a family that becomes a victim, the film paved way for the birth of a Tamil remake in my head, with the Tamil version set in North Chennai.
But it also showed how similar the strata differences and the societal workings of developing countries remain.
****
Two Irenes (Portuguese)
What would a daughter go through when she finds out that her father has another family, from another marriage, and another daughter with the same name?
The director of the film approaches this subject with the playfulness found in a 13-year-old girl, who is the film's protagonist.
When the first Irene secretly watches her father shower extra affection on the other Irene, a feeling of envy envelops her. But that does not stop an interesting friendship developing between the two Irenes.
In bits and pieces, Two Irenes reminded me of In the mood for Love. Not because of the treatment but because of the theme. Just that the climax of Two Irenes is a lot more fun than the locked-away-secret-in-Angkor-Wat climax in In the mood for Love.
Also, the close-up shots of the first Irene in the film are to be cherished. The camera captures the questions and the emotions in her face for long stretches of time yet the intentions of the character always remain elusive to the viewer.
****
Daha (Turkish)
The spread of a disease from one person to another person can be stopped. But how does one stop the spread of evilness?
Can a human being retain his humanity even when forced to live under the direst of circumstances?
Why do refugees become easy targets for rapes and human trafficking? Doesn't it seem unfair that the man-made concept of countries and countrymen is disrupting the lives of some people unable to belong to a country?
These were a few questions I battled with as I watched the greatly disturbing Daha.
The story is set around a truck driver's son who witnesses an unknown side of his father, after his father smuggles a group of refugees to their hometown, for money, and unleashes his cruelty upon them.
In a scene where the father rapes a young mother from the refugee group, the viewer does not see the happenings but instead just hears the wails of the woman being raped. The wails refuse to leave me even now and they constantly remind me of the pain inflicted by nature upon women, for evolution, and the pain inflicted by men upon women, for gratification.
'How do you escape a prison if you are its guard?' - the son asks this rhetorical question, in a narrative voiceover, after he begins to follow his father's footsteps, losing the compassion in him. The question hit me hard with me mostly being a prisoner of my own creations rather than being a prisoner of life.
****
Pomegranate orchard (Azerbaijani)
Watching this film felt like listening to the 'On the Nature of Daylight' soundtrack from Arrival - the experience of a beautiful sadness.
With the story revolving around a family that tries to accept one of its members who returns after 12 years of disappearance, the film paints a genuine picture of the difficulties in such an acceptance after such an absence. I was reminded of Veyil which dealt with a similar theme but in a harsher sense.
One would think that the return of a missing family member would automatically call for celebrations in a family. But the emotions of a human being tend to be more complex. And emotions also arrive in bundles.
Joy can pair up with memories of a sad past. Pain can collaborate with memories of bygone happier times. Anger can complement sadness and awe can befriend fear.
The film beautifully shows this mixture of emotions the family undergoes as pomegranates continue to ripe and rot in the orchard. As the film neared its tragic end, I took comfort in the fact that the life cycles in nature will go on, undisturbed, despite all the chaos created by humans in their lives.
****
Solo, Solitude (Indonesian)
A majority of the scenes in this film play out before a static camera. Characters walk in and out of the frame with the camera not caring to track their movements. Solo, Solitude can be called a companion piece to Court in that sense. But the similarities do not stop there.
Like the protagonist of Court who is a social activist who protests through folk music, the protagonist of Solo, Solitude is a social activist too, who uses poetry for his protests against the government. And similar to Court, life just plays out in Solo, Solitude without any dramatizations.
The protagonist is told by a character that one of the protagonist's lines affected him badly. 'Why do you read so many books if you would always keep your mouth shut?' After quoting the line, the character laughingly admits to the protagonist that he stopped reading books because of the line. Though the scene plays out with the tone of wry humour, it hammers home the social responsibilities of those of us who are privileged enough to acquire knowledge, not only through life but through other means such as books.
****
Redoubtable (French)
"How do we get to see such brilliance only from the French filmmakers?!" My brother's question/amazement after watching Redoubtable sums up my experience of the film as well.
A film revolving around the love life of the great French filmmaker, Jean-Luc Godard, is destined to be a celebration of cinema. But like the French riots of 1968 that serve as the backdrop for the story, the filmmaking in itself turns out to be a riot against traditions.
The protagonist tells his lover that her life is not a film to have a narrative voiceover when a narrative voiceover begins explaining the feelings of the lover. A discussion on the need to showcase the nudity of artists happens between the protagonist and the lover as they appear nude before the camera.
A Godardian style is followed through the film and metaness reaches new heights as the actor playing Godard admits in the middle of an existential crisis, in one of the scenes, "But I am not the great Godard. I am just an actor playing the great Godard."
I imagined the mouthwatering possibility of turning the lives of great filmmakers like Satyajit Ray, K Balachander, and Mani Ratnam into films that resembled a style very similar to the styles of the filmmakers themselves. I have still not returned to reality after imagining an opening shot for the Mani Ratnam biographical that shows a young Mani Ratnam peering through the windows of a train, as the train curves along the railway track.
****
The Square (Swedish)
The protagonist of the film, a museum curator, asks a question in the beginning of the film - Does an object become a piece of art just because it finds a place in the museum?
I had a similar question after I watched this film - Does a film become a masterpiece just because it finds a place in the shortlist for the Academy Award for the Best Foreign film feature?
But the film comments on the (non) altruistic nature of humans through scenes where people refuse to ask for help and scenes where people refuse to offer help. In a scene where the protagonist tries to explain to his daughters about the titular museum showpiece, The Square, which is 'a sanctuary of trust and caring' as described in the film, he explains how the parents of previous generations had enough trust on other adults that they let their kids roam and play without much worries. One is left to wonder if the lack of trust in the adults of current generation has got to do with the removal of dependency on other humans. We do not need a fellow human to help us with routes and directions anymore. We do not need a fellow human to help us with the best product in a retail store. With time, will we reach a point where we do not need a fellow human to help us with love?
****
I dream in another language (Spanish)
This poetic film from Mexico is my favorite amongst all the films I watched at the film festival. Despite the film carrying themes like selfless love and forgiveness, which are usually found in Russian literature, the treatment of the subject resembles a Ruskin Bond short story.
The story revolves around the efforts of a linguist who tries to start a conversation between two old men who are the last two remaining speakers of a language called Zikril. These men refuse to talk to each other because of a fight in their youth.
As the linguist struggles back and forth between the two men, one understands the sadness in people speaking the same language not wanting to communicate and people speaking different languages wanting to connect. Isn't this the irony in today's world, so connected by technology yet so divided by national/religious/cultural differences?
But then, I also realized the irony in a Mexican film connecting dearly with me, more than most closer-to-home films.
****
Sleeping Giant (English)
This Canadian drama follows the lives of three teenagers as they battle with boredom during a summer vacation. Similar to the melancholic Death in the Gunj, this film also portrays how constant bullying has its slow impact on the victim.
And similar to Daha, this film also leaves you wondering if the spread of evilness can be stopped like the spread of diseases.
****
An apocalypse. The friendship of namesakes. Refugee crisis and rapes. A family's acceptance of a member who returns after 12 years of disappearance. A Godardian take on Godard's life. A linguist's struggle to carry forward an endangered language.
I cherish having spent a weekend in such diverse worlds and having experienced such a range of emotions. More importantly, I cherish the collective experience of celebrating cinema with fellow film lovers.
As I look back at the weekend, I am faced with the same question that I had asked earlier.
Why don't these film festivals happen every weekend?
I decided to write a screenplay about the travails of a son, a film buff, whose mother is exhausted even by the thought of going to a movie theater. And I also managed to catch 5 more great films the next day, without a headache, and with some notes below.
****
Grain (Turkish)
A black-and-white beauty that presents an apocalyptic world where survivors are chosen based on certain criteria and are sent to either a barren region where no plants grow or to a fertile land where genetically modified crops are continuously modified to overcome their shortcomings against nature.
The protagonist, a scientist who sets out to set right a shortcoming, eventually comes to realize that soil and seeds untampered by man are the only way towards permanent harvest. Filled with scenes of acid rain, deaths due to unknown epidemics, and a burning tree, the film made me pay closer attention and more respect to the trees that welcomed me outside the movie theater.
With some of the scenes in the first half of the film being visually arresting and symmetrical splendours, I wondered if a sad and dark Wes Anderson film would resemble Grain.
****
Such is the life in the Tropics (Spanish)
As the film ended and the credits rolled out, I felt that I had watched a realistic Tamil film. With a story revolving around power abuse, land encroachment, forbidden love, elusive justice, and a family that becomes a victim, the film paved way for the birth of a Tamil remake in my head, with the Tamil version set in North Chennai.
But it also showed how similar the strata differences and the societal workings of developing countries remain.
****
Two Irenes (Portuguese)
What would a daughter go through when she finds out that her father has another family, from another marriage, and another daughter with the same name?
The director of the film approaches this subject with the playfulness found in a 13-year-old girl, who is the film's protagonist.
When the first Irene secretly watches her father shower extra affection on the other Irene, a feeling of envy envelops her. But that does not stop an interesting friendship developing between the two Irenes.
In bits and pieces, Two Irenes reminded me of In the mood for Love. Not because of the treatment but because of the theme. Just that the climax of Two Irenes is a lot more fun than the locked-away-secret-in-Angkor-Wat climax in In the mood for Love.
Also, the close-up shots of the first Irene in the film are to be cherished. The camera captures the questions and the emotions in her face for long stretches of time yet the intentions of the character always remain elusive to the viewer.
****
Daha (Turkish)
The spread of a disease from one person to another person can be stopped. But how does one stop the spread of evilness?
Can a human being retain his humanity even when forced to live under the direst of circumstances?
Why do refugees become easy targets for rapes and human trafficking? Doesn't it seem unfair that the man-made concept of countries and countrymen is disrupting the lives of some people unable to belong to a country?
These were a few questions I battled with as I watched the greatly disturbing Daha.
The story is set around a truck driver's son who witnesses an unknown side of his father, after his father smuggles a group of refugees to their hometown, for money, and unleashes his cruelty upon them.
In a scene where the father rapes a young mother from the refugee group, the viewer does not see the happenings but instead just hears the wails of the woman being raped. The wails refuse to leave me even now and they constantly remind me of the pain inflicted by nature upon women, for evolution, and the pain inflicted by men upon women, for gratification.
'How do you escape a prison if you are its guard?' - the son asks this rhetorical question, in a narrative voiceover, after he begins to follow his father's footsteps, losing the compassion in him. The question hit me hard with me mostly being a prisoner of my own creations rather than being a prisoner of life.
****
Pomegranate orchard (Azerbaijani)
Watching this film felt like listening to the 'On the Nature of Daylight' soundtrack from Arrival - the experience of a beautiful sadness.
With the story revolving around a family that tries to accept one of its members who returns after 12 years of disappearance, the film paints a genuine picture of the difficulties in such an acceptance after such an absence. I was reminded of Veyil which dealt with a similar theme but in a harsher sense.
One would think that the return of a missing family member would automatically call for celebrations in a family. But the emotions of a human being tend to be more complex. And emotions also arrive in bundles.
Joy can pair up with memories of a sad past. Pain can collaborate with memories of bygone happier times. Anger can complement sadness and awe can befriend fear.
The film beautifully shows this mixture of emotions the family undergoes as pomegranates continue to ripe and rot in the orchard. As the film neared its tragic end, I took comfort in the fact that the life cycles in nature will go on, undisturbed, despite all the chaos created by humans in their lives.
****
Solo, Solitude (Indonesian)
A majority of the scenes in this film play out before a static camera. Characters walk in and out of the frame with the camera not caring to track their movements. Solo, Solitude can be called a companion piece to Court in that sense. But the similarities do not stop there.
Like the protagonist of Court who is a social activist who protests through folk music, the protagonist of Solo, Solitude is a social activist too, who uses poetry for his protests against the government. And similar to Court, life just plays out in Solo, Solitude without any dramatizations.
The protagonist is told by a character that one of the protagonist's lines affected him badly. 'Why do you read so many books if you would always keep your mouth shut?' After quoting the line, the character laughingly admits to the protagonist that he stopped reading books because of the line. Though the scene plays out with the tone of wry humour, it hammers home the social responsibilities of those of us who are privileged enough to acquire knowledge, not only through life but through other means such as books.
****
Redoubtable (French)
"How do we get to see such brilliance only from the French filmmakers?!" My brother's question/amazement after watching Redoubtable sums up my experience of the film as well.
A film revolving around the love life of the great French filmmaker, Jean-Luc Godard, is destined to be a celebration of cinema. But like the French riots of 1968 that serve as the backdrop for the story, the filmmaking in itself turns out to be a riot against traditions.
The protagonist tells his lover that her life is not a film to have a narrative voiceover when a narrative voiceover begins explaining the feelings of the lover. A discussion on the need to showcase the nudity of artists happens between the protagonist and the lover as they appear nude before the camera.
A Godardian style is followed through the film and metaness reaches new heights as the actor playing Godard admits in the middle of an existential crisis, in one of the scenes, "But I am not the great Godard. I am just an actor playing the great Godard."
I imagined the mouthwatering possibility of turning the lives of great filmmakers like Satyajit Ray, K Balachander, and Mani Ratnam into films that resembled a style very similar to the styles of the filmmakers themselves. I have still not returned to reality after imagining an opening shot for the Mani Ratnam biographical that shows a young Mani Ratnam peering through the windows of a train, as the train curves along the railway track.
****
The Square (Swedish)
The protagonist of the film, a museum curator, asks a question in the beginning of the film - Does an object become a piece of art just because it finds a place in the museum?
I had a similar question after I watched this film - Does a film become a masterpiece just because it finds a place in the shortlist for the Academy Award for the Best Foreign film feature?
But the film comments on the (non) altruistic nature of humans through scenes where people refuse to ask for help and scenes where people refuse to offer help. In a scene where the protagonist tries to explain to his daughters about the titular museum showpiece, The Square, which is 'a sanctuary of trust and caring' as described in the film, he explains how the parents of previous generations had enough trust on other adults that they let their kids roam and play without much worries. One is left to wonder if the lack of trust in the adults of current generation has got to do with the removal of dependency on other humans. We do not need a fellow human to help us with routes and directions anymore. We do not need a fellow human to help us with the best product in a retail store. With time, will we reach a point where we do not need a fellow human to help us with love?
****
I dream in another language (Spanish)
This poetic film from Mexico is my favorite amongst all the films I watched at the film festival. Despite the film carrying themes like selfless love and forgiveness, which are usually found in Russian literature, the treatment of the subject resembles a Ruskin Bond short story.
The story revolves around the efforts of a linguist who tries to start a conversation between two old men who are the last two remaining speakers of a language called Zikril. These men refuse to talk to each other because of a fight in their youth.
As the linguist struggles back and forth between the two men, one understands the sadness in people speaking the same language not wanting to communicate and people speaking different languages wanting to connect. Isn't this the irony in today's world, so connected by technology yet so divided by national/religious/cultural differences?
But then, I also realized the irony in a Mexican film connecting dearly with me, more than most closer-to-home films.
****
Sleeping Giant (English)
This Canadian drama follows the lives of three teenagers as they battle with boredom during a summer vacation. Similar to the melancholic Death in the Gunj, this film also portrays how constant bullying has its slow impact on the victim.
And similar to Daha, this film also leaves you wondering if the spread of evilness can be stopped like the spread of diseases.
****
An apocalypse. The friendship of namesakes. Refugee crisis and rapes. A family's acceptance of a member who returns after 12 years of disappearance. A Godardian take on Godard's life. A linguist's struggle to carry forward an endangered language.
I cherish having spent a weekend in such diverse worlds and having experienced such a range of emotions. More importantly, I cherish the collective experience of celebrating cinema with fellow film lovers.
As I look back at the weekend, I am faced with the same question that I had asked earlier.
Why don't these film festivals happen every weekend?
