Thursday, December 24, 2015

My precious Xmas gift

We are not celebrating Christmas this year. My sister-in-law passed away, peacefully aged 85 plus. So, the Star, with multiple coloured lights designs, was never put up, there are no cakes, no chicken. And  tomorrow, on Xmas day, the last part of the last rites will take place.
On my way home after buying veggies in the evening, I saw a thin woman, empty sack in hand, turning her little daughter's face away from the thattukada with one hand while he six or seven year old was crying and turning her head to the thattukada. They walked past me and then realisation dawned. Quickly, I turned around and walked back, past them as if I was going somewhere and seeing the girl cry, asked her why. The mother, embarrassed said she was hungry, and had not eaten since morning. She was going to the shop over there to sell some scrap.
I asked them to turn back and come with me. The little girl refused to budge but the mother persuaded her to walk back. At the thattukada, we bought two plates of chilly bajji and they happily ate it, after drinking  some water first. With a parcel of freshly made ethakka appams and bajji in their hands, they bade me bye, the little girl giving me a million dollar smile. And all that happiness cost me just Rs 96. I thought, what if I had not made the spur-of-the-moment decision to turn back and find out? It was a wonderful Christmas gift for me, the little girl Kousalya's smile. No, I did not take a picture of them, neither did they feel humiliated nor obliged, we chatted and parted as friends.
My sister in law would have been happy.

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Pathemari



Pathemari……I sat tongue tied till the end. Relationships are redefined in Pathemari. The cyberyug generation may not be able to relate to the hero, Narayanan, if you narrate the story but Salim Ahamed’s script cleverly does that. I saw young red eyes and noses at the end of the movie. Success is redefined. Also love. Maternal, filial and a lot more that the nuclear family destroyed or diluted. That it’s a period film that extends to the present is beside the point.
That is the single most important contribution of director Salim Ahamed to society, through cinema. And Salim Ahmed is a guy who writes and rewrites his script till it’s tight. His direction seems premeditated and mature.
The story: Risking life, travelling to the new oil rich Gulf in a pathemari, toiling hard to repay debts and live up to the expectations of a huge extended family is the lot of the protagonist, Mammooty. Restrained and realistic, Mammooty as Pallikkal Narayanan will be etched in our hearts for a long long time to come. Dialogue delivery, gait, mannerisms…. there is no Mammooty at all, only Pallikkal Narayanan. All the characters in Pathemari have their own space, that is the beauty of the script. Sreenivasan, Joy Mathew, Siddique, Sunil Sugadha, Jewel Mary, Anju Aravind, Siddique’s son, Shaheem Siddique, and a host of others.
Highlights? The parting shot of Narayanan, summing up the story of an entire generation that brought in hard earned petro dollars to buck up our economy.
A bigger highlight is Madhu Ambat’s magical cinematography. Every mood is captured with such sensitivity that the story and pictures jell into one whole.  The picturisation of the beautiful song, Pathemari…..sung soulfully by Shahbaz Aman, composed by Bijibal, is a treat on big screen. Every shot translates the mood. The lighting is poetic. It sure is heady, the music, photography, lyrics, sound design by Resool Pookkutty. (Yes, one feels the difference and the superior quality)
 Eros International which has distributed this movie came into the Malayalam scene with Life of Josutty. Whaaat a contrast!
Crisp editing by Vijay Shankar sees to it that there is no lagging, yet no untoward jumps. The one minus point is that its realism is almost docu like, yet cinematic license is resorted to in a cloying coincidence at the fag end of the film.
  Salim Ahmed’s outing with Madhu Ambat started with Adaminte Makan Abu, went on with Kunjanandante kada and now, this.
When I went to interview Madhu Ambat about four years ago, some one was with him. I waited till he left a few minutes later. Towards the end of the interview, he told me about Salim Ahamed’s project and then said,”Oh..I should have introduced him to you. He was the one who was here.” That was a close miss for me!




Sunday, October 4, 2015

He, she and old me!



A two-minute short story

A partially opened window (thank God), stubborn body attached to a bed (eyes bright nevertheless) and a mind still fresh and romantic despite the wrinkled skin. What more to shoo off boredom?
Today is Tuesday. It’s a sunny day. The gate next door is half open.  It’s a courier agency centre. Now I'm enjoying live footage..and live..mind you, not on some tiny screen. Its 10D! 
Will she, won't she? He looks distraught, plus sheepish. He is talking to her. Wish I could lipread. Darn....there goes the bloody scooter....what a time to screech in.....the momentum is disrupted.
Huh? A handkerchief? Now why? I thought girls don't cry these days, they only fool gullible guys who think they are smart. Ah…her face is turning this side…stupid curtain, what a time to sway in the breeze.
“Preetha….Preetha, where are you? I want some air, open the window a little wider will you?........Ah…that’s better.” 
 Is it tears? Or plain, unromantic sweat? Why did she fish out the hanky? Don’t they have any emotion called love any more? Well, there goes the hanky into her bag. Material misses, all. A hint of a smile crosses her face and he…yes, yes..he is actually blushing….thank God..the world is still a nice place to live in….there’s love, there’s compassion…empathy..
At peace with the world once more and the window opened wider, I try to look at the expression on their faces. Enveloped by straightened hair that fell on either side of her face, it worked like a dupatta. Cheap, light blue printed (can’t see what the print is) synthetic top and a pair of jeans,  frayed at the ankles. A certain steely look that betrayed no emotion.  He seems all flustered. Did he finally tell her? His cream shirt is bathed in sweat.
Both rush into the building, as a car stops at the gate. Looks like their boss is coming. Dog in the manger! “Preetha…is my orange juice ready?  I want it sweet. I said I want it SWEEEET.”
The next morning is rainy. “Preetha..open the window, both sides..wide open, please.”
Now where are they? He should have been here by 9.30 and she by 10. It’s already 11.  Maybe they are working inside today and will clear the parcels lying outside later. Hmm wonder what happened yesterday..
The morning next is here….Time: 11.30 am. Window open…but no sign of her or him. A pile of parcels lie untended. The boss makes an appearance. With him are two guys and they are shown the parcels. Where is she? Where is he? Did he propose?
“Preetha?”
“Here’s your orange juice.”
“What’s happening next door?”
“New staff. The old ones were caught red handed with the money they stole from the locker two days ago.”
The blushes…. the hanky…. she caught him and he had to part with half the moolah.  And both got caught. So it wasn’t love?
“Preetha..close the window!”
        

Monday, June 8, 2015

Nirnayakam, slick, well made movie

Morning: I read a review of Nirnayakam in a number1English daily, haphazardly written and summed up that it was playing to the gallery, with an unflattering headline.
Evening: Nevertheless we go for the movie.The cinema is full house.
After the movie: I am shocked and aghast that anyone can do such shoddy work and damn any movie, without assessing it in parts and in totality.
The movie: It is perhaps the best that V K Prakash has ever made, and a Godsend of a role for Asif Ali, who till now has given quite mediocre results in the department of histrionics. The Bobby-Sanjay duo perhaps has written for their father, Prem Prakash the role of a lifetime. Acted he did and how!
Every day we curse the traffic woes, no free left or any order on the road. In the capital especially, rallies add to these woes. What if an accident victim in a car is caught in this melee? If in Traffic, it was how an ambulance made it despite all odds, Nirnayakam discusses the other side of the coin _ a life lost because of delay in reaching the hospital, all because of a political rally. It can happen to anyone. If telling this story is ‘playing to the gallery’, well let’s have more such games.  
The first half of the movie moves at such a frenetic pace that you are surprised it is interval time. Crisp direction and what photography by Shehnad Jalal. Of Left Right Left fame, he belongs to the new school of cinematographers who make the visuals supplement the story, like Jomon and Shamdat. The second half has more to handle and the editor must have wounded the feelings of the director, but the story loses nothing. Woven with this everyday worry of Keralites, called man made  road blocks is the emotional turmoil of relationships that turn sour, of modern day emotional needs that are taboo to society and of friendship. The breezy road of the first half does have a few bumps in the second half, and a few loose ends, which don’t trouble the story, but you are glued to the screen, with nary a lax moment. After a long time there is a proper song by M Jayachandran and the background score too is apt.
Prem Praksh acts with his body, mind and soul. Asif Ali must never forget how he acted in this movie in his life, if he wants to go far. Nedumudi Venu. We see him emote as he did many years ago in his golden years. Malavika Mohanan is arm candy. The woman who acts as Asif Ali’s mother, the friend at the Military Academy, and the judge, Anoop Chandran all come out fine. V K Praksh has all kinds of marks in his report card. Good, bad, fair, very good and excellent. The last is appropriate for Nirnayakam.
I am still thinking of the review I read. Why can’t we be more responsible while doing our job? If something is bad, well say so, but why dub a good thing as bad? Everything in art is subjective but being prejudiced is hardly credit to the responsibility you handle. Not only do we give ourselves away, but blacken the paper you wrote for too, which is what annoys me! Credibility is at stake, my friend! For mouth publicity is bigger than all the reviews put together!
  

Friday, April 24, 2015

Nagaswaram musings

Back mint-fresh from a wedding, the role of the nagaswaram at such auspicious events worries me. It's getting smaller and smaller. Its quality is commensurate with its present role too, which is worrisome, for the art needs to be kept alive and kicking.  In the southern parts of the state, the wind instrument is quite a loud hero and quality on the higher side.

 It must be the influence of the famed Ampalapuzha brothers whose expertise with the nagaswaram is legion. They made it as much Keralites' own as that of Tamil Nadu's, where it was literally born, nourished and cherished. Not only lovers of classical music for who can forget Singara velane....of S. Janaki where the instrument and the human voice flowed as one generic blessing?
But sometimes your heart goes out to the poor guy/lady who keeps bellowing out air that neither produces sweet sounds nor the right pitch, while the percussion is happily on its own trip. Why is the nagaswaram considered apt for weddings?
 Common sense tells you that the vibrant sound that emanates makes your heart flutter...... the music makes even the most morose of people tap his/her feet and sway to the intricate nuances, aping the human voice. The loud music, indicating joy abandon, is the perfect background for the couple, for they forget to be nervous in the musical din while the guests figure out the tune being played, usually very famous ones. The music with quick rhythmic beats and joyous undercurrents, bring smiles to the faces assembled in their silken attire.  As soon as the thalikettu is over, the quick pause and abrupt switch  to 'Kanavu kanden naan kanavu kanden......' is so romantic, predictable and the perfect finale to the occasion.

 But imagine this scenario: The nagaswaram begins off key.....the sound is barely audible as the music maker is unsure of the notes ...there is no merriment in the music because of hesitant notes....when there should be notes dancing like a bhangra, the feel is like the steps of a lazy man walking in the hot sun, aimlessly. Added to it, popular tunes are played all wrong, bringing on scowls to faces. To cap it all the the notes end unceremoniously like the fag end of a fart long suppressed. (forgive me my uncouth expression.) The wedding ceremonies lose the charm it ought to register for a lifetime, for the couple and loved ones.
But what beats me is that nobody thinks it is some kind of a problem. It has been plaguing me for a long time and now that I have opened up, I feel better.
Prema Manmadhan

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Oru Vadakkan Selfie is fun

Freshness  pervades the entire movie, Oru Vadakkan selfie. A bunch of young actors and technicians giving of their best. That is what makes you very happy. Fast paced, naturally funny and yet has a very good message.
 The story can happen anywhere and the same plight can be anybody's. That's yet again why people relate to it. Vineeth's script is the key to its success. More importantly, the excellent performances of most of the artistes, its music and cinematography by Jomon.
 In every department of the film, what stands out is the freshness of approach. It's a breezy comedy that gathers seriousness as it progresses. Yet the characters are not morbidly pessimistic and give you reasons to expect the unexpected. The director has taken his job seriously and the team has risen to the occasion.
This is not to say that there are no flaws. Yes, the ending does not match the quality of the movie taken as a whole and there are loose ends but not so loose that you take the memory home. All is forgiven for the nearly three hours of sane entertainment.
 Manjima is an actress to look out for. Subtle emotions that rock the soul of the character she plays come out successfully. Nivin Pauly, Aju Varghese, the boy with curly hair and Vijayaraghavan act very well. There is sincerity in their work. A movie with a message for the young, not so young, the old, and most of all, crazy netizons. But wait...why vadakkan selfie? Don't know!!
Prema Manmadhan

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Ennum Eppozhum average

Sathyan Anthikkad+Mohanlal+Manju Warrier. What do you expect? Fireworks? But this one was a dampener. Average is the best description for Ennum eppozhum. And that average grade goes largely for the one wonderful classical verging on semi-classical dance performance by Manju Warrier.
A better script by Ranjan Pramod may have helped. The story by Raveendran also has too many sub plots which distract you instead of contributing to the overall good of the movie.Nowhere do you really laugh your heart out. Like Priyadarshan's, has Sathyan Anthikkad's  bag of tricks been exhausted? The situations are contrived and coincidences galore, like the hera and heroine accidentally meet at all the right places for the story to proceed. Come on, the audience has grown up! They don't swallow things as they did four decades ago any more.
Renji Panikkar's character was not delineated well enough. A villain who was later turned into a buffoon when two plus hours of the movie got over to avoid a loose end? Every other character was a hangover of old Sathyan movies. Manju Warrier did try hard enough and so did Mohan Lal.  Lena came out well, in fact, natural. The songs just did not stay in the mind. That something which the audience longed for and expected just wasn't there. The magic that Aaraam Thamburaan and Kanmadam gave us with these two will always be remembered. You can't club this movie with those. But curiosity will kill the cat and the combo works. An opportunity that has not been exploited.
Prema Manmadhan

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Bhaya, not Nirbhaya

Is it the banning of a documentary, the place of women in our country, the Indian masculine mindset or the reason why rapes occur, that is troubling us?  Clashing views, outbursts, if I may say, in public and private communication platforms hardly address any of these problems. Activists, journalists and film makers have pet views which they cannot change for their own reasons. Dispassionate human beings, however, have the freedom to think and reason on our own.
I saw British filmmaker Leslee Udwin's documentary, India's Daughter, made for BBC. There has been no UK's Daughter or the Daughter of the US or China's Daughter by this film maker as yet. Why? Because she knew those governments were sure not to give her permission to meet and chat with rapists? Mukesh Singh, the alleged rapist, sits there as if he is a hero in a feature film and offers homilies. He looks very well fed. Good prison life.
For two years, says the Guardian, Udwin stayed on in India meeting and interviewing rapists, all this to find out why rapes happen and she quite concluded that lack of respect for the women was the reason. She went to town with the gory details, to put it mildly.  She could have interviewed a psychologist and found out  the answer sooner. The name of the girl is mentioned over and over again and her photo also given. Inaccuracies are also there.She was a doctor, she says, while in fact Nirbhaya (why we so carefully mask her identity when the whole world knows it, I wonder) was a trainee physiotherapist.
Do rapes happen only in India? She gives no statistics. Quite a badly made film too. Here's one instance. She goes to see Life of Pi with a friend, says the documentary and you are shown a roaring tiger from that film for some time!! The juvenile is never shown with his real face. He is the cruellest but he has not been interviewed. Why? Udwin takes Mukesh Singh's words as gospel truth? How can a rapist's words be dubbed as the opinion of the Indian male? The defence lawyer is a joke. "We have the best culture. In our culture, there is no place for a woman," says M L Sharma, holding forth. It is jokers like these who devalue India. Selective interviews have given Madame Udwin what she wants.
The poor parents of the girl have given permission, for the documentary to be made, say the credits.
A man who she says was her tutor, goes on saying what a nice girl she was etc, naming her. If Madame Udwin wanted so badly to stick to real people and real names, why didn't she meet the  friend with whom  Nirbhaya had gone out and get his gory version too? 
The reason why rapes occur are many. A rapist's is a sick mind, for heaven's sake and one cannot say it happens because of lack of respect for women. Drugs, alcohol, psychological problems or an overzealous libido may be the causes. Above all poverty and the tough life people lead, make them devoid of compassion or even plain kindness. As long as these conditions remain so, rapes are bound to occur not only in India but all over the world, sadly enough. Barbaric punishmenrs as in the Middle East may help, but then, we are a democratic country, aren't we? So we have to put up with the present state of things. Once poverty vanishes and healthy human beings inhabit the earth, we can all walk alone on the road at dead of night, fearlessly. Till then, I suggest we take care of ourseleves, because the police cannot be expected to follow each one of us whenever we go out alone every time at night. There has to be bhaya, not nirbhaya till then.
Prema Manmadhan