(Author: Khaled Hosseini)
The author of the literary masterpiece, The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini’s next book raised monumental expectations; and just holding the book in my hand for the first time exhilarated me beyond words. But the novel left has me wanting in every which way that I can comprehend!
Each page, each incident in The Kite Runner touched my soul, and deeply. In that novel, Khaled Hosseini wove the story of Amir and Hassan into strands of humanity, friendship and love, so naturally that I wondered if it were his own life he had written about. But A Thousand Splendid Suns (ATSS) did not stir much emotion even with the exceedingly tragic lives of Mariam and Laila, the two prima donnas of the novel. I felt sympathetic, but I think a novel of this genre succeeds in the reader’s ability to empathize. A part of me believes that this may perhaps be due to the gender disconnect - may be it would take a woman to appreciate this novel better.
To add to it, the author has not presented anything too different in terms of narrative. That if you ignore the fact that The Kite Runner was narrated by Amir, but the narrative in ATSS is in third person. As a result, when Amir felt angry, I felt angry too - at Taliban, at God and at life; I writhed in agony when Hassan was tortured. My eyes watered and my heart leapt with Amir and Hassan. I felt, there was a part of me in them.
But the extreme wretchedness of Mariam and Laila’s lives together did not evoke anything more than pity in my heart. The characters are not felt but seen.
In The Kite Runner I lived the boys’ lives … with them. But in ATSS, Mariam and Laila just lived their lives… I just happened to be a spectator.
I am still searching for answers as to why the author, whose brilliance has been lauded by the whole world alike for his first novel, so completely fails to create a mark the second time around. Why do the words sound so hollow? Like BBC News or some Academy Award winning documentary film? Why do the dead children, the stone pelting and beheading, the Taliban, the political turmoil, the madness – feel so fake this time? Is it too much familiarity on my part of the stories from Afghanistan or the lack of author’s first hand experience of the emotions he has written about?
In more ways than one, A Thousand Splendid Suns, has left me wondering. It is not a bad novel – it certainly is not. But it does not offer anything special either. I just feel that I was promised a chocolate truffle but was handed a cube of sugar instead.
September 30, 2007
August 23, 2007
Movie Review: Chak De India
Rating: ***1/2
Shahrukh Khan has never been my favourite. Nor are his films the genre that I enjoy watching much. Nonetheless, once in a while, I see his face flash across the TV screen in an unexpected promo. Chak De India is one such example. When I first saw the trailer, I was taken aback with pleasnt surprise to see a promo that actually 'promo'ted the film it stood for. For once, I felt like watching a SRK movie in a theater. Swades was my last such experience. Two other factors propelled me to go for a dekko - the new faces in the cast of the movie and the director's name - Shimit Amin. Shimit had last directed Ek Hasina Thi - a very slick and well directed movie starring Urmila Matondakar and Saif Ali Khan. Fortunately, this time, I was not disappointed.
Chak De India delivers exactly what the promos project. A movie laden with the struggles of a team of underdogs in every which way and the journey of a sportsman during and after his prime. I have seen parallels being drawn with Miracle, Coach Carter, The Underdogs, and Music for the Soul. But inspite of the undeniable similarity in the basic plot, I would have to agree that the Indianization of the stroy is quite unique. And more importantly relevant in more contexts than one.
Of the few questions that stayed in my mind - Why in a country of 100 crore people can we not name even 100 splendid sportspersons? Why are women expected to make all the compromises in a relationship of supposed equals? Why are we Indians not so proud of being an Indian? What drives sports and how much commercialization, or rather Industrialization, of sports has happened worldwide? What are the factors that make us work as indivudals and not as a team? Is casting couch limited to the film industry only? What all can one do to satisfy one's ego? What is the meaning of disgrace and its connotations to the innocent? What can we achieve if only the neeyat is strong? And what are the other sports India likes to play besides cricket?
Besides connecting on a philosophical level, I accredit Shimit Amin for fabulous direction. Subtelty rides uncharacteristically high in most of sentimental moments of the movie, making is all the more realistic and life like. All the characters are well etched and given a perspective. And the ones that are left out from the foreground focus blend in well with the plot. No unnecessary minutes spent on detailing the background of all the girls in the movie and no sad sob story for SRK either (discounting the few minutes of backdrop that the director prepares for the viewer at the very onset of the movie)... No matkas and jtahkas, no song and dance sequences and no item numbers. All the music and singing is relegaed to admirably chosen moments and happens as a part of the narrative story telling. The entire enterprise stays focused around hockey, winning and playing for India. The movie is a befitting tribute to Indian independence on its sixtienth anniversary.
As far as screenplay and editing are concerned, I full give them full marks for maintaining the pace and ensuring that each character in the story gets his/her due share. I dont know the names of all the actors in the film, but every single one - Miss Chautala, Vidya, the Punjabi girl, even Soi Moi and Miss Naik looked the part, played the part and acted the part to perfection. SRK delivers one of those rare performances when you cease to think of him as SRK, a la Swades and Kabhi Haan Kabhi Na effect. Humor is infused via body language and dialogues, in situations and characterizations very naturally, and is characterized by its raw minimality that draws you into the plot. The movie does not make you cry, but makes you wonder. It does not make you jubiliate (for you know whats going to happen eventually is the fairy tale ending) but cherish the moments. It does not turn you patriotic but somewhat proud of your roots. It does not profess values but induces thoughts. It does not claim or compare hockey with cricket, but makes you want to follow hockey... supposedly the national sport of India.
Chak De India is by no stretch of imagination the best movie cinematically or otherwise. Neither is it a cult movie not it is overly imaginative. It does not fall under the category is a masterpiece and does npt boast of fancy locales and stunning visuals. But the fact is that the movie is so full of optimism, good faith and positiveness that I find it difficult to focus on those faults!
Shahrukh Khan has never been my favourite. Nor are his films the genre that I enjoy watching much. Nonetheless, once in a while, I see his face flash across the TV screen in an unexpected promo. Chak De India is one such example. When I first saw the trailer, I was taken aback with pleasnt surprise to see a promo that actually 'promo'ted the film it stood for. For once, I felt like watching a SRK movie in a theater. Swades was my last such experience. Two other factors propelled me to go for a dekko - the new faces in the cast of the movie and the director's name - Shimit Amin. Shimit had last directed Ek Hasina Thi - a very slick and well directed movie starring Urmila Matondakar and Saif Ali Khan. Fortunately, this time, I was not disappointed.
Chak De India delivers exactly what the promos project. A movie laden with the struggles of a team of underdogs in every which way and the journey of a sportsman during and after his prime. I have seen parallels being drawn with Miracle, Coach Carter, The Underdogs, and Music for the Soul. But inspite of the undeniable similarity in the basic plot, I would have to agree that the Indianization of the stroy is quite unique. And more importantly relevant in more contexts than one.
Of the few questions that stayed in my mind - Why in a country of 100 crore people can we not name even 100 splendid sportspersons? Why are women expected to make all the compromises in a relationship of supposed equals? Why are we Indians not so proud of being an Indian? What drives sports and how much commercialization, or rather Industrialization, of sports has happened worldwide? What are the factors that make us work as indivudals and not as a team? Is casting couch limited to the film industry only? What all can one do to satisfy one's ego? What is the meaning of disgrace and its connotations to the innocent? What can we achieve if only the neeyat is strong? And what are the other sports India likes to play besides cricket?
Besides connecting on a philosophical level, I accredit Shimit Amin for fabulous direction. Subtelty rides uncharacteristically high in most of sentimental moments of the movie, making is all the more realistic and life like. All the characters are well etched and given a perspective. And the ones that are left out from the foreground focus blend in well with the plot. No unnecessary minutes spent on detailing the background of all the girls in the movie and no sad sob story for SRK either (discounting the few minutes of backdrop that the director prepares for the viewer at the very onset of the movie)... No matkas and jtahkas, no song and dance sequences and no item numbers. All the music and singing is relegaed to admirably chosen moments and happens as a part of the narrative story telling. The entire enterprise stays focused around hockey, winning and playing for India. The movie is a befitting tribute to Indian independence on its sixtienth anniversary.
As far as screenplay and editing are concerned, I full give them full marks for maintaining the pace and ensuring that each character in the story gets his/her due share. I dont know the names of all the actors in the film, but every single one - Miss Chautala, Vidya, the Punjabi girl, even Soi Moi and Miss Naik looked the part, played the part and acted the part to perfection. SRK delivers one of those rare performances when you cease to think of him as SRK, a la Swades and Kabhi Haan Kabhi Na effect. Humor is infused via body language and dialogues, in situations and characterizations very naturally, and is characterized by its raw minimality that draws you into the plot. The movie does not make you cry, but makes you wonder. It does not make you jubiliate (for you know whats going to happen eventually is the fairy tale ending) but cherish the moments. It does not turn you patriotic but somewhat proud of your roots. It does not profess values but induces thoughts. It does not claim or compare hockey with cricket, but makes you want to follow hockey... supposedly the national sport of India.
Chak De India is by no stretch of imagination the best movie cinematically or otherwise. Neither is it a cult movie not it is overly imaginative. It does not fall under the category is a masterpiece and does npt boast of fancy locales and stunning visuals. But the fact is that the movie is so full of optimism, good faith and positiveness that I find it difficult to focus on those faults!
March 11, 2007
Book Review: Vamshavriksha
Author: S L Bhyrappa
Vamsha means family and Vriksha translates to a tree. S. L Bhyrappa’s Vamshavriksha narrates the tale of two families – the Shrothri and the Rao households being the center stage for the saga that spans over three generations.
Bhyrappa introduces the reader to all the characters in the first few chapters without adding any contrived twists to the story. Its almost a biographical account of the incidents as they occur in the lives of Srinivasa Shrothri, his wife and daughter in law Katyayani, across the banks of River Kapila (which itself plays an important role in the plot) juxtaposed against the literary journey of Sadasiva Rao and his family.
The book, written in 1962, could be considered ahead of it’s times by some, for it explores the premises of love and duty, and the dilemma that the battle of the heart and the head poses. The characterization of Katyayani and Sadasiva Rao bring to fore the debate on morality vs. individual choice, social norms vs. personal happiness, and forces the reader to think about the very hypotheses on which rights and wrongs are judged. Bhyrappa weaves the stories together with a sheer delicate and understated narration, not spending any words on banal description of the props, clothes or ambience.
He focuses on the moral decisions that people make or the social implications of the same for others. The book was a treat to read and is a must, especially for the puritanical few who justify moral policing of all based on ‘accepted social patterns’
Vamsha means family and Vriksha translates to a tree. S. L Bhyrappa’s Vamshavriksha narrates the tale of two families – the Shrothri and the Rao households being the center stage for the saga that spans over three generations.
Bhyrappa introduces the reader to all the characters in the first few chapters without adding any contrived twists to the story. Its almost a biographical account of the incidents as they occur in the lives of Srinivasa Shrothri, his wife and daughter in law Katyayani, across the banks of River Kapila (which itself plays an important role in the plot) juxtaposed against the literary journey of Sadasiva Rao and his family.
The book, written in 1962, could be considered ahead of it’s times by some, for it explores the premises of love and duty, and the dilemma that the battle of the heart and the head poses. The characterization of Katyayani and Sadasiva Rao bring to fore the debate on morality vs. individual choice, social norms vs. personal happiness, and forces the reader to think about the very hypotheses on which rights and wrongs are judged. Bhyrappa weaves the stories together with a sheer delicate and understated narration, not spending any words on banal description of the props, clothes or ambience.
He focuses on the moral decisions that people make or the social implications of the same for others. The book was a treat to read and is a must, especially for the puritanical few who justify moral policing of all based on ‘accepted social patterns’
December 30, 2006
STENCIL: The Second Helpings...
(Puneet writes)
It was on a Sunday that the letter arrived.
The post man rarely came to their door. It wasn’t very usual for them to be receiving anything by mail. Unless of course you discount the monthly money order that Malathi amma’s son used to send her from Dubai. But this humid morning, it was Charushila’s name that Cheembu called out. His shirt was clinging to his lean, tanned frame and even the half-blind Malathi amma could tell his want for a pitcher of cold water. But Charushila just stood there, with the letter in her hand, staring at it as if words would start speaking for themselves. It was surely not a letter that she had expected to receive.
After Cheembu had bid adieus, Charushila retreated to her room, her sanctum that she shared with Parul. She felt grateful for Parul’s absence for the first time in her stay there at Malathi Niwaas, so christened by Malathi amma’s late husband - Krishnan Sir as everyone in the village called him, for he had been the teacher in the only school in the area.
“She must be out in the village with her brooms and masks, telling everyone about the plusses of sanitation. I would never understand what she gets out of all this community work! Such a misfit she appears some times, fumbling with the dialect and struggling with food…” wondered Charushila as she neatly and cautiously tore through the glues and heavily stapled brown envelope.
It had been five months since Charushila arrived in the village, with her worn-out brown suitcase. It had not been easy for her, especially because she had to leave her husband of three years to fend for himself. Months before she finally left home, she had told him about her plans, and he had given in to her wish after many failed attempts to convince her otherwise. She had called him from the village a few times, but the probing eyes of the village men at the tea stall with the STD booth made conversation a challenge. The letter from her husband was not only the first he had written to her, but also the only real communication she had had with him in a very long time. With anticipation, she straightened the creases on the letter and started to read.
(Suja writes)
Dear Charu
I have resigned from my job and decided to travel to Bombay or beyond. I am not sure. I shall be leaving the keys with our neighbors. The fridge has been emptied out. All the bills are paid. I have deposited three months rent in advance, after which you can decide what is to be done with all the things in the house. The scooter was giving a lot of trouble, so I sold it. The bank papers ration card and other documents are in the green suitcase. It’s just not the same since you left. My cooking is still pathetic. I could take your constant tirade but not this silence. I ask myself how I could have kept you with me but still have no answers. I hope you are happy there. I don’t have any contact number to give you. I don’t think it makes much of a difference, in any case.
By the way, on my last day at work, I received an STD call from some army chap posted in Pathankot, I think. One Girish Kunnath. An invitation to marriage, said he knew you from school. I could not collect your casserole from Raghavans. That woman is never at home. Monu asks about his Charu aunty everyday. I kept making stories about how all your attempts to reach this side of Nagercoil are thwarted by some calamity or the other. The trouble is, I was convincing myself more than him.
Wish me luck, some peace and lot of sense.
Yours,
Balan
Charushila neatly folded the letter along the lines and put it at the bottom of her pile of freshly starched sarees in the almirah. She turned the keys, making doubly sure it was locked and sat at the edge of the bed. She kept all thoughts at bay, conscious of the hands of the old wall clock moving towards the hourly chime. Her music students would be here in a matter of minutes and she did not want anything in her voice to give away.
(Puneet writes)
Despite her earnest attempt to wring out the name from her mind, Charushila continued to be distracted throughout that morning's music lessons. Gayathri, one of her students, almost her own age, even asked if anything was amiss. Charushila fumbled and blurted something about her periods. After a while, she dismissed the class stating she was feeling dizzy and retired back to her room.
Malathi amma was confounded by her behavior. She very well knew that music meant the most to Charushila, enough to have been the cause for her to leave her husband. And it was only last week that Charushila had skipped her kitchen duties on the account of her menstruation hallows, a practice that she herself had no need to follow any longer. Malathi amma knew something was wrong. But Charushila gave her no opportunity to find out what it was, and Malathi amma knew well to keep her distance.
Back in her room, Charushila unlocked the almirah and pulled out the letter from underneath the sarees, upsetting the neat pile on to the floor, into disarray. She stayed in her bed for most of the morning and early noon. She read the letter again. She lay on her bed, teary eyed, her hands stroking the crescent around her navel, staring at the ceiling. Unable to find any solace, she started to sob, her fists clenched, her nails tearing into the letter and a heart pouring out anguish out on the starched white sheets. "I should have told him... He should have known... He should have asked... why did this all happen?"
At about two, Malathi amma called out from the kitchen, ""Charu... The food is ready. I have made olen and kallappam, with upperi. And fresh pachadi. Come and have it while it’s hot...," called out. She didn’t get any reply. A few minutes later Charushila walked into the kitchen and had her meals, not saying a word to Malathi amma, who tried to chatter away the awkward silences by relating gossips from the neighborhood.
As she was leaving, Charushila turned back hesitantly. Her eyes lowered, and with hands knotting the hem of her saree, she asked, "Malathi amma, tell me something. Is it a sin to love someone? Is it wrong to desire something that you know may never be yours? Krishnan Sir used to read the vedas and you too have read the upanishads. What do they say about this? I want to know... "
_______
How do you want the story to move forward? Get the horses of your imagination galloping and the fingers typing! Your contributions are eagerly awaited at bookmark.newsletter@gmail.com
It was on a Sunday that the letter arrived.
The post man rarely came to their door. It wasn’t very usual for them to be receiving anything by mail. Unless of course you discount the monthly money order that Malathi amma’s son used to send her from Dubai. But this humid morning, it was Charushila’s name that Cheembu called out. His shirt was clinging to his lean, tanned frame and even the half-blind Malathi amma could tell his want for a pitcher of cold water. But Charushila just stood there, with the letter in her hand, staring at it as if words would start speaking for themselves. It was surely not a letter that she had expected to receive.
After Cheembu had bid adieus, Charushila retreated to her room, her sanctum that she shared with Parul. She felt grateful for Parul’s absence for the first time in her stay there at Malathi Niwaas, so christened by Malathi amma’s late husband - Krishnan Sir as everyone in the village called him, for he had been the teacher in the only school in the area.
“She must be out in the village with her brooms and masks, telling everyone about the plusses of sanitation. I would never understand what she gets out of all this community work! Such a misfit she appears some times, fumbling with the dialect and struggling with food…” wondered Charushila as she neatly and cautiously tore through the glues and heavily stapled brown envelope.
It had been five months since Charushila arrived in the village, with her worn-out brown suitcase. It had not been easy for her, especially because she had to leave her husband of three years to fend for himself. Months before she finally left home, she had told him about her plans, and he had given in to her wish after many failed attempts to convince her otherwise. She had called him from the village a few times, but the probing eyes of the village men at the tea stall with the STD booth made conversation a challenge. The letter from her husband was not only the first he had written to her, but also the only real communication she had had with him in a very long time. With anticipation, she straightened the creases on the letter and started to read.
(Suja writes)
Dear Charu
I have resigned from my job and decided to travel to Bombay or beyond. I am not sure. I shall be leaving the keys with our neighbors. The fridge has been emptied out. All the bills are paid. I have deposited three months rent in advance, after which you can decide what is to be done with all the things in the house. The scooter was giving a lot of trouble, so I sold it. The bank papers ration card and other documents are in the green suitcase. It’s just not the same since you left. My cooking is still pathetic. I could take your constant tirade but not this silence. I ask myself how I could have kept you with me but still have no answers. I hope you are happy there. I don’t have any contact number to give you. I don’t think it makes much of a difference, in any case.
By the way, on my last day at work, I received an STD call from some army chap posted in Pathankot, I think. One Girish Kunnath. An invitation to marriage, said he knew you from school. I could not collect your casserole from Raghavans. That woman is never at home. Monu asks about his Charu aunty everyday. I kept making stories about how all your attempts to reach this side of Nagercoil are thwarted by some calamity or the other. The trouble is, I was convincing myself more than him.
Wish me luck, some peace and lot of sense.
Yours,
Balan
Charushila neatly folded the letter along the lines and put it at the bottom of her pile of freshly starched sarees in the almirah. She turned the keys, making doubly sure it was locked and sat at the edge of the bed. She kept all thoughts at bay, conscious of the hands of the old wall clock moving towards the hourly chime. Her music students would be here in a matter of minutes and she did not want anything in her voice to give away.
(Puneet writes)
Despite her earnest attempt to wring out the name from her mind, Charushila continued to be distracted throughout that morning's music lessons. Gayathri, one of her students, almost her own age, even asked if anything was amiss. Charushila fumbled and blurted something about her periods. After a while, she dismissed the class stating she was feeling dizzy and retired back to her room.
Malathi amma was confounded by her behavior. She very well knew that music meant the most to Charushila, enough to have been the cause for her to leave her husband. And it was only last week that Charushila had skipped her kitchen duties on the account of her menstruation hallows, a practice that she herself had no need to follow any longer. Malathi amma knew something was wrong. But Charushila gave her no opportunity to find out what it was, and Malathi amma knew well to keep her distance.
Back in her room, Charushila unlocked the almirah and pulled out the letter from underneath the sarees, upsetting the neat pile on to the floor, into disarray. She stayed in her bed for most of the morning and early noon. She read the letter again. She lay on her bed, teary eyed, her hands stroking the crescent around her navel, staring at the ceiling. Unable to find any solace, she started to sob, her fists clenched, her nails tearing into the letter and a heart pouring out anguish out on the starched white sheets. "I should have told him... He should have known... He should have asked... why did this all happen?"
At about two, Malathi amma called out from the kitchen, ""Charu... The food is ready. I have made olen and kallappam, with upperi. And fresh pachadi. Come and have it while it’s hot...," called out. She didn’t get any reply. A few minutes later Charushila walked into the kitchen and had her meals, not saying a word to Malathi amma, who tried to chatter away the awkward silences by relating gossips from the neighborhood.
As she was leaving, Charushila turned back hesitantly. Her eyes lowered, and with hands knotting the hem of her saree, she asked, "Malathi amma, tell me something. Is it a sin to love someone? Is it wrong to desire something that you know may never be yours? Krishnan Sir used to read the vedas and you too have read the upanishads. What do they say about this? I want to know... "
_______
How do you want the story to move forward? Get the horses of your imagination galloping and the fingers typing! Your contributions are eagerly awaited at bookmark.newsletter@gmail.com
August 21, 2006
Amu: Movie Review
Rating: ****
Ever since I started writing movie reviews, I have been starved for a good film. Not even once have I been inclined to give any film more than three or three+1/2 stars, and usually had to look for points to defend my rating. Well, the drought has finally coem to an end, and I am more than happy with the film that has broken the barrier. Yes, Amu is an excellent film, coming straight from the heart of the debutante director Shonali Bose from Bengal.
Starring Konkonasen Sharma as the protagonist (oddly called Kaju in the film), this film is a truly wonderful experience, and the first thing that comes to mind the superb quality of direction and screenplay. The charcaters are so close to real life, so very believable and anyone and everyone would empathise with the cast - be it anyone. Shonali has imbued crdibility into a story that could have easily gone haywire with inept handling.
On the surface, Amu is the story of an NRI girl Kaju who comes to India for a vacation to her mother's family and also trying to get to know her past - she knows she is an adopted child but does not know anything about her parents. The story uncovers the various sweet and bitter truths that her journey has in store for her. Her path crosses with a guy called Kabir, who helps her in her mission. And she finds herself in utter confusion and helplessness as she gets tangled in a mesh of the history of riots that shook India in 1984 after Indira Gandhi's assasination. How the story unfolds and what she finds out and how is the crux of the story. Although I usually refrain from giving any idea of the storyline in my reviews, I am assuring that I havent revealed that you would hamper your viewing. I just had to narrate this much to make my point in the review ahead. To stress how commendable Shonali Bose is for her work.
After Mr and Mrs Iyer, Konkona has not really delivered any strong performance to compare. Her Page 3 was very average if anything. But Amu reaffirms my faith in her. She is truly wonderful in her role. She has worked hard on her accent, and it pais off, because she does "sound like" an NRI - very much so. Not only that, her acting overall is first rate, and she lends a lot of credibility to her character. Yashpal Sharma (a.k.a. Laakha from Lagaan) and Brinda Karat (famous left party politician) also do full justice to their roles. And all the other artistes make you feel that you are watching 'real people'. The Bengali family that Amu's mother belongs to is a pure delight to watch. No fancy dresses or flashy make up or gay cousins (these days it has become a fad to have a gay character in the film) or stupid romances in the background - just a simple family. And there are several moments in the film where you would think (or may be even say it aloud) - "Oh God! I do the same thing." or "Wow! Feels like my family" or "Hey, I act like that when I go to. ..blah blah blah". And thats the screenplay's forte. It makes the whole story look so believable. No wonder that Shonali Bose admits (had the honor to attend a Q&A session after the film) that a lot of this has been derived from real life stories that she has learnt about from her numerous encounters with the victims of the 1984 riots.
Not even for one moment that I feel glamorization of any character or situation. Everything seemed 'normal'. The turbulence of the situation hasbeen conveyed very subtly, without any meloframa. No wailing or shouting scenes to show that the actors can act. No exy dudes or dudettes, no item numbers, no barechesting and no villains. There is ample symbolic fixtures and scenes, and you see people doing things that they really do - take a train, buy a pack of biscuits, eat choley-bhatoora, talk, walk and talk on phone. The props and art direction is very appropriate for the film. No lavish sets or grand eye candy locales. And yet the film holds your attention completely.
The film tells a story, holds a message and still does not get preachy or overdone. The various subtle facets of the 1984 riots and the after effects have been beautifully captured. No fingers are pointed, but it is very clear what the director'sintentions are. State sponsored terrorism is hinted at, but no names mentioned. What government officials, IAS officers did/did not do is shown, but no sides taken. Wha goons and thugs did is referred to, but the good and bad in their actions is left open for people to think about. Violence is indicated and portrayed, but the visualization ot graphic.
I am not sure how to express several other thoughts that race through my head after seeing the movie, but it sure was an experience to take back home, and think about later.
A must watch for all those who like meaningful cinema.
Ever since I started writing movie reviews, I have been starved for a good film. Not even once have I been inclined to give any film more than three or three+1/2 stars, and usually had to look for points to defend my rating. Well, the drought has finally coem to an end, and I am more than happy with the film that has broken the barrier. Yes, Amu is an excellent film, coming straight from the heart of the debutante director Shonali Bose from Bengal.
Starring Konkonasen Sharma as the protagonist (oddly called Kaju in the film), this film is a truly wonderful experience, and the first thing that comes to mind the superb quality of direction and screenplay. The charcaters are so close to real life, so very believable and anyone and everyone would empathise with the cast - be it anyone. Shonali has imbued crdibility into a story that could have easily gone haywire with inept handling.
On the surface, Amu is the story of an NRI girl Kaju who comes to India for a vacation to her mother's family and also trying to get to know her past - she knows she is an adopted child but does not know anything about her parents. The story uncovers the various sweet and bitter truths that her journey has in store for her. Her path crosses with a guy called Kabir, who helps her in her mission. And she finds herself in utter confusion and helplessness as she gets tangled in a mesh of the history of riots that shook India in 1984 after Indira Gandhi's assasination. How the story unfolds and what she finds out and how is the crux of the story. Although I usually refrain from giving any idea of the storyline in my reviews, I am assuring that I havent revealed that you would hamper your viewing. I just had to narrate this much to make my point in the review ahead. To stress how commendable Shonali Bose is for her work.
After Mr and Mrs Iyer, Konkona has not really delivered any strong performance to compare. Her Page 3 was very average if anything. But Amu reaffirms my faith in her. She is truly wonderful in her role. She has worked hard on her accent, and it pais off, because she does "sound like" an NRI - very much so. Not only that, her acting overall is first rate, and she lends a lot of credibility to her character. Yashpal Sharma (a.k.a. Laakha from Lagaan) and Brinda Karat (famous left party politician) also do full justice to their roles. And all the other artistes make you feel that you are watching 'real people'. The Bengali family that Amu's mother belongs to is a pure delight to watch. No fancy dresses or flashy make up or gay cousins (these days it has become a fad to have a gay character in the film) or stupid romances in the background - just a simple family. And there are several moments in the film where you would think (or may be even say it aloud) - "Oh God! I do the same thing." or "Wow! Feels like my family" or "Hey, I act like that when I go to. ..blah blah blah". And thats the screenplay's forte. It makes the whole story look so believable. No wonder that Shonali Bose admits (had the honor to attend a Q&A session after the film) that a lot of this has been derived from real life stories that she has learnt about from her numerous encounters with the victims of the 1984 riots.
Not even for one moment that I feel glamorization of any character or situation. Everything seemed 'normal'. The turbulence of the situation hasbeen conveyed very subtly, without any meloframa. No wailing or shouting scenes to show that the actors can act. No exy dudes or dudettes, no item numbers, no barechesting and no villains. There is ample symbolic fixtures and scenes, and you see people doing things that they really do - take a train, buy a pack of biscuits, eat choley-bhatoora, talk, walk and talk on phone. The props and art direction is very appropriate for the film. No lavish sets or grand eye candy locales. And yet the film holds your attention completely.
The film tells a story, holds a message and still does not get preachy or overdone. The various subtle facets of the 1984 riots and the after effects have been beautifully captured. No fingers are pointed, but it is very clear what the director'sintentions are. State sponsored terrorism is hinted at, but no names mentioned. What government officials, IAS officers did/did not do is shown, but no sides taken. Wha goons and thugs did is referred to, but the good and bad in their actions is left open for people to think about. Violence is indicated and portrayed, but the visualization ot graphic.
I am not sure how to express several other thoughts that race through my head after seeing the movie, but it sure was an experience to take back home, and think about later.
A must watch for all those who like meaningful cinema.
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