Blade Runner 2049 Review

With a movie so much about memories at hand, I would deem it the most inappropriate to not let you, dear reader, to not partake in one of mine while we are talking about it. While I was six of age, I was standing in a line to get my book checked by my English teacher. In front of me was a girl, and by God, she was the most beautiful thing I had laid eyes on till then. Quite unacquainted in these quandaries (as I should have been at six, and unfortunately, as I still am), I took the approach which had been tried and tested and had the indelible approval of Bollywood on it – I dropped my books. And guess what ? Cliches exist for a reason. She did bend down and help me pick up those worthless books ! I thanked her and smiled, and the motion was duly reciprocated. I introduced myself and so did she, and that was all that took for me to fall in love with her. And then ? Nothing. I never could muster the courage nor an approach to use it for, and as it always does, life happened. A decade later, she has shifted to far away, has a boyfriend and as far as I know, is quite happy with him, and I, well, I am talking movies to y’all. Over the years, I have revisited this above memory now and then, or to put it more correctly, this memory has revisited me now and then. For all the disappointment it holds, I still treasure it for the singular perfection is seemed to hold and the promise of much more. But more than that, it is that feeling of it which transcends words, so rare as if in the likeness of one of those misty halos that sometimes are made visible by spectral illumination of moonshine. This memory is what K (Ryan Gosling) would have died for, for in all its messiness, it is still as profound as the sound of bells in a Christian county. All that pain is all there is to be human.

With a pace reminiscent of a river eroding a rock, 2049 is beauty in the midst of all imperfections. It is a hybrid of science fiction, film noir, detective thriller, bounty hunter, western and a love story, that is to say it hasn’t strayed a bit from its origins. I could never write a proper review for the predecessor, instead resorting to hide my inadequacy in a mishmash study of its groundbreaking world with that of Cuaron’s Children of Men. So it comes off as no surprise that I can’t write a proper one for the sequel as well, yet for wholly different reasons. In the original Blade Runner, it was the imperfections that drew me in. I have rarely revisited it for its heartbreaking climax or for the ambiguity on whether Deckard is a replicant or not. No, more often than not, I find myself switching off my sound system when I watch Blade Runner and just let that eclectic visual style wash over me.

The towering skyscrapers of  2049 strain upward, gasping for air through the polluted skies. Sinister alleys and dark, cavelike crannies conceal unspeakable crimes against humanity. Nature has gone berserk, deluging the teeming city with an almost constant downpour. Smoke, steam and fog add to the fumigated congestion. It is a city of dreadful night, punctuated by neon signs in day-glo colors, cheap Orientalized billboards and a profusion of advertising come-ons with hunks of long-discarded machinery littering the landscape. The music by Zimmer provides no relief from the oppressive gloom, throbbing with eerie sounds, echoes, pounding pistons and the noises of flying vehicles shuttling through the poisonous atmosphere. Yet, through the eyes of the great Roger Deakins, the settings can be sinister and terrifying, or strikingly beautiful like an enchanted landscape depending upon the character focused on.

Denis Villeneuve, who has ascended to the ranks of Hollywood elite in a sparse amount of years, has incited criticisms for a number of reasons but character development has never been one of them. The love story, unlike its predecessor, stays with you, deeply involving us in the struggle of these lovers to feel love. When the Deckard angle enters, it does not feel like a forced attempt to cash in on the nostalgia of the original but rather to relieve it, and even better, comprehend it a bit more.

But the question here, and I am sure you are rather impatient about it by now, is whether it is as good as the original or not ? Objectively, no. Subjectively, yes. And this is because ignoring all the faults I singled out, which are too technical and boring to jot down here, I find a reflection of me in these characters longing to love yet finding no one to. I am not too sure to advertise my opinion since it is too fickle, but it is what it is and that is all I can manage to get onto a paper as well. Well, I guess I am only human.

But regardless of whether my judgement is a fallacy or not, go to the biggest screen you can find and experience 2049. Whether you like to admit it or not, the return of the world of Philip Dick to the screen is not just another movie, it is a cinematic event. So recline in your seat, forgetting the overblown air conditioning, that annoying couple getting to second base behind and the ever meddling Censor Board. Recline a bit more and let the lights, the sound and the emotions wash over you, and find yourself in the midst of the city choking on its own technology.

Personally speaking, as I always am, 2049 is everything I have wanted science fiction to be :- universal in its scope and personal in appeal.

THANKS FOR READING. IF YOU HAVE LIKED/HAVE DIFFERENT VIEWS / HAVE ANY  DOUBTS, PLEASE SHARE. I WILL RESPOND TO IT AS SOON AS I CAN. AND PLEASE SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE. YOU CAN FOLLOW ME ON MY FACEBOOK PAGE TOO https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011549616628YOU CAN ALSO E-MAIL ME ON castlebang786@gmail.com OR favebook2011@rediffmail.com

Photo Rights : Google Images, Wikipedia

Copyright : All written content on this site, unless otherwise noted, has been created by the website owner. As such, the content is the property of the website owner. This content is protected by Indian and international copyright laws. If you wish to reproduce, re-post, or display any of our content on your own site please only do so if you also provide a link back to the source page on this website and properly attribute authorship. Our preference is that you seek our permission before doing so. If you see anything on this website that has not been properly attributed to its originator please contact me. In response, I will attempt to correct the attribution of the offending material or remove and/or replace it. All material on this website is posted in accordance with the limitations set forward by the Information Technology Act, 2000. If a documented copyright owner so requests, their material will be removed from published display, although the author reserves the right to provide linkage to that material or to a source for that material. As a website devoted to discussing and reviewing movies and television I will at times, for illustrative purposes, present copyrighted material, the use of which might not always be specifically authorized by the copyright owner. Such material is made available  for purposes such as criticism, comment, and research. The website owner believes that this constitutes a “fair use” of any such copyrighted material because the articles published on this website are distributed for entertainment purposes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Magnolia Review

I am sure that all those who write about movies have an inherent hesitancy about writing about their absolute favorites as I am sure that ten dimes make a dollar. It emanates from an n number of factors, ranging from the fear of not doing justice to their love for that work of art to not being able to delve into the technicalities while keeping emotions at bay. But most importantly, it is that dread of giving away too much of yourself to the reader, for in the imperfections of one’s favorite songs or movies or books lies the hard-hitting truth to the base of one’s own existence. It is this very trepidation that has delayed this post long overdue as well, but I realize I cannot go through a single more day without my conscience haunting me for not talking about Magnolia. My movie.

Clocking in at 188 minutes, Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia, like all great movies seems too short. It is a mosaic of a plethora of characters suffering from Capgras delusions with their own identities, with emotions building up in a whirlwind to a point where they all seem like a full cup that the least motion might overbrim.

A more conventional director might have assigned these endlessly fascinating characters at his disposal with a hard-lined plot, confining them to a cumbersome narrative with all their motives laid out and their behavior explained. Paul Thomas Anderson, who is one of the greatest directors to have ever lived, is a breath of fresh air. He knows how fast audience thinks and how emotions contain their own explanations. Here Anderson appears almost naked before his audience, a man unable to conceal the depth of his own vision.

The structure furthermore contributes to our lack of satisfaction in whatever answers we think we encounter. But the hint at a snap solution is too broad and juxtaposition too obvious. We instantaneously reject any easy putting together of two and two and suspect a five. But time and time, Magnolia makes a gesture to itself as a source of discovery and meaning. The response of the audience is a suspicion of an invitation to start figuring out and putting together the enigma with the camera’s collaboration. Yet can one possibly attribute a final meaning to it, or is the very absurdity of a rain of frogs a shout-out to the human mystery that can never be solved ?

The world of Magnolia and the characters which firmly inhabit it are an illusion of their own. Most would find it hard to appreciate it in their first viewing, being misled from the crux of it by the facade of coincidences and chance and rain of frogs and what not. Dissatisfied by a movie that would rather evoke than supply. But what Anderson does here, and does only to the knowledge of those who see through the act he is putting up and destroying simultaneously, is an attempt to reach more deeply than that: to reach beneath the surface, and find the soul in need. I have always understood the elusiveness, and over the years even come to respect it as well, for there is an evident semi-autobiographical vein here. It is no secret that the frames belong to the storyteller and one would only want the most understanding to be held worthy of having a pert of oneself. When it draws towards commencement, Anderson’s world seems complete, and all the viewer can bring to it is his admiration.

At the end of the day, it is a movie about pain. About a bunch of souls trying to convince themselves over and over about the identities the world has imposed on them, yet breaking away from it as they do so and being understandably, petrified of the thought of finding themselves. It is about parents for whom the children are the abusers and they, the victims and about children who know better. It is about those who live without love and how it devastates them. It is thankfully also about a few who thank God for their good lives and forgiveness if they ever happen to not love it enough. It is about the entirety of ‘life’ and all that the word encompasses.

Love stories are about those who find love in happy times. Tragedies are about those who find love in unhappy times. Magnolia belongs to the latter, yet when it ends, it leaves me exhilarated about my existence, greedy for living it for it so bluntly reinforces the truth that we try to evade – that all that we take with us when we die is the regret for all that we could have done when we were alive.

There are very few times when the vision of a director works on the same wavelength as yours, striking a chord which leaves you with an out-of-body experience at the theater. When Magnolia came to its denouement, it was the closest I had ever been to knowing what a complete stranger truly feels, as if Paul Thomas Anderson was an individual I had once acquainted and then long forgotten. I believe it is primarily why it is my favorite movie of all time, and will continue to be in the future as well. The moment it ended, with that heartbreaking smile of Claudia’s, was the closest I had ever come to a communion with God. I was aware of his existence then, of his presence in every human being, and such a moment has evaded me long since then. I look for it every time I watch a movie, finding traces of it in some, yet the entirety of that experience still remains alien to me. If I was ever given the choice of carrying a moment of my life to the grave, I would most probably choose the very one which has found its way in the above lines.

It is the general belief, and a correct one too, that writing works which end with a quote work better. Whatever you have to say in closure, almost all the times someone else has said it better. Here, I quote Francois Truffaut, who while talking about Jules & Jim said all that I think Paul Thomas Anderson could have about Magnolia – “I begin a film believing it will be amusing — and along the way I notice that only sadness can save it.”

RATING :- 10 / 10

THANKS FOR READING. IF YOU HAVE LIKED/HAVE DIFFERENT VIEWS / HAVE ANY  DOUBTS, PLEASE SHARE. I WILL RESPOND TO IT AS SOON AS I CAN. AND PLEASE SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE. YOU CAN FOLLOW ME ON MY FACEBOOK PAGE TOO https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011549616628YOU CAN ALSO E-MAIL ME ON castlebang786@gmail.com OR favebook2011@rediffmail.com

Photo Rights : Google Images, Wikipedia

Copyright : All written content on this site, unless otherwise noted, has been created by the website owner. As such, the content is the property of the website owner. This content is protected by Indian and international copyright laws. If you wish to reproduce, re-post, or display any of our content on your own site please only do so if you also provide a link back to the source page on this website and properly attribute authorship. Our preference is that you seek our permission before doing so. If you see anything on this website that has not been properly attributed to its originator please contact me. In response, I will attempt to correct the attribution of the offending material or remove and/or replace it. All material on this website is posted in accordance with the limitations set forward by the Information Technology Act, 2000. If a documented copyright owner so requests, their material will be removed from published display, although the author reserves the right to provide linkage to that material or to a source for that material. As a website devoted to discussing and reviewing movies and television I will at times, for illustrative purposes, present copyrighted material, the use of which might not always be specifically authorized by the copyright owner. Such material is made available  for purposes such as criticism, comment, and research. The website owner believes that this constitutes a “fair use” of any such copyrighted material because the articles published on this website are distributed for entertainment purposes

 

 

 

I Lost It At The Movies

How can I fall in love with movies?’

I think you will find it a bit hard to believe, but more often than not, this is one of those persistent questions which I am plagued with in almost all the comment sections of every cine-related article I have ever written on the internet. And even after taking into account the bountiful trouble the process of answering such quaint questions are inscrutably bound with, I have ascertained this aforementioned query to be my favourite question ever, period.

Why? For a cinephile to understand, all he has to do is look at his sprawling commentatories on cinema and think to oneself ‘Why take all this trouble? Who cares?’ and if his love for his cinema is true, I believe the heart echoes ‘You do stupid.’ Isn’t everything we do a way to be loved a bit more? In that way, every film passionate (I abhor the term critic) writes because he loves cinema and wishes others start to as well. Cinema is introspective, yet all the written word about it is didactic, serving at its crux only one true purpose – to make people fall in love with movies.

So when one asks, straight-forward, how he/she can fall in love with movies, I believe it makes my job a hell lot easier than hoping them to anatomize my written word so as to find the underlying purpose behind it all. For one to love cinema, or for that matter anything, one has to content himself with the realization that nothing in this world can ever be perfect and cinema is no exception to this. But believe me, imperfections, however glaring, become endearing quirks once you have tumbled on the heartstrings.

For a better comprehension of cinema as an artistic medium than sheer entertainment, I have to get into some nitty-gritty of film theory which might seem taxing and boring on the surface, but believe me; I won’t wade in these waters so long that God forbade we come across stuff like mise en scene (and by the way, French isn’t a language you shouldn’t mind getting the gist of if you want to explore the expansiveness of film studies) and all. Just a few basics, which will make you understand why cinema has shaped out to be like you see on the silver screen.

Cinema is divided into three branches: – realism, which was the first to come into inception, swiftly followed by formalism, which eventually merged to form classicism. Realism’s illusion is an objective mirror of the actual world. For eg. Take movies like Ship of Theseus or Pather Panchali, where it becomes hard to ascertain whether what you are seeing on the screen is a fragment of someone’s imagination or a documentary.

Formalism on the other hand is expressionistic in nature, where visual presentation is heavily stylized. Take works like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which is about a man who realizes his ex-girlfriend has erased him from her memories) or Inception (about a gang of dream-stealers who specialize in obtaining information for clients by entering the subconscious of other individuals), where only the very naïve would assume the affairs of the movie for the real thing.

The third style of cinema is where majority of the works you see in the theatres fall into – classicism. Classicism is a mishmash of realism and formalism, where there is a plot which has at least a surface plausibility and a style which rarely calls attention to itself. Take even the recently released Bareilly Ki Barfi or Shubh Mangal Saavdhan for example. The affairs both of them concern themselves with are a slice of real life, yet you know that what you are watching is a movie, or more implicitly, you are made aware of it, by say routine dance numbers which are precisely choreographed. It is also one of the reasons why you only see those who ooze of sex appeal even at their most distressed in leading roles. Most of the times these stunning beauties like Rita Hayworth or Patrick Swayze (or more closer to home, Katrina Kaif or Siddharth Malhotra) are never much of actors or actresses, yet their beauty provides a gradually imposed realization that what are you watching is a work a fiction, and on a more obvious note, keeps the ticket counters ringing, for the allure of the carnal and the aesthetic has always been and will be a compelling aphrodisiac to any art. As Kenneth Clark rightly points out, even in painting and sculpture, eroticism is fundamental to an appreciation of the nude.

Bringing these concepts back to the point, the reason why most of us cannot love cinema is because all we are exposed to are the cheapest form of classicism. Just take a look at the recent money-minters like Badrinath Ki Dulhania or Jab Harry Met Sejal. In the true cinematic sense, they belong to a niche of their own, called the personality star genre. What is it? These are the movies which are tailored for popular stars to highlight those qualities that made them the stars in the first place. These traits are recycled and repacked to basically give the public what it wants, always following the same generic pattern. Such movies kill creativity; for they put the director and writer (the actual visionaries) in the backseat and let the actors drive the project.

So, the first step in loving cinema is to evade these works. Instead, delve into director-centric movies. For the initial viewer, I would suggest the works of masters such as Martin Scorsese (Goodfellas), Steven Spielberg (Schindler’s List), Quentin Tarantino (Pulp Fiction), Christopher Nolan (The Prestige), Paul Thomas Anderson (Punch Drunk Love), Sidney Lumet (12 Angry Men) and Billy Wilder (Double Indemnity). These directors have one leg in the formalistic world and another in the expressionist world. What results is the perfect blend of both, appealing to the mind as well as the heart. They are masters of the moving camera, with spontaneous eruptions which destabilize the visual materials, infusing the action with a surge of energy, almost a kinetic high. Among these, Scorsese and Tarantino have often been attacked for the coarse nature of their movies, yet what these critics fail to understand is that a sanitized version would be a form of aesthetic dishonesty, totally at odds with their subject matter’s nasty edge of realism.

Once neck-deep in the beauty of classicism, wade the waters of formalism and realism. Andrei Tarkovsky (Stalker) and David Lynch (Mulholland Drive) are the masters of the former, while Satyajit Ray (The Music Room) and Michael Haneke (Amour) are the masters of the latter. But at the end of the day, what bugs most of the viewers of pure cinema is I suppose the pace of such works. What one has to realize is the intention behind it. The works of these masters are on surface about a certain theme, yet once you look beyond them, their style deals with ideas – political, social, religious, philosophical – beyond the façade of the plot they put up, as if these themes remain privy to only those who truly seek it. What one can do in those moments which appear plodding is to introspect on what has transpired before. Film, at its purest, isn’t just entertainment. It is an experience, and for the time the projector and the screen establish a relationship, the objective is to drown out the viewer from the squabbles of his life and warp him or her in the world of the movie which is set into motion before him. The pace is slowed deliberately, for plodding is the very nature of our own existence, so as to synchronize the world of the movie with that of the viewer’s, than run parallel to it. In an abstract work, I would suggest not to attribute a final meaning to what you see, but rather try energetically to figure out what the director is asking you to experience than understand.

Loving movies, dear reader, is a glorious experience, for the love seems to be truly one’s personal discovery, never before apprehended in quite this way. What one has to keep in mind is that the medium of motion-picture has an extraordinary range of expression. It has in common with the plastic arts the fact that it is a visual composition projected on a two-dimensional surface; with dance, that it can deal in the arrangement of movement; with theatre, that it can create a dramatic intensity of events; with music, that it can compose in the rhythms and phrases of time and can be attended by song and instrument; with poetry, that it can juxtapose images; with literature generally, that it can encompass in its soundtrack the abstractions available only to language. To summarise it, what I mean to say is that cinema is the culmination of all of art, and to love cinema, is to love art in its entirety and as you know, Earth without art is just Eh. I hope you have a glorious time with movies, knowing and loving yourself more and more with every passing movie you see. I guess I will see you at the movies.

P.S. How will you know that you have fallen in love with movies? Just remember, people who like movies have a favourite. People who love them couldn’t possibly choose. When you are that stage, you will be sure.

Farewell To The Ordinary

[So dear reader, this is a not-so-short short story I wrote which ain’t cine related. But, if you would give it a read, it would be a great honor of mine]

For all the experience I have amounted to by travelling in the Mumbai local trains for a not-so-enviable period of one and a half months, there is only statement I feel I can make which comes close to veracity and which I feel will be met with uncontested opinions and sullen nods from even those who have had only the slightest brush on travelling on the aforementioned mode of commute – that there isn’t a single day on these trains which seem devoid of the hustle and bustle which one so naturally associates with them.

I am one of those rare quaint ones who looks forward to travelling on this mode of transport which my other fellow commuters abhor (and with good reasons). One might say it is because I get to reach my destination without any hassle all the others have to endure, since I board from the starting station and wherefore, get a seat every day. Now this reasoning may be true and I haven’t bothered to go to any lengths to prove the contrary by offering my seat to someone and standing till Sandhurst Road (i get off at C.S.M.T., but the train gets almost empty by Sandhurst Road). But, I believe this enjoyment is beyond the mere convenience I partake in everyday. For me, the reasons which seem to have brought about this fascination of travelling in overcrowded bogeys with other’s butts in front of your face for the entire duration of it is very reminiscent of falling in love, for once someone tumbles on your heartstrings, his or her imperfections, however glaring, become endearing quirks. I am fascinated by the nonchalance with which the experts who board running trains look upon the swiftness of their glide, as if it was the most ordinary of things. I am fascinated that every damn bogey has an individual who no one remembers to have ever got a seat, who always ends up standing near the window and arranging the bags of the fellow passengers with such an unparalleled display of organizational prowess, that if one fine day some dexterous mathematician actually considered the numbers of bags accommodated and the area demarcated, I am pretty sure various mathematical concepts wouldn’t seem to hold quite right. I am more than all fascinated by the profanities folks hurl at each other when one of those timely fights breaks out in the compartment, for in some of them, I see glimpses of literary genius in them (i have once heard a comeback which involved almost all the blood relations of the person at the receiving end along with cannabis, cows and the latest Sanjay Leela Bhansali movie in the same sentence, with all the elements in perfect harmony with each other), and also because at the end of the day, there seems to be nothing bad about these bad words. They just seem to be words folks use and most of the times, they don’t mean nothing by it.

Another fascination is the seeming broadcast of a daily commuter on a wavelength that only the other daily commuters can pick up, a kind of a pirate radio station of the heart. So, being one of those privileged but not exquisite (considering that almost 90 lakh people travel on Mumbai trains on a per day basis) club, the wavelength at play today seems to be of unco turbulence. Neither is Sahil sitting on the steel benches near the Handicapped bogey sound indicator, watching Narcos (no, wait a second. he finished Narcos two days ago. it is the Leftovers now). And neither is Manish, untying and tying his laces, to make sure they do not pose a quandary to his getting his beloved window seat (and this routine is working quite well too it seems since i haven’t seen anyone warm their behinds on that except him). Today, everyone is standing together, with neither headphones shoved in their ears, and not with papers held in their armpits. And suddenly it strikes me. Today is the 8th of September. Today is the day

A peremptory silence meanders when everyone boards the train, a striking contrast to any other day, and it shrouds the bogey even after two stations passed. Nobody can think of anything to break the ice today, for this is the day when Kaka will be travelling with us for the last time.

Kaka, as he is fondly called, means ‘uncle’ in Marathi. Kaka works in the Railways, and has for forty long years, and is considered unanimously as the founding member of our train group. Today, the September of 8th, is the last day of his service, i.e. in other words, the last time he has to go through the ordeal of boarding the first class compartment of the 7 :45 Dombivli – C.S.M.T. train.

Finally finding this silence, which had brooded over as though the tearing pace of the launched Earth had suddenly become audible, unbearable, it is Uncle (the second oldest in the group after Kaka, and whose fond designation if compared with that of Kaka’s, i believe provides an insight into changing times) who decides to speak up, a notion all of us were as sure of him making as we were that ten dimes make a dollar. The conversation topic is the venue for the farewell party for Kaka on Sunday. Nandi Palace is the venue decided after much deliberation, yet this denouement is overthrown the moment Rajesh points out is situated on the highway (and the new law prohibits you to crack open a cold one with the boys there) and the new and seemingly concrete conclusion to this discussion seems to be Regency Hotel. The questions about Kaka have now begun to arise like thirsty men drink, ranging from till when does his first class past last (ninth of october), what will he do in his free time (rotaract club and yoga classes), and whether they have found someone already to take up his position (a fumbling intern). Stations pass and one-by-one, the members of our group have to get off, with their destinations as inscrutably bound to them as destiny. They all stand by the windows and talk to Kaka as long as the motorman gives his brief approval, and the train keeps moving on till I and Kaka are the only ones of our train group left in the compartment. I am sitting next to him, with him brooding over the WhatsApp messages his near and dear ones have sent him congratulating him on this milestone of his and deleting them after a read or two. One of the traits you seemingly acquire if you travel in trains long enough is that you realize when the eyes of the person sitting next to you are on you and for one who has traveled in them for forty long years, it isn’t much time before Kaka’s eyes rest on mine and just like the sudden whim of a sick man for food or drink once tastes and long since forgotten, I find myself blurting out those very questions which had been burning up inside me from the moment today’s date had struck me :-

Me :- Won’t it feel weird from tomorrow ? Not following the same routine ?

Him :- I don’t think so. I will be busy 

Me :- Has anything changed all these years ? 

Him :- I don’t think so. The trains ran then and they do so today.

And he rose up. Bewildered by this motion of his, I look outside and see the reason behind it. We had already reached C.S.M.T.

We say our due farewells to each other and walk in our separate directions, yet my eyes meander on him. A man, no taller than I was, with a worn out Jensport bag, grayed out hair and yet at this moment, larger than life. And in a motion which came about as quietly and swiftly as near insanity comes to men, he looked back at me, smiled and went on. My emotions, which were at this point like a full cup that the least motion might over brim, come pouring out and I realize I will miss him. 

Yet this realization ushers in all kinds of doubts about why I would do so, for I had always felt we miss only those who we envy. I miss Bhagat Singh, for I can never be as brave as he was. I miss Roger Ebert, for I can never talk about movies as he was. I miss Virginia Woolf for I can never have a prosaic style as enchanting as that of her. So, why would I miss Kaka ?

Maybe it was because I would never have that reality he was inhibiting in. I am pretty sure I will never be confined by the shackles of a desk job, having looked down upon those who content themselves with one as far as I can remember, yet here was a man who had spent forty years of life on a ticket counter and yet was contented with it. Or maybe it was knowing that I could never feel what it would be to be retired. One of my biggest fears is that what I am feeling right now or will in the future, will be lesser version of what I have already felt. It is the reason fellas that you remember your first love, for when it had transpired, love and ideas seem to be truly one’s personal discoveries, never before apprehended in quite this way of yours, with the beloved in question happening to you all over again every time you meet.

Maybe it was all this and maybe it was none of it, yet what I felt was as profound as anything can be. One might ask (and to good reasoning) what this tale amounts to. Well, I don’t like the fact that, nowadays, it feels like it’s not permissible to leave something unresolved. I mean, what is closure? Some people never get that. Why can’t there be a tale of the triumphs of the ordinary ? Why aren’t their victories as important as others ?

I might also say something to on the lines that ‘if there is no final meaning, my work may be itself about that impossibility’. But to be honest, I don’t know myself. I believe a writer writes because he has doubts and hopes that at the end of the day, the answers to them translates on the page. Yet most of the times, just like in this very piece you are reading, they don’t and to good measure, for one always has a better tale in one’s mind than one can manage to get onto paper.

 

Yellow Submarine Review

In film circles, American and British animation have consolidated a position which renders them inferior to their counterpart from Japan, for they still lack the breath-taking realism Japanese hand-drawn animation emanates. Settling in for a cartoonish feel of storytelling has added very little to the case of its medium being not given due consideration, which I too believe it so earnestly deserves. Yet, whenever haters try to rip the computer animation of the United Kingdom to shreds, there is a name the lovers of it invoke which conjures a silence brooded over as though the tearing pace of the launched Earth had suddenly become audible. The Achilles’ heel – George Dunning’s Yellow Submarine.

I admire the movies which create a medium of their own to tell their stories, but even more do I admire the works which reinvent their medium, accepting its limitations and turning it into its biggest strengths. The unmistakable psychedelic vibes of the affairs of Yellow Submarine encapsulate the very essence of what corners this before mentioned admiration of mine.

I believe every age has a movie of its own. While The Social Network perfectly encapsulates the greed and genius the explosion of information technology brought with it in the 2000’s, there couldn’t have been a finer personification of the bubbling tension caused by the suppression of raw male nature due to consumerism in the 1990’s than Fight Club. The settings here are of the psychedelic 60’s. God knows that whatever that means it certainly meant far more than drugs, though drugs still work as a pretty good handle to the phenomena. The inception of hippie culture had coincided with the paid government experiments on IT – 290, Ditran, L.S.D and what not. I even hear of hippies who would sneak back into the theater for the second half of Kubrick’s 2001 to lay, or lie, flat on their backs on the floor in front of the screen, observing Kubrick’s translucent visual extravaganza  from a skewed perspective while they were stoned out of their gourds. Yellow Submarine perfectly caught the gist of these affairs and emulsified the two peak obsessions of the time – Beatles & psychedelia – into one masterpiece, all figured out and wrapped in tissue paper with pink ribbons on it.

It is replete with some of the most visually arresting imagery to have graced the cinema screen. Add to it, the acid-wit of the Marx brothers brand, and what we have is an unrelenting satire by the Beatles of the very stereotypes and myths which so firmly inhabited their careers. For example. take this wonderful exchange between Jeremy and the Beatles :-

[Jeremy is writing with his foot]

Jeremy : The footnotes for my nineteenth book. This is my standard procedure for doing it. And while I compose it, I’m also reviewing it!

George : A boob for all seasons.

Paul : How can he lose?

John : Were your notices good?

Jeremy : It’s my policy never to read my reviews.

Yellow Submarine is one of the most stupendously scripted and constructed cinematic pieces of all time. Its importance is never to cease for it carries with the memories of a time transpired long ago yet envied to date.

https://thoughtsallsorts.wordpress.com/2017/06/01/announcing-the-colours-blogathon/

 

 

Dunkirk Review

The moment the credits started rolling in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, a peremptory silence shrouds the theater. I walk out to find it is raining cats and dogs outside, but instead of reaching out for my umbrella, I saunter through the crowded streets. In this moment, I was aware of life happening all around me, a feeling as rare as they come. And there I understood the silence back in the theater. It was a moment of our gratefulness to the Almighty that we were alive, present in that moment. The last time I experienced such emotions was three years ago, when I watched a little movie called The Shawshank Redemption.

Dunkirk works on a three-level non-linear narrative structure which eventually comes together as a cohesive whole. What results because of this is probably one of the most thrilling experiences you will ever have at a cinema theater. Laden with a sense of urgency from the very first frame, the overall tension builds up with each passing scene, with great help from Hoyte Van Hoytema who has captured the finest war footage since Vittorio Storaro in Apocalypse Now. Frequent collaborator Hans Zimmer’s score is exhilarating, and the use of the ticking clock sound works wonders after some time, for it starts to sound like nails being bitten in the midst of this macabre.

The Dunkirk evacuation was a desperate cause, and this is a desperate movie. Almost all the characters in Dunkirk are anonymous, as if to not attract attention to the bravery of a selected few ignoring the whole picture. But this move worked on a psychological level for me as well. What if the reason why no one is named is because everyone knows each other ? Have they been stuck here for so long ?

Even though the questions about his greatness have drawn divisive responses, the veracity of the belief that Christopher Nolan is the greatest visionary to have graced cinema in 21st century is hors concours.With Dunkrik, he has crafted one of the great haunting visions of cinema which will be talked about in the same breath with works such as Aguirre. This is his ticket to the hall of the greats.

I went into it, expecting a character-driven emotional drama which Nolan’s work is characterized by. Never have I been more happy to be disappointed.

 

RATING :- 9.4 / 10

THANKS FOR READING. IF YOU HAVE LIKED/HAVE DIFFERENT VIEWS / HAVE ANY  DOUBTS, PLEASE SHARE. I WILL RESPOND TO IT AS SOON AS I CAN. AND PLEASE SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE. YOU CAN FOLLOW ME ON MY FACEBOOK PAGE TOO https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011549616628 YOU CAN ALSO E-MAIL ME ON castlebang786@gmail.com OR favebook2011@rediffmail.com

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Copyright : All written content on this site, unless otherwise noted, has been created by the website owner. As such, the content is the property of the website owner. This content is protected by Indian and international copyright laws. If you wish to reproduce, re-post, or display any of our content on your own site please only do so if you also provide a link back to the source page on this website and properly attribute authorship. Our preference is that you seek our permission before doing so. If you see anything on this website that has not been properly attributed to its originator please contact me. In response, I will attempt to correct the attribution of the offending material or remove and/or replace it. All material on this website is posted in accordance with the limitations set forward by the Information Technology Act, 2000. If a documented copyright owner so requests, their material will be removed from published display, although the author reserves the right to provide linkage to that material or to a source for that material. As a website devoted to discussing and reviewing movies and television I will at times, for illustrative purposes, present copyrighted material, the use of which might not always be specifically authorized by the copyright owner. Such material is made available  for purposes such as criticism, comment, and research. The website owner believes that this constitutes a “fair use” of any such copyrighted material because the articles published on this website are distributed for entertainment purposes

Synecdoche New York Review

Synecdoche New York is a movie about movies, but not in the conventional sense. Its affairs do not concern themselves with scrutinizing the method of crafting a narrative, but rather the intentions behind doing so.

What is it to have a true cinematic experience ? I believe it is the singularity of emotions an audience coming from different paths of life experiences when watching a movie. A person feeling the same joy, same sadness, same intrigue as the one sitting next to him. In Synecdoche New York, what Kaufman does is create a world where characters morph into each other every passing scene and subject themselves to desolation of the others, scrutinizing how we as a species react in a state of singularity to same events. But its vision is not limited to the confines of the screen. This movie rather plays outside it. It makes us aware of the actors we are in our perceived reality constructing our own worlds with our own actions while seemingly attributing it to preconceived destiny.

As all great movies made about life are, essentially what defines Synecdoche New York is a quest for a meaning to one’s existence. What Kaufman says is melancholic, but harshly true and beautiful like the poem about spring that opens this movie. Our quest seems to be for a permanent meaning, yet we ourselves change every passing day. All our previous selves survive inside us somehow, and each of them have ascertained themselves with different meanings. Our folly is we yearn for a permanent meaning for our multiple selves, eventually subjecting ourselves to believe in a nihilistic mindset, missing the bigger picture.

As most of Charlie Kaufman’s work has been, Synecdoche New York is a comedy as well. It’s just that it doesn’t rely on gags and one-liners to crack the audience up. Rather it is the irony that even after having every disease imaginable, Caden outlives almost everyone and that this movie begins and ends at 7:45. Does that say something about why it is so convoluted and abstract ? If you look a bit closer at the absurdity of the events, I believe it surely does.

For better or worse, this is a movie about everything. It charters life from the point where thought originates in an individual and subjects the viewer to a downright depressing or hilarious ride, varying on whether you are all worked up when it ends or you have an ironic smile when it does, respectively.

The first time I watched Synecdoche New York, it felt incomplete to me. The second time I realized it was to be completed by my own inadequacies and fears. There are bad movies, passable movies, good movies, excellent movies and great movies. And once in a blue moon, there are movies like Synecdoche New York. These are movies which you feel you can’t tell people about, movies that are so special and so yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal. It sure isn’t the greatest movie ever made or anything, but Synecdoche New York is my movie, just as my body is my body and my thoughts are my thoughts. The day I find someone worth recommending it, my God, that would be the day.

THANKS FOR READING. IF YOU HAVE LIKED/HAVE DIFFERENT VIEWS / HAVE ANY  DOUBTS, PLEASE SHARE. I WILL RESPOND TO IT AS SOON AS I CAN. AND PLEASE SUBSCRIBE FOR MORE. YOU CAN FOLLOW ME ON MY FACEBOOK PAGE TOO https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011549616628 YOU CAN ALSO E-MAIL ME ON castlebang786@gmail.com OR favebook2011@rediffmail.com

Photo Rights : Google Images, Wikipedia

Copyright : All written content on this site, unless otherwise noted, has been created by the website owner. As such, the content is the property of the website owner. This content is protected by Indian and international copyright laws. If you wish to reproduce, re-post, or display any of our content on your own site please only do so if you also provide a link back to the source page on this website and properly attribute authorship. Our preference is that you seek our permission before doing so. If you see anything on this website that has not been properly attributed to its originator please contact me. In response, I will attempt to correct the attribution of the offending material or remove and/or replace it. All material on this website is posted in accordance with the limitations set forward by the Information Technology Act, 2000. If a documented copyright owner so requests, their material will be removed from published display, although the author reserves the right to provide linkage to that material or to a source for that material. As a website devoted to discussing and reviewing movies and television I will at times, for illustrative purposes, present copyrighted material, the use of which might not always be specifically authorized by the copyright owner. Such material is made available  for purposes such as criticism, comment, and research. The website owner believes that this constitutes a “fair use” of any such copyrighted material because the articles published on this website are distributed for entertainment purposes