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.

 

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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

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

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

 

My Thoughts On Pan’s Labyrinth

I have had my fair share of criticisms on this blog, most of them legitimate considering how maladroit my writing was in the early stages, but from the ones which hold ground even now, the one which perturbs me the most is my inconsistency. And if I say it’s because I don’t get enough time to watch movies and write about them, I would be lying because for the past couple of months, I have went through hundreds of them. Yet when I try to garner my thoughts on the majority of them, I find myself at a loss of words. I find myself in the same state John Green aptly described ‘My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations’. After much deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that I can only write about a movie when I either love it or hate it. No middle ground.

And here’s a diabolic gem from Guillermo Del Toro which reminds me why I picked up a pen consciously in the first place. I remember it was to write a short story about me saving Hermione Granger, my first literary and on-screen crush, from Death Eaters and in the end, getting to first base with her in the Room Of Requirement. As I look back upon it now, I find it to be an abhorrent work of both fantasy and erotica. But in it, I see something that was truly me at that time, a work which is truly original even though all its characters were not.

I believe that is why Pan’s Labyrinth is a masterpiece of its own league. After watching it, those same emotions which formed ranks and hurled themselves against the ramparts of my inhibitions a long time ago seemed to resurface with the same vigor. Its tale follows the soul of the princess of a distant past making her body of the present come in terms with her destiny in the midst of a macabre no child should hold witness to.

Unlike other fairy tales which shield even their evils in a graceful manner so as to not tarnish the minds of the young, Pan’s Labyrinth is as vile and violent and twisted as one can possibly imagine. The tales of the three tasks the protagonist Ofella has to undertake run in parallel with conflicts between Falangist soldiers and republican rebels, gradually morphing into one.

Del Toro excellently gives equal gravitas to both these tales, in a way in which we are invested in both and never out of touch in any. The creatures which inhabit the abhorrent worlds Del Toro crafts reek of creative genius, characters which are so familiar in their actions but so distinctive in their appearances that this movie turns out to be one of those rare works where one could happily watch with the sound turned off, just for the joy of how it looks.

I envy those who will watch this movie for the first time. And even more if they have just happened to hit the brink of puberty. The boundless imagination this movie will set free within them is the true magic which exists in this world. One which we all can hopefully find and believe in if we care to look for it a bit closely.

Always remember dear reader, no one ever grows old enough for fairy tales. In all my wisdom, I can say with unwavering confidence, that they seemingly grow old enough for their readers to love and learn.

RATING :- 9.5 / 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

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

 

 

 

 

War Of The Planet Of The Apes Review

There couldn’t have been a more apt time for the War Of The Planet Of The Apes to have graced the silver screen. At a juncture where every big-budget movie seemed to be only style and no substance, War Of The Planet Of The Apes refreshes our memories of what the word ‘blockbuster’ once stood for. Made at the expense of one hundred and fifty million dollars, this third installment of the celebrated Planet of the Apes franchise proves with every single frame why it deserves every dollar of it.

The events follow the aftermath of the Koba mutiny which ensured a war between the apes and the Simian flu affected human beings. I won’t delve further into it for it needs to be experienced than told in my opinion. Rather I would like to scrutinize into the various odd aspects of it, some major and mostly minor in their scale, which I believe when summed up makes this movie what it is. And what it is, is a near fucking-masterpiece.

Let’s begin with a scene which occurs much later in the movie. The Colonel, a leader of a paramilitary organization, and Caesar, the leader of the apes, have a stand-off of sorts. In any other movie, I might have sighed with the exasperation of the  predictable nature of such scenarios in movies. But in War Of The Planet Of The Apes, I was nerve-wracked with tension on how it was going to play out. For these weren’t predictable characters whose actions bore by-the-book consequences. They were something truly original.

I believe everything in the movie up to the point mentioned above was a build-up to it, and the release was more than worth it. The artistic composition of this build-up can be written ceaselessly about, and the writing of this review is going to be an onerous struggle to end it, but that would be the last of the things to deter me.

The first ginormous excellence of War Of The Planet Of The Apes is its meditative pacing which gives ample time for character development. As the movie plays out, Caesar who has been seemingly omniscient for the larger part of this tale withers into a reflection of Koba himself. The plodding pace gives us time to reflect upon the previous events which have transpired, contemplate upon them and experience and reason on the transcendence of Caesar into darkness, bit by bit.

On the other hand, Woody Harrelson’s character is established and his ideologies construed in a single scene in which he delivers one of the most emotional monologues I can recount in cinematic history. The tension and the emotions of his words do not spring a constant release. Instead, they coil in on themselves creating an introspective mood for not only the Colonel, but Caesar himself.

The atmosphere of War Of The Planet Of The Apes is sullen, dark and extremely urgent, with the elements of nature seemingly closing in on themselves. The opening scene sprung memories of the colorful helmets the soldiers in Full Metal Jacket adorned, while the constructions of the concentration camps brings back memories of the Holocaust.

But, none of these stupendous achievements seem to hold weight when I think about what holds this masterpiece together. And all I can seemingly recount is Nova. She is a girl with a smile so beautiful that trying to describe it in the petty confines of language seems demeaning to its visceral beauty. Although one might assume in contrast, the entire movie lies on her shoulders, which she carries off in the same subtlety with which the girl in the red coat carried Schindler’s List.

Another stupendous scene is concerned with the discovery of an ape in hiding, high on emotions which cuts through the loneliness one is ridden with in such dark times. To sum it all up, which seems more and more a taxing endeavor with every word I am writing, a great sequel is the one which makes you appreciate even the flaws of its predecessor. War Of The Planet Of The Apes encapsulates that.

It is a movie about apes, but I am pretty darn sure that this masterpiece would be more or less the greatest ode to humanity that you would have the privilege of witnessing on the silver screen till the Times Square Ball drops in the near future.

RATING :- 9.5 / 10

(P.S.It would be a crime against the very notion of film-making if this work doesn’t get a Best Picture nod, Andy Serkis a Best Actor nod, and the various technical aspects nominations in their own respective categories)

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Texas Chainsaw Massacre Review

There is no denying that horror and exploitation movies have a world of their own, inhabited by connoisseurs who scrutinize these grisly works with the precision as one might view Fellini’s 8 1/2 or Jonze’s Her. And although my personal stance is of utter repugnance towards these mostly gore-fests, it would be vacuous to evade them completely, for once in a blue moon, some movies rise from the standards of these pulp reels, and establish them worthy to considered seriously. Over time, Texas Chainsaw Massacre with ‘Last House On The Left’ and ‘Night Of The Living Dead’ has grown in reputation as a serious work which encapsulates the terror that true horror emanates. And after watching it, I can see why. It is four times a better movie than what the title seems to promise.

It follows a group of friends as they wade through the outlying areas of Texas on their way to the ancestral home of a character bound by the wheelchair. A chance encounter with an uncanny hitchhiker materializes and things start going south, ending up with almost all these friends meeting up with terrible fates ranging from the ponderous sledge hammer to the serrated chainsaw at disposal.

One of the reasons why Texas Chainsaw Massacre works has to be the depiction of violence. Unlike other low-budget gore fests whose violence is mainly concerned with giving the viewer an inherently flawed human anatomy class when it happens on-screen, Tobe Hooper, the director of this movie, makes sure minimal attention is drawn towards the act. On the other hand, the camera focuses on the helpless reactions of the characters who have the grave luck to witness the atrocities being committed on their pals.

Most of the horror is atmospheric, with the ravaging fields of Texas set against the backdrop of a setting sun with a chainsaw yielding cannibal providing a genuine tingle to the hairs on my neck. But does the plot justify the horror that ensures ? No, it does not.

My foremost problem seems to be the spoon fed lines of Franklin following the terrifying encounter with the meshuga hitchhiker. All though none of the other characters seem to reciprocate his fears (which they should, considering how such an event will surely perturb people), the lines which Franklin says is completely directed to give the audience a sense of fear of the impending fate of the characters although it is completely unnatural to the scenario being played out. There is a huge cringe worthy moment where Franklin in a fit of anger mimics Sally’s laughing pitch which is probably one of the worst scripted comedy moments I have seen in recent times.

But none of these minor mishaps outweigh the principal quandary :- Isn’t what Sally endures much of her own flawed decisions ? The final character in this madness to endure is Sally, but to truly love and feel terrified of this movie, one needs to sympathize with the impending doom on the characters. Not giving too much away, Sally and Franklin have an argument which is a complete farce in the name of logical reasoning and seems to be played out only for the sake of playing out the climax.

But as much there is to criticize, there is to applaud in Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It deserves to be considered in the same vein it is now – as a serious work of film-making. I would be lying if I said at its best Texas Chainsaw Massacre failed to scare me. Unfortunately, I would also be lying if I said the moments which lead up these terrors justify the artistry of the latter.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a good movie. The only reason I am dissatisfied is because it showed the promise of being something much more.

RATING :- 5.8 / 10

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