The Namesake: Movie Review

The Namesake (2006): ***

Catching a movie at a film festival has an undying charm. And almost all of it comes from the fact that you see the film months before its official release. So here I am–fresh from the screening of Mira Nair’s The Namesake feeling relatively smug of having watched it atleast half a year ahead of the general public world over.

Now Namesake the book (by Jhumpa Lahiri) and me go back a few years when I was binge-reading Indian fiction in English day and night. Freshly disappointed with the author’s ticket-to-fame Interpreter of Maladies, and in awe of authors like Rohinton Mistry and Vikram Seth who had the penchant to weave the most complex of stories into well-defined and emotionally well-pronounced old-world epics, The Namesake’s laid back, sensory-concentration didn’t evoke a sort of must-read-it vibe and I remember placing it on the bookshelf after reading some 50-60 pages. 2 years on, and just a few weeks back I picked it off my shelf on a whim and was totally amazed by how easily and beautifully, Lahiri shaped her characters. There was also this it-couldn’t-have-been-said-better feel and the sheer power of emotion between the lines that just had me hooked. And the undercurrent of a deeply felt uprootedness is something every NRI worth his salt would identify with.

The dilemma this time around was, I had already booked the tickets for the film playing at the British Film Festival, was dead curious to see what magic thespians like Tabu (who I have sorely missed after Meenaxi and Maqbool almost 3 years back) and Irrfan Khan would create together under the reins of Mira Nair and what Mira Nair, whose sheer honesty and unmanipulative warmth as a film-maker I had become quite a fan of after watching Salaam Bombay, Monsoon Wedding and Kama Sutra would handle a book as subtle as The Namesake. So, to do justice to my film-watching experience and for once get an objective view of a book-based film, I reluctantly sacrificed reading the book once again after 70 or so pages. Do I regret it? Well, after watching the film, I have to say yes, a bit.

I wouldn’t hyper-intellectualise why the film doesn’t really work in totality for the faults are pretty basic. Given the epic scope of the novel which spans over a weighty 3 decades or so, to stuff all that in a 120 minute screenplay is a tough job. Especially when the film chronicles a family’s journey over two generations, having a high emotional quotient in drama and conflict go a long way in making it memorable. But here, with every successive hopping-years-in-a-single-silent-cut, the viewer slowly feels more and more distanced from the film’s characters until there comes a point when you feel too much has been left out, too much is cut rather too soon, and too much is happening too soon in a screenplay that gets jumpier with every passing minute. Just when you start becoming comfortable with a point in timeline of the lives within the Ganguli household, you are pushed further along. Its like being in an over-crowded museum where everything is so beautiful, you want to stare at it a few more seconds if only the person behind you would stop sighing so loudly, making you to do the decent thing and move to the next equally beautiful sight.

The compliment in the last sentence is for the whole cast each of whom turn in such endearing performances that you can’t get enough of them. Give her the slightest of lines and she’ll still shine the brightest. That’s Tabu for you. Filled with everyday nuances (watch her mix red-chilli powder, salted peanuts to rice crispies for breakfast or watch her glances as her boy’s girlfriend addresses her and her husband by first names), she fills Ashima Ganguli with so much life in her own lethargic, lived-in way, it takes a single scene to warm up to this constantly bewildered character. I actually loved the subtle transition that Tabu so brilliantly plays in Ashima on her trip back to Calcutta where an otherwise sober parent in her turns into such a bubbling uninhibited livewire that even her phoren-born-and-bred daughter is embarassed when her mother playfully poses atop a rickshaw. The actress totally looks the part too. From exuding timeless charm in her 20s as a reluctant Bengali girl with beautiful long hair and petite profile to radiating pure, maternal warmth (replete with dark circles, greying hair, tired eyes, decently draped saris)–its a transition that gives the film much of its humour, graph and soul.

Matching Tabu step for step is Irrfan Khan as Ashoke, who with his everyman face literally sleepwalks through a chokingly sympathetic sketch with life-like geniality. Kal Penn is another inspired piece of casting who not only triumphs in his now-signature straight face comedy but is pretty effective with the otherwise grossly underwritten dramatic portions which bring out the angst and infuse life-affirming lessons in Gogol Ganguli. The trio alongwith Sahira Nair paint a believable picture of a family that could have easily done with more screen time together.

If only the screenplay had stuck to one timeline from the start and used the rest as flashbacks, we would have so many more scenes of these characters seeking out to each other which really would have turned the movie into a real-life dramedy on par with any of Mike Leigh’s works. As of now it resembles a watered down Baghban (the emotional peaks are missing) meets a watered down East is East (the humour is more subtle) with shades of watered down Pardes (the loneliness and the resulting melancholia amidst the elder members of the Indian diaspora begged for more sequences).

And even though my references might raise an eyebrow or two, the fact remains that the genre this movie is in (that of a family drama) its surprisingly quite wishy washy in everything it attempts to address–the loneliness of a newlywed couple in foreign waters, their struggle to carve out a home and raise a family amidst the culture shock, the differences in perceptions and in opinions that ensue amidst the parents and their kids leading to the alienation of the former and finally the growing up and owning up phase where there’s acceptance and respect for one’s identity, roots and family (symbolically embodied in Nikhil Ganguli’s namesake–Gogol). All with splendid scope for drama which somehow remains unrealised thanks partly to the aforementioned snap-cut approach taken in the screenplay which robs the film of a natural flow and the jokey tone that the film-maker prefers and relies on so heavily that when things get serious, the film’s ill-at-ease with loud display of emotions and subtlety soon becomes a justifiable blandness. Yes, the humour almost always works but a story as epic as this needed an equal conviction to the serious parts. As it stands, it is poignant, but only in places. The background score is also quite ordinary and because the movie is so brutally edited, one’s interest starts to waver towards the last half an hour or so making it seem longer than it is.

So that’s about it. The Namesake is a movie I definitely did not absolutely regret spending £15 on (that’s the most I have spent on a movie without owning it). The fact that it feels incomplete despite hearfelt performances from the ensemble has only made me more determined to read the book and get a bigger slice of the Gangulis’ life. And reading it again with such good actors in mind will definitely be entertaining. If hypothetically, the book turns out to be as truncated as the movie, then I’d concur that maybe the story just wasn’t meant for the big screen. But I’d have to reserve that judgement until I read the book (which I hope to complete and review sometime very soon). Till then I hope Mira Nair has shot more of this movie for every extra scene we didn’t get to see today will only add more flesh and blood to the well-enacted characters and a heart-rending story that pays a sweet tribute to parenthood and family.

The trailer for those keen on the movie:

Again, more film-watching 2006 (7)

Despite being on a month long sabbatical from blogging, and despite all the hectic re-enrolment procedures for stepping into the new year, I still managed to watch atleast a movie a day. More reason for you to tolerate a flurry of posts that have nothing but me going on and on and on about… you guessed it movies. Look, I know its getting tedious but, you as a humble reader needs to realise this. I am a little mad about movies. And I just can’t help rambling on about them. Since you are not within 5 yards of me and you can’t shut me up by “Okay Karan that’s enough. We get it– its a good film.”, I plan to stuff all I have to say about movies I like and I hate right here.

If you have read the paragraph above and still decide to continue reading and coming back to my blog, God save you.

Memento (2000): *****

Finding fault with this movie is impossible. Almost as impossible as finding a movie this faultless. Chronicling the life of a man out on a chase for his wife’s murderer despite being handicapped by an unretentive short term memory, the film leaves an indelible impression on many levels thanks to a water-tight screenplay. Where exactly does one start to praise Memento is the chief question. Let’s do it, layer by layer. First, the structure. In a masterful stroke of writing, the movie plays in rewind mode throughout [yes, we see the climax first and then the scenes leading onto it, one by one, all chronologically in reverse order] and is interspersed with a normal playing black-and-white sequence which converges with the aforementioned played-in-reverse sequence in the end. I termed it masterful as besides drawing its inspiration from the blueprint of human life—DNA replication [yes, its all there--the leading strand, the lagging strand, the Okazaki fragments], it translates amazingly on screen, never hyper-cerebral to absolutely overwhelm the viewer, yet intriguing enough to distract from what at its heart, is a stirring showcase of dealing with the loss of a loved one and the importance of a “purpose” in one’s life to drive one ahead, day after day [more so for a person who forgets what he did or felt two minutes ago]. In fact, despite playing backwards for the most part, the playing-time climax [chronologically, a sequence that comes in after the whole black-and-white one and is the start of the coloured one] still remains a defining moment of the movie and as such, the whole maze-like plotline beautifully complements the story.

Its an immensely sobering and grim film, with an extra-ordinary performance from the leading man. Guy Pearce plays Leonard with such natural unsuspecting demeanour that from being absolutely hapless [the scene where, after being provoked, he's punched Natalie and two minutes later as Natalie re-enters, he asks her about the person who did that to her] to darkly humorous [two scenes--one, where midway through a chase he forgets whether he's following the person or the person's following him and the one where he falls asleep in the very person's hotel en-suite he's supposed to hit only to find himself waking and wondering why he's sitting on a commode with an empty bottle of whisky] to heartrendingly mournful of his dead wife’s loss [his last well-stored memory], he brings out the minutest of troubles and worries with supreme ease.

Aided with a brilliant production design and a sympathetically sketched out character, this guy who himself can no longer make any new memory remains in the viewer’s, long after the credits have rolled. The neo-noir look, tattoos, the notes, the photos, the notes beneath and behind every photo, the Simon Jankis story… its all impressive, all memorable. And then there’s the vulnerability that comes with such a short memory and the ability for others to take advantage of [Carrie Anne Moss is jammingly good as the vicious Natalie] but ultimately all deception and exploitation is dwarfed by self-deception. Profound and intriguing, its a film of a kind.

Y Tu Mama Tambein (2001): ****

For someone who’s guilty of making out with his best friend in his teenage years, I for once can definitely vouch that no film captures the layers of teenage sexual exploration with as much blatant honesty as Y Tu Mama Tambein does. Capturing two teenage boys who venture on a road trip with a troubled, older woman, its basically a coming of age story that hits home a wee bit too many times. Which happens very rarely in a movie and is always a good thing to happen.

Alfonso Cuaron, the man whose Children of Men’s hangover is still strong, has directed this with such a fine hand, that the film plays like a home-made reel of two guys on the loose [splendid performances from the lead trio]. The camera unforgivingly captures the actors with their pants down [be it urinating, masturbating or otherwise], captures them having a go at each other for making out with their friend’s girlfriends like normal friends do and enjoying what normal people at their age enjoy the most–sex. Yes, there’s loads of sex here, all quite well shot and funny [I mean its always great having a laugh at teenage wannabe studs who can't hold their load for more than a few seconds] and its peppered throughout with no-words-minced sex talk. The final act is quite special in the way it captures the awkwardness and sudden distance that hangs between two guys who just went a little too further down their paths of sexual exploration. Their reactions are typical teenage when they meet after an year at a cafe — over-the-top, completely in dissonance of what they did and yet, they are all true.

The film, besides shining the spotlight on teenage issues, also manages to comment on the class divisions in Mexico through a prevision-esque voiceover that keeps us informed about the course every character’s life has taken and is about to take thanks to subtle differences in lifestyle and morals. There’s a very acute sense of place and time as the brilliant cinematography captures the rural and urban contemporary Mexico. In the end though, its a highly involving fare that bowls one over with its disarming honesty. Its brash, yes and certainly, its graphic depiction of sex and sexuality is something that prudes will find impossible to swallow, but that’s where its real charm is. Its not for everyone.

Educating Rita (1983): ****

There’s something so irrefutably uplifting about watching an underdog story well done, it can’t be put in words. Especially when thespians like Julie Walters and Michael Caine are the key protagonists and its a character-driven movie. Showcasing the life of a married 26-year old Rita [Julie Walters is an absolute hoot in the Scottish hair-dresser cum motormouth garb] who has a sudden urge to complete her education and then follows her as she meets an efficient but ragingly alcoholic English professor, chances are you wouldn’t come across a film that pays such immense respect to the value of good education in life.

The wide-eyed awe with which Walters plays her Rita as she discovers literature and rediscovers herself in the process really tugged at the geek in me and it was quite cathartic to finally watch someone revering the world of books [in today's cynical times, that's hard to come by]. And yet, the film also tells a story of people who have all that education, have all the oppurtunities, the talent and yet squander it all away for hours of baseless self-pity and self-loathing. In yet another character sketch of Rita’s la-di-da flatmate who lives in the posh world of books and plants and wine–a lifestyle that a middle class Rita aspires to have, the former’s suicide attempt is a telling comment on how futile demeaning oneself in the presence of others really is. Then there are some more poignant sequences like when Rita feels like a half-caste–too inferior to join the educated clique she’s invited to and too ill-at-ease with her folks at the local pub or when she sees her professor slowly usurped by alcohol and becoming a public joke in his lectures, his tutorials with Rita and just about everywhere.

All old world lessons, brought to life in solid, old-world drama, Educating Rita is a charming little romp that’ll make you smile and choke as you witness Rita’s journey, her failings, her triumphs and her transition into a woman of greater substance.

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (2002): *** and 1/2

Autobiographies have seldom managed to be so stylish and yet easily managed to realistically retain the true spirit of the person’s life they are chronicling. Besides heralding in Clooney’s credentials as an able director, the film itself isn’t overtly moving or anything, but its the concept of a man leading a double life as a showman and a CIA assassin that has so much IQ to it even before you have put the DVD in, you’d have to watch it atleast once.

There are reasons galore that make this a quirky must-have on your DVD shelf- First off, Rockwell is ultra-cool and immensely likeable as Chuck Barris; then there’s Drew Barrymore whose infectious joviality and putting up with Barris’s philandering way is heartwarming; Clooney himself as the stiff upper-lip CIA recruiter is all dignity personifed and Ms Julia Roberts does the “mole” act with the much adored pout and requisite creepy style.

Three cheers for Clooney’s funky direction too whose attention to detail like the decision to go for in-camera FX in the transition shots [all done in real-time with actors running behind and changing and then re-entering the frame] really fill even the most mundane of shots with energy. The contemporary Hollywood’s Kubrick of screenwriting, Charlie Kauffman pens what can possibly be termed his soberest of screenplays [though the story in its actuality is the weirdest stuff you'd hear anyone say in their autobiography, and weird and Kauffman mix well together as we all so well know] and for a film that landed into financial troubles all through its pre-production, its high on both visual and acoustic style. The intermingling interviews of people who knew Barris in reality, the reconstruction of TV shows he produced, the hit jobs he confessed he did while chaperoning TV participants from the Dating Game and his dwindling years on TV are all imminently enjoyable string of sequences thanks to this enthusiastic team of actors and technicians.

Overall, its a great job they have done in creating an interest in a person’s life. And yes, besides the film, the DVD extras rock. The background score is enchanting, cinematography splendid and even Chuck Barris himself approves of the film highly. Now whether Chuck Barris himself led a double life or is simply a nutcase with an overactive imagination, you go figure. For the moment, its brilliant stuff for 2 hrs of cinema.

Being Cyrus (2006): ****

Its only when you watch movies like Being Cyrus that it dawns on you that more than ninety five percent film-makers in Bollywood have forgotten how to tell a good story. I mean just look at this new kid on the block–Homi Adajania and just look at what a genuinely entertaining thriller he’s made in a hardcore Indian milieu. Yea the unsuspecting underdog is the master-planner here too, like every other regular thriller, but the way it all comes together in the final reel [the movie is interspersed with lone shots of Saif's character hanging scraps of clay or drying his hand and the meaning of all that is revealed] really brings a smile on the face. Its clever, its convincing and its highly entertaining too to watch the life of a bunch of eccentric Parsi family members go on a whirlwind from the moment they let Cyrus aka Xerxes in.

*SPOILER alert*Its also quite commendable that the message of “family and money makes the world go around” comes across so powerfully as you see an otherwise dotable, safe, empathising guy resorting to murder for a few stashes of notes thanks to his blackmailing foster sister who’s reminding him that she is all he has. The film’s also filled with small details galore that I’d love to chew on successive viewings. And its been a long time I said that last sentence about a Bollywood movie.

The movie has a gem of a background score that dares you not to look away even in the most mundane of shots, the editing is slick and together with the brilliant direction, and free-flowing, witty dialogue (none of the clunky bookishness that robs even good Indian movies in English like 15 Park Avenue and Morning Raga) the graph, the build-up, the denouement–everything comes at just the right moment, and is completely plausible.

Its also one of those rare movies where the whole ensemble of actors deliver a knockout performance by just being their characters. Naseer looks every bit the pothead he played, Dimple’s a revelation as over-the-top temptress and a bickering motormouth, Simone Singh finally gets a role worthy of her talent, Honey Chhaya brings about the torment of a victimised elder like only a true thespian can and Boman Irani still hasn’t lost the knack to tap into the character’s finest of nuances and inject heart into them (no matter how evil he plays, there are always some interesting shades of character that make him memorable. Here he does the evil son act who was bullied in his childhood splendidly). The real star though is this actor called Manoj Pahwa (I adored the way this guy acted in some brilliant television sitcoms like Office Office and LOC) who does the cocky inspector act with such well-honed and lived-in smart-ass style, he literally brings the house down. He’s been given the best lines in the movie and the guy knows it. Then of course there’s Saif whose casual, sincere and subtle Cyrus is immensely likeable and not for a moment his otherwise nasal baritone hams in the voiceover.

So after a long time, a Bollywood movie that delivers exactly what it says on the cover, and manages to involve and entertain all through. Quite a feat for a first-time director I must say. Hand some of those PR-bought magazine awards to well deserving movies like Being Cyrus and I’ll make peace with these hokey award ceremonies again.

There you have it. 5 decent movies. Worth watching, and worth talking about.

Children of Men: Movie Review

Children of Men (2006): **** and 1/2

Britishers, and more specifically, Londoners will be forgiven if after going to the movies they suddenly plan to pack their bags and just migrate forever. For if film-makers are to be believed this year, the English subcontinent is fast heading towards an intolerant totalitarian state with a government that, if failing in manipulating our fears through a conspired bio-weapon attack (V for Vendetta) will end up smoking cities galore in order to deport every one of the millions of illegal immigrants (Children of Men). To make matters worse in the latter’s case, pollution and/or radiation exposure will have rendered every woman in the whole world inconceivable. Every, but one. Her name’s Kee and Children of Men is essentially a story of her rescue to a sea sanctuary (namely the Human Project) first by an activist Julian (Jullianne Moore) and then her reluctant ex-lover, Theo (Clive Owen) amidst a raging war between the illegals and the state’s armed forces.

The real dilemma here is mine and that is, from where do I start complimenting this movie. Its heady mixture of tension, violence and poignance is so enrapturing, I was speechless when I came out of the cinema. After watching Alfonso Cuaron set new precedents in teenage drama (Y Tu Mama Tambein) and fantasy (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban), I can easily say that Children of Men stamps its presence on the genre of sci-fi as loudly as only the likes of Spielberg or Wachowski brothers in the recent times could.

The use of hand-held camera, first of all, which immediately transports you into this grimy and murky London of 2027, just besides Theo. And the best part is, the scenes are filmed with whole sequences captured in a single shot. The camera would lazily follow Theo as he buys an early morning coffee (the news of the youngest boy in the world killed for refusing an autograph blaring on a sleek plasma screen on the wall behind), then as he steps out into the shabby Regent Street, the camera would casually capture the buses with animations for advertisements, motorised cycle rickshaws, rubberised cars–all caked to their windows in dust and moving amidst a heavy cloud of smog, and then the camera would come just behind Theo as he takes out his whisky bottle and starts to mix some liquor in his coffee, and just like that–you hear a loud BANG of a bomb exploding a few yards away from where Theo is busy having his early morning caffeinated booze. Yes, this is a single scene. (you can watch the snap-cut edited version of this in the trailer below)
Another masterful sequence is when the camera is placed inside the car which Julian and Theo, alongwith two other people are using to transport Kee. One moment the camera is busy capturing Julian (n the front passenger seat) and Theo (in the rear seat) playing, and then as the driver screams, the hastened camera captures the absolute sight of horror that sends shivers down one’s spine. A car in flames from the forest is being rammed right in the middle of the road in plain sight and before one can make sense of what’s happening, hundreds of raging illegals come out pelting stones at the car (the sound design is such that every hit almost hits the viewer’s head). Now the driver starts to reverse the car, and suddenly a motorcycle with two helmeted guys comes racing towards the reversing car, and a shot is heard. The front windscreen of the car cracks, yet the race between the reversing car and the bikers is on as the latter come hurtling towards the car’s side. Theo slams the door open which sends the guys and their bike toppling, first noisily on the car’s bonnet and then on the road. And just as the camera captures that and turns, you see a profusely bleeding Julian on the front seat shivering. And all that I just described in this whole para is one scene, captured in a single shot. The technique is just so perfect in extracting every bit of paranoia and the potency of violence in this, and all other action sequences, the images haunt you long after the credits have rolled. And kudos to the director and the actors who so expertly managed to convey the lightning quick transitions so naturally.

Coming back to imagery, the extrapolation of the current state of affairs to 20 years down the line is so well-conceived and well-realised by the production team and the cinematographer, that its realism is horribly credible. Given Britain’s inability to safeguard its borders nowadays, the constant infiltration of tens of thousands of refugees, an overworked Home Office, messed up deportation rules, growing burden of asylum seekers on country’s resources– the future that Children of Men paints isn’t improbable at all. In fact, in scenes like mass evacuation of towers of council flats, of refugees put in cages, of residential buildings used as militant abodes, streets littered with dead bodies with tanks firing into people’s houses and armed gunmen firing back from inside, activists and sloganeers on every road– the deliberate irony in the transformation of a city like London into what resembles a present day Basra or Beirut is both bold, totally believable and as a result, spine-chilling. But all this is the background of the movie, if the film-maker’s casual hand-held camera is to be believed. It might get clouded with dust or splattered with blood, but the camera just wouldn’t leave Theo’s shoulder.

Which is fine enough because the larger story that needs telling here is the impending end to humankind in absolute absence of procreation (the exact whys and hows are given a cold shoulder, a la the PD James book the film adapts itself from). Kee’s pregnancy clearly is a phenomenon and Julian’s terrorist comrades, who are fighting for equal rights for immigrants, understandably want to use the black girl’s baby for their own means. So now, its all upto the alcoholic average-Joe Theo to rise up to the occassion and deliver. Which might sound a little cliched a plotline, but pitch in the fact that our hero doesn’t even have proper running shoes, the baby can’t be made public and Julian’s aides are on Theo’s tail, and you have a menace filled thriller with odds greatly stacked against the good man. The main story’s template is simplistic with a defined start, middle and end but just like in the background, the foreground has some neat sequences— notably the one where Theo, Kee and Kee’s caretaker take refuge in a dilapidated school building and just as the caretaker mouths “the world is a strange place without children”, one just nods away in agreement. The progression of Kee’s pregnancy all through her rescue trip keeps one on tenterhooks. As if her contractions weren’t enough to raise questionable glances, she breaks water the minute an interrogating officer slaps and demands why she’s not answering him. The sequence of her childbirth and when Kee carries the child in the middle of what seems a raging battle are two exquisitely filmed sequences.

Surprisingly enough, Cuaron hasn’t left his wacky sense of humour behind (only he can have the main hero wear flip-flops for half the film’s running time) and the sharp, witty dialogues provide the much needed relief from the suicidally grim on-goings. There’s also Michael Caine, as Theo’s hippy dad who’s just such a likeable old fella, he’d have you in stitches and in tears within no time.

I can’t say this enough but if Children of Men and its principal players (the director, the actors, the technical crew) don’t get nominated in next years Oscars, the frigging Academy can as well close itself down and declare itself dead (though I have said this so many times by now, the sentence has lost all meaning, but it never harms as a reminder hehe). Stupendous is the word for the performances by Owen, Caine and the supporting ensemble, while the ultra-photogenic Jullianne Moore doing the terrorist leader act is classy. The production design is as elaborate and as painstakingly detailed as the likes of Minority Report, which is a godsend for a screenplay as ambitious as this.

Rather than taking the theatrical, symbolism and metaphor-filled path of V for Vendetta (not rubbishing that film either, just emphasising the difference), Children of Men is future created and realised at the grass-roots. Smell the stench and picture the murk. The film’s going to make you care for the principal characters, be a part of their struggle, and choke you up as you witness them succumb to the unrelentingly brutal backdrop. So go treat yourself by watching this cynical-to-the-max futuristic thriller NOW and be disgusted, moved and inspired all at once.

The trailer of this brilliant flick:

More and more film-watching 2006 (6)

*Mammoth post warning*

Since my movie binging days are far from over, here’s another post reviewing half of my past month’s batch in descending order of admiration. The batch includes Schindler’s List, V for Vendetta, Pulp Fiction, The Constant Gardener, Mr and Mrs Smith, Good Will Hunting, Run Lola Run, Syriana, United 93 and The Interpreter

What follows is not the usual analytical thesis that I subject my readers to (however few you are out there, I really should say this — I love you guys and thanks for bearing whatever I write here), and have boiled it down to only the most praise-worthy and cuss-worthy aspects of every movie.

The one-line summaries are lifted from imdb.com as they get their point made about the plot like no other (which really is another way of saying that I suck at summary-writing and can’t be bothered about writing a synopsis myself).

Pirates of the Caribbean fest!

Yes, I am a sucker for everything that falls under Hollywood blockbuster category. Sure enough, its feasting time with yet another comeback of a stupendously successful franchise. A franchise that somehow eluded my watching resume for one reason or another. But with time finally on hand, I made it a point to finally watch this Disney extravaganza back to back (regardless of the fact that the first movie was a downright pain). And this is what I think of them.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl (2003): **

Let’s get this straight at the very start–this movie is a bore and a big, fat one at that. And for me this is all that matters. All the creative intelligence and technical wizardry be rubbished, if its a story not well told, a story that fails to elicit any response, then for me that film just isn’t worth watching. And this first Pirates movie is just that. Gore Verbinski just isn’t able to infuse any life into the characters. Yes, he’s crippled by a plot that’s way too complex for its own good but given that this is supposed to be an intro to the world of supernatural Caribbean piracy and an English Royal family, the setting just doesn’t have enough build-up or interactions to be convincing.

The action starts head-on with a pirate called Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) arriving at the Jamaican port, incidentally rescuing governor’s daughter Elizabeth (Keira Knightley) who has two secret admirers– the local blacksmith (Orlando Bloom) and Commodore Norrington (Jack Davenport). An argument or so later with Commodore, Jack’s put away in the gallows as the port is invaded by a ghost ship called Black Pearl. Now Black Pearl is a vessel crewed by a huge bunch of “undead” hoodlums who are apparently under this weird curse of remaining undead until every single gold medallion is returned to a chest they stole and spent from years back. That and a small blood sacrifice from every thief. Now the twist in the tale is that while abducting and looting the port, they capture Elizabeth (who has that last medallion they need thanks to a chance encounter she had with Orlando Bloom when the latter was found stranded at sea. Bloom’s father, Bootstrap, was one of the pirates who, angered by his crew’s disobedience to the cursed treasure, posted the medallion to his son back then). And then there is another thread of Jack Sparrow also being the captain of the Black Pearl who was mutinied back then and marooned on an island.

Believe me, there’s nothing more unexciting an exercise than sitting for a good two and a half hours only to get answers to questions like “Is the curse finally broken?”, “Does Jack Sparrow get his due?”, “Do Elizabeth and the blacksmith get together?”. For the only question that really matters is “Do I care?”. And I really don’t. The undead pirates might as well have skinned Elizabeth alive and burnt the blacksmith at stake and probably that would have stopped my head from bobbing with sleep.

One look at the length and clearly Disney’s tried their hand at creating their own LOTR. But one really wonders where all the production money really went. For alongwith bland direction of a convoluted story, the film is far from breaking any ground in terms of shot-taking, cinematography, acoustics, action or even dialogues. The swordfights are unforgivably repetitive and absolutely unimaginative. And to talk about how the people in this film talk would probably even make Virginia Woolf wince in her grave. From the first to the last scene, everyone is vexed, peeved, miffed–I mean its really tiring to see the actors go through the motions of fighting and pouting some gibberish about rum and cursed coins with a single expression. Oh, and it all ends the Bollywood way. That and there’s something disastrously wrong with Keira Knigtley’s teeth which makes her more of a scathing witch than the petite princess she ought to be.

So, in this whole fake dark cloud, thankfully the silver linings just about refrain you from breaking the DVD in two. Johnny Depp for once. The guy is an absolute riot as the flamboyant (read almost feminine) and smooth-talking pirate. That is, until he’s painted with the same pale colour that most of the film’s coloured in. Him and the one scene where Elizabeth drops off the edge of a castle into the sea thanks to her overtly tight corset just as the Commodore Norrington is proposing to her are very funny. Sadly, the film isn’t. Infact I don’t even know what this film is. There simply isn’t a sense of surprise, dread, menace, urgency or anything.

Power to all of you who love this tripe and have made it a blockbuster that it is. For me it just didn’t work.

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest (2006):***

Ah! Now this is more like it. Its almost as if one fine day a child discovers that the showpieces in his living room are indeed the best toys. Yes, Verbinski and his team finally have some fun with the savourless characters that populated the dead-beet of a first film. Much to my relief and everyone’s mirth. Forget the sequel curse, this is a boon on the lines of Shrek 2 and Spiderman 2. Almost everyone get their act straight and finally are up for some play.

Though, for some bizarre reason, the script and the screenplay writers are still way too uptight about doing away with the unnecessarily numerous subplots which means the film is still awkwardly dense and long. The only respite being the fact that it is this way only sometimes.

Elizabeth and Will Turner are arrested by the new Lord from the East India company on the day of their wedding for aiding in the rescue of a pirate like Jack Sparrow from his execution (picking up where the last film left off). A deal is struck to abate the discomfort if Will is able to bring Jack’s “broken” compass.

Meanwhile Jack has an old debt to settle with another legendary captain (Davy Jones) of yet another ghostly ship (Flying Dutchman) for reviving Jack’s Black Pearl. The captain has his heart stowed away in a remote island in a chest (the same one that gives the film its title) and Jack must find a key to that. And then there’s also a thread about Will Turner’s father, Bootstrap, meeting again with his son Will. And even Elizabeth is ready to take some matters in her own hands if she wants to rescue Will. And so abounds another epic of alliances, duels, secrets, curses, chases and swordfights.

Yes, its way too complicated for its own good but somehow everyone’s in a lighter mood and it more or less ends up pieced almost together by the time the end credits roll.

Just like her blouses which have a newfound depth, Keira Knightley’s Elizabeth’s swashbuckling incarnate is pure eye candy. To see the lady do more than drape herself in bustle-n-crinoline skirts and exaggerated sleeves is quite a pretty sight and thankfully she’s used the right dental floss (pardon the sudden change in my critique of the girl’s aesthetic anatomy but this is supposed to be a follow-up comment from the review of POTC 1). Her scenes with Depp’s Jack Sparrow are crackling with a visible chemistry and thankfully, there is enough screentime given to the main characters alongwith her to finally bother you with what’s happening to them.

Johnny Depp is an absolute hoot as Captain Jack Sparrow. He has the best lines and he has them all through. All the comic sequences are written around him and they become ten times funnier with Jack’s drunken gait and his now inimitable verbal gymnastics. Be it the time when he’s enjoying every bit of the reverance from a superstitous tribe (or when he’s running from them), or when he’s in a three-way duel with Will and Norrington or just generally uttering lines like “Oh bugger”, he’s just howlarious. And you know you root for him just a moment before he’s about to enter the mouth of a giant octopus-like sea creature called Kraken shouting “Hello, beastie”. If at all this movie is remembered ten years from now, it’ll be for Depp’s no-holds-barred spirited performance.

Orlando Bloom does the stereotypical hunk act with elan and understatement. Which leaves me a bit clueless on the ubiquitous Orlando-bashing. Two other things which the makers get right this time around is dialogue and SFX. There’s humour galore and the special effects are in the league of King Kong (sometimes, even suspiciously inspired–esp the tribal scenes and the giant Kraken’s mouth). Though the menacing Flying Dutchman and its barnacled, tentacled crew really are originals, and quite excellent ones at that. Hans Zimmer’s score finally makes its presence felt too and just as a compliment to some breathtaking cinematography, the opening scene where we see a drenched bridal Elizabeth sitting amidst a courtyard full of dining tables, chairs, cups, saucers which are getting carelessly splattered by rain is haunting.

There are still elements which just don’t quite sit comfortably together (you still don’t know how seriously to take the characters in this utter tosh for Verbinski’s handling of drama still remains quite bland and archaic). So there’s none of that freewheeling epic feel that Lord of the Rings has but at Disney they are hellbent on proving otherwise. They are successful to some extent in this grandiose sequel which has had me intrigued what the final film in the trilogy will have on offer next year.

But till then, you can have a bite at this enjoyable fare which has enough wham-bam, physical slapstick and self-deprecating one-liners to see you through the sometimes dragging plot.