Art of the Popular - The Hari Movies

I am sorry that this particular post is not going to be accessible to all of you; in the sense, I am talking to a very specific audience who watch and enjoy the popular Tamil movies of the Action/Drama/Masala genre. I shall try to make it as global as possible, but some of the references, particularly the specific discussions of movies will go over the head of a non-Tamil audience. But here is the general idea behind this post; sometimes, we confuse art with what is highly coded and meeting a few parameters set by some dead people. (But) is that always art? If art is put in a straight-jacket saying that it can behave in only such and such manner, does it not create recopied vapidities that have nothing original to say? This discussion is as old as art itself and a lot of smart people have spoken a lot about it. I have nothing to add to this. However, I have something to confess.

When it comes to movies, I am a bit of a snob.

I usually do not indulge in "low" and "vulgar" movies, that have nothing to offer to me in either creative content or style. There have been a lot of movies I have stopped watching and deleted on the spot after the first twenty minutes, which are make or break for me. At times I have wondered if I am being too judgmental; for after all, these people put in that much effort and time into making a bad movie as they do in making a good movie. Now consider the Tamil movie scene; where there are directors who produce utterly unwatchable crap despite great expectations and at times, years into making the movie. They even have artistic pretensions. In this situation, there are a few directors who can finish a movie in under three months, tell a tried and tested story with five songs and four action sequences including a chase, two supporting character deaths and an ultimate twist where the hero comes out looking a million bucks. Surprisingly, despite the cliches, the punch-dialogues, the predictability, these movies work in a HUGE way. One such director, that I want to talk about here, is Hari.

Couple of nights ago, when I was not getting any sleep, but also was not ready for any serious movie watching, I played Singam. Into the first fifteen minutes, I was hooked. The tempo was not forced, the story-line, despite the cliches, was interesting. It was a cat-mouse tale repackaged in modern Tamil Nadu, where the key issue of whose "zone" it is, is played up in an excellent manner. Surya keeps screaming at the top of his voice most of the movie and Prakash Raj has not played the role even an inch away from his role in Ghilli and Anushka is so replacable in the movie. Still, it is an enjoyable two hours traffic. Not bad, I was telling myself. Then I just quickly recalled all the Hari movies (and later checked the net to get a complete list) and found out that of all the movies, I have not seen just two, and despite the masala-brand of film-making, I had enjoyed every one of his movies.

Thamizh was a film that looked like it belonged more to the 90s than in the 2000s, but it seems like we forgot that many people still liked the familiar 90s over the unsteady 2000s. Saamy proved that he was no one-trick-wonder. Vikram was repackaged as a masss-hero, despite the competition from Surya's talked about cop-film at the same time, Kaakha Kaakha. Though I like the latter film a LOT, I must admit that the Vikram-starrer would have spoken to a lot more people than KK. Arul was a forgettable rehash of Thamizh but Kovil showed that Simbu was more of a man than just his fingers. Aaru was Hari's first venture in Chennai and he looked unsure about the city where so many tales had to be told. The venture was not a big success, but Surya saw the potential in their combination and it would not be too long before they came back together with the highly-successful Vel. Iyya was a movie that sold itself too much before it came out; people realized why the story was written for Rajnikanth and why noone else could fill his shoes. However, good things were said about this film for its strong village core and commendable characterizations. Thamirabarani, gave Vishal a good break in the B, C centers with a simple village-feud tale. Singam gave a different cop-image for Surya from the tight-lipped KK version. I am sorry, I have not seen Seval. Now, that is a commendable degree of success for a director who works on a shoe-string budget and a really tight schedule. Why did I still pretend to be above watching Hari movies?

That got me thinking. Here is a guy that I would not want to get caught saying a good word about and who has probably made about five movies out of a single storyline, but has kept each variant very entertaining. I have friends, who might be reading this, who would instantly jump on an opportunity to piss on his work. I would just like to point out that some of their favorite "hollywood" directors who are so much superior in the craft of movies, hardly shift between genres in their illustrious careers. Something I always believed in, is proven true in Hari's work. That is why I am not ashamed to say that I am a Hari fan. He knows the pulse of the audience. Even those who come out of the theatre saying that there was nothing substantial in the film would accept that the audience Hari is targetting are not looking for something substantial. They are not in a specific center or a demograph. They are people, who are bored and want to laugh, be thrilled, get angry, guess and overall, be entertained, for a two hour traffic. He gives us all that. That is why, like Shakespeare, Hari, is a crowd-pleasing genius who will not worry so much about legacy but will end up having one.

I guess this time I am really leaving...

Is not such a great or significant thing when there is no finality involved. You don't really leave; but just go visiting someplace else. A moment occurs in each person's life where there is a decision made. It might be big or small; but the theme remains the change if it has to make the intended effect. It is actually less of a decision and more of a reconciliation with the truth. A moment, when we realize that the place we are leaving will never be the same anymore. It is fleeting and ethereal as it is. But it will grow more distant and at times unrecognizable. With enough time; it will be just as much a stranger as is the next city.

This is what I wanted to share with the world out there. That; the city is only the people who make up the city. The city does not live. It does not breathe. It OPERATES. It operates according to terms set down by the people who are in it. It operates in a positive or a negative way to the individual based on the person's dynamics with the city. In short, without you, Chinna and Infant, Chennai will never be the same. There are so many people who are dear to me in this city; but there are so few who can define what the city is. And I leave a big chunk of myself, when I move to the next stop in the journey.

For those who know me; I am not the kind of guy who needs to fuss around about stuff. I look at life from the generalties and look out for exceptions. This ten day trip, can be looked at from what was different from the previous trips. This trip was special because... actually, there is no reason. NO single reason. Just that... There was an actual revisitation to the many moments I have lived here. Everything stood for something else. When I was dealing with my nephew or a brat at a birthday party, I was learning about parenting. When I got drenched in the rain outside a juice-bar, I was thinking about the so many days when we had ridden on bikes in the rain. Everything stood for something else; either in the past or the future. I hardly did half the things I had on my list to be done at Chennai, on both the practical, day to day front as well as the more whimsical and indulgent version.
I did a lot of things, mind you; but it is the things that did not happen make a list.

I did not go out for a Tamil Play.
I did not buy books.
I did not fix me new glasses.
I did not get a pair of crutches.
I did not smoke a final cigar.
I did not taste roast beef.
I did not play pool.
I did not visit the Library.
I did not visit my professors.
I did not meet many of my friends.
I did not attend the school reunion.
I did not even taste the Aavin Kulfi.
I did not walk in the beach.
I did not go to the beach everyday as I thought I would.
I did not see the sunrise.
I did not go down the IT corridor.
I did not have a drop of alcohol.
I did not see Vinnaithaandi Varuvaaya/ or any Tamil/ Telugu movie.
I did not have the play reading.
I did not go to Sparky's or Anjappar's.Thinking of it, I did not go out for a single day of proper dinner with my friends.

But I feel so much more pumped up about this trip than the others where I had done all these things. Then Chinna's words come back to me; this trip was special because there was an effort to make it memorable. Most nights and days passed with a lot of residual conversations and plans that never materialized. But they were all great because of just that; residual conversations. There was a sense of all those moments we had shared as well as what was going to happen. Nostalgia is both the past and the future simultaneously. And then... Silence.
My bags are packed. Tomorrow, I will be back in Kolkata. Worrying about things happening and not happening. Things that will dictate the course of my life. And things, in general. Life will resume. I will go back to a routine. My holiday space is over. Everyday is setting in. But it is not the freedom I will miss. It is the people I spent it with.

Cheers Mr Bond and Back-Bent.

Bump; motta blimp.

Gemini to Lighthouse; in fifteen minutes or less!

I have often wondered, if I could write about Madras the same way I once wrote about Calcutta - with the fascination of discovery and the serendipity that only new things can bring. I realized that I cannot. However, I also figured that I can write about Madras in a different way - a way that only my experience of the city can justify. Not such a long stint of experience, to be honest. I was there for a better part of two decades in the city; however it was in the last four years that I even got to be around and know places and only in the last year, did I get to do my explorations on my own. Do I think that I am underprepared with my knowledge of Madras than that of Calcutta? Hell yeah. However, things that I do know about Madras, I know so well because those things are people and experiences to me. This once, I was writing to a friend about the weather here in Calcutta. Suddenly, I found myself in a narration of a single stretch of the city without the people or its experiences but just the place in itself. I have given the excerpt from the same as follows...

Tell me what's happening in your city? The weather'z been a psychotic bitch here. Presently, (however) its a pleasant, cool, before the rain moment. Should not blame the weather when she is being kind. What about there? Have you ridden with your hair down on the beach road, on a hot sticky day when nothing as much as a leaf seems to move? It's a pretty thing about Madras. You are at Gemini, you feel like killing the guy honking next to you. At Stella, you feel inspired to run over those careless girls with big smiles shared only between themselves that cross greedily over to Gangothri. You move a little ahead and see that some punk-bitch thinks that he is so gangsta that he can cut widely across from left to right and take the lane to Chola. Many times, one wishes to not brake hard but make a bender on the fender of that Benz. The crossing after Gopalapuram (which you reach in normal time if the CM does not decide to come back home for an early lunch), is pure hell. Welcome to Alwarpet. Expensive restaurants and bad looking office building takes you into the most annoying road in the city before ending up in another annoying part of the city; Adyar. Let me not even go there. Seriously. No matter how much I would like to. Not because I am banned from that area. You know that it does not matter even if I am; because if I want to, I will. But let me stop the rambling, which is not unlike the Alwarpet road itself. Of course, I have had a nice dinner at Sangeetha's and many a good lunches at Sandeepa's. But tell me, have you never wanted to kill some of the signals there, if not someone at these signals? Coming back to the slice of life that Radhakrishnan salai is; let me linger on for a moment on one of the better things in that road. If you can go over the fly-over by the Music-Academy (which is, undoubtedly one of my most favorite spots in the city), then you are saved; momentarily. For the next right is, you are right, Mylapore. That whore has never sat on my lap. I still don't understand why one of the most hectic places in the city is called that. Except for the Saravana Bhavan (not so much an ego massage here, as much as a quick evening snack or a lovely late night dinner) on the corner, I would like to give this right turn life and make it human, just so that I may throttle it to a sweet, never ending death. A few other choice restaurants that taunt me with their air-conditioned interiors and many a high-rise buildings that have come up so quickly that makes me wonder if they were just cardboard cutouts. Moments pass by as I still think of the destination I seek; my client! Oh, there, with a massive overly done facade and an impressive looking approach, stands the citi-centre building. I am like, here'z my stop, I have to get in. Almost with resignation. I slow down and the indicator is on. I slowly drift towards that right. Something inside kicks into action. The indicator is off; noone was looking anyway, it is 3 in the afternoon. I give an extra turn to the throttle and roars my lovely bike forward. I slide between other vehicles that move forward like human sacrifices to the pit in an Indiana Jones movie. Something strikes my face apart from the oppressive weather. It is the winds of change. I see that the signal is red at the end of the road and Gandhi looks ahead as if he is walking out of the city. I don't care. I don't cut down on my speed. I see a white building full of cops on my right; and I still don't hesitate continuing to violate the laws. I knew that the winds of change was too dramatic an idea. I was not willing to blink though. The final moment was on me and the signal turned green. Anti-climactically, I still had to reduce my speed to take the right turn. But wait my dear, my story does not end here. I go a little further ahead and take that left just after; I park somewhere in the vicinity of the light-house. I don't have to seek its shadow. Because. I looked up and it rained. It was 3.20. My phone was ringing. It was my client. I am sorry Ron. You have to wait. I am squeezing life out of time.

I seem to have omitted writing that I had my first job on that road, my brother'z wedding, the first chance I had to betray my company, my first (subsequent) proof of corporate loyalty, my first almost-empty tank at five thirty in the morning, my first almost-accident, and so many more things that a gentleman cannot write about and friends should not ask about; have happened on that very road. But I did not write about all these things, not because they were not important but because they are of a different world and a different account. Accidentally, I seem to have stumbled on to an account of a part of the city as if it is an isolated entity, a thing in itself; not unlike my discovery of Calcutta...