Dogs in a Ghost Town

Last evening, the weather was turning pleasant anticipating the cooling storm that later came that night. I was at the gate of my good friend Diya and we were chatting about how oppressive the term papers and the tests were getting and how good it would be to just take a break from all this for a while. Our topics drifted from immediate murder of certain members (cough, one) the faculty to future endeavors to friends and eventually landing on the city itself. Of how great the place was... How simpler and open the people... How lively and how inclusive... How unpretentious the people, so much so that being pseudo-intellectual-pretentious is not exactly an abuse... How great the living in Calcutta was... In general... That is a pet topic of mine; a little thanksgiving, a little retrospection and a little celebration. Perhaps it was not the city but the part of it that I interact most with, Jadavpur university. But I chose not to believe in that option. Anyone who has been here during the Pujo would agree with me when I say, that it is Calcutta, who is life herself.

Cut 2 today. Not a single person from my apartment complex has stepped out of their flats. Forget going to work; there are no buses. The metro is probably facing a blockade at the gates. Taxis are all lined up at their stands. People have now, a Government sanctioned unofficial holiday. Say hello to the Bharat Bandh. Interesting choice of words I would say. For it means, Shutting down India. That is exactly what they are doing. I am not going to talk about how it is an unlawful activity. It is an illegal one as well. A Bandh is "enforced", i.e. quite literal to its word-meaning, it is forced. How ridiculous is it when Bandhs are planned to make a long-weekend? We laugh at our shame and have a nice day off away from the hot scorching sun. When you choose to protest, go ahead, shut your shops. By forcing a common trader/employee/student to forsake their work for a whole working day, how is it still not ruled that a Bandh is both a human-rights violation and a transgression against the fundamental rights of an individual? Calcutta is a city with a proud history of dissent. And still, we have not voiced our dissent against these fake-holiday-makers.

Why the fuck are we allowing ourselves to sit at home, castrated and defiled by our social inferiors? These second-rate citizens who violate the meaning of the word protest by forcing it on others deserve to whipped in roads by commoners. Of course it is an outrage in a democratic nation. So is a Bandh. Let us burn a bus. A PIL will be filed and nothing will be heard of. Of course, a bus is only a few lakh rupees of public money. Let it go to waste. Party-workers and leaders never pay tax anyway. We must make them sweat. Anyone burning a bus or causing damage to a public property should be made to pay a penalty of twice the cost of the damage they have caused. Jail terms are irrelevant to people who have little respect to the world around them.

What a villain is (s)he who uses societal norms and rules only to protect his/her interests while violating them when it profits him/her? I address this section to those bastard children of a perverted sense of universal ownership. Any protest has to be a voluntary one. Advertise your cause. Cry for justice. Let those who choose to support your cause at the cost of their one day's salary and livelihood come forward to join your protest. You will not do that because you are afraid. You are a spineless, useless, cankerous growth on the society which rots the bone. When protest becomes the order of the day, it is not protest at all. Only when there is a choice of not protesting along with the forum of protest, is there any real meaning to the protest at all.

Today when I was out on the streets to see ordinary people gritting their teeth in the sun, hauling some baggage at times, walking in the middle of one the busiest roads erstwhile, I was overpowered by a feeling that I do not experience often in Calcutta. I had it last Christmas when all my friends had scattered away in different parts of the world. I felt it when my best friend's sister got married and I was not there. And I experienced it today when we were all reduced to being dogs in a ghost town... I wish I was in Madras, because something like this would never happen there... Are the people braver or the police more efficient or the parties weaker? I do not know what the combination is. There is a decided lack of seriousness towards the policies of the parties when it interferes with everyday life. Maybe Calcutta should take a leaf from that book. I have often looked on with admiration when I note how few two-wheelers ply in Calcutta and how the public vehicles outnumber the private ones. Maybe it is time to bring out all those cars and bikes that are collecting dust in a garage. It is time to send a message. It has to be loud and clear. It simply says,

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

The High Priest of the Holy Church of Americana: Sam Worthington

He.z got the "look" (that Vince McMahon looks for when you are in the WWE), the skillset (being able to eat a banana without shoving it up his nose) and he is already becoming the Christian Bale of 2007-08 and the Collin Farrel of 2005-06. Ladies and gentlemen! Sam Worthington. Fuck. He.z even got the name right.

Maybe it was my fault to watch two movies of this guy in two weeks straight (Clash of the Titans and Avatar). But I am pretty lucky considering that I did not watch a third (Terminator4). I thought I should give a review first, but then decided to go with a comparative review. However, that I have seen Shutter Island and Manhattan Murder Mystery (two exceptional movies) which deserve reviews more than these trashers, I wanted to go in a different direction. Besides, I am pretty sure that a whole load of you have seen Avatar and come to your own conclusions. What I want to talk about, is the immense quality of bullshit dished out to us by the Holy Church of Americana.

Whom/What is the Holy Church of Americana? It is the creme de la creme of the Fortune500 companies that decide on a complex market analysis algorithm, what the pursuits of the entire globe should be. I am not Anti-American. Let me put that down very clearly. As a country which has always given people enough hope that they can go anywhere they want if they really want it bad enough, America stands for what I believe in too. What I am against, is the corporate-mass-produced kitsch which is shoved down people's throats in America and across the world as the standards one should aspire to. Totalitarianism, even if it is of American-corporate conglomerates, is a path to self-destruction. The question is, whose self is going to be destroyed?

Before I make another point in this direction, let me get this out of the way...

Fuck you James Cameron. And the other guy.

As I was saying, Avatar should make people think, "oh? The movie is a massive hit across the US? People must have really woken up to it that they are cheering for nine foot aliens to kick American G I Ass." But no. It does not. Because ultimately it is a cripple Marine who is so much better than the other people in America (cuz he don't have legs, he must be closer to the earth, non?) and has to ride a Dragon (Turok, Quake, I don't give two shits about its name) to convince the "tribe" with bow and arrows to let him lead them to mass-destruction before kicking them out, American style. Obviously the Dragon-Rider will become the leader of the People. So the White Man in the skin of the Black Man, becomes the master, again. How sweet. Happy fucking ending.

Fuck you motherfucker.

Avatar? More like, Atavar. At a war with everything that's against you. For if we are not with you, we are against you, aren't we? Wait, too much information to process for the humble follower of the Holy Church of Americana, so go back to rule number one. My God is a good God. Your god is a god starting with a small fucking 'g'. As I said earlier,

Fuck you motherfucker.

Now that my Avatar review is over. Lets go over Clash of the Titans. I am not even getting into the adherence/authenticity to the Greek Original. Come on people, get your heads out of your asses. Its fiction. Mythology. It can be adapted in any way they wanna adapt it. If they want to make the Christian, oops, sorry, American AllFather out of the Greek Zeus, let them do it. Now, we have Perseus, a man who is also son of god. Why, we just need a ghost. Oh wait... There is a ghost, Io, cursed never to age, how convenient, lets have Perseus screwing her. Now, what do we need... A bunch of religious fanatics who are fatalistic, willing to sacrifice themselves before the end comes. Wait, we can put a little matted hair in a bun on their heads and add red/white stripes on their foreheads. If we think that they are too much of a direct allusion to the "Hindoo" then Shame on us. Let Sufia Zinobia rip our heads apart. Its our narrow minded perception. There still remains something unfinished... Wait, they have got it. A Djinn. Is that an Arabic term? They did not know. They guy wears a turban, lives in a desert and is supposed to be eternal enemies to OUR people? Iskander says, Fuck me in the mouth. Are you sure that you are not talking about "Moslems" you know, the archetypal fundamentalists? No? You are making a secular movie? Oh right... This is meant for children. They watch it and grow up into Zombie-Americananites. Great. Awesome. Keep the good job up your ass.

Now that I have reviewed two movies in as many paragraphs, I would like to hear from you. What do you think of these movies? What other movies come to your mind when you think of this? Do you remember the classic Sharon Stone line from Alan Quartermain and the Lost city of Gold? "Oh, no! We have lost another (African-tribe-name) tribesman!"

The Booklet

I get annoyed by Horny people.

It is a bother riding in the Summer with these people venting their frustrations on the vehicle before them. There has been so much said about the ill-effects of being so Horny all the time, but people do not seem to give a furry rat's ass about it. So finally I am erupting like a volcano to slam these mouther fulchers hard. Excuse the heavy sexual innuendos; I think its cuz I did some stretch this evening. MUST STO... CANT STOP!!!

Anywho... There are three kinds of Horny people;
Safehorn, Bullhorn, Horntalker

The Safehorn is your overcautious, I-am-moving-three-feet-to-my-left-so-I-am-honking person. This category generally occurs most with people who have recently made a transition from a bike to a car. More often than not, these people have meek horns which sound almost apologetic for even being honked. A safehorn is annoying most in relatively empty roads, where they honk waking babies to update non-existent vehicles on the turn they are taking!

The Bullhorn... grr... Blood boiling even thinking. I will come back to this.

The Horntalker. If you are annoyed easily when strangers are overly familiar, like I am, this is your killjoy. These are jobless people who honk because they think it is fun to talk to the other person riding in front. You can identify them by the specific pattern of honking. If you hear a Nokia standard SMS tune, you have found yourself a Horntalker. Biggest problem, apart from wanting to invent a shrink ray, shrink them and keep repeatedly kicking them after having injected them with ant-like toughness, is that the signals of one horntalker to another is so different that the horn ends up doing the opposite of what a horn should do; instead of giving a clear signal, it confuses you.

I have to come to the Bullhorn. These are idiots who have shoved their... because I am told that I have a family oriented audience reading my blog; some body part up/in the horn. They have distinct bigger-than-my-bike attitudes which spillover in the inappropriately loud/unmatching horns they keep honking, just because they have spent an extra grand on it. I am not a very violent person. But sometimes I wish that I can break these folks' foreheads against the dashboard. Am not that violent; ask the people who I have not beaten up.

There has not been any age-type pattern in all these three categories and slight overlaps are possible between these categories. However, it has been noticed that women with big cars are more often sucked into the Bullhorn category than men with big cars and interestingly the Bullhorn category is also full of men with small penises... I mean... Well, not men with small cars. Oops... Freudian silp!

By my classification, you must have realized that according to me, no honker is a good honker... you know, unless it really is a great honker! ;) winky wink! But coming to the point, all honking is pissing off. However, there are situations where one NEEDS to honk. They are;

To geniunely give a signal. Solution: Use a direction indicator light.

To passover a vehicle in front of you. Solution: Use the dimmer at night. In the day, go closer to the vehicle's tail light and nod your head. The other person's rearview mirror usually catches the driver at the tail and more often than not, this works. Also helps you keep your speed in control.

To reach your pregnant wife to the hospital. For God's sake man, don't cheap out on an Ambulance. They can drive even on the wrong side of the road.

Given that all my ideas are those in use already I am going to introduce my world changing concept; for there are always situations where the driver ahead is a dickhead and needs to be honked at. Hear me out. Honking at him/her is not going to change the bad way they drive. But my innovation is going to. Go for the drum roll now matey, for my innovation is....

The Booklet.

A simple booklet contains twenty five leaves and is issued out under specific drivers' names. A driver cannot have more than one booklet per year. Whenever a person in front is annoying you, you can choose to (a), suck it up and passover at the next signal without any issues. Or if your boss had shouted at you at work or somebody spilt scalding hot coffee on your pants, then you can choose to use the Booklet (which is option (b), btw).

To use the Booklet, simply move next to the annoying car at a signal, take a leaf from your booklet and fill out the car's number, nature of offence, time and date of the event and... Slap that mouther fulcher so hard on the face that it needs a towing truck to take his jaw back to the rest of his/her face. It is completely legal. More empowering than honking. Obviously more cathartic. Less accidents will occur. People will not go slapping the world, because, with just twenty five leaves per year, they will be forced to be very judicious. Since holiday season has a lot of people in an upbeat mood, the most natural time for using of the booklet is countered (because people realize that they have more than a few leaves left). This can also be checked by setting up some kind of a reward system for people who have many leaves left. So if a person gets slapped, he/she must have deserved it, for the person taking all this trouble. More importantly, if the receiver of the slap can prove that the slap was wrongly administered, he/she can always file a complaint because they have the leaf with the details of the driver who slapped them. If proven right, they can slap the original offender twice and if the plea is defeated, a heavy fine and three slaps will be imposed on the appealer.

Am I just a violent, feudal, old testament kinda guy? Or am I really on to something here? What do you think about the Booklet? I know you would like to slap someone! So ya, make this happen!

The Wrestler

Instant Classic.



I am a huge Wrestling Mark, a fan of over thirteen years, having followed about three major prowrestling companies in North America during the span. Some of the wrestlers, I have simply marked out of my skin for the amazing ability to entertain even without touching the other person in the ring. However, Hulk Hogan was someone that never impressed me. Though I have said, and on this very day, that no discussion of prowrestling in America can be done without Hogan, I stand by the idea that I am not impressed by a guy who has altered his routine very little during the past thirty years. But that does not take away from what he has done to the sport, both in the good and the bad way, and the amount of legitimate mainstream attention he brought to prowrestling. Hogan, even in his best years, was packaged by the media, twice his worth. The question is not something we ponder over on an everyday basis, but what if, Hogan had not been packaged so during the Rock n Wrestling era?


The answer is, he would have become, Randy The Ram Robinson. Caught between two worlds in and outside the ring, Mickey Rourke's portrayal of a wrestler's life in his twilight years shows that this is a movie not meant just for a wrestling fan, but for everyone. With just about three matches where Rourke fights (very ordinary matches at that), a wrestlign fan can simply youtube better fights. But what happens when a superstar is made to shift boxes for a living? There is no money in the independent circuits of wrestling, not for a guy like The Ram, and still he succumbs to the famous wrestler's sickness of wanting to fight one more match?

Following the above paragraph, I had about a month off writing blogs. Lot of things happened in that break; I presented a paper on pro wrestling; definitely a first in JU and maybe one of the first few in all of India (though Massachussets institute of technology offers a paper on it now). I also made my debut (solo debut, at least) as a director of a play, however short it was and small the audience be. With an exceptionellent cast and crew, going by the name, The (Insert Name) Theatrical Society, we proved that we were Tough Enough! I wanna continue that and prove myself to be dogged; so I am at it again; blogging. Btw, WM26 has gone by last week, we have two new champions and a great career ended. So This review goes out to all those tough men and women who go out there week in/week out to entertain us.

So is this a pure wrestling movie? NOT EVEN CLOSE! We get to see about four matches, not good in quality or length. The match against the Necro Butcher showed the spirit of Indy wrestling, but not so much the technicalities involved in a match. Of course, we saw how a match is "booked" (written to order) in current fashion contrasted to the Old School (where Ayatollah tells Randy, that he is the heel and Randy is the face, and that is how they are going to wrestle). The common viewer who has always sniggered at wrestling being "fake" now knows what goes on, but it truly does not focus on these details. Like any good movie, this follows the logic behind wrestling (and behind all entertainment), Kayfabe (Pig Latin for Fake). It is simple, actually. If you are watching a show like Scrubs or ER, you realize that Zack Braff/George Clooney is an actor playing a doctor. You do not expect him to come and do a heart transplant in the evening. So is Wrestling. And like any other movie where a single protagonist's struggle for identity shows a journey between his/her professional and personal lives, the Wrestler does too. Randy is a man past his prime, both in his career and his life. He is not someone too smart. He has not made the smartest choices in his life. But at this point of time where everything is slipping away and that dramatic turn around he needs so much does not seem to just happen for him, he figures out that he needs to cope with it as an isolated individual without a past or a future. He lives only with his legacy which is simultaneously both the past and the future. At this height of existential tension, Randy the Ram Robinson flies off the top rope to hit the RamJam (a flying headbutt, which is a personal favorite; Chris Benoit, you are missed. But that is another story).

Why do I think this is an excellent film?
It is a well-made film, and contrary to drama, well-made is a compliment to a movie. The casting is apt with each actor delivering their parts in a very intense and sufficient manner. Rourke is a revalation. I have not seen any of his early works, except Angel Heart. And his Marv is a totally different kind of a beast. And still he oozes charisma whenever he is in front of a camera and he looks a real tough guy. He translates this energy without much difficulty to the screen in one of the best, if not the best performance in a "sports" movie. Marisa Tomei is a dream who can reflect the many layered complexity in her character in such an underplayed live-through. Rachel Evan Woods occupies so little screen time to warrant such a rivetting performance. I initially was a little pissed to see Ernest The Kat Miller as the main event wrestler in the movie. The Kat, in his best night was an upper-mid-card comic heel (translates in movie slang as the Guru in Alan Quartermain's City of Gold). He had no business, in my opinion, main-eventing in a serious movie. Given that the real big names who are out of wrestling (like Stone Cold and the Rock are out of question), I considered people like Sid Vicious, one or both of the Steiner brothers, and even seriously for a moment thought about Diamond Dallas Page (despite his Ready to Rumble fiasco). But man was I proven wrong, because despite his limited body of work on TV, Miller is one of the best on the mic and he is a natural actor. So he more than justifies his selection. The camera work and the editng was unobtrusive (which is the best thing that can happen in a movie like this) and the music... That song, One Trick Pony, left me with a lump in my throat. It was perfectly positioned and it makes you want to say it will be alright to that guy on screen, though you know it will not be. This movie is a success for me, because it captures in essence what a Modern American Tragedy is all about.

I can keep talking about his movie forever, so let me sum up, by giving a kind of a fact/fiction glossary about some of the wrestling stuff that happens in this movie.
The blood is fake: No, as you saw, a blade is used. However, most wrestlers are not as careful as Randy the Ram. Hogan is a famous blader. This is also called Juicing.
Chair shots are fake: No. When you take a chair shot on your person, it hurts. You hope it hits on a flat surface like two forearms together or the back. If you take one on your head, you just pray that you dont have a concussion.
People don't die from wrestling. The number of wrestlers who have died under 40 is disturbing. Sometimes, if one of your favorite wrestlers who is not a maineventer simply stops appearing on screen, he/she might have died. Many promotions do not report unless the wrestler is in contract/or is a legend. RIP to all those nameless warriors.
Wrestlers make a lot of money, they keep wrestling because they are addicted. Few wrestlers make it to a big promotion where they get a paycheck every month. Most wrestlers die trying in Indy circuits where they are paid by the bout. Few retire at a healthy age. Most, even if they are in a big promotion, invest their money foolishly (except maybe JBL, who is a WallStreet wiz in real life) and end up over-working themselves.
Wrestlers are wusses in real life. Guys like the Undertaker, Booker T, Steve Blackman, Kurt Angle, Brock Lesnar and Randy Orton have legit cases of having engaged in physical confrontations off-wrestling, and all except maybe Orton are known to have kicked the other guy's ass.
If you have more queries, feel free to write in.

Aayirathil Oruvan - Tamil (2010)

I wanted to review this movie in Tamil, but I would like as many people, from as many different linguistic backgrounds possible, to watch this movie which reminded me that there is no tongue to a movie. Aayirathil Oruvan, means One man in a Thousand. The movie can claim credit for being truly, one in a thousand. Starring Karthi (only in his second movie in five years), Reema Sen (not to be confused with the Bengali sisters) and Andrea Jeramaiah (a stage actor from Madras) and R. Parthiban (a man who carved out a new path for himself in the industry a good two decades ago), this movie does not claim to have big names or a monster budget. However, the story is one that has not been told in this scale, intensity or detail, ever before in Tamil, or may I venture to say, in Indian cinema. Running to a good three hours, it is sure to leave you with a strong opinion; good, bad or ugly. This is not a movie for the weak-hearted.

Directing his sixth movie, Selvaraghavan has reiterated the statement that he is someone to look out for. His past movies have carved a niche audience for himself. While he launched his younger brother into superstardom with his first two movies, he proved that he is one of those directors who can be very original with even the most uninspiring narratives. He has the knack of leading the story into its moments rather than forcing dramatic moments on the unsuspecting audience. But even with his proven credentials, this movie shows that he is not afraid to tread on a different path. The genre of the adventure movie fell out of fashion in Indian cinema in the eighties. Of course, we have had the Dhoom series and the odd period movie; but none so authentic or experimental, in creating a world that is probable but impossible. The only person who has come close in portraying such a world was Kamal Hassan in Vikram (albeit, in a very commercialized and watered down space) and it is worthy to note that after two decades, no other movie has been written in that genre. As a blend of more than one genre, this movie captures the imagination of the audience and reveals another layer of the horrible truth to those who are willing to train their eye on it.

Let me first get over with the "inspirations" of the movie. Ben Hur, MacKenna's Gold, 300, Apocalypto, Beowulf, any number of Indiana Jones movies, Lara Croft, William Wallace (Braveheart) and the Mummy movies, most importantly, often parade themselves in fleeting moments. Techniques, shots and sometimes even situations are borrowed, only to narrate or make convenient the plausibility of the progress of the film. To say that the movie has blatantly copied any of the above mentioned movies would not be fair to either this movie or the one said to be copied from. For the best moments of the movie are its own.

The story starts in a fairly straightforward manner. A famed archeologist, Lavanya and the head of the archeological committee, Anita venture in search a band of Cholas who had fled the invading Pandias and the Pandian artefact that they had stolen. They are accompanied by a private security force and a band of coolies headed by Muthu. After many traps and hinderances, which cost them much resources and life, Lavanya, Anita and Muthu discover the lost civilization. And here, the movie moves into the historic mode with an entire lost tribe portrayed; not the fair, delicately clad and decorated women/men portrayed until now in historical movies, but gritty, realistic and extremely topical portrayal of these warriors, tribals and women. This grounds the movie in such realistic terms just as much as the fantasy makes it fly. The end is unexpected but fitting. The movie will surely haunt you for a while.

Karthi entered the industry as actor Surya's younger brother, but at the pace he is going, he is sure to obliterate such associations. Mind you, it is not a great pace, for he has done only his second film in five years. And still, the maturity with which he has chosen his roles promises great things in his future. The biggest challenge is that, despite the hero-centric title, the movie does not give even an inch for such complacency. Karthi is only as important as his other counterparts and despite the messianic role, he does very little that can be described heroic. And still he shines by not shining as himself and becoming Muthu, the coolie. His eccentricities, fears, arrogance, anger and human-quality makes it one of the most rounded performances seen in a long time. Reema Sen proves herself as one of the most undervalued/underutilized actor in her role as Anita Pandian. Though she could have wielded the gun in a more assertive manner, she pulls off the extensive range of emotions and personality that her role demands of her. Andrea Jeramaiah. I once knew this girl when we worked on a play together (she was the leading lady and I the backstage guy). To be honest, she sings like an angel. How does she act? Well, as I said, she sings like an angel. In the movie, she manages to generate some interesting scenes, but they are few and far apart. She is often over shadowed given the caliber of her co-stars. But the scene in the mangrove forest where there is a triadic conversation in English (with Karthi just staring at the two women), that borders on lewd and manages to remain witty, is enough proof of the trio's acting skills.

I saved the best for the last, for we have not heard much from R. Parthiban in the recent years. He made a fool of himself with Pacha Kuthirai, and I am being nice to say that. It was disappointing, for I am a fan of his work and as any loyal fan, I was waiting for him to resurface. In this movie, one can surely say that he has, and HOW! Perhaps in the best role of his career, this actor/director/writer comes across as a convincing tribal leader who can hold order in his domain with his presence and if needs be, his fist. The last hour of the movie is dominated by this veteran in every sphere; including that monster-like dance that he manages to make interesting. It is Parthiban who features in the two best moments of the movie. When bombs are used against the sword wielding tribals, he asks Karthi why he did not tell them about this weapon. He adds after a pause, whether Karthi had hidden that fact thinking that they would be afraid. All his tribesmen join in a riotous laughter before being gunned down. This is perhaps the most evocative moment in the film that shows the pride of the indigenous against the metallic wrath of the moderns. Not many minutes before the mentioned scene, Parthiban slays one of the assailants and takes the machine gun in his hands, looks at it and shakes it pointing at people around him saying, "tut...tut...tut...tut...tut..." and then throwing the gun away shrugging. How powerful is that image of the man who knows not what terrible fate awaits him at the hand of the most cowardly of inventions.

What appeals most about this movie to me, is the same thing which makes me feel that this was one of the most satisfying films I have seen in my entire life, is the strong political, subaltern message that it carries. To see a people who have fled away from the nation to make another civilization in an island (speaking the language in a different, "purer" or more archaic form) only to be persecuted by their cousins who have no rationale except blind racial hatred is an echo of more than one reality. Most obviously it becomes an allegory to the thousands of Tamils dying a meaningless death in Sri Lanka. Some may wonder why an adventure movie ends on such a dark note of mass-suicide, utter desolation and an annihilation of not just the people but also of their dignity; this is not a way an Indiana Jones or a Mummy movie would end. But this is exactly how life goes on. There is no magical rescue in the offing.

Technically, the editing is absolutely seamless. What the ridiculously poor CG drops the ball on, the elegant, innovative cinematography more than makes up for. The costumes and the detailing are really well done. The extremely racist painting of all "tribals" in a color each is a jarring element in the movie. The locales are truly breath-taking, when they are not pissed about with bad CG. The music... the album score is okay, with a couple of songs lingering on in the mind. But the BGM is a huge let down. Perhaps it is because of our being used to such ephemeral subtlety in Selva's movies thanks to Yuvan? It is time to bring the young prince back into the fold.

One thing I would like to record about this movie is that, Selva, unfortunately did not have the courage that Kamal Hassan did, as we find the latter refusing to add a song to the movie when it was not relevant, however good or close to his heart (as it was performed by his daughter). But Selva adds the Ooh Eesa song for the reason of having shot it. It would have better served as just publicity material. However, it does not take away from the bottomline, that Selva assures us that the future of Tamil/Indian cinema is in good hands.

Neither the Constitution of India nor Indian law specifies a National language, Mouther Fulcher.

There are twenty two official languages, of which fifteen are displayed on the paper currency of this glorious nation. And not one takes precedence over the other. So the next time a busterd (not the bird or the movie) comes to my face with a smug condescending smile to tell me to "come on" and know the "national language", (s)he will have to say hello to my fist. Oh wait, (s)he cannot; it will be difficult to say hi when my fist is pressing against his/her uvula.

Now, let me put this down as emphatically as possible; I am NOT a linguistic hardliner. I do NOT believe in the superiority of one language over another. Neither am I limited in my perception to think that MY MOTHER TONGUE is the greatest language in the world; nor have I ever supported any viewpoint which insisted on preserving the purity of MY language. The first thing that I did when I landed in Calcutta (well not the first literal thing but the first metaphorical thing; don't lose focus here!) was to enrol myself in a beginner's course in Bengali and I am proud to say that I have grown in that langauge enough to call it Bangla and translate actually some of the excellent lines of verse by Tagore (albeit with a LOT of help from my friends and teacher). I believe that it is retarded to think that we have to write in a form as followed by people about a hundred years ago, as is done in Tamil magazines to date.

However, when I am asked to recognize a language, which is not even a single language, but an umbrella under which everything that is spoken from the North/Central belt of "India", ranging between Rajastan to Bihar, as MY national language. I say Fuck You.

Art as Intervention

I have laughed my ass off when I watched that episode in How I Met Your Mother about Intervention. Intervention. It's funny because it is ridiculous. But its not fun and games all the time. Sometimes, instead of doing something about the world we are in, we are happy commenting about. Like I am doing right now. I choose to comment about the lack of intervention rather than doing something about it. However, the fact that I am sitting a good thousand miles away from the location of the incident, washes my hands off some blood, at least immediate blood. When a cop, a man who has pledged to put the rest of the world ahead of himself is cut up in the middle of the road and pleading for help, two ministers are holed up in their cars and the cop handling their security detail explains that they had to protect the ministers and take all necessary precautions possible. Sounds ridiculous, and I would have laughed, trust me, if not for the sickening thought of the man lying there, dying there. They did not intervene. They did not do anything besides staying put, calling 108 (that's our ambulance code in TamilNadu; one of the few states that proudly claim the possession of an ambulance hotline), and then putting the cop on a convoy car, rushing him to a hospital... albeit, minutes late... Precious minutes, that could have saved his life.
They did not intervene. The ministers did not. And life comes a full circle when NDTV reporters, or any other TV channel's reporters, the name does not mean a thing, it's all the same, stood there, recording and transmitting information, manufacturing news about how the ministers could have intervened and refused to, instead of intervening themselves. Unlike my commentary on their Godot-ic inaction, theirs actually cost the man his life. Oh, of course, we have stunning footage of a cop crying for his life in a moment more dramatic than any nailbiting action sequence of a movie; but we lost a cop. Oh yes, the TV news channels have managed to show how heartless these politicos are; but we lost a cop. And most significantly, the charioteers of the news-driven nation have fed the right amount of anguish to a people who really don't need a reason to be angry against the khadi-clad mafia; by making a lesson out of a life they could have saved. J'accuse. The inaction on part of the newspeople is much more condemnable than that of the politicians. At least the latter do not have any qualms in acting like they are above the law. What the fuck was the cameraperson doing, shooting video footage, when (s)he could have done something better?
This is where I draw the line. If art is going to pretend that it has no other role but to merely record reality, then it serves no function and such an art should cease to exist. Enough is enough; as Samuel L Jackson says, I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane. I am tired of the media constantly pointing out issues about what somebody did not do, when they have behaved in no better a fashion. We are not shooting an episode of South Park here. It is a time for change. Change starts now and here. Intervention is the new mantra of art. If Art does not adapt, it shall perish, like so many other things in this continuum of the world.