The Non-Bollywood music post. Here we look at regional languages, foreign languages, desi music movements and much more. Anything that we came across this year (doesn’t have to be released this year) and wasn’t bollywood music-y. Our previous posts like this can be found here for 2011, 2012, 2013 and 2014. In no particular order, here goes 2015 list!
- The year started with a bang with Bickram ghosh and Sonu nigam’s ‘The music room’. The album might not have been everyone’s cup of tea because it presented us with the familiar voice treated in an experimental manner. The music arrangement and presentation was splendid to say the least. In the days when people are making songs for getting Bollywood validation or ‘clicks’, an effort like this actually goes a long way in keeping our faith floating. Do hear Saiyyan bina and walida to know what I…
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Hartosh Singh Bal’s ‘parikrama’ of the Narmada spanning many years, manifests itself in this fantastic piece of work as part travelogue, part anthro-socio-cultural documentation, part retelling of the modern history of central India.
This broad canvas is littered with carefully placed strokes that mimic the tapestry of India and that only a keen eye could have observed in the first place. Much like his criss-crossing journey, the book leaps across eras as we deal with mythology, identity, social structure, tribal art forms and their fight for relevance. Where there is talk of Narmada, the dam and ‘development’ can’t be too far behind.
Bal manages to effortlessly create lucid imagery in the reader’s mind , someone who has never seen a gond settlement, wouldn’t have too much trouble imagining it and the paintings that adorn them.
We hope you’ll pick it up and do let us know if you enjoyed reading the book as much as we did.
Anand Patwardhan’s 1978 documentary on the brutalities committed by the regime before and during the emergency and the social/class struggle that existed almost 4 decades ago rings true even today.
With elections of 2014 round the corner, the usual drumming up of achievements real and imaginary have begun, amidst the din of new promises being made and old being renewed, there is a strange demand for a more authoritative ruler, some are brazen enough to suggest that what India needs is a dictator. All this, while there is an increase in the authoritarian behaviour of the government and police state like situation in certain parts of the country.
Zameer Ke Bandi can help gives us a glimpse of how or what that could be like. The reforms and revolution that the interviewees had hoped and professed would be put in place after the end of the emergency have either been diluted in implementation or have been completely swept under the table.
While it is true, that the limited options before us are in no way ideal, we must try and make the best possible choice. Dear reader please choose wisely.
It is only fair that such a beautiful non-verbal film receives a visual tribute. Having said that the film’s sound track deserves equal mention, ambient sounds combined with a moody a musical score make for a meditative trip.
Everything that I’ve felt and thought about Baraka has been articulated far better in this review by Roger Ebert.
Sisyphus keeps on trudging forward, up. Never rests. No breaks. The goal is hollow but the task must be done. We must imagine Sisyphus to be happy, wrote Camus. I say, we must imagine Sisyphus to be curious. The next defines the now, a choice chooses that next, and this choice makes Sisyphus free, independent and un-machine. The choice, perhaps, makes him happy.
The blindness becomes a creative volcano. Sight overwhelms. Construction and destruction are violent decisions, daily chores. The choice of letting the camera be, inside a bag, safe, unimportant. The panorama that the eyes imagine is beautiful, real and intoxicating. But so is the crossroad under a trafficked flyover.
A city wakes up. We refocus every day; to work, to pray, to fight a legal battle, to live a life. Then we reject this redundant glamour. A vast landscape of barren land with machinic interruptions welcomes us. There are pigeonholes of solitude and socialization. You go so blind doing your task, that curiosity vanishes, again. Existence-less. Pre-existence. The body merges with the environment as light falls through, almost. And then we are born again.
Computer. Numbers. Hospital bed. Bed pan. Art. Friends. Husbands. Kidneys. The impossibility of everyday life. There is nothing harder than living, though existence is a given. You try and achieve a feat so noble, so novel, it hurts. Such optimism comes to nought. This, my dear friend, is as good as it gets.
I wonder if the gods will descend one fine day and reveal their blessed selves. In the riot that will follow, they will make their voices heard. They will shout with the might of centuries’ worth of unused power. And they will ask, how do you live? And for once, in a gesture of good faith, we all will look them in the eye and breathe a conscious breath, and say, we live like cave men, ever curious.
In a way, Ship of Theseus is like the final chapter of The Clockwork Orange. So optimistic, so utterly magnificent in thought, ‘feel good’ (as a blog post put it about SOT). And this goes for the film both within and without. This, that, the other, the othered that and the this that that could have been; everyone, everything has seen pain. The bad has become the norm. The complexities of life are omnipresent, in politics, arts, science and relations. This post-modern world demands its own movement. As Anand Gandhi tweeted a while back, changing the cultural environment beckons. Let us all participate. Cynics should sleep, at least for this one.
“I am locked in a very expensive suit
old elegant and enduring
Only my hair has been able to get free
but someone has been leaving
their dandruff in it
Now I will tell you
all there is to know about optimism
Each day in hub cap mirror
in soup reflection
in other people’s spectacles
I check my hair
for an army of alpinists
for Indian rope trick masters
for tangled aviators
for dove and albatross
for insect suicides
for abominable snowmen
I check my hair
for aerialists of every kind
Dedicated as an automatic elevator
I comb my hair for possibilities
I stick my neck out
I lean illegally from locomotive windows
and only for the barber
do I wear a hat”
― Leonard Cohen, Flowers for Hitler
Is film ki khasiyat ye hai ki iski kahani baaki sab cheezon par haavi hai. sab actors apne apne kirdaar nibhaate hain aur chale jaate hain magar kahani ke upar koi nahi hai. aur aisa isliye mumkin hua kyunki is film mein zyaddti nahin hai. minimal hai. controlled, restrained and hence gripping.
Is film ki har baat, har scene, har sub-plot us aakhri patte ki taraf le jaate hain. aur wo patta sirf ek emotional climax nahin hai, wo ek way of life hai, in sab characters ka aur shayad is film ke director ka bhi. Ek cheez par itna bharosa, itni lagan ke uske na hone se ultimate tragedy, maut. Koi bhi film kisi text se adapt ki jaaye to isi tarah ki jaaye. Us original ke jazbe ko ek nayi kahani mein ghol kar jab piyein to nasha aur bhi badh jaata hai. ek film (aur wo bhi commercial film) ke saath aisa karne mein risk to hai magar Vikram Motwane se agar poochein toh the risk must be worth it.
Background score aur camera ke beech ka dance bahut kuch kehta hai. chahe interval se pehle ka revelation ho ya phir ek viraan kasbe ki galiyon mein bhagdar.
The birth of love through an infliction is commonplace for cinema and storytelling, and the same has been beautifully framed in Lootera.
The less-assured camera in the second half gives the unreasonable faith believability.
Ye jo shabd hain na, minimal, understated, simple; in shabdon ke saath ek bahut badi problem hai. ye gunjaaish nahin chhodte. Agar zara bhi zyada kiya to pakde jaaoge. Baazi ka gaana hi kaafi tha, itni baatein kyun? “Dalhousie, 1954” supertitle kyun, “cigarette smoking…” to kam se kam kone mein dhundhla sa hota hai. jis bachpane aur ummeed se bulb jal-bujh raha tha usi tarah se wo patta hawa mein jhool raha tha. Uske baad ka closure kyun?
Khair, ye sawaal personal hain. Mere hain. Aur jaisa kisi bade aamdi ne kaha tha, ek film ka sachha criticism ek aur film hai, to shayad ye sab excesses meri us critical film mein nahin honge.