2001: A Space Odyssey (aka I stan Stanley Kubrick)

Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey came out in 1968 and envisions a future that is now almost 25 years into our past. 

But this is not a film to be taken so literally, for if you do, you not only do the film a great disservice but also yourself. As always, *spoilers ahead*, so read on at your own discretion. 

In the past 57'ish years that the film has existed in the world, I'm sure there have been a gazillion-bajillion interpretations of the film. I have read/watched/heard none of them. This is simply my interpretation. I make no claims of uniqueness or profundity. I admit freely that the film has affected me deeply, keeping me awake and triggering an existential angst that I thought I had put to rest ever so easily. Alas. If you haven't seen the film, I recommend you stop reading this or anything else about the film and just go watch it instead. Let's start our own odyssey. 

Our prehistoric ancestors were simple beings. Yet there's so much of their blueprint within us. Our most primal instinct, an instinct that we share with all living things, is timeless - from the dawn of Man to the evolution of sentient machines, it is the one unshakeable quality that makes us alive. It is the instinct for self-preservation. The fight for survival. 

The _fight_ for survival. What an appropriate choice of words. Through the film, Kubrick posits (and I agree) that all survival is anchored in violence. For me to survive any number of other living beings must die. The very act of breathing, of finding sustenance, of accessing shared resources like water and shelter are marked with violence. This has been an undeniable truth since prehistoric times. Even though, as Yuval Noah Harari would point out, evolution and the passage of time has made us less violent (apparently we are living in the least violent era of human existence, all the genocide and wars in the world notwithstanding), it still is very much a building block of our basic nature. 

This violence is something Kubrick posits we will pass on to machines when we program them to be sentient and "human-like". It is inevitable. It will outlast and outshine every other moral/social instinct of love, loyalty, honor etc.  For when it comes down to it, we will let everything go, to survive. 

It is this instinct for self-preservation that powers all our development and our myths. The monolith, to my mind, is just that - a tangible representation of our own awe and wonder. What we fictionalised into God. We fear it, study it, bury it, dig it back up, fling it in out into outer space, go seeking it to understand it... and at the end, in our very last moments, we fling an accusatory finger at it, blaming it for our woes or hoping to touch ever so briefly that Divinity to which we attribute The Creation of Adam. (Ref- Michelangelo's mural on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel). 

And yet, the film does not glorify this instinct or even accept it as necessary. In fact, on the contrary, it points out the futility of the whole thing. At the end, our lives, no matter how hard we've fought for them, are but the blink of an eye, wasted in the pursuit of comfort, luxury, food and wine. At the end, it doesn't matter. For all of creation lies with each of us just as we are but a speck in this unfathomable, vast nothingness. It is but the circle of life. Every instant that one of us dies, many of us are born. Over and over again. For all eternity. 

Stanley Kubricks 2001: A Space Odyssey is one of the most nihilistic film that I have seen. 

I've always felt curiously devoid of the fight for survival. I always thought if I were in a survival horror film I would be the first one to die - I would just kill myself before the Thing got to me. Kubrick makes me rethink if that is true. We live in a time where the very air around us is poison. Our food is killing us, our water is depleting. And yet I strive to live. I worry about my health, I try and prolong the number of healthy days I have in this body. The will to live permeates every breath I take, does it not? I am days away from a birthday and this film has flung me out of orbit, so to speak. 

I am in awe. I am in awe of this pulsing, vibrant, utterly futile desire to LIVE. And in awe of the visionary philosopher that was Stanley Kubrick, who ironically never got to see the sun rise in 2001, having died in 1999. I wonder if he thought of the monolith in his final moments. I wonder what I will think of in my final moments. 

Yeah, it's just that kind of film...  

Metro... inn dino (except not really)

Every now and then, there comes along a movie that frustrates me into screaming into the abyss... or the internet, via a long dead blogging platform. Same thing. 

This time it's Anurag Basu's latest film - Metro... inn dino.  (Not a review; spoilers ahead!)

Dear Mr. Basu, I have question. So many questions. 

Starting with, what the hell are you trying to say?! And also, seriously, what's with the bangs? (I guess that's the spectrum of my frustration with the film then - from the deeply existential philosophy of the film to it's very cosmetic aesthetic. Because, why not?) 

Let's start up top and and dig our way into a pit of despair. Exactly as the film does. 

Anurag Basu has always been an elite level player when it comes to form and since his last three films, I have loved every minute of it. Barfi was the start of something delish. Jagga Jassoos was just brilliant. Ludo was a valiant attempt at toning down the zany in treatment but letting it shine through in the visuals. So I went in knowing not to expect the tried and tested. I was curious to see if the beast had been tamed and put back in the cage or if we were in for a ride we'd never experienced before. 

The good news - Anurag Basu is still very much a non-conformist, continuing to play with form, taking on the additional challenge of shorter attention spans in a fast fading theater going audience. The film starts with a song that quickly morphs into a musical introduction montage, each character conveniently setting up their relationship, their personality and the impending conflict with a neat little verse that need not necessarily rhyme. What's fab about the opening is the moving set pieces, almost Wes Anderson'esque in their aesthetic moving with the fluidity of a Broadway production. Yes it's lazy writing (it's basically exposition on a platter) but it's definitely not lazy filmmaking. The visuals are arresting, the transitions fun and the performances engage you from the get-go. And just like that, we're on this ride.

What follows is an 80-minute music video intercut with a string of microdrama episodes. Much of it is handled in montage. And if does need dialog, the sequence is limited to 3-minutes or less (no, I didn't time it silly... emotion samjho... physics problem nahi hai jo value note kar rahe ho!). Followed by the interval. Then rinse and repeat. 

Again, brilliant. It's like Anurag Basu has caught you by the collar and said, shorter attention span huh? too much time watching reels? can't sit in the theater for a whole film? well... hold my beer. 

I say this with utmost respect - this film is a masterclass in microdrama structuring. Well played, Mr. Basu. Well played, indeed. 

So the visuals are great, the treatment is interesting. Shall we come now to the characters? 

Let me start with performances. None of them are cringe. The lines are nice enough and they're mostly delivered with with competence and skill. Of course it would be foolish to compare the flawless Konkona Sen Sharma or the endearing Pankaj Tripathi with say Sara Ali Khan (with the bangs) or Aditya Roy Kapur (not a drunk, for once) but even the latter have done a good job here (weird hair and sobriety notwithstanding). 

But what I totally don't get about these characters is who even are these people and what bubble are they living in? None of the married women are financially independent. None of them hold down jobs or seem to do anything other than child rearing. All of them are unhappy. Really. Even the background actor friends who are there to fill the frame, nod along and agree - they may be mechanical engineers but they're at home, raising kids and watching their husbands flirt, and possibly cheat on them, on dating apps. It's all expressed as very matter of fact. C'est la vie. What are we doing? Sigh. 

Huh? Seriously? 

This is particularly odd because 1) the film is supposedly about life in metros these days - so modernity is pretty much taken as a baseline and 2) the producer on this film Taani Basu is Anurag's spouse - so it's not like the concept of a married working woman should be all that alien to him. 

Just for emphasis, let me repeat this again - NONE of the married women work. Fatima Sana Sheikh's character, supposedly a journalist, does at one point go back to work but only when she's separated from her husband. Apparently because as a journalist she can only get a job in one city - Delhi (I think).  If she moves cities, she must quit work. There's a brief moment in a song montage when she's what looks like a salesgirl in a bookstore because... I honestly don't know why. Is being a journalist such a low skilled job that your only other option is stacking books? None of it makes any sense to me. 

(There's a dizzying amount of moving cities here. After a point, I simply gave up trying to keep track of who was in which city. Whatev.)

The men are equally odd. Apparently Ali Fazal is a programmer-bro who wants to be a musician and is sad because he has to work corporate tech to pay the EMI on a second hand car. Oh and he goes to work in a full suit with a tie and everything. Clearly Mr. Basu has never seen the inside of a tech company. Nor has he done the basic research of how much techies in Bangalore get paid. (Spoiler alert - it's a LOT!) Also, aren't we past this Imtiaz Ali tamasha of vilifying tech bros? I know multiple very corporate bros, in Bangalore, in Mumbai, making boat loads of money who have bands of their own, who release their music on Spotify, or perform at fests or teach kids music on the weekends. Yet another reality check that has escaped our intrepid filmmaker. 

I still don't know what Aditya Roy Kapur's Parth does in the film but I don't think we're supposed to know? So chalo, that's ok. 

(Shout out to the fun Imtiaz Ali cameo in the film. Pretending the last 10 years didn't happen, I still love you and love seeing you on screen <3 )

Anyway, you get the gist - cardboard characters with stupid life choices simply to provide fodder for this film. Let's talk about tracks shall we? 

There's one couple for every stage of a relationship - dating and on the verge of marriage, newly married to newly pregnant, married with kid, and empty nesters. Also one poor little background character who is a widow and a teenager who is confused about her sexuality. These are not real characters. They only exist to service the other meatier tracks so you would be totally justified in ignoring them. 

Each of these couples are cookie cutter. As cliched as you could imagine. None of them are happy. None. No one is happy with their partner in this entire film. All of them are varying degrees of toxic. 

The older couple, Neena Gutpa and Saswata Chatterjee, are textbook old school toxic. She asks permission for everything. He says no. She says nothing. What goes unspoken is that she probably has no means of financial independence to be able to take a stance even though she might have at some point wanted to. And yet this very critical detail, this dependence, goes unsaid. In a film that gives you exposition, on the nose, for every little feeling, chooses to just not look this way. To the extent that when her daughter confronts her, lashes out at her for being a doormat, even then, not once is Neena ji afforded the dignity of saying, I had no choice because I had no money. But you saw me, my cage, my lack of agency. Why then are you unemployed after marriage? Why did you not safeguard yourself from the same fate? No she just silently takes it. Then presumably takes money and a phone from her single daughter who has a job (thank Heavens, although more on that later) and finally flees her cage. What happens next is equal parts ridiculous and hilarious. 

The elder daughter's track - Konkona and her husband might be the nicest of the lot possibly because it is helmed by such wonderful actors. Konkona is just precious. Protect her at all costs. And no one has made a cheating husband look more endearing than Pankaj Tripathi. This is the couple that you root for, inspite of your own personal morality in this regard, only because you like these two too damn much! All the same, it has to be said, they are terrible parents. Their teenaged daughter, grappling with her own sexuality, being in the center of a love triangle between her best friend whom she is attracted to and her bestie's crush - a monumental amount of anxiety for any teenager. Her parents? Clueless. Not only that, but it is she who is calling them to check in on them (because it serves the plot). Not once does either parent ever call her or check in with her even when they're separated. Do they not have any concern for how their separation is affecting their child? Mr Basu also has 2 daughters of his own and I'm surprised that he really knows so little about teenaged girls and parenting. Or maybe he just didn't care to bring his personal understanding or marriage or children to his characters.  A shame, really.

Then there's the newly married, newly pregnant couple who should really not be together. Not only does Ali in the opening verse admit he loves the drama of being with Fatima more than being with Fatima herself, but also their best friend openly calls out how toxic their relationship is, only to have his concerns completely dismissed as irrelevant. Also for a couple "modern" enough to consider abortion - do you not know how contraceptives work? Seriously people, what is wrong with you?! And so they whinge and whine and brawl and bawl their way back to each other. I really don't know why. 

Finally, there's the Sara-Aditya track which is so surface level and fragmented, that there's really not much I can deconstruct. Except this. She's in HR. She's being harassed by her boss. When she finally has the balls to stand up to him and smack him in the face, she gets fired. I repeat - she's in HR. I can't. Can Mr. Basu PLEASE not write workplace tracks when he clearly has no clue what people do in an office? 

There's also poor Anupam Kher. Who will talk to a random guy who used to be his dead son's friend, who will sing his life's tragedy in verse at a college reunion but cannot have an adult conversation with his widowed daughter-in-law. The poor girl is treated so badly in the writing, they even saddled her with a name that is completely unpronounceable. This track was ridiculous, but Neena ji was a delight to watch as she totally hammed it up and I enjoyed watching her. Yet another example of piss poor writing salvaged by a stellar performance and interesting visuals. 

And after all that, all the couples not only end up together again, ALL of them also graduate to Dante's next circle of hell. And the cycle continues. 

Which brings me to - what the hell is this film trying to say? For a "romance", this film has the most cynical, toxic take on love and marriage. It's like watching Die Hard for 3 hours only to have Bruce Willis slip on a puddle, hit his head and actually die in the very last minute. In textbook speak, it's the promise of the premise that's broken. In the character Parth's language - it's basically ullu banaya. 

If you want to write an ensemble film about modern love in the cities, then do that no? Let marriages end. Let there be the optimism of true love. Let there be all kinds of beginnings and endings. But no. Every couple is stuck in the same toxic cycle and apparently living in the 1960s. Ugh. 

OK. I think I have tired myself out now. I feel better. This was too long. So was the movie. 

Pritam deserves half of all the ticket sales. For the one song that lasted the entirety of the film. It was all just one song. You cannot convince me otherwise. 

Article 15 - Where 'Equality' is a poor substitute for justice

Article 15 opens to the deep-throated singing of Gaura, poetically bemoaning the fate of the poor, before it unexpectedly transitions to Bob Dylan's opening verse of 'The Answer is Blowing in the Wind'.  And so it is that the two Indias seamlessly entwine.

Let me begin by saying my grasp of caste oppression, its blast radius, its nuances and complexities is still very much in its nascent stages. I very likely have huge blind spots in this area. I am a work in progress and I welcome every opportunity for discussion to further evolve my understanding.

'Article 15' is Bollywood's latest offering on a subject not frequently talked about in cinema - that of caste discrimination. Using the Badaun rape-case as inspiration for it's police procedural drama, the film aims to highlight the plight of the Dalits in the villages of UP, as witnessed by an urban, globe-trotting first-time cop who exoticizes his own country. It is a story intended to speak to audience like me - young city-dweller professionals who have caste blindness because of our privilege. It is undeniably a well-intentioned film, even a necessary film, given the paucity of films on this subject. It is a beautifully shot film, quite engaging, with a few lovely scenes and warm humor. It is a well-acted film and it has a very effective background score.

And yet it is also an urban, upper caste lens employed by an urban, upper caste writer-director, executed via an urban, upper caste actor for an urban, upper caste audience. And this is its biggest existential flaw, which is why the biggest criticism it has garnered, even before the film released, is that it employs the 'white saviour' trope to India's caste problem.

First let's talk about why the white saviour trope is problematic. The white saviour trope is employed to tell a story of conflict in which the position of power is held by the main character (MC) who is armed with social privilege. The story views the world through their point of view, often other'ing, exoticizing or minimizing the efforts, strengths and abilities of the people the main character must "save". It once again reinforces the position of strength of people with privilege by showing those with a privilege deficit as needy, weak and reliant upon the mercy of the main character. It ultimately serves to build up the character who already has privilege currency while only doling out pity for the oppressed. It is patronizing, infantilizing and counter-productive to it's apparent intent to be an advocate for the oppressed group in question.

This then is the exact problem with Article 15.

Throughout the movie, Ayan Ranjan, the MC, is shown to be flummoxed and flabbergasted by all that's happening around him. He is also the only one in the film who has the strength of character to always do the right thing. All other Dalit characters are either weak, scared, needy for approval or victim blaming their own kin. Whether they are doctors, cops, villagers or rebels, when facing the MC, they're submissive and acquiescent. Even the seemingly strong rebel Nishad, when in the same frame as Ayan, is seated at a lower level such that Ayan must literally talk down to him and get him to see how his rebellion is hampering a police investigation intended to benefit a Dalit victim. The film seems to say look you're helpless until *He* steps up and protects you. At no point in the film does a Dalit character ever seem to say no, thank you, I got this. And this is where the films fails its subject.

The film's visual language further seems to underscore the hero effect of the MC. To begin with, Ayushman Khuraana is at least a few shades lighter skinned than every other character on screen. This includes the other upper caste characters like Manoj Pahwa's Bhram Dutt, who is a Thakur with a ruddy complexion. While the sepia-toned palette of the film is effective is portraying the dusty, grimy feel of the villages of India, all the dust seems to bounce off our MC who is always shown sparkling clean with suave gelled hair and smooth skin and neatly creased, perfectly tailored clothes. The halo effect is literally visible and a glaring flaw in an otherwise perfectly designed noir production. Even when our MC deigns to wade through a swamp (a not too subtle metaphor for the "mess" he's in), when he steps out of it - a true hero complete with a barely-alive Dalit girl in his arms, the swamp is barely a water stain on his trouser legs where the crease is still perfectly visible.

I know the rebuttal for each of these grievances, I've heard them often enough when arguing with male writers on the portrayal of women in films. I do not deny that for any minority demographic to break past its shackles of oppression, it needs the support of those in a position of power. For instance, women around the world could never have won the right to vote had the men in power not aligned with the cause. In terms of sheer numbers, you need groupthink to change for meaningful progress. However, what most writers and filmmakers fail to understand is that while being an ally is noble and necessary, how you ultimately portray the characters on screen is equally important.

For someone who has caste privilege blindness like me, I have found it easier to understand caste issues by drawing parallels with the challenges faced by women in a patriarchal society. It doesn't map one-to-one but it does have some overlap. This movie does no favours to its female characters either. In fact it does great injustice to Gaura and Malti, both Dalit women fighting to be heard. If the story had been shown from their perspective, I believe we'd have had a stronger narrative but Article 15 chooses to make them doe-eyed damsels in distress, hesitant and afraid, waiting for the strong male MC to give them agency. And then there's the young, exuberant Kamli, so full of life and joy. I do not know why the writers felt it necessary to crash and burn her world in the end unless it was once again to show that where her loved ones fail her, our MC is there to pick up the pieces. The only woman with some backbone is, of course, the MC's upper caste love interest but she too is gently chastised at the end for not looking upon him with shiny-eyed adulation.

At the end of the film, the only character that comes out smelling like roses is our hero - the indubitable Ayan Ranjan who successfully gets his posse of lawmen to sit together, irrespective of their caste, and share a meal; in the background the fiery young Dalit woman Gaura, teary-eyed with her head bowed and hands folded in gratitude, is seen driven away, neatly boxed in the back of an ambulance.

As a film that loves its metaphors, I wonder what the filmmaker intended for that to mean.