Up in the Air

Beware: Here be spoilers!

There is a crucial moment in Up in the Air when Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) finds himself having to talk someone out out of a course of action. It doesn’t help that the other man’s beliefs echo what he has been preaching all these years. Bingham even moonlights as a self-help speaker who extols the virtues of carrying little or no baggage. And here he is, having to sell the exact opposite. Clooney expresses this conflict with admirable economy — his normally relaxed facial muscles tighten up a bit, and his eyes do the rest.

The scene itself is reminiscent of a similar one in Reitman’s earlier Thank you for Smoking, where a tobacco lobbyist is asked whether he would be okay with his son wanting to smoke.The more basic Jason Reitman signature — smart, sassy people trying to keep their equanimity and sense of humour intact while their world seems to fall apart — is in evidence throughout the running time.

Bingham is employed by a company that provides termination services. In other words, he fires people on behalf of managers who are too squeamish to deal with large scale layoffs. In times like these, business is booming. “We are here to make limbo tolerable,” he remarks to a colleague at one point. “To ferry wounded souls across the river of dread to point where hope is dimly visible, and to stop the boat, shove them in the water and make them swim.”

It is clear from watching him that he loves his job. More importantly, he loves what comes with it — over 300 days of travel in a year, and more frequent flyer miles than it would take for a return trip to the moon. At one point, when a pilot asks him in mid-air where he lives, he replies, “Here.” Jason Reitman establishes this character and his world through a series of shots that could serve as a how-to manual for frequent travellers. And then proceeds to gently tug at the rug under his feet.

The first tug comes in the form of Alex (Vera Farmiga), a fellow frequent traveller he meets in a hotel bar and shares a certain kinship with. Here is a woman who wants the same things out of a relationship as he does — the absence of strings. But tell me this: have you ever, EVER watched a movie where a man and a woman want a relationship without commitment and feel that way right until the end?

The second comes in the form of Natalie Keener, a bright young college graduate who comes up with the idea of firing people over a webcam. The cost implications are so enormous that Bingham’s boss cannot ignore it, but our man argues successfully that she has no idea what the job involves. So the boss does the obvious thing — ask Nataie to tag along with Bingham and learn the ropes before implementing her new system.

The third tug comes from his family. His sister sends him a cut-out of herself and her fiance and asks him to take pictures of that cutout in front of famous landmarks in the places he visits. Tacky, yes. Bingham agrees. The cutout doesn’t quite fit into his baggage. You know what that means.

Diverse as they seem, they represent, in essence, a single major complication in Bingham’s life: people. What these people have done is simply enter his orbit, and in doing so, changed it. Clooney depicts the effect these factors have on his life by doing… nothing, really. And yet, the scenes are written in such a way that you know what he’s feeling without him having to act it out. As a result, when he does let it show, the effect is startling.

What Up in the Air does is combine the cynicism of Thank You for Smoking with the emotional arc of Juno. The result is a movie that keeps you chuckling for most of the time but leaves you with a sad aftertaste. The closing shot is of Bingham staring at the departures listing at an airport. This is the first time you see him doing it. Until then, he always seemed to know where to go.

 

Friday morning naivete

We find it easier to kow-tow to the Thackerays of the world, simply because we wish to go about our daily lives in peace. When asked about our vertebrae, we respond that we, the mango people, cannot afford one — the price tag is too high.

Then something like this happens.

Maybe it’s a calculated move to capitalize on the backlash against the Sena. Maybe Shahrukh Khan knows that the box office receipts in most places will not affected either way. Maybe the real genesis of this whole conflict is not known to us. Or maybe the Sena just wants to regain lost ground from the MNS and this entire controversy is engineered to achieve that.

But you know what, I want to be hopelessly naive about this. I want to stand up and cheer when a man goes up there and says, “I am entitled to my opinion, and I am not going to retract it just because you threatened to derail my movie. Screw you.”

 

Ishqiya

Vishal Bharadwaj brought The Bard into this milieu. And now, here’s his protege Abhishek Chaubey with some film noir. The ingredients are all there — criminals, a femme fatale, a dog-eat-dog world, betrayals, a tenuous code of honour…

Except, it isn’t quite film noir. At a crucial point in the story, one character is revealed to have a secret portion in his life. The revelation is important to the plot. But how it is handled has absolutely nothing to do with the plot. Something this delightfully quirky has no place in film noir, you think. Not that this is a problem.

The genius of that scene is one of the reasons why Ishqiya ranks among the most entertaining movies I have seen in recent times. I am tempted to reveal more about it, but no, you must discover it for yourself.

In an age where production houses and actors, not to mention news-starved channels, spend untold millions advertising how much effort went into getting six-pack abs, and how costume designers spent quality time in Chandni Chowk and China trying to find the right “look” for the characters, here’s a bunch of guys who seem to spend the better part of their time writing a good script and getting a bunch of actors to bring it to life. Take a bow, Abhishek, Vishal and Sabrina (Dhawan).

I could talk about the plot, but like all good stories in that genre, it is less about what happens and more about how a couple of small time crooks on the run find themselves adrift in a world where nothing is what it seems and nobody is to be trusted. Least of all Krishna, the woman they both fall for. That they are uncle and nephew ought to make things awkward, and it does. But the bigger problem is that love really isn’t their forte. When Rahat Fateh Ali Khan sings Dar lagta hai ishq karne mein ji (the pick of an absolutely fantastic album), you realize that it applies not just to the older man (Iss umr mein ab khaaoge dhokhe?) but to the younger one as well.

Yesterday, a friend of mine asked me if Arshad Warsi was up to scratch in this movie. And I realized that, in recent years, not once has the man really disappointed me. He gets more than his fair share of funny lines, but manages to hold his own in the serious scenes as well.

As for Naseer, I’ve noticed that there is something different about him when he’s essaying a really good role. You can almost visibly see him relax. Watch him in this one and A Wednesday, then go watch, say Krrish. It’s the same with Om Puri. I guess you do what you have to do to earn your keep, and hope that Vishal Bharadwaj and his ilk will help you keep your soul alive.

Twisting them up into knots is Vidya Balan in what I can only describe as a surprising performance. Like Amrita says in her review, the key difference is that she doesn’t pass off scowling as acting. There are moments when I almost cringed in anticipation of how she would interpret the scene, and she surprised me at every turn with her restraint. This is the actress we hoped she would become after Parineeta, before she cashed out that goodwill cheque in Heyy Babyy.

Around them is a supporting cast that is as talented as it is unknown (to me, anyway). The pick of the lot is Salman Shahid who plays Mushtaq, the gangster whose clutches our intrepid duo try to escape for most of the movie. Entertaining as he is for every second he is on screen, it is right at the end that he utters a single line that makes him unforgettable.

And now to the ending. Lately, I seem to be falling in love with endings that don’t tie everything up into neat little knots. First Aayirathil Oruvan, now Ishqiya. Don’t ask me why. The best reason I can come up with is that, when I enjoy the company of a set of characters, I don’t want their story to end.

ps: Did she actually say chutium sulphate? There hasn’t been a better use of chemistry in the movies since Srikanth burnt up a loan agreement with white phophorus in Kanaa Kandein.

pps: When I first heard of the movie, I wondered if it was going to channel Bandits or Butch Cassify and the Sundance Kid. Thankfully, it does neither. But there were a couple of moments, both involving Naseer and Vidya, that seemed to obliquely reference both movies. One involved the two of them singing, and the other involved them riding a bicycle. Too tenuous?

 

Aayirathil Oruvan

Aayirathil Oruvan starts off by depicting an archeological expedition to find the remains of a lost Chola settlement somewhere off the coast of Vietnam. As it happens, our explorers find not ruins, but a living Chola civilization, completely cut off from society for many centuries.

It is here that Selvaraghavan makes an inspired choice. Instead of depicting the sort of sanitized society in period costume that most filmmakers would opt for, he imagines a group not far removed from savages. Centuries of isolation have gnawed away at their civility. Lord of the Flies, anyone?

Underscoring this savagery is a palpable sense of yearning. These people have been waiting for generations for a sign that they could return home.

The dialogue in this segment is spoken in what seems like an archaic dialect. How faithful the language is to the period, I am not sure. But in terms of evoking a lost world, it works beautifully. I even loved the ending, which is more open-ended than most people would like.

Some of the performances are fantastic. Karthi is in sublime form, Reema Sen is a revelation and Parthiban taps into his innate kookiness in full measure. Andrea Jeremiah is barely adequate, but doesn’t have much to do, and doesn’t really bring the movie down.

The film is not without its problems. The first half, which aspires to be in the same league as the Indiana Jones franchise, is imagined better than it is shot. The second half has all kinds of plausibility issues. For instance, characters who seem to have supernatural powers don’t use it when they are most required. Some scenes, especially the gory ones, go on for too long — did the man not use an editor at all?

But you know what? Despite its flaws, I loved the movie. There is a sequence towards the end when a bunch of swordfighters come up against a troop of mercenaries with automatic rifles and grenades. We all know the cliche about knives and gunfights. But it doesn’t stop us from cheering on this group of warriors making their last stand. Maybe Selvaraghavan is trying to tell us something there.

Update: I just got around to reading Baradwaj Rangan’s review and found that he echoed much of the same sentiments, except he did much better, as usual. An excerpt:

Loosely put, if the three Indiana Jones installments were filtered through a cracked prism of Tamil history, Aayirathil Oruvan would be the lysergic rainbow that bloomed forth. The creepy-crawly snake-infested attack from Raiders of the Lost Ark is reinforced with the savage, cave-dwelling cult from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and routed through the graph of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, where an archeologist-father goes missing, causing the archeologist-child to embark on an expedition retracing his steps. With this in mind, we expect a generic action-adventure ride with a splash of the supernatural, and that is the tone dictated by the early events. We think that the team (comprising Karthi, Andrea, Reema Sen and an unwashed truckload of mercenaries) will dodge the usual traps for three-quarters of the film, until they reach the destination, in the final quarter, where the hitherto mysterious knots will begin to unravel. We think this because that’s how movies of this stripe have conditioned us to think – rather, that’s how these films have conditioned us to not think, and to simply sit back and strap up for the ride.

…

The joke of the film, however, is that this entire stretch is nothing but buildup to a second-half-long showdown. Once these obstacles are navigated, the film mutates into a beast that could scarcely be imagined from the chromosomal constituents of the first half – which is bad news if you’re a creature of cold logic, but a thrilling turn of events if you’re willing to surrender to heavy-lidded imagery on the threshold of a fever-dream. (The trippy sensation is exaggerated by spectacularly nightmarish soot-and-flame cinematography and slo-mo editing rhythms with ceaseless fades-to-black.) The generic machinery of the first half grinds to a groaning stop, and a visceral fog descends over the proceedings. The last obstacle faced by the team results in their becoming possessed by spirits, and as if taking a cue from its characters, thenceforth, the film itself becomes possessed. This is where the real story begins, one that unceremoniously yanks you back from sit-back-and-relax blockbuster-mode and instructs you to focus with all your (supernatural) powers.

 

Freeze Frame #146: Rocket Singh: Salesman of the Year

Beware: There be spoilers!

Ranbir Kapoor’s star power — and make no mistake, the man definitely has it — seems to derive from his ability to project puppy-dog earnestness like nobody else in the business. That we haven’t tired of it yet bodes well for him, but I am eager to see if he can do well in something more serious. A Ramgopal Verma flick, perhaps. Even a bad one will do, and heaven knows RGV comes up with enough of them. Or maybe the upcoming Prakash Jha flick will give him something to do.

Having said that, I thoroughly enjoyed Rocket Singh, if only for the fact that it touched upon a pet peeve of mine: the utter and complete disconnect between sales and service in a number of businesses. I enjoyed it in the same way that I enjoyed Aaja Nachle — a small movie that achieves its admittedly small ambitions, never mind the hype machine that inevitably surrounds nearly every movie these days.

Aside: Baradwaj Rangan opines that the story would’ve benefited from a brassier treatment, but I disagree. It is the story of a mild-mannered nice guy who finds his way in a cut-throat world without losing his essence. The tone is an important part of how this message is conveyed.

While there are a number of scenes that endear themselves through their simplicity (the moment where Ranbir asks Shazahn out on a date ends on a note of perfect logic), the one that stood out for me is one that comes right at the end, where the titular character has a quiet conversation with his ex-boss and nemesis. It is a beautifully scripted conversation, and I enjoyed every word of it. There is a moment towards the end when the older man dispenses sage advice — that stretch of dialogue is as good as any I’ve heard in recent times.

But what really worked for me is how that scene ends. When the ex-boss walks away, leaving Ranbir holding a document that means the world to him, you half-expect him to jump, yell, break into a jig, or do something that fits the stereotype of victorious heroes in the movies. But no, he spends a moment looking at it, then tucks it into his back pocket and gets back to work. And you realize that this feels right, because this is the sort of guy he is.

 

Three thoughts on 3 Idiots

1. Apropos the controversy about Chetan Bhagat’s name in the credits, I don’t remember enough of the book or what got shown in the opening or closing credits to comment. I will say, however, that I noticed at least a few jokes circulating on the Internet making their way into the movie. The one about submitting an exam paper late, and the sight gag about a group photo of women in burqas come to mind immediately. So if we’re talking about giving credit where it is due, shouldn’t Hirani have said Adapted from Chetan Bhagat’s novel and my gmail account?
2. There is a moment soon after the balaatkaar scene when Silencer confronts Rancho and asks him why he victimized him just to make a point. The latter responds with some platitudes about rote learning, but the point Silencer makes is valid in more than one way. Most people who have studied in premier educational institutions are familiar with the concept of relative grading, and how some people see academics as a zero sum game like Silencer does. But while his is a familiar stereotype, he is also written into the plot for no reason other than to provide a counterpoint to Rancho’s “greatness”. I don’t object to the presence of such a character in the movie, but I object to him being used as nothing more than a blatant plot device.
3. For a movie that preaches the value of innovation, the script plays it extraordinarily safe. It’s like he took a bit of  Five-point Someone and standard Hollywood formulae for maverick geniuses stuck in stodgy institutions, and mixed into a script for Munnabhai Becomes An Engineer. Why would he want to do that?

And yeah, whatever Memsaab and Amrita said goes for me as well.

 

I’m back…

… as you might have noticed.

First off, I hope you have a great 2010! To those of you who wrote to me or commented on my earlier post wishing me well: thank you! A few observations:

* You folks were right: there isn’t such a thing as a stress-free move. I found myself yelling at the guys who came to pack the stuff at my house every time they dealt with my stuff in (what seemed to me to be) a cavalier fashion. It was after the truck drove away that I realized that all I had done was try to control one small part of the process where the risks of damage were probably minimal. True to form, we got a few broken curios, a slightly banged up microwave oven and one piece of baggage three days late. Less damage than I initially feared, but more damage than I would’ve liked. I wonder if there was anything to learn from the experience. Here’s one: Do not use Southern Packers and Movers, even if the alternative is to pack all the boxes yourself, buy a truck and drive it personally to wherever you’re moving. When I cool down, I might come up with a few more.

* Most organizations (or those I interact with, at any rate) seem to work like autorickshaws. The front wheel (sales) goes where it can find a little bit of space, and the rear wheels (service) try and fit in as much as they can. And don’t even get me started on customer support hotlines.

* There is more stuff hidden inside a lived in house than it seems at first. Clearly, some law of physics is being violated somewhere. I am mildly tempted at this point to make some pithy observations involving R^4 and/or L-space (ook!), but I really cannot muster up the energy to be funny.

Having had that little rant, I am happy to be back in Bangalore and spending precious minutes staring at the arse of the car before me. Don’t ask me why this feels comforting. I guess it’s because I look forward to spending the better part of my day with a wonderful bunch of people with the same geeky sense of humor as mine. Sample this Koan that my colleague came up with:

Student: Master, can I always use linear regression?

Master: Not when you see the world in black and white.

Strange as it might sound to you, this little exchange made me laugh aloud. Yeah, I know, I’m wierd that way.

One of my faithful readers (such as there are) commented that my two year pyjama party was coming to an end. It is true: the unfamiliar sensation of wearing trousers for the better part of the day — as opposed to my shorts and t-shirt ensemble of the last couple of years — is making my legs itch. Or maybe I just forgot the moisturizer while getting ready for work this morning.

In other travel-related news, I will be in the US for a couple of weeks in January. I plan to divide my time between Boston and Albany, with a possible trip to NYC if time permits. I have been to Europe before, so I have some idea of what it’s like to be a vegetarian in a country where salad is what food eats. However, if you have any specific advice on how to deal with the idiosyncrasies of the US, please let me know.

 

Freeze Frame #145: Network

The most obvious reason to watch Network is that it is a satire on television that now looks almost like reality TV. However, it also plays as a wonderful drama about old men searching for relevance in a changing world.

While the focus is on Peter Finch’s fantastic performance as Howard Beale, William Holden’s Max Schumacher provides a counterpoint to Beale’s maniacal outbursts by projecting a quiet desperation of his own. It is this desperation, I suspect, that causes him to be fascinated with Diana Christensen (Faye Dunaway). To Schumacher, I suspect that Christensen isn’t so much a desirable woman as a symbol of what he once had — he is her link to the world that is no longer his domain.

Beatrice Straight, who plays the William Holden character’s wife, is pretty much part of the furniture for most of the movie’s running length. But when he confesses to his affair, she lets him have it with both barrels:

Get out, go anywhere you want, go to a hotel, go live with her, and don’t come back. Because, after 25 years of building a home and raising a family and all the senseless pain that we have inflicted on each other, I’m damned if I’m going to stand here and have you tell me you’re in love with somebody else. Because this isn’t a convention weekend with your secretary, is it? Or – or some broad that you picked up after three belts of booze. This is your great winter romance, isn’t it? Your last roar of passion before you settle into your emeritus years. Is that what’s left for me? Is that my share? She gets the winter passion, and I get the dotage? What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to sit at home knitting and purling while you slink back like some penitent drunk? I’m your wife, damn it. And, if you can’t work up a winter passion for me, the least I require is respect and allegiance. I hurt. Don’t you understand that? I hurt badly.

If you hadn’t watched Network, and someone were to tell you that the woman won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress on the strength of one scene, you might wonder if it was a case of disproportionate rewards. Now go watch this scene and tell me if you still feel that way.

 

Oye Santa Singh!

On the personal front, there’s a heck of a lot of chaos right now: we’re moving back to Bangalore after two very enjoyable years in Mumbai, and there seem to be a gazillion things to do before we drive out on Christmas morning. I doubt I’ll be able to even think about blog posts for a few weeks.

Which is why it feels absolutely wonderful when someone sends me a gift! It’s a scene I mentioned in a freeze frame post ages ago, so I love it. On top of which, it’s a virtual gift, so I can put it up and feel like I’ve posted something

Thank you! Merry Christmas!

 

A question on Hindi film song lyrics

I was discussing the beauty of old Hindi film lyrics with a couple of friends here and the following observation came up: Most of these songs use some Urdu word or the other.

There seem to be two reasons for this. First, the “softer” sounds in Urdu are well suited to convey the sort of emotions usually expressed through songs (love, sadness etc). There is in fact a field of study called phonetic grammar where one looks at word choice from the point of view of how it sounds. More on that later. The second reason I can think of is that a number of lyricists working in the industry (past and present) are/were Muslim.

There are, however people (living in eastern UP or thereabouts) who speak what they call Shuddh Hindi, which doesn’t involve words borrowed from Urdu. But how many songs can you think of in Hindi films that use that form of Hindi? I can’t think of too many.

The first one that came to mind was Chandan sa badan. Nain ladh jai he from Ganga Jumna is another although I don’t understand the dialect well enough to be sure.

Can you think of anything else?