Totally Filmi

That Girl in Yellow Boots (dir. Anurag Kashyap, 2011)

This is the review I wrote for Bollyspice just after seeing That Girl in Yellow Boots last year at the Toronto International Film Festival  It's taken Anurag Kashyap a year to get distribution for the film, and I'm looking forward to seeing it again to see if what I wrote a year ago still holds true for me. 

 

  

Anurag Kashyap’s latest film, That Girl in Yellow Boots, is a stylish, provocative thriller that has been well received by audiences at both the Venice and Toronto International Film Festivals.  It’s the story of “England Girl” Ruth (Kalki Koechlin) who has come to India, like so many Westerners before her, on a quest.  But where many set out in search of spirituality, Ruth wants to find her Indian father who left her and her mother many years earlier, after the suicide of her sister.  And, unfortunately, like too many Westerners who come to India without work permits, Ruth finds herself working in a massage parlour – giving clients a “happy ending” for an extra 1000 rupees – just to make ends meet and to grease the wheels of a bureaucracy and a system she must navigate in order to find out the information she needs.

Ruth arrives in India with one clue:  a letter her father has sent her.  From that one clue, she must investigate and navigate a system that includes sleazy local bureaucrats and a bunch of South Indian drug dealers – all of whom want a piece of her, in the most cynical sense of that phrase.  They have power over her:  power to renew her visa (or not), power to give her more clues to her father’s whereabouts, power to withhold what they know or to simply ignore her requests.  They have the power to take her money, and then insist on hand-jobs to pay off the rest of her coke-addled boyfriend’s debt.

This is an unflinching film, tackling a subject that the film’s writers (director Kashyap and actor Koechlin) suggested (at a post-screening Q&A session at the Toronto International Film Festival) tends to be brushed off by Indian officials, and presenting a hauntingly gritty and realistic view of a side of India rarely dealt with in mainstream Indian cinema.  But Anurag Kashyap is no stranger to controversial, difficult subjects, and That Girl in Yellow Boots continues in a series of films (Black Friday, No Smoking, Dev.D) that take challenging ideas and infuse them with modern sensibility and stylish, thoughtful, well-crafted filmmaking.  More than that:  That Girl in Yellow Boots tackles material that, in the hands of a lesser director than the immensely talented Anurag Kashyap, might easily have ended up being voyeuristic or vulgar.  That Girl in Yellow Boots is neither, even when it makes us distinctly uncomfortable.

 

 

Much credit for that, too, goes to Kalki Koechlin’s performance – her Ruth is layered, resourceful and determined, yet naive and vulnerable at her core, and Koechlin brings force and a luminous grace to her portrayal.  Ruth does what she needs to do to get what she wants, no matter how distasteful one might think it is.  She is often at the mercy of a system bent on using her; but she also takes control where she can:  working on improving her Hindi (language is power for those who master it – this is revealed when Ruth tells off a taxiwalla using the colourful language she’s learned from the other girls at the massage parlour), or manipulating the story of the death of the father of the South Indian thug for her own ends, upsetting him so much he no longer wants the “happy ending” he’s insisted she give him to pay for her boyfriend’s debts. 

 

 

In a film filled with interesting performances at every level, Prashant Prakash, too, stands out as Ruth’s shady boyfriend, Prashant.  Theirs is a troubled relationship:  “You behave as though you’re immaculate,” Prashant snarls at her at one point, emphasizing how Ruth holds herself emotionally unavailable for everyone, including Prashant.  Prashant wants to have sex with her; Ruth only wants to treat him like one of her clients.  When Prashant decides to go cold turkey, chaining himself to a window and going through all the pains of drug withdrawal, he accuses Ruth of wrapping her emotions up in a kind of saintliness, of holding onto her suffering as something special and unique.  And although it would be easy to see Prashant as just one more person who wants to use Ruth for his own needs, the diatribe he launches at her in the midst of his own struggle contains a grain of truth.  Prashant may not love Ruth unconditionally, but he does care for her, as the film’s final scenes serve to underline, and the actor takes Prashant and adds depth and nuance and heartbreaking honesty to a character we first see as merely superficial and sleazy.

The irony, of course, is that Ruth’s own single-minded devotion to her quest has blinded her not only to Prashant’s suffering, but also to the one person in her life who does, in fact, truly care for her.  Veteran Naseerudin Shah brings warmth and humour to Diwakar, the older client who comes to have his legs massaged.  Diwakar is the one person who talks to Ruth and lets her talk (everyone else in Ruth’s life asks her, more or less, to shut up), who encourages her, and who is incensed to discover the final “handshake” she gives some of her customers.

 

 

In a scene early in the film, Ruth is watching an elderly guru on television, and she hits the pause button just after he advises:  “Accept this:  there is no enlightenment.”  It’s a powerful statement on the nature of shady gurus (of any religion) who prey on those who are suffering – and is inspired by similar stories Kashyap read in the news.  But it’s also a message to Ruth, who thirsts for details of her father, simply because, as she tells her boyfriend, she wants one person in her life who will love her, without wanting something from her, unconditionally.

Ultimately, the enlightenment Ruth eventually attains is not what she expected – her investigation opens a kind of Pandora’s box, and as with that mythical device, once the evil is released from the box, it cannot be put back in.  Like so much in Ruth’s life, enlightenment is just one more thing that comes with a price.  The mystery for the viewer is to discover what that price is.

 

 

 

Going back over my notes from last year, I realized a few things:  firstly, at the time I had a quibble with the use of "thriller" to describe the film; but for want of a better way to describe it, I fell back on the term used in the film's publicity.  The thing is, That Girl in Yellow Boots is not a thriller in the traditional sense of the genre, but uses elements of a thriller to create a mystery and a tension that only fully explodes in the film's final moments. 

As well, I overlooked two other performances that really deserve a mention.  First, Pooja Swaroop, who plays Maya, the massage parlour's receptionist, whose constant phone conversations thread their way through the film and provide a much needed dose of humour.  As well, Gulshan Devaiya -- who has since gone on to performances in Dum Maaro Dum and Shaitan -- is most excellent as the Upendra-loving Kannada gangster Chittiappa.

For me, it's always the visuals and the small details that make a difference in an Anurag Kashyap film, and That Girl in Yellow Boots is no exception.  The film was shot in 13 days, and that plus the addition of improvised scenes gives the film a kind of raw energy that suits the subject matter.  Naren Chandavarkar's music adds to the ambiance, as does Rajeev Ravi's impeccable cinematography -- so familiar from films like Dev. D and No Smoking (and I was tickled to discover he was the cinematographer for the Malayalam film Classmates as well).

More small details:  the subtitles for the Kannada gangsters are in a different font, an interesting touch to highlight the difference in language being spoken for those who might not recognize the difference between Kannada and Hindi.  The gangsters who break into Ruth and Prashant's flat watch TV while they wait for one of them to come home -- and, of course, they are watching Upendra.  What's going on is, well:  "It's a puzzle, like Upendra's films", is the comment at one point.  And finally, as with Leni's books in Dev. D,  there is the book Ruth reads:  Wasted:  A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulemia by Marya Hornbacher when she was only 21, and shortlisted for the Pulitzer Prize.  I found it an interesting choice.

Bodyguard (dir. Siddique, 2010)

 

“My life was changed by a train journey,” a woman tells us as we watch a train roll by in the opening frames of Bodyguard, and it is through her we meet Jayakrishnan (Dileep).  As a boy, Jayakrishnan is fascinated by power, and develops a kind of odd moral code.  An incident with a snake serves to illustrate this point:  he learns to respect what others fear, which ultimately leads him (to the dismay of his parents) to work as a bodyguard for the local goondas, seeing that they are feared (and in his mind respected) most of all.  He learns of the existence of Ashokan (Thyagarajan), a businessman who has been reformed from a shady past, and the man most respected by the goondas themselves.

Jayakrishnan arrives at the home of Ashokan wanting to be his bodyguard.  Ashokan feels he has no need for a bodyguard, and sends Jayakrishnan away, until he realizes that Jayakrishnan has been sent with a letter from a family friend, who hopes that working for Ashokan will allow Jayakrishnan to turn his own life around.  As well, a threat to Ashokan and his family suddenly materializes, so Ashokan hires Jayakrishnan on to be the bodyguard for his daughter Ammu (Nayantara).

 

 

Ammu, keen to rid herself of the bodyguard she finds so clinging and oppressive, decides to invent a “secret admirer” for Jayakrishnan, calling him from a private number so she cannot be traced as the source of the calls.  What starts out as a game for Ammu, and an annoyance for Jayakrishnan, slowly blossoms into an actual romance;  Jayakrishnana falls in love with this mystery girl, and Ammu slowly realizes that her bodyguard is a very sweet, shy guy, and she, too finds herself falling in love.

 

 

The problem, of course, is that Ammu’s marriage has already been arranged (she is to be married to a businessman and join him in London after she graduates from college) and, well, Jayakrishnan is the hired help, making any relationship with them impossible at best, and dangerous at worst.

I so wish Bodyguard were a film I could love unconditionally.  It’s a film that has a lot going for it, a potential that I think explains the two subsequent remakes (Kaavalan in Tamil and Bodyguard in Hindi, both directed by Siddique).  I do think the story itself is actually kind of intriguing.  The twist in the story is also unexpected and really kind of shocking (in a good way), but it takes forever to get to where it wants to go –I found myself watching the clock for the film’s first hour.  Once the phone romance began to pick up steam, though, I was engaged right until the end.  Bodyguard frustrates me precisely because I can see how with some judicious editing, and a little brisker pacing, it could have been a rippingly good film.

Bodyguard is also quite funny in spots – Dileep’s turn as the increasingly lovesick bodyguard and all the slapstick that involves had me bursting out laughing at regular intervals, as did his shtick as the bodyguard:  the family wants him to go undercover as a student in order to keep an eye on Ammu, but Jayakrishnan has Very Definite Ideas of how a bodyguard should dress and how he should behave.

 

 

Dileep plays him so straight that he’s an obvious foil for the hi-jinks of the students at Ammu’s college.  Dileep’s performance takes Jayakrishnan from this very one-dimensional bodyguard and peels back the layers to reveal the very sweet, decent man hiding underneath the uniform.

 

 
How much do I love the fact that when the bodyguard falls in love, he tosses out all his macho man videos and replaces them with these?  So, very, very much.

 

Lives can change in the blink of a moment – that’s all it takes to make the decision to board a train and make a journey that might change your life.  Everyone’s life is changed at the end of Bodyguard, and despite my frustrations with the film, it was a journey that was worth taking for me as a viewer.

 

 

Besides, I'm a sucker for films that involve life-changing train journeys.

Under the pretext of tea: a chat with Abhay Deol

 

 

 
 

“Did you have your chai?  Would you like some?” asks Abhay Deol as I join him for what will be too brief an interview.  I’ve told him I’m nervous. He’s generously playing host, putting me at my ease.  Inside, I’m panicking – I know my time with him is strictly limited, and I have so many questions I want to ask him about his films.  So, I just plunge in and ask my first question.  “Your shoes,” I say, “I want to ask you about your shoes.”

Abhay looks a little taken aback.  “My shoes?” he says, surprised.  “These ones?” 

“Yes, your shoes. Those are fabulous shoes.”

He laughs.  “They’re Dior, fancy brand, and I got them on a photo shoot.  I don’t want to give them back,” he confides.

Of course.  They are Dior.  And unless I’m mistaken, Abhay Deol is attired head to toe in Dior Homme 2012, simple, elegant, understated.  Hip, without being pretentious.  Like the man himself, from what I’ve seen as I’ve watched him interact with the other interviewers also vying for a few minutes of his time this evening.

He doesn’t even seem more than a little taken aback when I confess to yet another obsession besides men’s shoes:  first films.  So I plunge in and ask him about Socha Na Tha.  It’s a film with all the external trappings of a star kid being launched by his family, in this case, his uncle, Bollywood legend Dharmendra and cousin Sunny Deol.  But, I note, that’s where it ends.  The film itself is completely different from other Bollywood launches, and I wonder if that was always the intention.  Abhay gives me some insight into that:

“What I liked about it was it was a really nice rom-com, you know?  It had a good story, it was like you say, you think it was going to go a typical Bollywood way, and then there’d be a twist, it would turn the formula on its head, something original about it.

“Socha Na Tha was such a fresh story.  You’d think it’s going to go the clichéd route, and then it suddenly turns around.  Sure enough, bhaiya (Sunny) heard it out and loved it.  And that’s how it worked out.  There was no intention of, we’re going to launch you this way or that, there really wasn’t.  I don’t think my family had any idea how to launch me, really, you know, because, they would look to me and see what I wanted, and I wasn’t very clear. I think they thought I was confused.  I told Imtiaz (Ali, the film’s director), bhaiya’s going to listen to this, and he’s going to say the character’s Abhay, because he’s really confused in life anyways.  So that’s typically how it worked out."

I comment on how nice this is, how refreshing, because typically you see these star vehicles, and they hit all these marks.

Abhay interjects: ”Action, drama, romance – tick, check check check,” he laughs.

 “And this one – wasn’t,” I add.  “ And I hate to use the work “quirky” cos everybody does...”

“Quirky,” Abhay laughs again, “That’s all right, I hear that a lot.”

“But,” I continue, ”I see that film setting the stage for everything else you did after,” I confess to him.  More confessions:  that I’ve seen all his films. He thanks me politely.

Before my time runs out, I jump from his first film to his latest, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, the second film from director Zoya Akhtar.  I’ve been curious – did he have any idea what the character was going to be when Zoya approached him for the film?  The answer is no:

“When she approached me I had no idea what she was approaching me with.  She just said it’s like a road trip between three boys who are on a vacation essentially, so I said okay.  I read it, and – obviously I’m attracted to scripts that, sort of, don’t conform, but not because it’s not conforming, it just is what it is, its own animal, you know what I mean?”

In fact, I think I do know what he means.  I think that’s the reason that so many films that try so hard to push boundaries and wear their non-conformity like a badge end up not succeeding.  End up, all too often, not being very good films.  Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara was different, but for me, as a viewer, it was a difference that actually kind of snuck up on me as the film unfolded.

“And that’s what I liked about Zindagi,” says Abhay.  “For me, when I first read a script it’s not really about looking at my character, it’s really just understanding the film.  Does it interest me?  Does it not?  For me, personally, I can’t be reading a script with my character in mind – I don’t understand that.  I genuinely do not understand it.  I have to like the film in order to like the character.  I can’t like a character and not the film.  You have to sort of enjoy a movie, and then everything falls into place.”

And I did enjoy Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara.  But I persist just a little, because I did enjoy the character of Kabir.  Because, as I tell Abhay, it was after I went home and got thinking about the film that I realized that if you take the character of Kabir out of the film, it doesn’t work.  At all.  I ask him about it, and he expands:

“Zoya said that character is the thread that ties the film together, and it was a very important casting for her.  You know what, when it’s a well-written film, you don’t need to use your imagination too much because it’s all there in the script, so your imagination is only stoked by what you see on paper, if you have to use your imagination outside of the script, there’s really nothing there.  But this character was very clear, I could see him, I could see the kind of person he would be.  You of course don’t want to get too rigid or have a very strong vision of what he is because you want to interact with the director and see what he or she is thinking.”

He continues on, excitedly, (and if there’s one thing I’m learning about Abhay Deol is that he’s excited talking about the work, about the process):  “But then again, when it’s a well-written script you’re probably going to guess what the director says anyway because it’s all there on paper.”

At this point, I’m mindful of the fact that the handlers want me to wrap things up.  But Abhay presses on, giving me some insight about Zoya Akhtar:

“She’s very, very sharp.  I don’t think anyone can sit in front of her and she’s not read what they’re about before they’ve said hello.  But she’s also the kind of person to hold back her judgement, she’s not a judgemental person.  But,” he says, snapping his fingers, “I’m sure she’s bang on all the time.  She doesn’t say it.  She won’t ever say it to you, but she’s so insightful, I think it just comes from having lived a life, being out there, I suppose. If you let yourself be vulnerable, I think that’s when you learn most about people.  I think she’s got those qualities in her.”

Abhay spoke more, about how he works as an actor, how that played out in working with Zoya Akhtar, and with his co-stars, Farhan Akhtar and Hrithik Roshan.  “There’s no right or wrong,” he shares, “in one actor’s method of working over another.” 

I’m fascinated by it all, but I’m still thinking about what he said about vulnerability.  If you let yourself be vulnerable, you can learn a lot.  I confided my obsessions to Abhay, and he took it all in stride, and graciously shared so much with me in such a very few minutes.

If I have anything left to add when we’re done, it’s a message to Kalyani Chawla, vice-president with Christian Dior India:  let Abhay keep the fabulous shoes.  He was rocking them.

 

Abhay Deol is in Toronto this week as part of the Masala! Mehndi! Masti! Festival running at Harbourfront from August 19^th to 21^st.  If you want to hear more from him, he’ll be in conversation with OMNI Television’s Mohit Rajhans on Saturday, August 20^th at 5 p.m. in the Studio theatre.  As well, a number of Abhay’s films are being screened throughout the weekend: 

Dev D. – Friday, August 19^th at 7 p.m.

Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd – Friday, August 19^th at 11 p.m.

Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye! – Saturday August 20^th at 12:30 p.m.

Manorama Six Feet Under – Saturday August 20^th at 10:00 p.m.

Ek Chalis Ki Last Local – Sunday August 21^st at 12:30 p.m.

 

Indo-films at TIFF11

I would be remiss in talking about Indian films at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) if I didn't look at films that come out of the Indian diaspora -- specifically, in this case, Indo-Canadian and Indo-Caribbean.  Here are three that have caught my attention in the TIFF11 line-up:

First, Breakaway, directed by Robert Lieberman.  And, yes, one of the producers of the film is Bollywood star Akshay Kumar.

I've written about Breakaway before, and I think, for me, it's a bit like Mausam -- I'm definitely interested in seeing it, but unless I get an invite or something, I'll be waiting 'til it comes out in theatres at the end of September.  I love the film's premise, though, and Mr. Totally Filmi is probably Anupam Kher Fanboy Number 1, so we'll never miss a film with the delightful Mr. Kher in it.  I think it looks like a lot of fun, and I really hope it does well, and I hope they make a big splash at TIFF!

Here's the trailer, in case you haven't seen it yet:

 

But that's a feature film.  What about short films?

I adore short films.  I adore them as a genre in the same way I adore short stories -- both require a different approach to telling stories in such a concise format.  But I also love them because they're often where up and coming directors cut their filmmaking teeth, and, sadly, often the only way for someone like me to see these early films is, well, at a film festival.  Like TIFF.  And if you poke around in the corners of the TIFF11 film listing, there are two short films with an Indian connection that I would like to see.

The first is Afternoon Tea, the directorial debut from Vancouver filmmaker DJ Parmar.  Written by Richard E. Stark, it stars Quinn Lord, B.K. Singh, Sandy Sidhu and Christopher Pearce.  It's the story of an Indian grandfather with no family whose life changes when a small boy comes to his home and asks to use his phone. 

I am, frankly, already intrigued by that storyline, and sadly, don't have a trailer I can share with you (though I'm hoping the TIFF folks will eventually put one up on the film's information page).  Afternoon Tea will screen with several other short films as part of the Short Cuts Canada series at TIFF11.

The second is a film that almost didn't make it on to my radar, but happily its director, Ian Harnarine (also the film's writer), got in touch with me to let me know about it. Doubles With Slight Pepper is also screening as part of the Short Cuts Canada series (though with a different group of short films), and is set in the Indo-Caribbean community in Trindad.  According to the film's website, the film is set in rural Trinidad, and is about Dhani, who "struggles to support himself and his mother by selling doubles (Trinidad’s quintessential street food). When his estranged father returns from Canada unexpectedly, Dhani must decide if he will help save his father’s life despite their strained relationship."  Starring Errol Sitahal, Sanjiv Boodhu and Susan Abraham-Hannays, the film boasts some impressive pedigree, not the least of which is one of its executive producers, director Spike Lee.

Dying.  To. See. This. Film:

 

Indian Films at TIFF11

So, the weeks of hints and anticipation are over, and the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) finally got around to the business of making some serious programming announcements today.

Rumours had been swirling over whether Pankaj Kapur's Mausam, starring Shahid Kapur and Sonam Kapoor would be on the TIFF programme, and yes, indeedy, it is, as part of the Special Presentations category.  For those who are pooh-poohing the addition of such a commerical venture to the TIFF line-up (and I've seen your tweets), well, it's no different, I think, from any of the Hollywood films that get this kind of treatment at TIFF.  Those are the films that attract mainstream attention, and if it leads to attention on stuff that's decidedly less mainstream or more arty, well, then, that's all for the best, in my book.

That said, it's not likely that I'll be going to see Mausam at TIFF.  I do want to see it, but I'll probably wait until it opens in theatres shortly after it screens at the festival.  Oh, of course, unless by some miracle I was invited to a press screeening or gala or something (yeah, the dream of me and every other movie blogger out there, right?)  Or, unless the possibility of seeing Shahid and Sonam gets the better of me.

The film that's high on my radar is one about which rumours were also swirling last week,  the debut film from director Ribhu Dasgupta (produced by house fave Anurag Kashyap), Michael, part of the Contemporary World Cinema programme.  Now, that I'll be lining up to buy tickets for, for sure, and fingers crossed that Kashyap and Dasgupta will be at the Festival!

I had been so hoping there would be a Malayalam film in the line-up -- most especially Blessy's Pranayam, or Salim Ahamed's Adaminte Makan Abu, but, alas, I am disappointed.  However, there will be a Tamil film at TIFF:  Suseenthiran's  Azhagarsamiyin Kuthirai (Azhagarsamy's Horse), again in the Contemporary World Cinema category.  This is, actually, a film I want to watch, and it's out on DVD -- only, without English subtitles, so viewing it at TIFF is definitely a possibility for me.

Here's the synopsis of the film from the TIFF website:  "In a lively Tamil village of the 1980s, a ceremonial statue of a horse goes missing. With a crucial holy symbol suddenly gone, the village falls into recriminations and comic chaos. Wonderful, naturalistic performances drive this brisk satire on the vanities and hypocrisies of south Indian village life"

If you're curious, here's the trailer (again, without English subtitles):

 

 

One final film caught my eye in the TIFF listings, a Bengali-language film called Chatrak (Mushrooms) from award-winning Sri Lankan director Vimukthi Jayasundara (his 2005 film Sulanga Enu Pinisa  won the Camera d'Or at Cannes and screened at TIFF the same year).

Here's the trailer:

 

All in all, an interesting and eclectic selection from the folks at TIFF.  Now, to wait for the day that single tickets go on sale!

bitter, meet sweet

I remember the first time I saw Shammi Kapoor in a film.  It was this:

 

 

Let me tell you why this film holds a special place in my heart.  Probably most obviously is the fact that I lived in France for a while, and I still get a kick seeing snippets of it on screen.   And even though much of the film was shot elsewhere (Munich, Switzerland, North Africa), I love the idea of Shammi and Sharmila Tagore in one of my favourite cities, Paris.  I've actually flown through Orly airport once -- a solo trip to Paris for my birthday one year, and given that I'm kind of shy and reserved and lacking in confidence much of the time, the small reference to Orly in the film brought back a happy memory for me.

But the moment I first saw this film is important, too.  We'd moved back to Canada, something I knew was inevitable, but which made me kind of unhappy, as I'd felt at home in France like I've never felt at home anywhere else in the world.   I totally did not expect to have to deal with culture shock -- but we'd been away for long enough, and had adapted well enough to life in France that dealing with North American culture again really threw me for a loop (there were so many things I had no clue about anymore -- and so many things I didn't realized I'd just become accustomed to, like the fact that North Americans talk Very Very Loudly.  For the longest time it felt like everyone was shouting at me, until I adapted to it again).  Add in the fact that I was no longer used to Canadian winters (acquaintances in France used to tease me, because while they bundled up in winter, I didn't.  In fact, most of my Canadian winter gear went into storage.  I absolutely did not miss wearing long underwear, not one little bit.)

So, I was dealing with a lot of stuff that left me feeling kind of depressed.  Add in to the mix the nasty fall I took on the ice in January, which left me unable to walk for a while, and drugged up to the eyeballs.  In my heart of hearts, I knew the Universe was prepping me for a lesson, but mostly I was tired and frustrated at how much stuff in my life was going wrong (and had no idea that it could actually get a little worse).

I wasn't used to being stuck at home unable to do much of anything except watch television.  Certainly our weekends were packed with so much stuff that had to get done or things we needed to squeeze in that there was never time for television.  But sitting there, I discovered that one of the local channels was still showing the Bollywood films I used to scan now and then many years before.  And one of the films that turned up one weekend was Shakti Samanta's An Evening in Paris, starring Sharmila Tagore and Shammi Kapoor.

I'm still stunned that it took me so long to get to Shammi's films.  But everything happens for a reason, and everything in life has its time and place and purpose.  An Evening in Paris made me feel incredibly happy, something I hadn't felt for far too long.  It made me laugh and smile, which helped make the pain I was in at the time just a little more bearable.  Shammi's films were added to my list of comfort films, ones I could turn to to make me feel better when life was getting me down.

(Aside:  the first few months after moving to France proved to be incredibly stressful, even though we'd been amply prepared for what to expect.  In fact, one of the things I'd read told me that I could probably expect to feel worst about six months after settling in -- and it was right.  And right in the midst of this, the film Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain released in French cinemas.  I saw that film SIX times in the theatre.  It made me feel so happy, and made me realize how much I really loved France.)

So, my point here is:  Shammi's films make me happy.  Even recently -- the one film I'd not seen is the iconic Junglee, and not too long ago, when Mr. Totally Filmi had been out of work closing in on a year and a half, and I didn't know how we were going to make ends meet, and I'd been working crazy hours trying to help out, and I was tired and stressed and sad and feeling hopeless -- well, Junglee turned up in the post box, and I cannot tell you how much I laughed, and how much better I felt as a result. 

That's probably why, yesterday, when I opened my Twitter timeline to the news that Shammi Kapoor had passed away, I cried.  I'm not much of a crier, but Shammi's death, and, more importantly, all those tweets from people who had been touched by his work, well, they just got to me. 

And then I went to the YouTubes to watch some clips of Shammi, to make me feel better.  Thank goodness for all those wonderful moments captured on film, moments that will make me feel better when life throws me a few curve balls.  Moments to make me smile.  To make me laugh.  To remind me that no matter what, life is really worth living, worth celebrating and, well, worth shouting about:

 

 

Thank you, Shammi, for cheering me up and making me smile when I didn't think I could.  I know I should wish that you rest in peace, but, frankly, I prefer to imagine you in a heaven where you can tumble down snowy hills and scream, "Yahoooo!".

That Girl in Yellow Boots -- new poster!

Anurag Kashyap's film That Girl in Yellow Boots, which I saw last year at the Toronto International Film Festival, is finally going to be released on September 2nd.  Happily, it seems to have found distribution outside of India, too, in the US, in Europe, Turkey, Scandinavia, New Zealand -- but not here in Canada, unless something changes or some miracle happens.

This frustrates me to no end, that a film that was selected for TIFF, from a director that TIFF's co-director Cameron Bailey has called someone to watch and someone who's going to be "a very important filmmaker" is likely not getting distribution here.  Yes, I've seen it, and yes, I'll get it on DVD when it comes out, but it's a film that needs to be seen in a cinema, and, dagnabbit, I wanted to see it again.

I suppose all that is a round-about way to get to the fact that they've made a new poster for the film:

 

 

 

Okay, more true confessions:  I actually really loved the original posters for the film, which really did reflect the whole aesthetic of the film beautifully, and which were identifiably "Kashyap" in style.  This one isn't.  And I found myself a little taken aback by that at first.

But you know what?  I really like this poster.  It's bold, it's different from all previous Kashyap visuals, and it's very dramatic.  That image of Kalki Koechlin at the centre in the splotch of black forces us to look right at her, to take her seriously, to pay attention to her.  I'm also happy they removed that reference to "thriller", because if I had one quibble it was that.  The film isn't strictly a thriller, though it uses elements of the thriller genre to great effect. 

Oh.  How gutted am I that it seems the film won't get distribution here in Canada?  So very, very, very gutted.  I will happily eat those words if it turns out I'm wrong. 

 

For more on That Girl in Yellow Boots:

 
Facebook:  GirlInYellowBoots

Website:  That Girl in Yellow Boots

True Confessions

So, I don't write a lot about Canadian stuff here on the blog.  Not about TV shows, not about movies, not about hockey or maple syrup or hockey or maple leaves or -- did I say hockey?

And I could tell you that's because I just don't have time or space here, that watching Indian films takes up so much of my time that there's not much time for anything else.  And that would be true.

But it wouldn't be the whole story.  Because if I'm honest, I have to confess that sometimes... well ... I kind of find Canadian stuff...to be..a little...

...hokey?

And I've been thinking about why that is, lately, and the answer I've come up with is that I'm rejecting what makes up my core identity because sometimes, if I'm honest, it seems a bit ... dorky. 

It's not that I don't love these things.  God knows that I wait for the next episode of Republic of Doyle with bated breath, and the fact that they're currently shooting Season 3 just warms my heart (as did a tweet I got from the show's star, Alan Hawco, who seems like a sweetheart.  But I digress.) 

But it's kind of like when I was a kid, and my mother wanted me to take accordian lessons, because that's what all the good Ukrainian kids did.  Actually, what I really wanted to do was take dancing lessons, because I was in love with the red boots.  And since there were no dancing lessons for me (and no red boots), I got stubborn about the accordian lessons.  And have regretted it ever since.  Accordians turned out to be the new black.  But I didn't know that when I was 8.  Mostly, I just wanted to be like all the other kids in the neighbourhood.  I just wanted to fit in.

Sometimes, though, we reach a point where we have to make peace with our culture and our background.  Which isn't always easy when you're a kid in an immigrant family, because you've got these competing ideals -- you've got the home culture, and a family that doesn't want you to lose that, because, frankly, it's important.  And you've got a burning desire to fit into the wider Canadian culture, so you can be like all the other kids.  I digress once again to point out that this usually means other immigrant kids with other home cultures of their own.  Canada is kind of wonderful like that.

So what connects all these immigrant kids from far-flung places around our globe are those things -- those dorky things -- that are, really, quintissentially Canadian.  Like, you know -- hockey.

These are the thoughts that started running through my head when I saw a sneak peak of the trailer for the upcoming film Breakaway at an event at the Royal Ontario Museum in June:

 

 

 

After it screened, an elegant Sikh man got up and thanked Ajay Virmani (father of the film's star Vinay Virmani) for what he felt was an accurate and dignified look at the Sikh community in Canada.  And although I totally get that, what I started thinking about after watching this was how it really is kind of a universal Canadian immigrant story -- how all of us from immigrant families could identifity with the film's protagonist, Rajveer Singh (Vinay Virmani), and how he navigates all of this stuff, all of this home culture and Canadian culture and wanting to fit in and break through barriers and do something he loves. 

I'm really hoping the film lives up to the promise I see in the trailer.  And even though my hockey-watching days are far behind me, I'm looking forward to seeing the film when it comes out the end of September.

Breakaway will have its premiere on September 10th as part of this year's Toronto International Film Festival, and will release in cinemas on September 30th.

Oh, and the film's director?  Robert Lieberman?  Directed three episodes of the first season of Republic of Doyle.  So is that fate calling me to Breakaway or what?

Mausam Trailer

So.  Mr. Totally Filmi and I went to the movies last weekend, and we went to the cinema that actually shows trailers.  Which meant we got to see the trailers for Don 2 and Mausam:

 

 

Mr. Totally Filmi's reaction:  Wow.  Mirage fighter jets!

My reaction:  Wow.  Look at the handknits!

Actually, to be fair to both of us, the trailer has resulted in a bit of a discussion.  A second viewing of it prompted admiration of Shahid's saffron coloured sweater-vest on the part of Mr. Totally Filmi (so, you know, one of those may be in my knitting future), and we both wondered if the Indian Air Force actually uses Mirages (they do) and when they started doing so.  The Mirages were developed for the French Air Force in the late 1970s, with updates to them over the years.  The Indian Air Force was using them in the late 1980s, and they're known to have played a role in the Kargil conflict in 1999.

But this has led to some confusion. I'm getting a very strong Partition vibe from the trailer (based on some of the clothing, the Hindu (or is he Sikh?  He's definitely not Muslim) boy/Muslim girl love story, the idea of being torn apart and separated by a fence), yet, Mr. Totally Filmi insists there's also this level of "present day" going on too, especially with the fighter jets. 

Add to this the tag line from the film (found on the posters):  "A Timeless Love Story".  So are we talking a Partition story that takes us into the present day?  Or a present day story that flashes back to Partition?

Bottom line: I really hope the film lives up to all the curiousity it's raised. 

(Oh, what am I saying?  Of course it will, for the handknits alone....)

Nag Panchami Film Fesssstival: Sarpakkadu

In honour of Nag Panchami (which takes place on August 4th), Liz over at My Year of Prakash Raj has organized a two-week blog festival devoted to the glory of the snake film.  I could not resist the chance to participate.

But I did wonder:  could I find a Malayalam snake film?  Sadly, my searching didn't turn up one I could watch, but it did lead me to this song, "Nanma Cheyyanam" from the 1965 film Sarpakkadu:

 

 

Okay, I have to confess, this leaves me with a few unanswered questions.  What I do know about the film is that it was directed by J. D. Thottan, and the cast included respect actors Madhu and Sukumari (a Padma Shree awarded actress whom I've seen most recently as Prithviraj's mother in Classmates).  And that's it.  I wonder about the title, though:  it reminds me a lot of "sarpa kavu", the traditional forest spaces in Kerala set aside for the worship of snakes (and which seem to be rich natural reserves as well).  I think what fascinates me about the whole idea of snake worship is the belief that snakes bring happiness and wealth, which is why, apparently, it's not uncommon to find a snake shrine in many gardens.  I know I always think of snakes as something to be feared, not something that bring good fortune, but one source I was reading suggested that snake worship comes out of the idea that the things we fear (in this case, snakes) are also things that should be respected (and, by extension, I suppose, worshipped).

I'd be grateful if anyone can illuminate me more on this film -- its title, meaning, and if you've seen the film, what it's actually about.  Add it to the list of films I hope I can see one day.  But even doing this little search and a bit of reading about the importance of snakes and snake workship in Kerala served, unexpectedly to illuminate something I was having trouble grasping in Siddique's Bodyguard (the original Malayalam version), so, happily, I'll be able to talk about snakes next Monday as well!