Totally Filmi

MOuchoPrema: Où sont les femmes?*

*a play on Patrick Juvet's disco classic, "Où sont les femmes?" ("Where are the women?").  And now that I think of it, the French punk band Les Wampas did a slightly Bollywood-ish cover version.  But I digress.

Or maybe I don't digress.  Because for my final post for MOuchoPrema, I'd planned on looking at how the moustache affects the box office, by looking briefly at these three films, currently sitting at the top of the 2011 Malayalam Box Office, all three declared Blockbusters (and shown in 1,2,3 order):

 

Notice anything?  Christian Brothers, number one at the box office, features four distinct moustaches.  Seniors, four moustaches with a side of beard.  China Town, in third place, only three moustaches (also with one side of beard).

I was going to make some glib comments about how if you want to succeed in the box office, you have to up your moustache quotient, but to be honest, I've been doing a lot of thinking about all this in the last couple of weeks, and I think that there's something to that, but it's related more to the idea of who's wearing the moustache than sheer numbers.  Of course, the idea of putting three or four male stars in a film probably isn't a stupid idea, marketing-wise, since you can draw on their respective fan bases to ensure box office success.  And these three films are proof that upping the male star power on screen certainly works to get people buying their cinema tickets.

More and more, though, I can't help but ask myself:  "Where are the women in all this?"  It's a point that was driven home a wee bit more last week when, on Twitter, in preparation for her latest WSJ Bollywood Journal column, Beth of Beth Loves Bollywood asked how DVDs were organized in the shops we purchased from.

There was a definite trend to organize DVDs according to the hero (the male star).  It reflects, as Beth quite rightly points out, "the supreme importance of the male lead to popular films".  That's true of Bollywood, and it's true of Mollywood, too.  And Beth highlights the problem of searching out films when what you're really interested in is the heroines -- the female stars.

All of this thinking, this prepping for MOuchoPrema posts, this thinking about the supremacy of the mouch in the world of cinema dovetailed with my current reading material:  Women in Malayalam Cinema:  Naturalising Gender Hierarchies, edited by Meena T. Pillai (New Delhi:  Orient BlackSwan, 2010).  It's a fascinating look at the role of women in Malayalam Cinema from a range of perspectives, but it also examines the role of men. "Cinema," Pillai writes, "has been used by a paranoid Malayali male psyche to serve as false mirrors, to borrow Virginia Woolf's analogy, which have the 'magic' and 'delicious' capacity to reflect the figure of the Malayali man twice or thrice its natural size while cutting down the figure of woman to the tiniest possible proportions.  Popular Malayalam cinema reflects the anxieties and obsessions of Malayali men and seeks to undermine and sabotage the immense creative and productive potential of modern Malayali women."

Yes, the book doesn't pull any punches.  On the other hand, given the lack of really good roles for women in films of substance, maybe that's not a bad thing.  And I think those of us who watch Bollywood would probably agree that the situation there is pretty similar.

In fact, I think the films standing in the top three positions in the Malayalam Box Office are great examples of the kinds of films Jenny Rowena discusses in her article "The 'Laughter-Films' and the Reconfiguration of Masculinities" (also in Women in Malayalam Cinema).  Rowena discusses chirippadangal or "laughter-films" specifically, but I think what she writes would work aptly for all three of these films, which represent, clearly, "male conglomerations" -- groups of men -- at their core.  And it's not only the grouping of heroes; the nature of the heroes in these types of film change, too.  These "new men" (as Rowena calls them) represent a shifting of traditional moral values, using laughter to treat them with disdain.  "Thus,"  writes Rowena, "we had  hero figures who lied, cheated and tricked their way through the films, pretending to be who they were not and wearing many masks and disguises, throwing all scruples to the wind."   One of the results?  Women are dispatched to the margins, which is clearly the case in all three of these box office blockbusters.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my heroes, and if you want to throw three or four of them at me in a film, I'm not going to complain.  Though if I'm honest, of these three films, only Christian Brothers -- more of an action film than a true laughter-film -- would have a chance of making my 2011 Top Ten list.  China Town had a few good moments.  Seniors was a messy pastiche of so many other, better films.

And I've enjoyed MOuchoPrema and its celebration of all things Moucho immensely, and have to offer a huge thank you to Dolce and Namak Talk Indian Movies for coming up with the idea.  It's been great fun, and it's also been thought-provoking.

But at the end of it all, I can't help asking, "Where are the women?"

So I've been thinking.  Why not devote a whole month to the women?  To great heroines, great actors, great directors, great roles, great films featuring women and women's issues.  A little equal time to balance things out.  I don't have a title for the thing yet (suggestions welcome), but I'm thinking that since International Women's Day is March 8th, why don't we aim for the month of March to do this?  Let's celebrate the"immmense creative and productive potential" of women.

Are you in?   

 

MouchoPrema: China Town

I was watching duo Rafi Mecartin's 2011 release China Town for a different MouchoPrema post, but couldn't resist pulling this little "moustache moment" out for separate consideration.

In China Town, the three sons of Goan casino owners who were killed by a rival, Gauda (Pradeep Rawat) are called back to Goa by a friend of their fathers, the fourth owner of the casino who escaped the bloodbath.  He's decided to give the three (played by Mohanlal, Jayaram and Dileep) the deeds to the casino and other lands that are rightfully theirs.

Of course, the three end up pitted against Gauda, who at one point arranges for the three to be put in prison, where they take a beating from a policeman with the most ginormous handlebar moustache.

They are released from prison when, at the intervention of the Home Minister (who is worried about the fact that elections are only three days away), they agree to sign over the rights to all their properties to Gauda.  Gauda decides that he'll give the Home Minister his three days, but warns the guys that once the elections are over, he's going to kill them all.

Backed into a corner, they need to come up with a plan to defeat Gauda, the first step of which involves, well, going on a bit of a bender:

 

 

During the course of this bender, they happen across the grandly moustached policeman, and decide to take a wee bit of revenge:

 Having spotted Mr. Mouche, Mathukutty (Mohanlal) sends Comedy Don C.V. (Suraj Venjaramoodu) over to ask the policeman to come see them:

 

Which he promptly does.  Of course, that allows Mathukutty to ask the question that's on everyone's lips:

(Oh, come on.  Haven't you always wanted to ask, "Have you got a license for that moustache?)

And Binoy (Dileep) longs to know:

 

Of course, the answer is kind of pertinent, since he's going to have to grow it back after the boys are done with him:

 

And when they're done, they decide to preserve the moment:

 

MouchoPrema: Pokkiri Raja

I've written more fully about the 2010 film Pokkiri Raja, but what I didn't mention was a couple of instances where references to the moustache are used to highlight and extend a little  Dolce and Namak's note that they are "THE most coveted symbol of virility and manliness:"

In the first instance, Surya (Prithviraj) is brought into the police station by the Commissioner, whose daughter he wants to marry.  In pressing point his home that this relationship really isn't in the cards, the Comissioner asks Surya:

That is, he's asking Surya if he's really thinks he can stand up to the Commissioner and defeat him.

The Commissioner drives his point home later in the film.  Surya's brother, Raja (the Pokkiri Raja, or king of rogues of the film's title) is determined to see his brother marry the Commisioner's daughter.  The Commissioner, confident that the marriage will never take place (and certain that he will marry his daughter off to the son of the Home Minister), makes a boast:

 

Yup.  He'll shave off his moustache if things don't go his way.  Which, of course, they don't, and Raja makes sure that his brother and his girl get married, which prompts this exchange:

 

When asked if they should shave off the Commissioner's moustache as per the bet, Raja replies that it doesn't matter, they might as well leave him his moustache, because it's not the moustache that makes the man, it's the man who makes the moustache.

 

MOuchoPrema: The Moustache Moment of Rang De Basanti

I hadn't seen Rang De Basanti quite awhile, so I could perhaps have been forgiven for having forgotten a little moustache moment tucked into the film's title song.  But the film was on telly this afternoon, and I had to share this wee mo' moment for MOuchoPrema.

Context, for those who haven't seen the film:  a young English filmmaker comes to India to make a film about Indian freedom fighters (including Bhagat Singh).  She meets a group of friends who agree to portray the revolutionaries in her film.

At one point, in the song "Rang De Basanti", they are going through the process of getting themselves into costume, and there's a moment where DJ (Aamir Khan) tries on a series of moustaches for his character:

 

You can check the sequence out here (drat, you, UTV, for disabling embedding!) -- the moustache moment starts around the 5:00 minute mark.

 

Pranchiyettan and the Saint (dir. Ranjith, 2010)

Late one evening, businessman Chirammal Enashu Francis (AKA Pranchiyettan, as per the film’s title) makes a visit to the churchyard, first, to “visit” with his ancestors (whom he claims later to be able to actually see).  Pranchiyettan needs their blessings for something – and we learn what that something is when, suddenly, Saint Francis of Assisi appears before Pranchiyettan, who proceeds to tell the saint a story.

 

 

It’s hard not to compare Pranchiyettan and the Saint to another Ranjith film, house favorite Nandanam – both feature main characters who have intense, personal relationships with religious figures – the god Krishna, in the case of Nandanam’s Balamani, and, of course, Saint Francis for Pranchi.  But whereas Nandanam was about having faith in the gods and what they will provide, Pranchiyettan and the Saint is more about finding the confidence to have faith in oneself.

In some ways, Ranjith’s film starts out as a magnificent skewering of Pranchi and what he represents.  Pranchiyettan is a successful businessman – and although his ancestors were rice traders, he’s managed to take the family fortune and expand it into other areas, including gold jewellery and real estate.  He’s never managed to shake off the nickname everyone calls him by, though:  “Ari Pranchi” – “rice Pranchi”.  And it’s a nickname that grates.  For Pranchiyettan, it symbolizes everything he feels uncomfortable with in his life – his humble background, his lack of education – everything.  Pranchi is determined to lose the hated nickname, and to do it?  He decides to buy his way to honours, fame, and respectability.  Most particularly, he sets his sights on the Padma Shri, the award given for contribution to the state in various fields of endeavour.  When his attempts to prove he’s worthy of it for his good works seem to falter, he’s not above placing a little money in the right places to grease the wheels of the process.  “If I want to drink a tender coconut, I can pay 10 rupees for it,” he notes as justification.  “Why bother to clmb the tree and cut it down myself?”

It would be very easy for us to see Pranchi as a kind of pathetic figure.  But the strength of Ranjith’s script , and of Mammootty’s performance, is that it allows us to peel back the layers of the man, to see what led to him being who he is, to see the circumstances that led to the lack of confidence that causes him to, say, lose the presidency of the local club (he totally misreads the membership – they want someone like themselves;  he swaps traditional clothing for Western dress.  And because he feels so inadequate next to the only other candidate for the position, his long-time rival Jose (Siddique), he flubs his well-rehearsed speech).  Pranchi seems overdue for a lesson in learning to be himself, and to act in the interest of others without worrying how he’s going to look or what he’s going to get out of it.

Enter Padmasree (a delightful but woefully underutilized Priyamani).  She needs someone to inaugurate the art show she’s organized, and Omana  (Jose’s wife, who recognises Pranchi’s worth even if he doesn’t) suggests Pranchi.  Padma and Pranchi become friends, and Padma, who arrives with a painting to thank Pranchi for helping her, starts by renovating a room to suit it, and ends up giving Pranchi’s house and his life a complete makeover.   The relationship between Pranchi and Padma is a lovely one, as a friendship develops between the two, and Pranchi is able to use his skills as a businessman who understands a bit about real estate to help her save her family home.  So, it’s kind of a disappointment when she almost completely disappears in the latter portion of the film.

 

 

As good as Pranchiyettan and the Saint is, though, I did in the end feel a slight sense of disappointment. The second half of the film, for me, seems a much messier affair than the first half, which fairly sparkles with wit and charm.  The disappearance of Padmasree and the arrival of Paulie (Master Ganapathy), the young man who truly needs the help Pranchi can offer  him, send the film in a direction that, for me, anway, derailed it slightly.  I totally understand that Paulie’s story stands in contrast to that of Pranchi’s own – that if we learn not to accept Pranchi at face value and learn to understand him, that we – and Pranchi, of  course – must do the same for Paulie.  But I don’t think the connection is as deftly realized as it could have been.  In addition, I felt the young actor’s performance to be a bit over-the-top and given to histrionics and excess at times – I kept wishing the director had reigned in his young actor just a little bit instead of letting him indulge in dramatics.  I think I would have felt much more sympathy for Paulie if he had.

Finally, I did find the ending just a wee bit less than satisfactory.  After Pranchi finishes telling his story, Saint Francis tells him that he needs to know that sometimes things are not always at they seem.  Of course, Paulie’s story has given Pranchi an excellent example of that, but Saint Francis reveals a number visions to Pranchi, showing him ways in which he has misunderstood things.  First, how Padma really feels about him; second, the true nature of the relationship of Omana and Jose  (a relationship Pranchi had envied since the time that Jose stole Omana away from him when they were still at school).

 

 

Small disappointments aside, though, Pranchiyettan and the Saint offers some truly stellar moments.  I adored the relationship between Pranchi and his servant Eeyyappan (Sasi Kalinga)– in fact, Eeyyappan is a terrific character, helping Padma redo Pranchi’s house, and offering a counterpoint to the comings and goings of Pranchi and his friends.

The childhood rivalry that continues into adult life is well done, with Omana (Khushboo) acting as friend and confidente to her husband’s rival.  Jose continues to provoke Pranchi, always finding just the right thing to throw Pranchi off – usually a joke involving a milkmaid.   The three move in the same social circles, even if Pranchi constantly feels inadequate compared to the two well-educated doctors, and it’s obvious that there’s a relationship underneath the rivalry.

There is a contrast between the Pranchi’s attempt to buy the Padma Sri in order to make himself more important and respectable, and the selfless acts he later undertakes in the film, showing us that underneath it all, he truly is a good man, only one pushed to morally questionable acts by his own lack of confidence.  But his skills as a businessman mean he can help Padma in her attempt to buy her ancestral home, and his devotion to his friend the schoolmaster leads him to help Paulie succeed at his exams.

 

 

“La vita è un grande sogno, mio figlio," says the Saint (who speaks in unsubtitled Italian until he switches over to the delightful Thrissur dialect spoken by Pranchi).  “Life is a great dream, my son, and you should never doubt.  Doubts are for unbelievers.”  Pranchi learns, ultimately, to allay his doubts about himself, and to trust in himself to be able to do the right thing, for the right reasons.

MOuchoPrema for MOvember: Mo' News

I'm feeling incredibly grateful that my recent bout of tooth trouble didn't cause me to miss MOuchoPrema, a great idea from Dolce and Namak Talk Indian Movies in support of the MOvember movement.

Because missing it would have meant not thinking about this headline that tripped across my newsfeed a while back:

"Dileep shaves off his moustache for Vellaripravinte Changathi"

Vellaripravinte Changathi being a film Dileep is currently shooting, not the Mollywood equivalent of MOvember, though the timing is something, eh?

Dileep, for those not versed in the films of Mollywood, was the star of the original version of Bodyguard.  Now, I won't claim to be an expert in the films of Dileep by any stretch of the imagination, having seen only a few, though in those few I've become rather fond of him, and have started seeking out more of his films.  But I'll admit -- I've seen him with more and less facial hair -- from stubble to beard -- but never without his moustache.  I'm not saying he's never made a film mo'-less, just that I've never seen it.  Nor have I turned up a photo of him without it.  And the fact that the possibility of him shaving off his mouche made the news leads me to believe he's never gone without it.

Except.

The headline was misleading (no!  Really?).

Dileep, in fact, is not shaving his moustache off, he's TRIMMING it down.  For a role.  In the film Vellaripravinte Changathi.  Directed by Akku Akbar, it appears to be a kind of film within a film (oh, made for me, I love that!) -- in the 1960s, a director makes a film that never gets released.  It's shown many years later and Vellaripravinte Changathi apparently tells the story of that film and the lives of the actors who were in it.

Which is, why, of course, why Dileep is TRIMMING his moustache.  Because the 1960s was the golden era in the career of Prem Nazir, reputed to be one of the finest actors ever to come out of Malayalam cinema.  Nazir was nicknamed the Nithya Haritha Nayakan -  the Evergreen hero -- because of a career that spanned four decades and comprised over 600 films.

He was also widely regarded as the ultimate romantic hero, partly because of his dashing good looks.  Which included, of course, a moustache:

(I own precisely one Prem Nazir film, the excellent Nadhi, and I feel the need to track down more of them.  It's not the mo'.  Really.)

But.  Note Prem Nazir's moustache.  An elegant, fine, pencil-line moustache.  Not mo'-less at all. 

And neither will Dileep be in Vellaripravinte Changathi.  His mo' will merely be trimmed down to approximate that of Prem Nazir:

Personally, I wished he'd gone right for a Prem Nazir pencil mo', but maybe that's just me...

Coming up on future installments for MOuchoPrema:  how the mo' affects the box office, and moucho commentary on the mouche.