#4: Changing Times

"Choose carefully. Memories are all we end up with. At least pick the nice ones." - Juan Jose Campanella's 'The Secret in their Eyes' (2009) 

It must be some time in 1990. My Mom and my Bua were contemplating on recommending a movie to my Baba and Dadima. “This is a film they should not miss. It is more decent than they can imagine” – my Mom suggested and my Bua nodded. “Except, for the opening title sequence”, Mom thought out loud. “If it were not for that song, we could have definitely recommended it to them.” But my 20-year old Bua thought otherwise. “What’s wrong with that song? It’s the dance of Shiva and Parvati. I’m sure they won’t mind that!” And the two ladies burst out laughing.

My grandparents did not go to watch ‘Maine Pyaar Kiya’, the beautiful ‘family film’ that opened with a song where the shadows of two lovers, dressed in tights, danced with passion. The popular Hindi cinema of the early 90s was too embarrassing for such a suggestion to be made to them. Those were the times when ‘Sexy sexy sexy mujhe log bole’ played at Saraswati Puja near our house. Once on our trip to the holy town of Deoghar, the bus constantly played the song “Sarkaaye lo khatiya jaada lage, jaade mein balma pyaara lage…” On our way back perhaps I was missing that song that I started singing it. My mother snapped at me – “Don’t sing that song. It’s dirty.” I must have been nine then, too young to understand why that song was dirty. But yes, I did not sing that song before her ever in my life again.

After Bua got married, in 1993, our little domestic movie club was broken. My Mom still managed to watch some movies, very few indeed, when we were at school, with some neighbor or guest visiting our home. I remember how impressed she was with ‘1942: A Love Story’, especially how ‘clean’ it was. And I remember she narrated to us how Rahul Roy turned into a lion in ‘Junoon’. I haven’t watched that film yet, but it seems I have actually seen that scene of the ‘werewolf inspired’ transformation, so vivid was Mom’s description of it. She always had some insight into films that I could never think of. After watching ‘Saajan’, she remarked how by making Sanjay Dutt slightly bent over his walking stick, his tall frame did not appear too awkward with Madhuri and Salman by his side. While watching the opening credits of the movies on TV, I used to ask her what a ‘Nirmaata’ (Producer) or a ‘Nirdeshak’ (director) was. And when my teachers prepared us for an upcoming cultural program at school, I used to tell my friends which teacher was the ‘Nirmaata’ of this show and who the ‘Nirdeshak’ was. A couple of teachers once over-heard this conversation of mine. They were amused and smiled lovingly at me, their favorite student among all, one who barely spoke.

Dad, unlike what the first post of this series suggested, never regained his interest in the movies. In fact, he was not interested in anything except his work. But yes, when ‘Saudaagar’ released, even my Dad could not resist the temptation of watching Dilip Kumar and Raj Kumar back on the big screen. One evening, after making the two of us sleep, Mom and Dad went for the 9 pm show at Konark Talkies. As far as I remember, that was the only movie my Mom and Dad, just the two of them, watched together.

Amidst all this, something else was to change. Once on his trip to Deoghar, Dad found about this school-ashram that was known for its spiritual ambience, disciplined lifestyle, and wholesome education. He wanted me to prepare for its tough entrance exam. I attempted twice, after failing to get through the first time. Having trained under my Mom, that included 5 am study hours, getting admitted to Ramakrishna Mission Vidyapith was the first goal I consciously strove for. It was dreamt by my Dad, and my Mom and I fulfilled it. My admission into that prestigious institution was a matter of pride for my entire extended family. “Your son will now be an IAS officer” remarked my Dad’s friends. All knew this was a significant achievement in my life as a student. And perhaps no one knew, least of all I, that this was the first Plot Point in my life as a whole – an irreversible change, that was to transform a shy, introverted child into the boy I was to become. End of March, 1995, I left my home, never to return back, except for the small vacations. What happened after that and how it affected my life as a film-buff will form a major chunk of the posts to follow. But let me end this post with something totally unexpected that happened just a couple of days before I left home. My Dad took us for a movie! It was 22nd of March, my birthday, and Dad took all three of us – Mom, my brother, and me, to watch ‘Karan Arjun’ (1995). It was a rare birthday gift, when all four of us watched a movie together for the first time. That it happened two days before I left my home is perhaps one hint at the emotional side of the stern persona my Dad sported.

Celluloid Man

I watched some of Sooraj Barjatya's films on YouTube last month. It has been made officially available there by Rajshri. I just had to spend about ten seconds and the movie was playing on my screen. If it were not available there, I could have (illegally) downloaded it, or hired a DVD from the nearest library. Watching films, in the age that we live, is as easy as that. The availability, mostly, is not an issue. Now let us go back to the late 60s. Can we, those living in this era, imagine how difficult it would have been to watch movies way back then? There was no DVD or VCR, and the only way to watch a movie was to wait for it be screened at a theatre near you. Perhaps, those from our generation will never be able to feel the longing and the joy that cinephiles experienced back then. Romance has definitely changed completely, with technology, and it includes the romance with films.

So when Sanjeev Kumar signed Satyajit Ray's 'Shatranj Ke Khiladi', and realised that he hadn't watched any of the masters films, he could not download it from the internet or order it from BigFlix. He did not have UTV World Movies on his TV. And he definitely did not want to face Ray without having any knowledge of his cinema - he was too embarrassed. So he went to Pune and contacted Mr. PK Nair, the founder and director of National Film Archive of India. The Archive had several of Ray's movies. Sanjeev Kumar rented a flat in Pune, stayed there for several weeks, and watched all these films, projected at the Archive auditorium. Imagine, what he would have done if there were no Ray movie there, or worse, there were no Archive!

The first Indian talkie, 'Alam Ara', was made in 1931. Today, the movie is untraceable. It is lost. That invaluable film of historic and aesthetic significance is not with us any more. Possibly its last print is buried in some abandoned junkyard, fungi growing over spools of a dream that its maker Ardeshir Irani had made possible, of a film that had driven the Indian audience crazy just because the characters on the screen had begun to talk! The state of India's first fiction film 'Raja Harishchandra' (1913) is much better. Of its 40 minutes, only about 16 minutes have been found and archived. At the film club in our medical college, we once had the screening of whatever has survived of that remarkable film - the precursor of what we call Indian Cinema.

We, Indians, have had a glorious past, but a very poor history. The West has had a significant past, but a very significant history. These lines from the documentary 'Celluloid Man' (2013) ring so true even with respect to our cinema. There is so much to regret about what has been lost - so much of dream and passion and hard work now gone forever. There is a scene in the documentary where spools of film are sold at the rate of some hundred rupees per kilo, and then silver is extracted out of the film, reducing the magic of motion picture written over it to uselessly non-biodegradable plastic - hauntingly blank and colourless, reminding me of the ghastly slaughterhouse scenes from the 1949 French documentary: 'The Song of the Beasts'. So yes, there is a lot to regret about. But what 'Celluloid Man' does manage to achieve is honour and thank and celebrate the efforts of Mr. Nair, who can be rightly called the custodian of the Indian film tradition.

It is a long documentary, two hours and forty minutes. And it has numerous references to films and film-makers from across the world. So, I don't know if I can recommend it to all. But for me, it was perhaps the best way to celebrate the Centenary of Indian Cinema. I hope you can feel my joy when I saw the villagers of a small Karnataka village talk about 'Bicycle Thieves' and 'Rashomon' - having watched them during the screenings held there from the prints archived at NFAI. Or the moment when Mr. Nair is mouthing the lines of Charles Kane, with the 'greatest movie ever made' playing on the screen behind him. Or the theme music of '8 1/2' rising in the background. Or Naseeruddin Shah talking about Vittorio Di Sicca. 'Celluloid Man' is a film its maker Shivendra Singh Dungarpur can be proud of. It is relevant, and it is moving, and I didn't want to end. Of the powerful images from it, perhaps the most unforgettable and hair-raising would be the images of abandoned film cans, shrouded with cob-webs, neglected and ignored, and the unforgettable line from Ghatak's 'Meghe Dhaka Tara' (1960) - "Dada, aami baanchte chaayi" (I want to survive, brother!) echoing on the sound-track. It was a moment that made me feel helpless and sad, for all films that are lost today. If cinema is forever, it is only because of the tireless efforts by people like PK Nair, who unarguably is one of the biggest cinephiles this land has produced.

Do You Have it in You?

The title of the post was the tag-line of the adverts for Indian Army during my school days. While thinking of the title as I write these words, it just flashed into my mind. Five years in an army medical college, and several army doctors as close friends, have given me a good idea of what life in the armed forces is. It's tough. Very tough. And still, I am using this tag line to mark a post that talks about the attributes or qualities of a screen-writer. The reason is simple. Writing, too, is an extremely tough profession. I think it is one of the toughest in the world. Those who disagree have no idea what writing is. Those who agree, well, please send me a cheque. I badly need one.

I recently chanced upon this website, which is an amazing source of inspiration and knowledge for a screenwriter. It is so vast that I am struggling to keep up with my daily subscription of its posts. Every day, it gives me something that rejuvenates my spirits. A few weeks ago, it ran a series on the attributes of a screenwriter, the skills and traits one should possess if he or she is bitten by the film-writing bug. For long, I wanted to share those traits here on this blog. Finally, I am doing it:

1. TALENT: This is the most insignificant of all qualities. Insignificant and overrated. How can one ever tell that he has got talent? How can someone else do it for him? If I believe I have talent, don't I have it? If I believe I have talent, do I really have it? This quality is insignificant because there is no point in dwelling into it. But still, you've got to have talent. I wish I were a good cricketer. I really do. But I just didn't have the talent. So, if you can assess your writing skills the way I can my cricketing skills, ask this question to yourselves. If not, just forget it and believe in yourself.

2. PASSION: This is also insignificant. Because passion alone can take you nowhere. But this is essential. The passion you have for movies and writing will help your longevity in this tough industry, will heal your wounds, will keep you on with an empty stomach and worn out shirt. If you are not doing it for the love of movies, quit NOW. But how do you know if you've got passion? Well, I think just ask these questions: Do you eagerly await the release of some movies? In your conversations with friends, do you often bring up movies? Do you think of movies every day at least once? If you haven't watched a movie for some time, do you feel a void within you? In my case, a big YES is the answer to each of these questions. Hope the same for you.

3. COURAGE: It takes courage to isolate yourself from the entire world, trying to create something. A couple of years flash by and people start asking - what about that script you were writing? It takes courage to answer that question. It takes courage to tell your loved ones that your time will come. It takes courage to tell yourself that the usual pleasures and conventional life enjoyed by others will have to wait. It takes courage to spend months and years on a script, knowing very well that the film may never be made. It takes courage to finish the draft and send it out to others to judge it and take their feedback. And it takes courage to start all over again, re-writing, and giving your all, again.

4. CONSISTENCY: Can you consistently come up with good ideas? Can you willingly and sincerely go into the research for your script and work hard on it? Can you get yourself to the chair and write every day? Can you write a fresh script after one you have just finished? Or every time you do one of these things, you feel the need to take a break and go on a vacation. Quit NOW, if that is the case. Writing, as I always say, is manual labour. You have to churn out work hours. Or you will go nowhere.

5. PERSISTENCE: The more you get into screenwriting, the more you realise the truth behind the mantra: "Writing is Re-writing." Can you write several drafts of your screenplay? Can you keep working on it for months and years together, trying to perfect it to your heart's content? Persistence, according to me is the most valuable quality a screenwriter can have. Read about David Seidler. His first widely recognised work 'The King's Speech' (2010) came when he was 73. He received an Academy Award for it and today he must be proud of his life that was spent in order to create that one magnificently inspiring screenplay. After all, it might just take one week of magical inspiration for a writer to create a masterpiece of a draft. But no one can say when that one week will be bestowed upon him. The answer to this is persistence. If we keep looking for it, working hard, may be ten years down the line, or twenty, or thirty, we will get that one week of magical inspiration and we will create our masterpiece. If Seidler had given up after reaching the age of 65, we wouldn't be talking about him here.

6. FLEXIBILITY: The script evolves as you work on it. Do you have it in you to acknowledge that evolution? Do you have it in you to evolve as a person with time or you are too rigid to change? Are you open to feedback? Can you take feedback without being defensive? Can you consider each feedback with an objective mind? Can you acknowledge and accept all kinds of emotions that a writer feels in his journey with each script? If you are not flexible, writing a great script is still possible. But will you be able to survive as a great writer, all your life?

7. VOICE: Have you got anything to say? Do you have a world-view, a perspective on things? Have you experienced life in a way no one else has done? Do you feel the need to interpret things in your way and make it accessible for others? In short, are you an author? Or you are someone who is interested in churning out genre films, doing the same thing again and again, not bothering about finding your own, unique voice?

8. KNOWLEDGE OF THE CRAFT: Screenwriting has to be learnt. It's not poetry that you do for yourself. It's an art and a craft, and needs to be structured in such a way that hundreds of people can use it to work as a team and create a film, that financiers back it, that distributors buy the film it results into, that audience loves it. A musician who says - I don't give a damn about the theory behind the musical notes and rhythms is saying no to the valuable information his predecessors have accumulated for him. Screenwriters who believe there is no need to learn the craft know nothing about screenwriting.

9. EXPERIENCE OF WRITING: How many pages have you written as a writer? How many drafts have you written? Until today, in the past six-seven years, I have written around 25 drafts of various screenplays. It would be roughly 2500 pages, not counting the short scripts. I know I could have done more. I know the more you write, the easier it gets. Every time you start a fresh draft, after a gap of a few weeks, writing the first page is so damn difficult. And once you have been writing regularly for just about seven days, the eighth day is that much easier. There are a lot of 'writers' who have a lot of ideas and concepts, which they believe are 'kick-ass'! But when you ask them if they have ever completed one 100-page draft of a screenplay, their face says it all. Like all things in the world, experience of actually doing it always helps.

10. CONVICTION: Do I need to say more. Conviction - this one word tells it all. Self-belief. The funny thing is, if you have got conviction, you can afford to ignore all the above mentioned qualities. "I do not have too much of talent or passion. I don't work hard and I'm not disciplined. I can not take criticism, and I fear failure. I do not have anything unique to say. I don't know the craft and I have never written a word. But I believe in myself and one day I will prove it to you!" See, conviction works even for this writer friend of ours. So, if you have any one of the above mentioned qualities, you should feel lucky! But if you do not have conviction, then all the nine qualities mentioned above will fail to take you anywhere. I believe conviction is the soul of our profession, persistence is the body, and passion is the heart. If you have these three, all the rest can be learnt or acquired. After all, what makes an artist other than a journey of seeking forever? Who said this? James Joyce? Perhaps.

Test Your Idea

The first idea I had had for an original film script was when I was seventeen. I am yet to develop that idea into a screenplay. In the years that followed, innumerable concepts fascinated me, and I thought I was going to be one of the greatest film writers, versatile and universally loved.

Today, I understand that most of those ideas can not be made into commercially viable films aspiring to find an audience. And several of those which fascinated me are not good ideas at all. Storytelling in cinema is different from writing a novel or a play or a nostalgic memoir of a distant past. Storytelling in cinema is different from social activism and aspiring to change the world. But still, when a new idea strikes us, we are excited and inspired, and believe we have a film in hand. What works and what does not, in cinema, is an elaborate argument and let us spare it for later. For now, I have come up with a list of 15 questions that may help you judge whether your idea is good enough for a film.

Not all, but most of these questions should be answered in affirmative, if you want to check the promise in your idea. Take this test. See the result. Then either believe in this questionnaire or reject this post of mine. The least I promise is - it will enhance your understanding of the film 'in your head'.

• Have you got nine other ideas with respect to which this is the best? Remember - the best way to find a good idea is to have a lot of ideas.
• Are you really inspired to tell this story? If yes, do you think you can work on it even if the script may not see the light of the day and the film is never made? Developing a script is the riskiest phase of film-making. No one can guarantee that the film will be made. You should not regret later if it's not made, because if you are inspired with your story, you will 'make it in your head' as you write it and you can 'watch it' all your life when you read it.
• Is it original enough? Have you not seen this idea flourish into films/scenes from films/ soap operas/plays/novels before? Beware of the subconscious influences!
• Do you have an appropriate ending in mind? It is important to determine the ending of the story before deciding to work in it. It's not absolutely essential. But it is important.
• Is it emotionally involving? Will most people relate to it? An emotionally involving story is universal, unlike an 'intellectual' or 'cerebral' one. An emotionally involving story is also more likely to be made.
• Are you sure you do not have predictable elements or cliches in your story? If there are, can you find solutions to get rid of them? We hate cliches in others' films, but we somehow do not mind them in ours! Please check and re-check.
• Do you understand the world your story is set in? If no, can you shift it to the world you know? Or, are you willing to understand the world inside out? This can be taken as an opportunity to learn and experience new worlds. But it will require a lot of effort.
• Do you know the characters well? If no, can you take inspiration from characters you know in real life and fuse them to create the characters of your story? Characters around us are amazing. Start with yourself!
• Are you sure your characters are not stereotypical? What can you do to make them 'original' and interesting? Instead of creating characters as seen in films, try to create characters as seen in life.
• Does the idea have the merit to suit the running time of your intended film? The story of the clever crow managing to quench its thirst is good for a two-minute animation, not for a two-hour live-action film.
• Are you sure that in your story, you are not relying too much on chance events? If no, can you change them to character-driven events? We cringe as audience when too much is dictated by chance. Even in our favourite movies, such moments are the least favourite!
• Are you sure that you are not relying on evoking the sympathy and pity of the audience for the characters? If no, can you find ways to make the audience empathise with and admire your characters rather than pitying them? No one wants to see a cry baby on screen!
• Do you have a theme to guide you through whenever you need it? Is the core philosophy of the story something you believe in? The theme need not be something as profound as the Aatman-Brahman Theory. It can be something as simple as - Life is Beautiful! Whatever it is, it's important that you believe in it. Otherwise, you won't be true to yourself as a writer.
• Do you see the film as a conflicted journey of the protagonist(s) that causes some significant change by the end? If there were no conflicts, 'Lagaan' would have been a 30-minute short film that everyone would have hated. If there were no change, most stories would appear sterile and ineffective. Conflicts and change are the body and soul of your idea. 
• Do you have the courage to fail and the conviction to succeed before starting on this journey? If this is the only question you have answered in affirmative, go ahead even if the rest fourteen have been negative. If the answer to this question is 'No', even fourteen positives will not help! This last question is also the disclaimer for my post: You may choose to ignore the entire post if you don't believe in it. But in any case, believe in yourself! I would be most happy to read a good script that is born out of an idea that did not conform with most of the questions above.

Satyajit Ray (2nd May 1921 - Forever)

"Not to have seen the cinema of Ray means existing in the world without seeing the sun or the moon." - Akira Kurosawa

Happy Birthday, Ray Babu!

P.S. It's heartening to see Google honor the master with this day's doodle, with an unforgettable moment from one of the best films the world has seen.

#3: Maiden Foreign 'Trip'

“The movie never changes. It can't change. But every time you see it, it seems different because you're different.” - Terry Gilliam's 'Twelve Monkeys' (1995)

Every time I think of the single screen theatres of my hometown, every time I go into my memories of them, there are certain images that never fail to turn up. Today, in the world dominated by multiplexes with top quality seating, projection, and acoustics, those images seem to be from a different world, or a past life. Those screens were huge, and the capacity several times more than that of the largest multiplex theatre near me. Green-yellow walls loomed over us, decorated with coloured glasses, as we rose up the wide, paan-stained staircase to enter the movie hall. There was no air-conditioning but several noisy, and habitually inefficient fans lined the edges of the walls, adding to the humdrum of the excited, rowdy crowd. Once it went dark, the little doors with 'Exit' sign above them fascinated me. Why it is important to mention that these doors take you out - I never knew! The movies were always preceded by the timeless ads for Vicco products, and during the intermission, hand-written transparencies were projected in a slide-show, advertisements for the local sari shops and gift stores. Several minutes before the 'Intermission' titles appeared on the screen, it was 'announced' by the uninhibited entry of vendors, selling soft-drinks, Uncle Chips, and pop-corn of the most pathetic order. The soft-drink wallahs had their bottle openers using which they made an irritating but inviting sound on the glass bottles. Gold Spot and Limca were our favourites, occasionally Thumbs Up. Pepsi and Coke were unheard names. I remember, asking Mom for these or other eatables was not easy - she was strict with what we ate outside the house, even though all of us were out on a 'forbidden' trip to the movies. I also remember that during the Intermission, all the people around me looked like midgets, and especially their faces appeared shrunk. Possibly it was the after effect of watching the giant images on the screen that the real people suddenly appeared tiny. Possibly, it was only in my head. But that sight was not pleasant - tiny faces look evil - was my observation. Even my Mom looked strange, and it was particularly discomforting. I also remember the echo of the dialogues in the hall - it required sincere effort and imagination to understand the lines. And I remember the bed-bug ridden seats - that completed our movie experience.

The creatures and the faces and the sounds and the energy among the audience - all was to adopt a different meaning one morning as our school - an orthodox Christian school that punished us if we were caught talking in Hindi - took all students to the Konark Talkies for a movie. It was Steven Spielberg's Jurassic Park (1993), possibly the first international film to reach every small town of this country, and definitely the first Hollywood film that grossed more from overseas than the American market. That was one unforgettable day. All lectures were cancelled and it was amazing to see the entire hall crowded with us kids - in white shirts and navy blue shorts (for boys) and red skirts (for girls). That was my first taste of American or non-Indian cinema, of a master film-maker, of a film without songs, and of the breathtaking spectacle that cinema can be. I still remember how little quirks in the film impressed me, as I had never seen them in our 'own' films - like Sam Neil clumsily tying the seat-belt when he is unable to figure out how to lock it as the helicopter descends down on the island with a waterfall in the background and a mesmerising background score playing on the sound-track. That I loved the film would be an under-statement. And the setting - with all friends and school-mates together, made it unforgettable. To think of it now, it was to be the only film I watched with my earliest friends.

On returning home, I shared the story with my Mom, excitedly. After listening to me, she said, "Imagine how this film would look in 3D". "What's that?" - I asked and she explained to me what 3D was. A middle-class housewife from a small Indian town talking about 3D in the early 90s! I didn't know then what it meant. For me, she was my Mom, who knew 'everything', sharing her knowledge and awareness of the world with me, as we let our imaginations loose about what 'Jurassic Park' in 3D would look like!

Last week, that twenty-year old imagination came alive, as I watched the movie again, re-released globally in 3D. And all those memories came rushing back to me - of those movie halls and my school friends and that conversation with my Mom. 'Jurassic Park' was my first, and deservingly so, entry into the amazing world of international cinema. I hardly knew back then, that the beginning made that day will turn my world into an amusement park of movies and turn me into a kid refusing to grow up. Today, I see the flaws in that film, which is rightfully considered an inferior film in the filmography of Spielberg. But for reasons mentioned above, and those that can perhaps never be expressed but only felt and cherished - 'Jurassic Park' remains, and will remain, one of the very favourite films of mine.

Must Watch Before You Die #34: Late Spring (1949)

It has been close to four months since I made a recommendation in this column. During this period, I have watched close to 50 good films, some even great, but I was waiting for one that would qualify as a 'must watch' beyond any doubt. And finally, I found this - one of the most beautiful films you're going to watch - Yasujiro Ozu's 'Late Spring'.

I haven't had the fortune of observing a father-daughter relationship from a close distance. Have only heard of it, and have vaguely felt it in the bond that my Mom shared with her Dad, my Nanaji. There have been a few female friends, who are close to me, and who talk fondly about their fathers. Some of them evoke such tenderness within me that I start longing for a daughter! People who know me would understand what a big 'shift' it is from my priorities and preferences, if I start talking about having a child, and a family. But this is what happens to me, when such conversations come up, of the magically beautiful relationship some daughters have with their fathers.

Early April in India, is very much 'late spring'. It wasn't planned, but it just happened that I watched this Ozu masterpiece during that time. After last year's 'Sight and Sound' poll of the greatest films, 'Late Spring' has suddenly climbed up the rankings and I had great expectations from it. When it ended, I had tears in my eyes, and a blissful smile on my face. There is something about this relationship that I think I already know - how the father would feel once he sends away his darling daughter off to a new family! What a terribly and helplessly mixed feeling it would be! You see it in the eyes of Anupam Kher during closing portions of the 'Samdhi Samdhan' song in 'Hum Aapke Hain Koun!'. You see it in the eyes of Ashok Kumar at the climax of 'Aashirwaad'. Now see it in the eyes of Chishu Ryu, and love this beautiful movie forever!

#2: The First Sight?

“The best films are like dreams you're never sure you've really had.” – Jim Jarmusch’s 'The Limits of Control' (2009) 

When we were kids, my brother and I had one daily ritual. Every evening, after playtime, we used to listen to stories that our Baba, Grand Dad, told us. Those were stories from mythology, from fiction he read, and from his own imagination. My Baba was my first storyteller. And my Mom always let us finish our story sessions with him before beckoning us for studies. I still have the memory of such evenings, just like the memory of the first child-magazine Mom bought for me. However, I’m not sure if what I have in my mind are bits and pieces of visual memory, or images re-imagined after I grew up. Similar is the case with my first memory of experiencing a movie in a theatre. I can never be sure whether the image I have in my mind, of watching ‘Nache Mayuri’ (1986) as a two-year old, is a memory or re-imagination.

But I remember watching ‘Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak’ (1988) on VCR, and how my 18-year old Bua had fallen in love with Aamir Khan, treasuring several picture-postcards of the young heart-throb. We then watched all his films that released in a theatre near us, including duds like ‘Daulat Ki Jung’ (1992), and we watched all his films that never released in our town but were available on video, like ‘Raakh’ (1989), and ‘Love Love Love’ (1989). I also remember that once, along with one if these movies, we had watched a B-grade zombie flick called ‘Khooni Murda’ (1989) on VCR. One of my uncles had announced its name before playing the film, and I mistook it as ‘Khooni Murga’ and kept searching for the ‘killer cock’ as the ‘killer zombie’ avenged his death.

It must be mentioned here that watching movies was always an adventure. Baba never approved of it – it was indecent, according to him. Dad’s interest in movies was over by the time I was born. And it was only rarely, when Baba was out of town and Dad was out working, that we – Mom, Bua, my brother and I, went to the movies. It was always secretly planned and executed. But I guess none of such opportunity was missed. Munger had four movie theatres when we had shifted from the village, a couple of months after my brother was born. I can never forget their names – Konark, Neelam, Vijay, and Baidyanath. On our way to school, we kept looking for the movie posters and informed Mom of the latest releases. When the young Divya Bharti became the craze of the nation, we watched almost all her movies, including ‘Dil Ka Kya Kasoor’ and ‘Shola Aur Shabnam’ (both 1992). I also remember watching Ronit Roy’s debut film ‘Jaan Tere Naam’ (1992). My brother used to dance on its number – ‘First time dekha tumhe hum kho gaya’ during family functions! I think 'Maine Pyaar Kiya' (1989) was the first film I watched twice, the second time in Jamalpur's Railway Theare. One of my maternal uncles was a projectionist there and I remember its spiral iron stair-case that appealed to me more than the dingy projection room and the spools of film being projected from there. 

I also remember having gone to watch the debut film of a to-be superstar that also starred our favorite Divya Bharti. But this new kid did not appear on the screen until the first half was over. I remember deciding to take a nap, and telling my Mom to wake me up once ‘he’ arrived. When he did, with a song on a motor-bike, it was a bang. He was to rule India’s cinema consciousness for next few decades. The star was Shah Rukh Khan. The film was ‘Deewana (1992)’.

Around the same time, the fifth theatre opened in our sleepy town. It was called Siddharth and the inaugural film, ‘Saugandh’ (1991), was the debut vehicle of another to-be superstar. There is one scene in that film that always comes to my mind. The actress is unconscious, cold and wet, in an isolated hut in a jungle. Our hero, Akshay Kumar, removes all her clothes and sleeps with her to ‘save her life’ by providing the heat of his body. As a seven year old, I was intrigued by this scene. This also reminds me of one afternoon when National TV was showing several films back-to-back. During the counting of votes after the General Elections, such was the norm with Doordarshan. We were watching ‘Jab Jab Phool Khile’ (1965) and suddenly, at one point, a scene was deleted. I overheard my Mom telling my Bua – this is the scene where Shashi Kapoor (the hero) sleeps with the girl to ‘save her life’! It’s funny indeed, how cinema was also the first source of ‘knowledge’ that we never got otherwise. And it’s great that I frequently over-heard such ‘enlightening’ conversations between my Mom and Bua. More about such conversations, that along with these early movies formed the basis of my cinema consciousness, in the chapters to come!

The Special B’day Gift

A lot of friends around me had downloaded and watched the latest film by Quentin Tarantino months ago, not being able to contain their excitement for it. I refused to do that. Having watched the unforgettable ‘Inglourious Basterds’ (2009) on the big screen, it was impossible for me to experience the latest on my laptop. So, I waited, patiently, and with the hope that the version that the Indian censor board releases does not have atrocious cutting like I experienced last week with ‘The Master’ (2012). As I write these words, I am glad that I waited.

The 22nd of March was my birthday. And ‘Django Unchained’ that released in India on the same day, I believe, was Quentin Tarantino’s gift to me. Ever since the release date was announced, I was jubilant. And finally, on the destined day, after having worked until almost ten in the evening, I had the amazing experience. That the final act was underwhelming is something I’d happily ignore. The first act in itself was enough to please all my movie-senses!

I had decided to visit a temple, something I haven’t done in months, on the occasion of turning twenty-nine. The work kept me from doing that and when I got free it was the time to head off for the movie-hall. “I wanted to visit the temple today” – I said regretfully. And came my brother's snappy reply – “ Isn't that where we're going right now?”

Temple. Indeed. Slashing of arteries and gushing of blood. The stunning landscapes of a Spaghetti Western. The characters and words of Mr. Tarantino. And the wide eyes and an uninhibited grin of the birthday-boy. Thank you, movie Gods!

Writing for Others

A student of mine asked me this question today: "How do you keep your vision (as a writer) intact and continue to have a conviction behind your chain of thoughts when you know that the depiction and sensibility of the film (by the director) is going to be different than the script anyway? As a writer, does this bother you... and if it does how do you fight it, and still maintain the quality of the product?"

I can very confidently tell you that the issue mentioned above does not bother me at all. But I understand that there will be writers who will be struggling in this regard. I'll share my take on it. And I'll present it in the form of certain facts that I think a writer should keep in mind:

1. Accept that you are a writer, and not a director: A writer is not naturally capable of directing, unless he has those qualities in him. Creating a world on paper in solitude is difficult but also very different from re-creating that world working with hundreds of people, getting things done in the midst of chaos, and especially dealing with technology and egos of people. So, the writer should understand that he or she, despite being the creator of the story, need not be the best person to direct it.

2. Your script is your film and your only opportunity to seek fulfillment: If you were a famous popular novelist, and you knew that the current novel you are working on will definitely be made into a film by someone, you do not start making the film and doing the shot division and meeting composers for the musical score. You do what you do best - writing the novel. And even if you visualize things, you have accepted that the film-maker might change them, and that this novel alone is your own space where you can do what you want to. Similarly, a screenwriter should write the script he wants to write - and make that film in his head. But he should know very well that the film from his head will be 'remade' by the director. That does not mean he should feel demotivated. The script is the writer's space - and he should do all that he wants to in that space. Consider this - the script is the only opportunity for the writer to 'make his film'. So, he must use it uninhibitedly. This is the only version of the movie he can say he created on his own and take pride in. (The only exception to this is a scenario when the director is attached to the writing process and you are writing to fulfill his expectations. In that case, you have to make a choice whether you want to write as per his instructions, which, according to me, is completely fine and a fair professional decision, or you want to convince him to let you write your way.)

3. Detach: Once your script has been approved, the writer should detach himself from the process. He should learn to let go. Mothers and fathers let go of their daughters (and in some cases their sons). Teachers let go of students. Artists let go of the art-works they have sold. Even directors, at times, let go of the films they have made. So there is no reason why a writer cannot do it. This is a part of his job. If he cannot do it, he should write only for himself, or better, write and keep the script in his closet. However, detaching is not the same as disowning. Depending on the film that is being made, and the way the director is re-interpreting the script, detachment can be of different levels. You can be present on the set and help the director with all he needs, knowing very well that you will have to let him take the final call. Or you can choose to never visit the set, and possibly even not watch the film when it is out. Between these two ends is a wide spectrum, and a writer finds himself attached (or detached) with the film by trying to find that place in the spectrum that suits him as per respective projects. In any case, I think the trick is to trust the director initially. And if things are not happening the way you had visualized, wish him all the best and detach. Start working on the next script, the next 'film in your head'.

4. You are not alone: All creative individuals working on a film struggle to achieve this balance that we have been talking about. A cinematographer might have a certain vision and style that he willingly modifies to suit the director's vision and style. An editor does the same. Even actors wish to work within the director's interpretation of the characters, or at least seek approval from him regarding their interpretations. Musicians, lyricists, choreographers, production designers, sound designers - all strive to achieve that balance. Film-making is a collaborative process and the director is the head of the pyramid. If all creative individuals can come together and become a part of his 'film', there is no reason why a writer should keep sulking in a corner. Perhaps the only reason would be that writers are most used to solitude, and sulking in a corner is something that comes naturally to them. But otherwise, they should understand that they are not alone, or are being 'sidelined' by the director.

In the end it's all a matter of readjusting expectations, and constantly doing so. Being a part of a team and maintaining your individuality and giving the best from your end is a question of character. It is not easy. But so is life. If wedded couples can do it, if sportspersons can do it, if soldiers can do it, why can't a writer - who is doing one of the most difficult jobs on earth? How he or she manages to achieve that detached attachment will finally depend on his or her character and priorities. A start, however, can be made by accepting some facts, like those mentioned above, with faith and the right spirit. After all, "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." ( from Takashi Miike's 2007 film 'Sukiyaki Western Django')

Finally, a Decent Score!

TSPDT's list of the 1000 greatest movies is my favourite such compilation of great movies. It included shorts and documentaries and animation and avant-garde films along with the features. It also includes film-series like 'Berlin Alexanderplatz', and features films from all over the world.

In November, 2010, I had finished watching one-fourth of the list, that is 250 film. By November, 2011, I managed to finish one-third of them. Last month, I went past the 400 mark, and for the first time I'm feeling good about my score.

The next post on this topic would be when I go beyond 500. That would be a day! It should happen some time next year.

Following are the ten movies that were my journey from 390 to 400:

THE SEARCHERS (John Ford / 1956) Ranked #9
GERMANY, YEAR ZERO (Roberto Rossellini / 1947) Ranked #218
4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS AND 2 DAYS (Cristian Mungiu / 2007) Ranked #862
FORBIDDEN GAMES (René Clément / 1951) Ranked #684
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND (Steven Spielberg / 1977) Ranked #249
DO THE RIGHT THING (Spike Lee / 1989) Ranked #135
MY DARLING CLEMENTINE (John Ford / 1946) Ranked #138
TIME OF THE GYPSIES (Emir Kusturica / 1989) Ranked #649
HANA-BI (Takeshi Kitano / 1997) Ranked #808
CLOSE-UP (Abbas Kiarostami / 1990) Ranked #79

Invictus

This is perhaps one of the most inspiring poems I've read. Just finished watching this film, and had to share the poem here on this blog. May all of us be blessed with infinite hope, power, and faith that this great poem stands for. Thank you dear poet, Mr. William Earnest Henley.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

Five Facts of Fact-based Fiction

This news is big. Steven Spielberg is about to create a mini-series on Napolean Bonaparte. But the fact that actually makes it such a big news is that Spielberg is basing the series on the script which is often termed as the “greatest film never made”, the most ambitious unrealized project of the giant that was Stanley Kubrick. Kubrick, who with his 13 films over a career of 46 years is the biggest cinematic illustration to the cliché of “quality over quantity” had reportedly studied close to five hundred books during his research for the film. And I, as would all other die-hard Kubrick fans, always wondered what that film would have been. Well, now is the time to look forward to it and hope Spielberg does justice to the vision of the master.

This brings me to my topic of this post. I’m presently working on a screenplay based on true events and real people and it’s such a great coincidence that most of recent releases I’ve seen recently have been ‘fact-based fiction’. Just check this out: ‘Argo’, ‘Special Chhabees’, ‘Lincoln’, and ‘Zero Dark Thirty’. Watching these, and reading about them, and simultaneously working on my script has led me to these five broad observations about fact-based fiction.

1. You do not have the liberty to do whatever you want with historical characters, and the story’s plot points and resolution, unless you decide to do an ‘Inglourious Basterds’ (2009) and assassin Hitler in a movie hall. So, the structure of the film is more a matter of selecting that period of the concerned history that makes for a compelling film. For example, ‘Lincoln’ deals with just one major achievement of the president and finally his assassination. There can be a separate film on the childhood of Lincoln until he becomes the president. It is up to the writer to choose what part of history he wants to recreate, as he can hardly ‘create’ something original.
2. However, you know that you’re not making a documentary. In feature films, you have to make sure that the larger appeal of the film is not compromised. Cinematic liberty is not only a tool, but often an inevitable necessity. And you always run the risk of losing the credibility if you barely cross that thin line. Watch the climax of ‘Argo’ to understand what I mean.
3. The bigger fight is internal. As a writer you do not want to lose your integrity. In most cases, you chose a certain character/event because you are personally fascinated by him/her/it. It becomes increasingly difficult, then, to alter facts to make your script spicy. You want to portray the truth in the most truthful way, but understand that point 1 mentioned above will always conflict with your intention to achieve something using point 2. This ethical and moral dilemma is something that you can never escape when you are writing fact-based fiction.
4. There is this predictable risk of the controversies and legal issues. After all, how can you ever make a film on the real CIA agent who helped in nabbing Osama Bin Laden? Hence you create a fictitious character, Maya, and symbolically portray the determination and efforts of all those who had contributed in the real life. Going by that, I think, the protagonist of ‘Zero Dark Thirty’ is a smart achievement of the writer. Otherwise, it was impossible to make a film on this remarkable historical event.
5. And then there is the limitation of the budget. When you’re writing about a certain historical period, you painstakingly recreate that world in your screenplay. Knowing that when seen on film, it is the details of art and costumes that will actually make things look ‘real’. As a writer, if you start wondering about whether the budget will allow your director to achieve everything that you are trying to imagine, chances are you would be failing to do justice to your product.

So, what is the answer? In my opinion, the only way out is to take pleasure in these challenges. Working within defined parameters can often be enlightening for the writer. And to be honest, similar challenges are faced while adapting a novel into a film script. Being able to deliver a good script under these circumstances is difficult and rewarding at the same time. Difficult and rewarding – perhaps this is the only similarity between this kind of adaptation and creating a completely original work!

P.S. Today, incidentally, is the death anniversary of Kubrick. Some people deserve immortality of flesh and blood!

#1: The Genes Did It

“Love is the hardest thing in the world to write about.” – Billy Wilder’s ‘The Lost Weekend’ (1945)

She was born and brought up in a small, industrial town called Jamalpur, known for its locomotive workshop. Her father was a guard in the Eastern Railways, but his biggest passions were astrology, homeopathy, poetry and dramatics. He used to write, direct, and act in plays that were performed at the Railway Talkies – a theater maintained by the Indian Railways. Unlike her other siblings, the girl had no interest in the house-hold activities, and she was to remain ignorant of the basic culinary skills until she was about to get married several years later. Instead, she spent time with her dad, whose she was the favorite child, acting in plays written and directed by him and even winning a prize for the Best Child Actor. As the romantic age of adolescence became hers, she developed the habit of staying glued to the radio, listening to the songs from Hindi films, and singing along, and eventually penning them down in her personal diary. In her large joint-family home she always did what she wanted, despite what her several guardians asked her to. They even pointed at a boy who was seen studying on the roof-top of a neighboring house, and asked her and other kids at home to be like him. And she did not disappoint them, by successfully managing studies with her new-found loves of knitting and reading novels and learning the Bengali language, only to be able to write letters to her newly-wed Mami who was from Bengal. But her biggest passions remained her love for Hindi films being screened at the Railway Talkies and the songs that Vividh Bharti played.

He was the first-child of his parents, born eleven years after their marriage, in a semi-rural community called Bindwara, after his grandmother prayed to the Sun god and pledged to the annual ritual of Chhath on being blessed with a grand-son. It was not a surprise that he was to be pampered and spoiled beyond measure despite the strict, disciplinarian father that he had. His father was always away, having been posted to neighboring towns, and the kid was free to live the way he wanted to. He grew up to become a goon who would storm into the office of his headmaster in order to get things done the way students demanded. Little did he know that this rash, carefree personality of his was going to be the biggest conflict he would face when he would fall in love.

The two met in high-school. During those years, his family had shifted to the neighboring town of Jamalpur, and the two families lived side-by-side. During evenings, he climbed up his roof, pretending to study, knowing very well that she would be able to see him from her courtyard, and her numerous guardians would be giving his example to their kids. The fact is that he was not bad in studies, and his Hindi was pretty impressive, as was his love for poetry, but he simply did not want to study. During the days of the college, he developed an obsessive adulation for Dharmendra who, according to him, was the uncrowned king of the Hindi film-industry. But his passion for films went beyond Dharmendra. Many years later, he was to claim to his kids that he had watched the Rajendra Kumar starrer ‘Suraj’ (1966) fifty times in the theater. He could also identify the actor of a film by listening to the Mohammad Rafi song of it playing on the radio, because he knew how Rafi Sahab modulated his voice for different actors. And his pride for the rest of his life was going to be the fact that he was among those few people who could promptly and surely make out the difference between the voices of Lata Mangeshkar and Suman Kalyanpur. It was during this age of late teens that he met the girl we talked about, and they fell in love. Almost seven years after they had met, the love was ‘arranged’ by the families into a matrimonial bond, fulfilling the romance they had nurtured for so long in a town and society that would only encourage scandals out of a love story. Next year after their marriage, one morning in the month of March, they were to become the proud parents of a baby boy, who several years later would give them the toughest moment of their lives by formally announcing the pursuit of his love. If only they realized, that the roots of the boy’s love had been seeded within them when they were struck by the same – the obsession for cinema…

She is my Mom. He is my Dad. I do not know much about their love story – I wish I did. But I know that I will be indebted to them for passing on to me their love for the arts, and especially the mad passion for cinema. Their love story was to give birth to several others, literally speaking.