Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

Can someone get me an Antikythera mechanism? The ancient astronomical prediction machine is the Dial of Destiny in the new Indiana Jones movie. In the movie, it has time travel power. Which is always attractive to this multiverse hopeful. And the moment when Indy meets Archimedes! Wow! Tear inducing emotional moment. And they had just been to his tomb and retrieved the other half of the mechanism from the remains. Now to see the man in person. I am not sure if age has anything to do with my reaction. Time. The passing of time. The ability to stop its movement, even for a few minutes, the ability to travel through different time periods, places, worlds, past, present, future. The possibilities. And you never die!

I love it when they show time travel in movies. And in this one, when they show the late sixties, that is the moon landing time, in New York, those scenes could really make me feel I was a part of it. That I was in it! Amazing power of this thing called movies!

On the way out of the movie theater, I was thinking which time period would I like to visit, or live in for a little time or longer? The romanticized version of the Middle Ages? At Taxila or the later Nalanda? During the Indus Valley civilization? On the Silk road? Which figure in history would I like to meet? The Buddha? Bronte sisters? Dracula? Just random names. But now I know whoever it is, those people may not choose to meet me! Or if they did, maybe I will not think it as special as I may have imagined! I came to the conclusion that I would want to live it all! Travel through all times, all places, be all people, be each person! Impossible? Shouldn’t be. What if I am already doing it? How can you or I tell if I am not?

Before going to the movie, I had read a few reviews about it. One reviewer was miffed about Indy getting old and having to be rescued by a girl, even as he acknowledged the passing of the torch to the young. That latter part, yes, but did not feel that Indy was being weak, or that he was “rescued” by a girl. I thought he still held his own. And it is more of an equal opportunity thing. Maybe some do not like that. Also, Indy is more philosophical, which is usually what happens as we get older. We learn from our experiences, from the world around us. And I totally understand the character wanting to stay in that other world. What else to do if we don’t have anything to come back to?

And you will be philosophical if you see the world through the lens of history. Nothing has changed much, on many levels. Wars, for instance. The movie begins with World War II. It ends in the Battle of Syracuse between Greeks and Romans in 213 BC. Now that doesn’t mean you cannot try and make the world a better place for everyone or that you shouldn’t live a good life, but it is as it is. There are moon landings and parades and loving and laughing in between, as then, as now. “Life” is something else, all right!

The one and only, the Marvelous Sylvester Stallone

 Just watched The Expendables - all 3 of them - again. And again was reminded why some actors are superstars. Like Tom Cruise. Clint Eastwood.  Dolph Lundgren. Jean Claude van Damme. Jackie Chan. Harrison Ford. Denzel Washington.Chuck Norris. Jason Statham. Liam Neeson. Scott Adkins., well his movies are direct to video,  ut that doesn’t matter, I enjoy his movies immensely. Why when I see their movies, I feel like I am seeing a movie. And why after seeing one of their movies, I come away feeling satisfied, satiated. But only Stallone can bring a bunch of those superstars together to create sweet mayhem, to dole out justice and to live to enjoy their  victory. Sweet! Fair distribution of roles, dialogues and screen time.

For the next one, he should get Jackie Chan, Clint Eastwood, and Shah Rukh Khan, Gina Carano, Michelle Yeoh, Aamir Khan, Pierce Brosnan, Lucy Liu … will be back with more

The Horse Whisperer (1995&1998)

 I read the book last week, and saw the movie afterwards. After all these years! Just didn’t get around to to it till now. Don’t need me to tell you that they have  been best sellers, both the book and the movie. And I am a little hesitant to air my opinions regarding them. I am going to, anyway. First, I will talk about my thoughts on reading the book. Briefly, I liked the parts about the horse(s), about the young Grace and her mother, Grace and her father, Tom Booker’s character, his family, his land. Not so much the oh so sublime divine lust between Annie and Tom. Just wasn’t touched by it as I was say, by the love in The Notebook, or the one in Bridges of Madison County. And while Tom’s mind boggling sacrifice  made me thoughtful,  ( why did he do it? To prove that it was not mere lust? To make Grace’s world a better place? Then what about his son? Or just because he  was fed up with life, with the whole love thing?) it still breezed past me without sowing any seed of pain or awe or regret in my mind. Could be that I am older and jaded,

Now, for the movie. I liked all the actors, especially Redford and a young Scarlett Johansson. They are good together. Kristin Scott Thomas is nice too, even though she looked different from Annie in the book. But I just did not get the chemistry between Tom and Annie. Beautiful land, beautiful horses. The ending is different from the book, which I did not mind. Usually I  get so mad when they change a book for a movie. But when I heard little Grace talk about how her parents met, I couldn’t help but wonder why they had to change their place of meeting! In the book we are told they met in Africa, where the newcomer Annie was directed to the “tubab’s”/ white man house. In the movie, we are told they meet in India, and she was directed to the “ tubab’s” house! Why? We don’t say tubab!  Is India and Africa the same to those who made the movie? And why spew misinformation for no apparent gain? Mind boggling. My natural reaction is to think it’s all phony, the “ love”, the sacrifice. I know movies are constructs  , but you know what I mean. That willing suspension of disbelief that we happily offer, I can’t seem to do that here totally.Whereas I got lost with tears in my eyes in the movie Bridges of Madison County and The Notebook.  Here the horse did make me feel that a little, but more in the book than in the movie. But in the book too,the  affair overshadowed the horse story. The rather phony affair. In the movie everything seemed to be  washed out, faded.

Murder on the Orient Express (2017)

Kenneth Branagh's adaptation. Not bad. big name stars. Not bad. Somehow the Orient Express, that opulently cozy romantic train is less so in this version. That was all part of the wonderful package of Agatha Christie's book and later the David Suchet movies. Glad that Branagh did not reduce Poirot to the lecherous old goat level of Ustinov. Or make him a buffoon. But what is with that mustache? I will overlook that, considering the fact that he did an overall good job. Except when he giggled like some idiot  while reading his book. And when he grew inordinately pensive and yearning looking at the picture of a lost love. Needless to say Poirot was not like that. He was dignified in every way. Those things irked me as did the pervasive grays. Realistic maybe, but why not be realistic when it comes to the character too? nd the unnecessary twists and turns in the end! And the nominal black guy! Granted this book does have an American connection. Unlike some others where they simply add one to pander to the American viewer, and the most sacrilegious of all - making Poirot a religious fanatic. Thankfully not so much of that in this one. Actually I dont remember.

La La Land and Hamilton Walker's and Casablanca

That  La la Land is a grand movie has been proclaimed by many reviewers and moviegoers, and it has been nominated for many awards. And it so deserves them all. The movie validates art and artists and rebels and liberals without whom we will be rather poor in mind, and in hope, and raises "love" to a level and a time that is at once in the past but very much in the present. It embraces drive and ambition in both man and woman, effectively making those very necessary parts of that ethereal, romantic thing called "dream". It is a movie about movies and stars. About a city of stars and "stars".
a movie that shows the power of imagination, its ability to dream, to plan, and to re-imagine the past, return to the present. it celebrates coincidences shamelessly, plants imagined memories, deja vu feelings with gleeful abandonment, much to my delight. After all, as  I keep saying, a movie is a construct. And so are we. And time goes by! All of which makes one think again that life is but a dream. That the world is a stage. Where all of us are stars in our own little movies, big movies - tragedies, comedies, adventure, drama, horror, disaster and so on. (well, back to my old hope - what if we can really lead those virtual lives? :) )
Mia's song

Aside: If I sound less than enthusiastic, please know that it is not the fault of this earnest, sincere, hopeful, youthful movie. It is me, this jaded old person who  cannot really identify with young lovers following their dreams, with hope and passion, although I have to say, in spite of my passionless head, I liked the movie, and I would recommend it. And I can imagine a young Asha being wowed by it, being immersed in it, swimming in it!

Last week we went to this new restaurant in town, Hamilton Walker's. I knew it took up some space in that intersection, but was a little surprised when I stepped in. I am all for ambience, and this one unexpectedly made me feel like I had gone back in time. Like I was in one of those black and white movies set in New York, in one of their swanky restaurants with  jazz band. There was no jazz band even a piano here, but just Dean Martin's seductive voice floating over the soft voices. But that was enough, with the cozy dark seats and dark wood, and murals on the walls, it was quite pleasant.

Then I saw La La Land. The songs and the dances. The hero and the heroine. Mia and Sebastian. Wow! And the ending. At "Seb's". The jazz band. The gin joint. Hamilton Walker's? what a charming coincidence! :) though I have no one waiting inside!  "Of all the gin joints in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine." Mia walks into Seb's. As I am walking out of the theater, I remember the mention of Casablanca by Mia. Ingrid Bergman's picture on the wall. Casablanca in modern times. Albeit without the intrigue, excitement, and suspense of a war, espionage and the ambience of it all. The fear, the urgent life and death atmosphere of the times.

here, the gin joint owner is a gifted pianist. Like that other old role of the vamp now usurped by heroines, maybe this one has been taken too. But that s fine. as they all do it so well! As their eyes meet, it's the pianist who must have said, "here's looking at you, kid!" Curiously, in true time flipping, movie history timeline twister style, it seems as if La la Land ends where Casablanca begins.

Casablanca- Sam, the pianist, Rick, and Ilsa

Update: Not that great, really. The actors are good. The song nd dance gimmicks are nice. Just a nice movie, overall. Nothing special.

The allure of the Spirit World and of other worlds: Kung fu Panda 3 (2016)

Where do I begin? How do I describe the picturesque beauty of this fantastic movie? Shall I describe the green skies and golden clouds touching tall mountains, and the elaborately, intricately carved Jade Palace set at the  top of those seemingly endless steps, or the blue-leaved trees along the way to Po's ancestral village,   the secret green green Panda village nestled in that valley past the tall frozen waterfall, where in the evening, red lanterns glimmer and in the day, baby pandas roll down green hills, and around with huge butterfly kites ...Maybe I should  swoon over the detailed depiction of the colorful interiors of the homes, the weaves of the rugs, the stacks of porcelain bowls, the pots filled with dumplings.  or shall I sing songs of praise for the golden shiny Spirit Realm where Oogway resides now, a fabulous place which you reach riding a swirling pool of pink petals, and where the chubby panda Po becomes the true Dragon  Warrior - flaming - literally in a translucent fiery dragon form, trailing a golden silk cape behind him, enjoying it all, so proud and happy that we tear up. I had loved the first two movies in this series ,and I was waiting for this one - did not disappoint me at all. I am reminded of that other movie with its cozy little farm  in that lush green valley, where a bright little pig named Babe lived with his farmer friend. Another movie that enchants.

And then there is Kai - the villain. The one who steals the "chi" of all the great Kung fu masters. Like a psychopathic vehicle of the god of Death,  a bully bull on steroids, he saunters along, swinging metal chains in each muscular hands to the beat of his special music. The Dragon Master is the only one who can subdue him, send him back to the Spirit World. And only once he himself learns the art of giving "chi". A lot of, maybe cliche'd wisdom is strewn around the whole narrative - like those annoying posts on twitter and facebook and whatnot - the boring declarations of the very obvious, but here, I didn't mind at all. Stating the obvious becomes an art in here! for they all fit the story line perfectly. For instance, "The more you take, the less you have". "You cannot be anything unless you try doing something you don not know". 'Know who you are" - and "you are not just one thing - you are a mix of many, and so being you, and your best selves, will make it all work." And of course the way it all works out in the end - the selfless act of Po, his sacrifice for his friends, and the courage and support of his friends in turn. Many lessons are given and learned all along as Po finds his true self - as in "I knew it! I haven't eaten to my full potential!"

 But what made me smile happily was when I heard the old teacher in the Spirit World, perched up among the blossoms of his tree, answers  Po's question as to whether he can go back to the mortal world, with a smile - "Who knows! I never tried!" Obviously he doesn't want to! What a wonderful, hopeful option of a life after death! To me the writers are incredibly clever - able to create such endearing, splendid characters as these warriors and their relatives and friends - among whom is one Mei mei the champion ribbon dancer who cannot be accused of being a humble wall flower! And the two dads of the hero, and the ducks and the rabbits and the intrepid pig who produces instant portraits under any conditions, and the rope bridges that connect tall peaks over cool rivers and the greens and the blues, and the golds, and the pinks......The warmth and the cold, the fire and the snow. It all comes together to give us a spectacular, grand experience. The "chi" flows - flowers bloom, magic happens, all's well with the world! I am sure even the hardened grown up would sit there with wonder-filled eyes  and a happy smile.

An old man, a little home near the sea, and Roger : Mr Holmes (2015)

To think that I might have missed this one! If not for a post on a facebook page! And the post was made by an expert in the business. I don't know if this movie was showed in the local theater. But I am thankful that it was available in our library.

Mr Holmes is 93 years old now. Yes, THE Mr Holmes - of the Sherlock denomination. And yes, the movie begins with that romantic old train, my weakness. :) And he lives in this beautiful home in that beautiful countryside, the typical English one with all its greens and flowers and stone walls and country kitchen complete with a cozy housekeeper who is busy with carrots and cabbages and stews and teas. For me, even those mundane oranges and greens and blues work to enhance the whole movie watching experience. The movie is a sensual feast, even though there is no sexy romance in there of nubile young beings. Only the loneliness and the regrets of an old man who once had the sharpest of intellects, who had lived his life by the tenets of pure logic. And that scary curse of old age - the slow deterioration of the mind - the loss of memory.

However, it is Sherlock Holmes. You do not expect him to give in without a fight! That, maybe, one last hurrah.  He finds a perfect partner in crime in the young Roger - the fatherless son of the sad, bitter, no-nonsense housekeeper. Their conspiratorial relationship is fascinating, as is their fight for the good bees against the evil wasps. And the solving of two mysteries, one of which involves the woman in his last case. I particularly liked the way the past is told - by Holmes himself, through his diary, by Roger reading the same - simply clever and not at all intrusive. But even though while I watched the movie, everything blended into a whole object that is the character Holmes, something about his relationship -- or I should call it the "non-relationship"  that never was, but should have been-- between him and that tragic young woman, lingers. Like Holmes says, his logical analysis did not help her - nor did his own fear and pride help - neither him nor her. Even though he knew they were kindred souls - two lonely hearts who could have been lonely together. The great Holmes realizes it late in life, like many a common man or woman! Makes him one of us. But this realization helps him in resolving the other mystery - this time with feeling and imagination - both which he had spurned before. He can grieve for Watson at last!

The slow loss of his memory, for Holmes, does not turn out to be a total loss -  the childless, Watson-less, Holmes gains a son and gets in touch with his feelings. As does the mother of the boy. It is all so simple - a simple story about an almost (by now) mythical character, but it is written well, and made well.

Update: Not that great, really. Cliches galore. the old man. once brilliant now losing memory, the lost love, the comely lonely housekeeper. the little boy. the father figure. the scenery is what I like of course. But then Midsomer Murders and Agatha Christie episodes have better cozy scenery.

Death and lemonade: Leaves of Grass (2010)

As often with me, I have to start with an apology -- here goes - please do not think I have too high an opinion of myself. That I consider myself to be up there with highly talented, successful people. But whenever I see a Woody Allen movie, I feel that movie was something that I would write. Well, I thought the same thing when I saw "Leaves of Grass" by Tim Blake Nelson. He wrote and directed, and even acts in the movie. Why do I feel this? There is something familiar in the themes, in the way they unfold. You may say it is the universality of the themes, the characters, Maybe, but that would be enough to appreciate those movies. It is more than that in the sense that there is an underlying thread of exposing/teaching/information-dissemination in most of such movies. Just like I would do, like I have done in my novel. Detractors can call it preaching or propagandist. But such a movie, that with a message or messages, is an example for  another version of art for social change, according to me.

This is my perspective of Tim Blake Nelson's movie. When I watched it, at first I was tempted to dismiss it as superficially intellectual and artificially attractive or vice versa -- a phrase I remember from my past :) Look at the academic shenanigans at that Ivy League University on the East coast. One of the protagonists,  portrayed wonderfully by Edward Norton, is a teacher of Philosophy. Since it is not a philosophic treatise, but a movie about many other things too, it struck me as superficial, simplistic, shallow etc. Then there is that stock female character - intelligent, attractive, with a surprising quality, sometimes she appears as the prostitute with a heart of gold, but always as the one who has all the answers. (ya, right!) Here we have the village poet beauty who is an expert at "noodling" too! And she is like Socrates to our poor philosopher who by sheer grit and focus achieved his dream. Very mean of her, I thought. And I wished that he would influence her too - make it more of a mutual affair. Let's see if the sagely young woman will feel the same in say, 5 years! Will it be easy then to make that change, for this time, she won't be the same, and time will be against her. But then we all got through such choices, and ideas, and changes, and then we all die - that is life!

That takes me to my next change of mind, regarding the movie - superficial, artificial - that is what the academic world really is. After all those discussions about Foucault and Derrida and Lacan, (genuflect here- as an aside, we in India tend to look at any written word as sublime, and if especially it is by a foreigner, we treat it like the scriptures. Same with movie stars, rock stars, political/religious leaders, - we are in awe of them, guess we still haven't lost that naive wonder and admiration for success and fame -  here there is an irreverence, and more of an envy towards everyone and everything, except, maybe national security and full body scanners in airports) and aesthetics and politics, what did we achieve? What did I achieve? Other than long papers and dissertations that are buried under layers of dust in some corner of a room. Papers that are really papers on other papers. Mishmash, rehash, analyses that in the final analysis may be really splitting hairs- and that is how the other (anti)hero, who, fascinatingly, is the twin of our philosopher, also ably portrayed by Norton, describes it. But that description also is not new, but that doesn't make it any less real. He is the alter ego of the protagonist - literally, and figuratively.

So what does this movie teach? Philosophy, mainly. Practical philosophy. Philosophy democratized. Practical aesthetics. For instance, all those deaths in the end happen in the "idyllic" ambition-less countryside, where the characters seem to go with the flow of Nature, rather poetically. And there is ambition and dream here too - the brother wants to sell his scientifically advanced drug business in order to start a normal family life. So death - the deaths in the movie did not really make me sad. The build up of the story till then prepared me for it, thus reinforcing the inevitability of an end. It is as if I was ready to die, or to let them go! Not out of disappointment or depression, but after a sense of completion, satiety, catharsis.  And then that awareness of  the futility of it all. No matter what one's reality is, and here we have parallel realities of twin brothers - one whose life has the order and the beauty of a Zen garden, outwardly anyway, and the other, whose life looks like a riotous cottage garden filled with wild flowers and vines, with a rocky brook running alongside. Again, I am reminded of those stereotypes - say in a Hallmark movie- the busy city/career girl or man vs the free-flowing, nature-loving warm country girl/guy. They all always end up in the country. But here, the writer-director makes it more realistic -with  death - many deaths - in the country, and then with a pitcher of cool lemonade in the end. That is what happens in real life, isn't it? People die, we move on.  There are little cosy comforts at the end of a long, hot day. We just aren't aware of that fact of death all the time, that's all.

So - what else does the movie teach? We are aware of the writer-director's mind working  in many of the characters - we learn that a god-fearing Jew can be a drug dealer, that a pothead or a redneck can be smart, I liked it all, even as I felt they were contrived. Maybe I prefer it that way - the movie is a construct, after all. Just like the sublime brother-crude brother juxtaposition. I think I did not mind all that  in the end because we see that they are not all that different in the end. Those stereotypes are dismantled.  I have done all this in my writing - which doesn't make it right, but it is done with a purpose - to make the viewers/readers think, look at the world from a different angle. And that in my book is art for social change. And that is where all those seeming useless discussions in the field of Humanities are there for.

At the end of the movie, I was not judging one way of life against the other. I realize that they are all equally good or bad. The lives, the choices. But I wished that we all could live different lives at the same time! Not just one other life where someone from the past or the future comes and tells me my past or future, like, say, Dr Who. I don't mind it, but I want to be that person who can travel through time, live many lives, in many places.  Everyone has to be that person. Now that would be flowing, real freedom, or, total anarchy. Who knows! As it is we have a couple of choices - wine or beer? death or lemonade? Or both, and all.  :)

quirks of the mind- Next (2007)

That's it! I have decided - I am not a  sophisticated movie connoisseur. And I am never going to be one. But clearly, I am an incurable romantic - even now! (bah! humbug!) The other day I saw the 2007 movie Next -- starring Nicolas Cage and Jessica Biel, Julianne Moore etc. To put it simply, I liked it. I am no Nicolas Cage fan, but somehow I liked him in this one. I liked the story, I liked the main characters, I liked the setting - I liked it all once I accepted the basic kind of superpower that Cage's character possesses. Apparently, he can see two minutes - just 2 minutes - into the future. Except in the case of this girl who keeps cropping up in his visions. The romantic in me loved that age old concept of true love, the existence of the  one person that you are meant to be with. Add to that, a man,  a hero with the power to be aware of this preordained special person, and is sure of what he wants, and is not afraid to go for it! The result, "And they lived happily ever after", as we romantics hope for, even though at this point in my life, "forever" seems kind of daunting, as in YIKES!

However this is the same movie that I have heard being called crummy. I find that Cage and Biel were nominated for worst actor, worst actress  awards. And I liked their acting! I did not expect to, actually I did not think I would watch the whole movie, but I did. Can someone feel all warm and cozy just by looking at people wearing warm and cozy earth tones? Or seeing them against the backdrop of sun-kissed mountains? I have to think that that happened in my case. I loved the amber tones of the people and the places. The golden honey highlights in Jessica Biel's hair, on her simple burnt sienna cotton dress, on her glowing skin, on Nicolas Cage's tan/mustard yellow jacket, and on the gold and caramel and copper-hued rock formations at once alive with all that rich glorious light and redolent of many an ancient story. I am sure all that, including that soothing rain that danced around, enveloped the pair, and the intermittent cool blues that broke the pattern of the golden rust colors, played a part in stopping me from switching channels.

I know many would see the special power of the hero as a  simple crude mind gimmick of altering reality. But again, I did not mind it at all! :) Not surprising. I usually like such ways of defeating time,  and space, however simplistic. I even like that twist to the tale in the end. The movie is loosely - very loosely, I hear -- based on a science fiction piece of the fifties. That story of mutants has been humanized here, I guess. And if the fact that I like the result makes me a pleb, so be it. Let me hasten to add that the same goes for my liking of that Jennifer Lopez-Ralph Fiennes movie, Maid in Manhattan. I have heard many criticize the story, Lopez's acting - but I loved it! I think she was good in it. ( I do like all of her movies, by the way). And Ralph Fiennes! He can do no wrong in movies, as far as I am concerned. But then, that's me! What do I know?

I confess. "ente pizha, ente pizha, ente valiya pizha".

semiya paayasam

As you sow, so shall you reap.

I sowed. wickedly delicious seeds. 
For instance, pies, pastries,  creams, custards, cheese, salty snacks, fried, baked,grilled,  Indian, non-Indian. Bacon, sausages, the lot. Anything potatoes. Kappa ( Tapioca). Bread.  Sugar. Starch. Fat. Salt. All was grist to the mill. All were seeds to be sown. Not in moderation anymore. And a little goes a long way at my age, in any case.  Equal opportunity strikes everywhere. I fell into temptation. no, wallowed in it.

I sinned. Repeatedly. mortal, venial - you name it -- I ate it all. and drank it all. wines and cocktails. I became a foodie. And a glutton. A glass of wine a day after a certain age is healthy, they said. And I obeyed wholeheartedly. But then I enhanced the experience by adding accompaniments to that drink - appetizers.  a piece of chocolate . And another. Portion control had long become a forgotten concept. I indulged my taste buds wantonly. Indiscriminately. Thank goodness, for small blessings -- I never liked popcorn or soda. But that is it -- all the rest, to most of which I never gave a second look, I love  all those now. I pretended to forget that I was older. I forgot that I was less active physically. I pretended not to notice the tighter outfits. Anyway, it was a long winter, I could cover myself up with thick coats.

I was young once, and could have done all this and more - but no --back then I abstained, without meaning to. I wasn't interested in eating at all! Mine was a low fat, mostly vegetarian, small portion diet. Picky -- that's what they called me. In those days, I could easily subsist on water for 2 or 3 days, when I was rebelling against injustice, imagined or otherwise. Starving myself as a protest against cruel authority figures, otherwise known as parents and teachers,[ ;) ]was not a big deal at all.  Chronically underweight, never in my wildest nightmares did I see that one day I will struggle with this issue. The love of food. The lack of exercise. The issue of weight loss. Anger or sadness do not affect me like they did before. You might say it is vanity to expect to be as you were -- after all I am not obese --  yet. You may be right - with age, and  other biological factors that  some of us have to face, things do tend to change. But when the family history of high cholesterol has crept up on me I have to stop and re evaluate. ( I do not like to have pills control me. Sadly, that could be unavoidable.)

All along, there were short-lived attempts to reduce weight. Like the beautified  oatmeal for breakfast. But the sugar and salt in it defeated the purpose. And without sugar or salt, oatmeal became scary, no, traumatic. Instead I conjured tantalizing images of payasams and puddings in my head. Any new city I stepped into, my eyes naturally sought restaurant names, preferably exotic ones. I see a movie, I saw the food in there. I wanted to try every cuisine in the world. Now I know what my grandmother meant when she said sagely to one of her glutton sons or minions ; "Son, your stomach is an ocean! You can throw anything ,in any amount, into it. But should you?"

And then the conscious control, the implementation of austerity measures  during week days, and the utter relaxation of those rules in the weekend. Complete undoing of anything that I had built up, or rather any weight I had managed to dislodge. And the guilt. I have sinned, I have sinned, I have sinned terribly! Ice cream, nothing exotic, just vanilla, beckons me. It sits atop a warm slice of apple pie. sigh! I try to calm the cravings of my sweet tooth with a slice or two of an apple, and I fail. Where did my will power run off to? Should I have any? :) mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!  And I reaped what I sowed. am reaping that painful harvest now.
The wages of my sins are in my waistline. "through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault". I have eaten. I have eaten many many forbidden little dolcini.

I have started a strict regimen for the week days now -  slowly picking up the reigns of my mind and body. I will post my diet when I get halfway through my goal. haha. fooled ya! 
I am like Cain in that movie, Year One. "What have I done! what have I done again! ..(.and after a couple more dumplings, in my case), What have I continued to do!!"

way better than Bond!

 Fast and Furious 6 is one movie of a movie.

Vin Diesel, Dwayne the Rock, and the gang. And then the ending after the end.

international thriller.

democratized, globalized heist-race-travel-romance-family-clan-spy- adventure! totally satisfied. :)



why not add an Indian too next time?


I agrree with this writer, who has said it so well. -- popwatch

the falls of the season

sky is falling! hennypenny

This fall has been a season of falls from grace, for some great people. Lance Armstrong, Petraeus, now Gen John Allen... . As the astrologers would point out, Saturn's move into Scorpio was an indicator that such things would happen. And it has just started.

I am not saying that that means the sky is falling. far from it. All this have always been there, will always be. Talking of skies and falls, saw the newest James Bond movie. I know everyone is enamoured of it. skyhigh praises for the best Bond ever and all that. I admit it is an eminently watchable film. Like, as I have said before elsewhere, (I am sure you all are keeping track of what I say or not say, that you have nothing else to do ) a Jason Bourne movie -- almost. And more recently, a Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson -- Taken 2) movie.

deja vu -- to see the rooftops of Istanbul ( I believe) as the stomping grounds of both Bond and Mills.
to see the ruins of the island where the supervillain is -- didn't I see that in Stallone's Expendables? M and the Scottish gamekeeper -- was that Dame Judi Dench as Mrs Brown? Which is right for this season's theme of the falls-- the fall of a Queen. M, that is.

For me, and for many I know, Bond movies are great for their grand locations, outdoors, indoors, beautiful women, and of course the handsome and debonair Mr Bond. Nowadays other movies do that too -- so what is the difference? it's like been there, done that. There is not much of a difference, except that idea that this was once upon a time Bond. Like when I heard that familiar music -- when the old Bond car is revealed. The fascination for the Bond movies rose also from the quaint "Britishness" of the main characters. Their customs, their attitudes, their behavior, and the accent of course. There is a romance about all that, rightly or not, in spite of it all or not. Like a Poirot or Miss Marple movie. Or a Jeeves and Wooster gig. Like the English countryside. lLike high tea. All those are nice to look at, and eat in the last case. I read about the success of the British TV dramas like Upstairs, Downstairs, and recently, of Downton Abbey in the US. It is this same fascination. They are not that different from any other soap operas. It is the setting, the ambience, the whole baggage/package of Britishness. The old colonial power -- the greatness, the extent, the influence, the ubiquitous nature of the language. So in spite of our present day knowledge of the real effects of colonialism, we like to gaze upon its perpetrators' idealized vision of themselves,   idealize it ourselves to some extent, be nostalgic about it, aspire to it, maybe. Because of it, in spite of it. It is in the collective memory of a lot of people, for better or worse, so to speak. What I am trying to say is that James Bond is a British institution. a symbol. an ideal of Britishism, Britishness -- or the ideal idea of what it is in peoples' minds. As it is, Bryan Mills is a secret agent who has a personal agenda, and James Bond is a secret agent with a not-so-personal agenda, trying to defeat vengeful villains, like many other heroes.

One of the reasons for the coziness of the whole Bondwatching experience was the fact that Bond was killing off unmitigated villains. M is in his/her heaven and all's well with the world -- something like that. Now it seems the villain is M. And the other villain, Silva has a sad past -- he is an alter ego of Bond. Like many rogues, he is created by the supposedly good-intentioned.  Not difficult to understand in the postmodern, postcolonial world.

The new supposedly grittier, craggier ( ;) ) version of  Bond  is probably in sync with the new world, but I miss the old suave, stiff upper-lipped Bond with that cynical smile. The modern Bond for me would be that portrayed by Pierce Brosnan. He is the old Bond, in a new setting. He is aware of his dinosaur status, as M makes it  a point to tell him. Still, he acts the part. The show goes on -- a witty tongue-in-cheek interpretation. let me hasten to say that I love them all. all the Bonds, I mean.

Now for the Bond girls -- I keep hearing that the new Bond girls are women of substance -- well, more than the earlier ones. I beg to differ. Apart from Michelle Yeoh, ( memorably in a Pierce Brosnan movie)  I do not remember anyone as being that substantial. In fact, the earlier Bond women had a majesty, a presence that is lacking in the newer ones. Anyway who am I to say? What do I know?

When I was watching Bond and the bad guy on the roof tops, I couldn't help wishing that they would stop and decide to just run and jump around for fun. both say " oh forget it! and hold hands and dance. but that would be a spoof. which is not new either.

and -- whatever happened to Ralph Fiennes?  a great (and handsome) actor, and he gets these just-hangin'-around kind of roles. oh, they gave him a gun to wave about towards the end, but his talent is wasted  here. He is hero material. remember the Constant Gardener?  again, the actors I like seem to languish. maybe I am wrong. I like Heather Graham, Winona Ryder, I liked Lindsay Lohan. Leonardo di Caprio is another talented actor. He gets the roles and he does them exceptionally well, but the awards committee seem not to notice. anyway.

My Stromboli (1950)

It's been a while since I have written something.
There were times that I wanted to, but just couldn't bring myself to it. what for, what for, was the dominant voice in my head. Now there are some who would ask me if I was mad ( in the crazy sense). That seems to be the usual response to anything remotely funny that I try to do, in my world, these days.
Well, that definition of madness is wrong, according to me. Madness is when you hurt people -- with words, with actions. Not when you try to make people smile, maybe ,even happy -- a little, for an instant. Now that -- trying to make people feel good -other people- is stupid.

What for, anyway? When I look back at my life, I realize it has been pretty much cringeworthily stupid, and meaningless.
So much so that at times I feel I should have become a nun when I had the chance!

And that is nothing new either. Let me explain.

I saw this movie, Stromboli by Roberto Rossellini. An island in the Mediterranean in the late nineteen forties, after the Second World War. The movie starts in a camp for displaced persons. Karen (Karin?) , a Lithuanian woman in that camp chooses to escape her situation by marrying a young Italian soldier, Antonio.
He sings to her from the other side of the barbed wire that separates the two camps, she is not that into him, because she has plans to emigrate to Argentina. But when that plan falls through, she marries this man. She has a past too of which he knows nothing much. And for her part, she doesn't have a clue of what he or his home was like. One cannot help thinking of the parallels between the usual arranged marriages that used to ,and even now, take  place in my country.

Karen, played by the great Ingrid Bergman, is an independent, courageous woman of the modern world (no wimp like some of us). When she marries this young fisherman turned soldier, and follows him to his world, she escapes from a camp of women, but what for? To a place and people stuck in the past. A petrified barren island with no sliver of green in sight. To top it all, there is  an active volcano looming over them , controlling, terrorizing. That island kind of shook my idea of a romantic rustic Italy filled with poppies and olive trees and sunflowers and vineyards. (I know they are there, but, obviously, this is another part of it). This island is a symbol of the world in general, of life.

Why do I say that? Because like the people in that village, we struggle along. holding on to our petty desires, possessions, fears and prejudices. and a pathetic faith in an indifferent, superior power who protects us. all for what? to die. the absurd drama of life -- the upward climb of youth, then the downward fall to old age, sickness and death. Well, I read that Rossellini was known for his neorealistic ways of moviemaking. So obviously, he intended it to be understood as a realistic piece of story telling about existence.

And such an existence! I cannot imagine what these people have gone through. Each of those women in the camps, each of those soldiers, the villagers -- I am not talking just about the movie here -- the havoc that war wreaks, the choices we make at such times, It creates grey areas in the  so called moral world. (Karin, in her past life, had chosen to have an affair with an enemy soldier. Remember Kate Winslet's character in The Reader? That would be another facet of such times) But there is another side to this. It is these same disasters that changes values, beliefs and status quo. .  No one welcomes wars, or any other catastrophes, but sometimes it is these hardships that act as catalysts for great change, especially for the next generation. And that makes greater nations, where the rights of till then forgotten masses are acknowledged. For instance, that is when women started to get lives of their own, outside their homes.

Karin's needs are not seen as important by her simple husband. He is not being mean or bad. It is just what he is used to, what he knows. He takes it for granted that his wife will follow him wherever he goes. So what if it is completely alien to her? That no one welcomes her, that the very harshness of the land chokes her? She is supposed to adapt, to adjust.

Karen rises above the rest of the characters, because of her longing to be free, to be courageous. But she has her petty sense of pride and feelings of superiority too. And the need to be free -- another Madame Bovary. But  Karen is different in her self-realization. And in that she is not punished by being killed off in the end.

That is enough of the serious stuff. phew! what I want to mention is the beauty of Ingrid Bergman. There is a scene where she languishes on one of those lifeless black rocks that line the sea. She is breathtakingly, divinely, one with the rocks there, a luminous part of nature. So different, yet so much a part of it all. Innocent, and knowing simutaneously. For a brief moment, she is free, happy. Now that is an image that speaks to me -- the message being that we are all part of this universe, which at once is alien to me, and my own. The final epiphanic scene where she becomes aware of the mystery and beauty of the universe, to me, is foreshadowed here. And also that the director was in love with her. ( I don't know if my eyes are failing -- but to me, all the main male characters looked like Montgomery Clift, one of my models of male handsomemess) yikes!.

Now for the ending -- open ending, I am glad. But instead of the "what for" the voice now is "God" "oh God" . Did she find God ? I had gleefully watched her dismissing the villagers' God all along, even trying to seduce the priest to aid her escape. But no, she sees the world through new eyes -- of appreciation, of humility and of love. Which is all very sublime.

But I think she is going to be a nun. hehe.

a nostalgic bit ( for Malayalis)

remembering the evergreen Prem Nazir, the totally nonchalant, unselfconscious movie-romancer-lip -syncher.. master of "romancin' 'round the trees" --as we named it "maram-chutti-premam", got to admit -- he nailed it. Add to it the heavenly voice of K.J.Yesudas who actually sings these sweet nothings -- together they take us on a fantastic ride on that flying carpet they mention. :)

And let's not forget Jayabharathi. I mean, at least Prem Nazir has the singing to do. Poor Jayabharathi has to be there, doing sweet nothings, without bursting out in laughter. :) But seriously, she does such a commendable job. I always admired her great talent as an actress.

of quite "unpromising" matters, and of Thor, and gods in general

"What(ever) happened to your promise?" the singer belts out intensely in the song. As I trundle along, listening to it, like I have a thousand times before, it strikes me all on a sudden. That's it! No one has promised me anything! Ever! Then why would I expect anything from anyone? Well, another light bulb moment for this tubelight. I have heard someone tell me this, of course. But back then I disregarded it. If no one promised me anything ever, how can I blame anyone for not keeping promises? I cannot blame even death. But that is a whole different enchilada. (Not that I would believe it if anyone made any promises to me. oh well! )

Related to this could be the reason I prefer knocking on the wrong door. Any sensible person knows such an activity is inadvisable. For one, there may a ferocious bulldog behind that door! Then why do I do it? You may think it is that quality of persistence in me. Or that I am one of those "fatal attraction" fans. Or it could have been the foggy Neptunian influence on me -- that's astrology. Or, it could be that Aquarian urge to bring about change, without being changed themselves, to teach, to impart/share knowledge/info to/with all, whether they would listen or not. But I do it, if I do,  maybe, because I know that there is no one behind that door. That is, no one who has promised me to open the door for me. Now isn't that safe, and pragmatic? You have something to do, or you feel like you have something to do or wait for, and all that. And I get to not change at all! Much like life, I think.-- imagine the picture! everyone in the world knocking away on the wrong doors, or the right ones, for that matter, doesn't make much difference, right? And much like writing, say, this blog.  No one reads it, but I write anyway. And like the concept of "God". ref: in the absurdist tradition, waiting for godot, here, knocking on "godoor" ;)

Talking of gods, saw Thor. Enjoyed it hugely.  Now that is a lover/God worth waiting for! Another wrong door to knock! (I remember the songs that the nuns sing back home, at Mass - "My soul thirsts for you" and things like that) A golden god. Not a silent suffering one. But one who can easily wreak havoc.  Someone who does not pretend to be all-loving and forgiving, and still make us humans suffer anyway, and then wash his or her hands off calling it free will! No false show of humility, and then expect  to be revered/glorified, and kneeled down to, or beware! No, I think that any god who is worth his salt should be this Thor! God! Larger than life.Greater than human.Someone who looks like he can make things happen for you in this world! and not sell you or promise to sell you timeshares in heaven, if you please everyone else but yourself in this life.

Each time you whirled that mjolnir of yours, Thor, my heart, not unlike many other womens' and mens' too, I am sure, went hurtling along. The sheer power! that tremendous, immense, victorious, proud display of physical strength -- brought tears to my weakling eyes. As for Kenneth Branagh, I admired him as Wallander, and now, this, as master sculptor/craftsman of Thor! Thorough, large scale, rollicking, heart-pounding fun!

On "Murder at the Gallop" (1963)

Margaret Rutherford

Joan Hickson

David Suchet

All those involved in the making of this movie have to be congratulated -- they did a fine job of murdering Miss Marple, Agatha Christie, and Poirot, all at once! Done them all in properly! Not at all satisfied with changing a Poirot story into a Marple one, the makers had to make a mockery of Marple. I had to watch a Joan Hickson - Marple  movie to get  rid of the frustratingly disgusted, disappointed feelings that this farcical circus of a movie left in my mind. The character of Miss Marple has been completely turned upside down and trampled on by the character that the venerable Rutherford plays. Marple was not a strutting, bragging, condescending female Sherlock (though I like the eccentric  Holmes). She was a dignified spinster who kept a low profile while calmly and surely solving cases through shrewd observation and knowledge of human nature. She never bragged or climbed over stuff to peep in through windows. They could have made a mystery with Rutherford, or say, Ustinov -- it would not make a difference for those who never read an Agatha Christie mystery. But please do not call them Marple or Poirot. Hickson and Suchet are the only actors who knew the soul and the spirit of those characters. But then, it is sad to note that  in the recent Poirot movies, Poirot has suddenly become fanatically Catholic! Unforgiving and railing against immorality! The humaneness of Christie's Poirot is one of his admirable and endearing qualities! Just as calmness and dignity are some of the qualities of Miss Marple.  A dear sweet old lady who appears quite laid back and almost apologetic for intruding. Modest, utterly feminine, and not hurtfully judgemental. Not at all loud or manly or acrobatic!!! Or sexily clad in strappy dresses and doing the twist!! Notthat there is anything wrong with all that. But that it just isn't Marple.

About the Revolutionary Road

2009-02-05T03:30:31.210+05:30

the special folks on Revolutionary Road

"The Feminine Mystique" and "The Female Eunuch" and my thoughts and feelings when I first read those books a long time ago, rushed back to my mind with a vengeance, when I watched Kate Winslet and Leonardo di Caprio in Revolutionary Road. Disturbing. disturbingly real. too close for comfort. "the emptiness and the hopelessness" of it all. a land where the only sane voice is that of a certifedly insane man. I couldn't even cry while watching the movie. does that mean i have developed a thicker shell? or that i am too numb to want to react? i resisted, to be frank. didn't want to be reminded of that old "revolutionary" young asha.

Kate and Leo are trueto life, as the special couple Wheelers. hypnotically real. we all think we are special, don't we? esp. those of us who have been told so when we were kids. the thing is we are not allowed to be special like we want to. there are these expectations -- the question is, whose have the way of right? anyway, we learn later that we are not that special after all. life gets to us. be it in the form of an imaginary sense of obligation to one's dead ancestors, like where Mr. Wheeler warms up to the idea that his dead father must be proud of him when he, the son got a promotion in the same company that his dad worked. and then of course, we become realistic about things. and the children. the born and the unborn. motherhood.the blamings. the brandings. the burnings on the stake. certain ideals ought not to be ever questioned! the guilt, the burden, the justifications, the defiance.

poor Mrs.Wheeler, and her husband, and her kids, and her neighbors. the unrealized dream. Mrs. Wheeler's Paris. Madame Bovary's Paris. some other housewife's New York . the more practical among us opt out of dreaming and out of thinking too! because don't we all know that it is thinking that gets us into trouble? so, even though, for a while some of us hope that there's something good, meaning something that will make us happy, just around the corner. soon, we kill that thought too. there's nothing around that corner. except old age and death. and one feels old suddenly.

Looking back, age was one of the reason I rooted for Hillary Clinton, even though she isn't old to me. apart from the fact that she is a woman. i identified myself with her. easily. ageism and sexism was rampant in the election process, i felt. the media circus.and i am against racism as much as against the other two isms . now i wonder what made it so easy for me. that is, to identify with another generation. after all, i am not in that generation. i belong to the new President's generation. but then i realize, it is the death of dreams that makes one age faster. but then, this too shall pass.

About "The Reader"

302009-02-21T21:31:39.198+05:30


The Reader

Michael Berg (David Kross and Ralph Fiennes) is a Scheherazade of modern times. and he reads to his girl. till her death. what if the "girl" is old enough to be his mother? what if she is a secretive, cold, distant woman? and incredibly simple too. except when they are in bed together. he reads to her. she listens. she wants more. she is a reader who reads without reading. and he sends audio cassettes to her when she is in jail. when the reading stops, she stops too. by then she has started to read. not a "Notebook" kind of reading . or aN "Out of Africa" kind of story-telling. still, it a story telling. and it is a love story.

the gray areas of morality and justice. what does a soldier feel after he has killed a lot of innocent people? including children? in a war that has nothing to do with him or the dead child? the need for a war that the soldier's own country concocted out of and for nothing? will he be ever brought to trial for his cruelty and inhumanity, by his victim? or his victim's family? what do the people inhabiting a country which sent him to a war that caused the deaths and/or enslavement of millions feel? can anyone teach them the right way to feel about these things? will they be brought to trial? will the dead victims ever get justice? if and when these people are brought to a trial in court, how many would lie to escape justice? how many would feign ignorance of what was going on right before their eyes? and how many would really have been ignorant? ignorance is evil, but knowledge could be evil too, if the subjects being taught are hatred and vengeance. or the superiority of a certain race or culture.the woman was just surviving in a moment in history. without thinking, maybe. and she pays the price. but her victims, as she says, are still dead. so is her young lover, in a way. maybe she could have refused to go with the flow. (but how many would, really?)she could have chosen not to let people be killed. she did not. as she says, she had her responsibility. she was a guard. are we allright with it if a soldier said that? that he killed because he had been ordered to. are we, who keep quiet, when we send these soldiers to kill, innocent? will that include all those people who follow a religion or religions, whose leaders sanction killings of others, in the name of religion and/or for ease of colonizations?

as for the actors -- ah! Kate! mesmerizing kate. the vulnerability, the silly vanity, the ordinariness of hannah have all been captured by her. and David Kross and of course, Ralph Fiennes! the Constant Gardener! they have lived the story. left me crying.they can rest assured that they do not belong to the common herd. no wonder some are stars!nor do they have to wonder if they really are special, or worry if they are cursed (or blessed) with that thing called "mediocrity". They are special people. people whose dreams have value. forever young.

Artisten (The Artist) by Jonas Grimås

It was in 1987 when I was a Literature student at this girls' college back home, that a professor from another university visited us. He read a poem about a train (not his, I remember that) and held up this black and white picture of a train winding up a hill, with trees on either side of the tracks, as he read it. ( We did not have TV)The reading wasn't that rhythmic, but I fell in a trance imagining that train as it chugged its way round the bend, and up the hill, "smoking" all the way. I could see the green of the trees, the blue of the greyish blue of the skies, and above all, hear the rhythm of the train.

There is a romance about trains, and the people who travel on those, and no wonder they have been used in movies and songs and commercials and fashion shoots. Murders take on more mystery, forbidden love gets spicier -- all in that rarefied ambience of trains. Be it the Murder on the Orient Express, or that Vogue shoot with an exotic Diddy and his lady, or the latest Chanel ad with Audrey Tatou, trains and train stations thrill us. And it is the same for me.

Artisten

But add to that, my fatal fascination with the blurring of boundaries -- between realities, the real and the unreal, between genres, between art and life -- I will get hooked. That is what I felt when I saw this short movie named  Artisten, by Jonas Grimås made in 1987. What I saw in my classroom back then, and what I see now in this movie, I should say it has been a gradual journey that has reached a particular culmination. The journey won't end here, surely.  Obviously I am sure much has been written about this brilliant, award winning movie by many and much better qualified people than me. But these are my thoughts.

The Artist is about the blurring of boundaries. In a way, it is  a metamovie, a movie which explores the making of a movie.The synchronous art of the foley artist-hero, and the movie he was showing, is captivating.The final explosion in the movie within the movie, and in the theatre fittingly tops it. This movie is layered and the themes are so many that it makes you think on so many different levels -- an embarrassment of riches, as they say. It is a big, short movie. I cannot get that artist out of my mind, the passion, and the belief. Nothing is beyond bounds for him. Not at all worried about going overboard! He does it with panache. Nor can I forget the would-be artist. There is a sadness and a humor in both the persons that touch one. Do I imagine that sadness? Am I coloring it with my feelings?In moments of self-doubt, which are many, by the way, I think I am that person. Of course I want to be the hero, but will I ever?They are pathetic and heroic at the same time, like us. Maybe I am way off mark in my understanding of the film, but I guess the movie is in the mind of the viewer now.
see the film here : http://vimeo.com/17857824

may 17  2011 update : there seems to be something to the name? another "Artist" is making waves in Cannes! I think i should call myself "The Artist" -- maybe that would help! ;)