arnab_dasswayam Reviews

Paroma (1985)

The critical emancipation of a great, common lady.

[9/10 · 21 July 2002]

Parama, the Bengali word means a lot: the great, the best, the original and beyond everything in femininity. In traditional sense a lady identified with the best of the qualities is Parama. The film uncovers the ruthless confinements of gender in traditional patriarchal social setting. In the name of tradition an honest and helpless lady Parama is compelled to pass through the painful experience, though she reaches a great private realization. The articulate narrative may also be (re)viewed as a critical discourse on an ethical emancipation of a particular individual, of gender identity and also of the concerned society from within. On doing so the film effectively questions the orthodoxy, insensible norms and redefines (ab)normality.

Parama, the central character of the film--greatly represented by the actress Raakhi Gulzar-- is a common, sincerely devoted, housewife in an urban, affluent, middle-class, joint family living traditionally in a third world metropolis. Parama looks bright, yet indecisive and unmindful in her lonely moments. The film authentically portrays the stereotypical life of Parama, whose sacrifices of individual potential and desire for the sake of family belong to the ideal traditions of the society. Nothing would have been wrong with the smooth life of innocent Parama and her relatives unless much younger Rahul would have started to feel for her. Even the screenplay takes a new turn after the arrival of Rahul. The close shots become more frequent. Introvert Parama emerges prominent and sensitive among diverse members of the large family.

Bengalee in origin an American photographer Rahul comes to Parama's family in Kolkata for recording the lineage tradition of celebrating the largest sacred Bengali festival. Parama-sakti, the central deity is the most sacred local goddess. Almost as a sequel of it Rahul chooses Parama to feature an ideal Bengalee housewife. In featuring her Rahul also accompanies Parama to a nostalgic and unconventional journey to her beloved past in Kolkata. The movements of camera, the uses of long shot and the variation of light significantly match the contexts. A viewer, now, might realize the success of Aparna Sen in transforming the mere non-human elements into characters, which authentically enhance the depths of the contexts. An old mansion, a room in an attic, the traditional utensils, the corners of an old city, a few plants etc. appear in those physical details, which suggest their own biographies and silent roles to create an interactive background in the play. In such free play memory is supposed to get a new life.

The freedom of desired commemoration, a rebuilding of the private identity as well helps a different Parama coming out in the fullest of her grace. She recovers her vision about some of her unanswered quarries of the past and crosses the limits of present social norms. She enters into a different present with his (ab)normal friend Rahul. The consequence of the exposure of her secret private identity takes its own "traditional" course of public responses. Parama is socially exiled and made "meaningless". After experiencing prolonged trauma Parama moves beyond the fear of death. She recovers her honest feelings, which reject either to find out any guilt for loosing her "prestigious" roles or to regain the same. She reaches a new life. Two representations have their real and metaphorical support to the recovery of Parama: the desperate desire for freedom of her "abnormal" aunt, who was confined in a remote room and her another bold friend, who infrequently appears only to respond to the felt problems of Parama. The narration concludes when in the wonderful, soft light of afternoon the camera zooms in the Rahul's gift of a living plant--the name of which beloved plant Parama forgot to remember after childhood.

The screenplay, the cinematography, the casting, the editing and above all the direction are fascinating. Only Mukul Sharma, as Rahul is oddly stiff in that sensitive masculine role. The critics also recognize the popular regional blockbuster as a genuinely easy and outstandingly artistic treatment of the theme, which transcends the boundary of its particular narrative. In historical context of Indian cinema Aparna Sen remains a pioneer in addressing the urban gender situations with such a different and general appeal.

Dahan (1998)

A revealing drama of traumatic burns

[8/10 · 18 July 2002]

That makes the viewers expect an exciting vision from the work of Rituparno Ghosh might have its first strongest presence in Dahan, which means burn. On a regional cultural level of India the massive blockbuster brings somewhat new approaches to narrative, screenplay, nature of theme, cinematography etc. and achieves a few awards.

The parallel narratives of three separate, apparently happy circles of relationships living in the same Indian megalopolis are brought in a matrix of (non)interaction, in connection of a brutal incidence of molesting a happy housewife Romita. It dramatically exposes the absence of dignity in the love relation of three young female characters, each of whom represents the center of each circle. The characters are made sufficiently distinct, and also the circles. Only the net effect of crude patriarchic tradition is similarly consequent upon the misery and utter loneliness of each young urban lady coming of different social micro-cosms. The early warmth of love is transformed into spreading burns of relations.

From the beginning of the film, the soliloquy of an urban female subject Romita behind the sensitive foreground of some delicate visuals of her daily domestic experience increases the depth of feeling of an introverted and helpless gender position. The viewers are also supposed to identify with the honest, self-seeking subject positions of camera.

Romita, an educated, sensitive housewife undergoing a short happy life of an arranged marriage is disillusioned about it. Jhinuk, a highly courageous teacher experiences a shocking misuse of her prolonged and profound love relation. A family enforces another girl to marry an anonymous and ultimately distasteful man only due to his high social status. All the central female characters come to encounter the subversion of their earlier beliefs, lose hope for the relations and feel to defy any blind submission to 'normal' tradition.

One would sense the operation of one grand humanitarian perspective, which finally succeeds to embrace the parallel narratives. At the end of the film the tragic soliloquy of Romita is relevantly superimposed on the actions of two other ladies. The grand perspective does not, however, reasonably qualify the conditions of other major female characters in the film. One might also question some drab precision in introducing the parental characters, except the grandmother of Jhinuk. Only the enlightenment of Jhinuk's old grandmother, who lives a life of a recluse, fails to give sufficient underpinnings to the process of growing burns--meaning Dahan-- in the personal lives of three young ladies. Moreover, one might seek clarification about why the good males either passively support the wrong system or remain helplessly inactive, while almost all the good female characters actively and passively fight with the system. The skill of the director lies in making such overt populism highly accepted by the spectators, males included.

The simple narration and fast screenplay are provided with certain critical turns, which reliably offer terrible wrench of gradually shocking consequences in all the parallel narratives. In framing the sequences the meticulousness of the director effectively draws the viewers close to nuance of the contexts.

All the actors and actresses have made justice to the characters. Although Indrani Haldar as Jhinuk and Rituparna Sengupta as Romita deserve special mention, the director's success of using a number of casts in the intricate sequences attracts very favorable response of the spectators. Let Rituparno Ghosh be more successful in refining his distinct genius and exceptional sensitiveness in his future directorial career.

Chupke Chupke (1975)

A brilliant comedy of secrecy

[12 July 2002]

A newly married professor implements an amusing plan for getting introduced with the family of his elder brother-in-law under false pretense. It is approved by his wife and actively supported by a few friends. The couple doubly enjoys the secrecy. They continue the whole plan of joking tricks until it becomes enough. Otherwise, they enjoy the desperate love relation in a climate of adventurous hiding.

A prolonged play of secret humor--the broad connotative meaning of the title-- does not lose its relish due to the compact screenplay, the excellent performances of the casts, proper editing, wonderful music by Sachin Deb Barman and a few other supportive constituents of the film. Though the social composition of the characters, the social nature of turns and twists of the sequences focus on the educated urban Indian middle class, the lucid narrative seems to communicate a stable flow of comedian pleasure to all viewers. The final revelation of the true identities among the characters is accelerated because of the maturity of a new love relation. The narrative seems to challenge softly some insensible social norms. It also expresses its deep conviction about love and honesty of individuals and obviously its trust on the creative capacity of intelligent and humorous individual.

Any regular Indian film lover would enjoy the nice acting of at least four film stars--Dharmendra, Sharmila Tagore, Amitabh Bachchan and Jaya Bhaduri-- in simple social images and appreciate director Hrishikesh Mukherjee for another successful experiment. The film makes the spectator reminiscent of the genre, which rarely used the very close and the very long shots and rapid cuts. In spite of a theatrical design of the screenplay it could provide the actors and the actresses with the greater scope of establishing their performing talents. The use of bright light and sustained delight of the romantic characters in the family drama--initiated by an unconventionally sensitive, urban, academic personality--makes the film a bright entertainment.

Anand (1971)

A different sea of joy!

[9/10 · 11 July 2002]

Anand means joy. The central character Anand, the protagonist of a noble philosophy of life is a cheerful urban loner who has been suffering from cancer. Bhaskar, who comes of a different linguistic region, is highly affectionate and respectful to his ever-restless friend Anand due to his enthusiasm, indomitable philanthropic passion and optimism about life. In recognition of his feelings to his friend, Anand is fond of calling Bhaskar with a different nickname "Babumasai", which means "great gentleman". Bhaskar in spite of being a good and serious physician fails to delay the death of Anand and mourns a lot commemorating the precious moments with the great man, whom he could not cure. An urban Indian setting beside a sea provides the narrative with a meaningful physical backdrop.

The directorial experiment of idealizing an ever-lively individual Anand in keeping with the mannerism of the star actor Rajesh Khanna is proved to be unforgettable professional success in Indian cinema. Another historical contribution of the film is the invaluable exposure and success of a great Indian actor Amitabh Bachchan in characterizing Bhaskar at the earliest phase of Bachchan's career. For the spectators today the speed of the narrative is sometimes unnecessarily slow, but the criticism should not count wonderful editing. Hrishikesh Mukherjee in extension of his previous reputed editing experience offered a simple and compact narrative of popularizing a serious urban theme with tragic end. An acceptable script, which is full of good humor and touch of humanist emotion, supports the overall indifference to death and urban loneliness. Salil Chowdhury presents several wonderful songs, which have remained exceptional in their lyrics and melody. Perhaps, Hrishikesh Mukherjee is one of the pioneers in framing and editing musical shots in Indian movie.

Another significant aspect of the film is the organic network of the characters in representing a humanitarian tragic narrative. The four major character positions are Anand, Bhaskar who is Annad's Babumasai, a few less prominent females and the less known supportive urban identities. Almost none of them are negatively featured. The central and most interesting dyad is Anand-Babumasai relationship. The ideal construct of a traditionally steady, professionally successful, introvert, married Indian male character of Bhaskar is contrast to boyishly insistent, restless, talkative and softhearted Anand, who is very sociable and also decisively withdrawn from any love relation, but highly committed to friendship. Both of them have positive attitude towards femininity, but in practice they differ. After the death of Anand while Bhaskar cries his heart out in acknowledging his overwhelming greatness, two contrary characters finally become complementary to each other with respect to the orientation of the narrative. A viewer gets four major positions in order to identify their emotion. One may identify with Anand, who might appear greater than ideal male identity of Bhaskar. One may find out a Bhaskar in himself. One may like to appreciate and respect the relationship. One may feel himself/herself less responsive to the height of the local construct of emotion, a union of joy and sadness. The last position is unlikely to be the focus of the film. Any positive response to the film indicates the success of a different representation of urban Indian ideals and optimism.

36 Chowringhee Lane (1981)

A universal address of loneliness and humanity

[4 July 2002]

Remembering the old lady Violet--unforgettably characterized by Jennifer Kendal--of 36 Chowringhee Lane any serious film viewer may continue to search the gender images so carefully built up by Aparna sen along her directorial career till now. In 36 Chowringhee Lane Aparna Sen, the well-acclaimed actress successfully begins to expand her originality as an artist of film as a whole. Almost at thirty-five years of a sovereign national identity a female Indian director portrays an aged English lady teacher still living in Calcutta, which was the capital of previous British colony in India. The individual as a trace of a colonial past-- living in a particular commonly known address of a nostalgic metropolis--succeeds to send us a universal appeal of anybody in the periphery of any society.

The intensity of loneliness has been unfolded by amazingly sensitive details of the daily existence of Violet Stoneham. The composition of the frames and sequences are reminiscent of classic directors. In a few sequences the detailing drags, but it sincerely illustrates the monotony inherent in the life of the hardworking loner.

The ill, old brother and a Bengalee couple appear to be the only close human associations of Violet. Both the parties leave her life at the end of a less eventful, courageous narrative, in which all the casts make excellent justice to the characters.

In spite of the desperate effort of Violet her brother Eddie dies. On the other hand, one of the Bengalee students Nandita and her boyfriend Samaresh, coming of an affluent social background care little to utilize her affection and her crying need for human relation, even after their marriage. Touching on a sexist sub-context Aparna manages her realism to keep authentic in featuring the young vulnerable lady Nandita less deceptive and dishonest than her decisive husband Samaresh. The matching insertion of a critically projected, insensitive urban attitude towards such a motherly subject also helps the accommodation of the local Bengali context. Debate might arise about the purpose of representing the only insensitive, self-centered Bengalees.

The surrealist treatment of past and unconscious in representations of dream, love, pain and fear of death of lonely English individual introduces the Indian spectators to a different film language. It helps them visualizing an exotic theme growing out of their own cultural space. All the unfamiliar aspects of the film do not suppose to isolate the Indian viewers from the characters, because the passion of the narrative from the very beginning may engage any spectator effectively in feeling and identifying a sphere of isolation of an"other" lady. The uses of sequences of silence, soundless presence of animals and insects, emptiness in space, elements in the individual sets, the lights and the always-sensitive camera positions voice in unison a deep care for a quietly vanishing human entity. The last and the loneliest sequence which seems to be the fare-well to all the human attachments of Violet takes a poetic gesture towards the whole horizon of helpless humanity.

One might perceive the presence of Satyajit Ray behind many areas of the making of the film, apart from his assigned assistance. If there was anything questionable in the possible inspiration, the outstanding journey of Aparna Sen from 36 Chowringhee Lane onwards pays her own genuine tribute to all her great inspirations.

Umrao Jaan (1981)

A classical and poetic memoir of existential subtlety

[29 June 2002]

Who among the Indians failed to get moved by the advertised displays and cutouts of the Indian actress Rekha in context of Umrao Jaan. Those who saw the film carefully recall it in the silence of sadness and as a class of its own. Umrao, a true character of a highly sensitive female artist of nineteenth century India, could write the wonderful lyrics of her songs, tune the classical melody herself, achieved a magical voice and presented the class of a dance-style, called Kathak. Though finally she came up on top of her fame and popularity in a wide region of India, she remained deserted by her relatives. Her love relations failed to acquire any meaningful social end. Only the audio-visual experience of the film can take one near the heart of the poetic portrayal, brilliantly done by Muzaffar Ali. Ali comes of such a lineage of aristocracy, which had much bearing on the time and cultural milieu of Umrao Jaan in Lucknow. A sensitive Indian viewer might also intuit such a living philosophical background of the spectacular details and technically rare presentation of an excellent narrative.

Abducted from her home village along with another friend Ramrey in her childhood Umrao alone was purchased by a pander. She lost the last link to her past, even the whereabouts of her birthplace. Umrao Jaan grew up as a professional dancer and singer in certain art-loving space of Lucknow, where the performer--even the sexually virgin one-- entertained the elite with performance, but could have no legitimate social relation with them. Umrao had to leave her first love, a connoisseur of her performance and a good-hearted handsome prince, whom after many years she finds as married to Ramrey. It was also a matter of chance that one family adopted Ramrey and paid satisfactorily to the same kidnaper. The mature Umrao as a paid entertainer--on the family occasion of the happy and her beloved couple--could readily responds in songs to her amazing feelings of relentless drift of life.

All along the narrative of the film the genius of Umrao is shown to expand as an artist and as an author from inside her existential experience. Her songs and dances--wonderfully matching the shifting contexts of her biography--move gradually from deep passion for life to profound existential quarries. A period of historical unrest in the region keeps Umrao floating and troubled to procure her livelihood and to maintain her prestige. After all the un-thought-of turns of life and an effective exposure to the out-world she unknowingly (re)appears in her lost paradise, the forgotten shelter of her birthplace and patriarchal family of origin. On deepest agony and not incredibly the Indian spectators see Umrao herself to accept her social death and ruthless rejection from her family belonging to orthodox Indian patriarchy. Crying her heart out she had to leave her mother, the ever-missing reconciliation perhaps for all. Finally the major associates of her troop also got detached from Umrao. She had to return to the deserted house of Lucknow and starts cleaning the dust spread over the old things. The pale sight of disheveled Umrao reflected in an old mirror concludes the film. The still of a drifting individual on the edge of her career and tormented life suspends an air of subtle nostalgia.

Except editing all the aspects of the film making is overwhelming. Such an extraordinarily articulate film needs to be (re)viewed over again, especially in the inter(con)textual backdrop of a memoir of a loner, a genius, a beggar, a performing artist, an author and above all a female that is successfully reproduced by a director as a stream of nostalgic images.