After days of not writing, of being cut off voluntarily from
most things, of swimming around in my own glass bowl of stale water, I feel the
need to write again or rather to be part of something again.
So today I thought of writing about a few short films I saw
in the weekend as part of Clone’s initiative to showcase women directors. I
missed the controversial first film ‘Catharsis’ which I hope to catch sometime.
I also missed a lot of the really well-made examples of short films which came
later because I had a prior meeting I couldn’t ignore. Of the ones that I saw,
I really liked ‘Indu’ – a simple, poignant story told in the most lyrical way
possible.
Indu is a young girl who falls in love with her teacher. He
is married. He lends her books and feeds her love for reading. She writes
beautifully of her feelings in missives that she hides among the pages of the
different books they exchange. He makes paper objects like planes and keeps it
in the books as he lends them to her. It is clear that he enjoys the girl’s
artless adoration. His ego revels in the kind of attention and devotion only
the very young can bestow on you. One day, in class, when he announces that his
wife is pregnant and distributes sweets in celebration, he cannot meet her
eyes. She stares at him accusingly. She shows her anger in childish ways and he
is annoyed. He makes it clear that he doesn’t like her behaviour and doesn’t
understand why she cannot fathom the ways of the world – a married man is
always out of bounds.
Indu walks away hurt. There is no drama. Her pain is clear
to us – to anyone who has every fallen in love actually. And her deliberate
unfolding of the teacher’s paper plane and refolding into a boat that floats
away in the water is beautifully symbolic. The next scene shows a one-line discussion
between her parents and another couple where all is ‘arranged’. A wedding with
sombre overtones is clearly unfolding. It’s a simple affair. A small temple. A
handful of guests. The bride’s bother walks grimly with a pot covered in red
cloth and some jasmine flowers adorning it. The groom’s mother does the same.
The lamps are lit. The ‘para’ is full as is the wont in any auspicious
occasion. But there is no joyous music. There is no colour. The two pots sit
side by side as the ceremony continues to its unremarkable end.
I loved this portrayal of a young heart’s ability to lose
itself intensely. The protagonists are ordinary, everyday people – unremarkable
in every way on the outside – just like us. The subtle underlying thread of
suicide does not push one away from finding the story beautiful. The idea that
a girl whose love is unfulfilled yet finds herself tied to some stranger in the
afterlife so that her ‘soul’ can find peace fills you with despair – for she is
not allowed to love even after death. It’s a must watch for anyone who wants to
experience a different piece of film-making.
Of the other two I watched, ‘Mambazha Pulissery’ was most
unremarkable. The camera was lazy – no effort had been put into framing the
scenes. The content is nothing unusual and neither was the writing so I am not
sure why the curator chose to add this short film in the set. Two sisters
arguing about the younger’s choice to live in with her partner and viewed by
their mother on Skype unbeknownst to them is hardly an interesting theme.
Particularly when there is no denouement of any sort. They argue. They cook.
They eat. Parallels are drawn between their disagreements and the need to work
together despite differences by comparing the different flavours that go into
the making of a pullissery. The mother attempts to show her daughters that she
is conversant with live-in relationships by hinting that in older times their
grandmother had several lovers as well. The film is neither here nor there. And
unlike a well made mambazha pullissery (which by the way is really easy to
make), there is nothing here that entices one’s taste buds. A film that could
have been left out, in my opinion.
‘Njaval Pazhangal’ was halfway between these two for me.
Named after the tongue-purpling jamun fruit, this film sets out to highlight
the way skin colour is still a major issue in everyday lives. There is no clear
story here. The protagonist revisits his childhood after biting into a juicy
jamun on his way back home after years abroad. An idyllic childhood filled with
picking jamuns, running around with his sister and being cherished by his
parents and grandmother is shown. Throughout the narrative, casual statements
that show the mindset against dark skin colour pop up almost as afterthoughts.
The grandmother commenting that a bride in a wedding album was inferior because
she was dark, the little girl not getting to play Bharathmatha in a play
because she was dark, the colour of her favourite doll seeming to portent ill
for her father because that too was black – all of them portray how insidious
the prejudice against dark skin is. Most people are prejudiced without even
knowing it. I liked the concept but I thought the execution needed work. The
acting was contrived in many places. The sound was out of balance so the mixing
and editing needed work. The ending was open. And while I normally like open
endings there is such a thing as too open. The concept however is something
that more directors need to address. I just wish the method of expression was
more refined.
All in all the films did their work I believe – which was to
make me think of things other than my daily woes and interests. And it got me
writing again – how can I not be happy about that !
