A Slice of English Life

One of the most alluring aspects of watching cinema from different parts of the world is the opportunity to glimpse into varied modes of living, attitudes and value systems. While familiarity with Hollywood comes naturally to Indian viewers because of its sustained proliferation in the big cities for decades, British cinema doesn't get the same widespread release or attention. Barring the occasional inane romantic comedy like 'Love Actually', audiences in this part of the world have very little exposure to authentic British films. Unless, of course, you're fortunate enough to have a British Council Library in the vicinity.

British 'social' dramas seem to have a characteristic accessibility and homeliness that big-budget Hollywood productions lack. They also possess an unsettling quality far removed from feel-good Bollywood fare. Recently, I watched two such fascinating films – 'My Name Is Joe' and 'Secrets And Lies' – and marvelled at the filmmakers' ability to portray raw emotions of working class people without an iota of hysterics or melodrama. It also drove home the realisation that the true worth of families is best understood by their absence or by the unconventional manner in which their constitution can get configured and redefined in different places.

'My Name Is Joe' (1998) is about a reformed alcoholic from the seedy side of Glasgow who coaches the country's worst football team, falls in love with a sensitive social worker and tries his best not to let circumstances drag him back into a murky life. The way writer Paul Laverty and director Ken Loach portray Joe Kavanagh (Peter Mullan), you can't help but get drawn towards this middle-aged loser with a heroic edge to him.

The film opens a window to the shocking world of young couples struggling to cope with drug abuse and saddled with little kids who are forced to grow up in a violent, unhealthy environment. Joe's decision to help a young friend Liam whose wife owes money to the local druglord jeopardises his delicately balanced relationship with Sarah (Louise Goodall) and pushes the film to its explosive climax. Peter Mullan brings tremendous vulnerability to Joe's character, a man bursting with nervous energy and trying to hold on to his newfound love -- he won the Best Actor Award at the Cannes Film Festival for this performance.

Interestingly, all the characters in the film are lost and lonesome relying on a support system of equally down-and-out friends or then, social welfare officers. Yet there is a sense of belonging and commitment to this unconventional 'family'.

Mike Leigh's 'Secrets and Lies' (1996), on the other hand, is about a fractured family weighed down by the burden of its past and the underlying hostility, discontent and guilt of its members. Cynthia Rose Purley (Brenda Blethyn, superb), the film's cockney heroine, is a tragicomic figure who starts off as a nagging working class mother and grows on you as the film progresses to another fiercely tense climax. Cynthia's brother Maurice (Timothy Spall, very lovable) is a portrait photographer who's done well for himself professionally (the director constructs a couple of marvellous sequences around his ensemble clients reflecting uneasy relationships and social facades), but is forced to live in the shadow of his domineering wife Monica (Phyllis Logan) and therefore can't help his sister, much as he would like to.

Monica can't stand Cynthia, nor can her own daughter Roxanne (Claire Rushbrook), who works as a garbage cleaner and seems poised for a life of drudgery and isolation -- which is exactly what her mother desperately wants to save her from. The sudden arrival of Hortense (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) infuses Cynthia's life with a new spark. But not before the two women overcome their initial awkwardness to accept the nature of their unusual relationship. However, there is still a family lunch to negotiate and the tension between various players becomes almost unbearable.

Both films boast of fabulous performances. But apart from dedicated actors, what helps connect with these characters and situations far removed from our socio-cultural milieu is the compassion with which they're presented. The approach of both filmmakers is non-judgmental, at the same time the visual treatment is very intimate. We are gently led into the lives and homes of these quirky people and invited to share their joys and grief.

And we do. Almost, as if, they're family!

Deepa Gumaste

EKLAVYA – THE ROYAL GUARD: Misplaced Grandeur

Vidhu Vinod Chopra is, undeniably, a stylish filmmaker. Often, though, his obsession with cinematic grace is defeated by flawed scripts. His latest work, 'Eklavya – The Royal Guard' is a case in point. Chopra sets up this macabre drama (with obvious Shakespearean influences) about palace intrigue, loyalty, duty and destiny by narrating the story of Mahabharat's Eklavya who repaid his debt to his teacher Dronacharya by cutting off the thumb on his right hand.

The modern day Eklavya (Amitabh Bachchan) is a devoted sentinel at the Devigarh palace who has sired the Rana's (Boman Irani) twins Harshwardhan (Saif Ali Khan) and Nandini (Raima Sen) -- in the line of duty, no less -- but is sentenced to a life of ignominy and servitude as the royal guard. When an ailing queen (Sharmila Tagore wearing eye-liner on her deathbed?) calls out Eklavya's name instead of her husband's the Rana apparently stumbles upon the palace's best-kept secret!

The violent chain of events that follows -- involving, Harshwardhan, the Rana's jealous brother (Jackie Shroff) and his discontented son (Jimmy Shergill, impressive) -- leaves Eklavya faced with the prospect of sacrificing what's most precious to him all over again. And here lies the soul of Chopra's film -- how the rights and wrongs of life change with perspective. It's a very interesting take on moral postures and tempering reason with passion.

However, for the film to drive home its larger-than-life point effectively, the director had to make the pivotal players worthy of empathy. Barring Eklavya, none of the characters (including, unfortunately, Harshwardhan) are developed well enough to evoke the kind of stateliness the occasion demands. And since the outside world rarely touches these hoity royals, the entire drama must be drawn from within the confines of the palace. As a result, the epic philosophical questions that he attempts to raise appear diminutive when placed before this sketchy ensemble.

And then the opulence of the Devigarh palace, the lavish ornate rooms, the innumerable fluttering pigeons, the exquisite visual design dominated by shades of red and black all seem like mere props -- looking as unfashionable as the aristocracy itself (as Sanjay Dutt's DSP Chohar keeps reiterating).

Chopra's craft however, is flawless, sometimes even audacious. In a film dominated by exquisite visual tapestry, the scene that stands out by a stretch is one when Eklavya (a perfect marksman like his mythological predecessor) is on the prowl and hunts out his prey in pitch darkness. The filmmaker does the unthinkable by actually leaving us to stare at a blank screen for over two minutes as the protagonist and his quarry wait for the inevitable with bated breath.

N Nataraja Subramanian's cinematography if breath-taking, as is the single song "Chanda re" picturised on the woefully under-utilised Vidya Balan. The background score however rankles with its excessive use of Sanskrit intonations, perhaps meant to portend something prophetic, or to elevate the proceedings to a level of profundity that the script just cannot scale.

Amitabh Bachchan naturally gets a lion's share of screen space and truly overwhelms with his dramatic rendition (far more subdued than his 'Black' hysterics) of the central character. Surprisingly, Saif Ali Khan doesn't try to match he senior actor's histrionics and still holds his own in a superbly understated performance. The rest of the cast (including Sanjay Dutt), are left to their own wits to make what they can of their ill-developed roles.

Despite its thin plot, 'Eklavya – The Royal Guard' has enough meat to hold your attention for most part (and occasionally even charm you quite unexpectedly). But the end ruins it all when Chopra inexplicably switches tracks to give his dark, disconcerting subject a fairy tale ending simply to put his audience in a merry mood.

Deepa Gumaste

TRAFFIC SIGNAL: Stay off it

The promos of Madhur Bhandarkar’s 'Traffic Signal' claim that this is the final chapter in his trilogy about the darker side of Mumbai. But like ‘Corporate’ and ‘Page 3’ (to a lesser extent), the film merely gives audiences an introductory course in the who’s who of the city’s mean streets. It’s no better than a ‘Bambai dekho’ peep show, spiced up for maximum effect and littered with crass cardboard characters. Neither does it narrate a crushing tale about the brutality of the city’s underbelly (like ‘Chakra’, ‘Ardh Satya’ or any of Saeed Mirza's films did), nor does it provide any entertainment. It’s one of those half-baked films that only scratches the surface and worse, pretends to be serious cinema.

But he seems more comfortable sketching street vagrants and beggars than he was with corporate bigwigs in his last film. Even in this one, the so-called elite who travel in fancy imported cars, look and dress very down-market. Either the director has never travelled south of central Mumbai, or he’s not prepared to look for actors who can pass off as Mumbai’s high society. Despite achieving commercial and critical success, Bhandarkar continues to cut corners and compromises on authenticity (which, ironically, is his chief claim to fame).

Thematically too he’s on a weak wicket. He tries to throw in a large number of characters from different walks of life, all of whom are seen crossing just one traffic signal in the city. There’s a multi-crore rupee industry shaped by people who eke out a living at the city’s traffic lights, either peddling goods or begging for alms. Bhandarkar focuses on a group of such people and the privileged lot who either choose to ignore them, or give them something out of guilt or greed for blessings.

All we get is a fleeting glimpse into the lives of this motley group. But in his attempt to toss in too many elements, he doesn’t hold on to any specific thought and spends the entire first half just establishing the subjects of his scrutiny. There’s no semblance of a plot, no depth or shade to any character, and no complexity in the narrative. You see a lot of prostitutes (of both sexes), eunuchs, drug addicts, street children, ugly politicians, lecherous policemen, scheming land sharks and afeem-snorting underworld dons. None of them have any individual characteristics that might draw the audience into their story.

The poor are uniformly kind and unified; the rich are all insensitive and self-serving trash. It reminded me of Anand Patwardhan’s equally skewed documentary called ‘Bombay Our City’, which depicted all slum-dwellers in the city as noble, hard-working souls and contrasted it with a coffee-table discussion in a plush South-Mumbai drawing room about the menace of these squatters who are spoiling the beauty of the city. Like Patwardhan’s film, ‘Traffic Signal’ relies more on sensationalism than an objective evaluation of the clash of classes and the deep-rooted divide between the haves and have-nots in India’s commercial capital.

The only plus that I took away from the film was Ranvir Shorey’s spellbinding performance as a doped out addict who hangs around the said signal and tries to con people into giving him money for his daily dose of drugs. He’s a fine actor indeed.

Bhandarkar is reportedly starting work on his next film called ‘Fashion’. Going by the National Award winning director’s track record, it isn’t difficult to guess what that one might have in store. Which is exactly what makes Madhur Bhandarkar an uninteresting filmmaker to watch.

Deepa Gumaste