Friday, November 04, 2005

diwali and three films

diwali lights

every diwali there is a ritual that we have in our lane. headed by shyam and my mother we light the entire lane up with diyas in the evenings. the girls draw a rangoli in the morning on the badminton court. shyam and me go to the railway station to buy 500- 600 diyas and lay them down in a line edging the lane. oil is collected from the buildings and lamps are lit through a collective effort of kids and older people.

this year mukul and me bought diyas from the railway station and the older people watched on as the ritual was taken over by the kids, who organized everything.

this year as always, the lane was lovely.


antonionini’s film about a woman who disappears suddenly on a yachting trip leaving her fiancĂ© and her best friend to find her and meanwhile begin a new relationship with each other. the film seemed to be attempting a dissection of the male ego; as the jilted lover immediately proves his own virility to himself by storming into an affair with the next available woman. the woman falls after initial pangs of guilt, and the man then moves on to the next conquest. meanwhile he craves for creative expression (he, we learn, was an architect, but now only does valuation of buildings), for youth and energy (he wickedly spills ink on a young mans sketch of a window, etc).

all in carefully composed black and white, seaside landscapes with lone figures and crashing waves; long silent lovemaking sequences and ornate interiors of hotels. it seems that claudia- the other woman- was antonionini’s wife. that explains why she is in the film. i thought she was wooden; and thought the movie far too long for such a flimsy premise; though in the final reckoning it was not completely unwatchable.

the blood of a poet

jena cocteau’s 1930s film about art and its sources, the artist and his sacrifices. surreal images of death, self-immolation, mirrors, games- a mouth on a canvas begins to speak and is wiped on to the hand of the poet as tries to destroy it; leading him to kill himself- then in another sequence he walks along a corridor of a hotel peeping into various rooms with strange happenings; then a snowball fight in which a child dies; and at the end a game of cards between the poet and his muse / creation(?) watched on by spectators in overlooking balconies.

50 minutes- almost silent. brilliant images (for its time) interesting, but not fascinating.. surprisingly.

shaadi no 1

three frustrated men seek three separate affairs with the three hot daughters of their employer after their three wives refuse for one reason or the other to sleep with them. enter one fiddler dispensing ‘misaals’ like missiles’ one for each character constantly making the most ludicrous similes. marriage is like a .. closed bisleri bottle/ salwar kameez / .. whatever..

tedious in parts, hilarious in some.. not enough silliness.. and actually not that much fun.. even if we overlook the sexist premise.. the actors pulled the film down.. the khan brothers have no timing and sharman joshi is too bad looking. the women (wives) are hot and the girls (temptresses) are naked…. and the music sucks.

No comments: