CineM Review: The Station Agent (2003)

Quiet, Real

Back in 2003, I was trudging through a dreary final year of my graduation; that same year however, Hollywood twirled, weaved and waltzed to give us two brilliant films on unlikely friendship and quietly-born intimacy. Both Sofia Coppola's ‘Lost in Translation’ and Thomas McCarthy’s ‘The Station Agent’ are understated and yet sparkling gems, unobtrusively exploring characters disparate in all respects but possessing a common intangible sense of loss or unfulfillment, and the uncommon friendship which evolves out of nothing more than a shared existence; in LIT’s case, of staying in the same hotel and in TSA’s case, of living in the same town.

It would be easy to reduce this movie’s story to one of the unlikely coming together of first a dwarf, second an energiser bunny who may be considered a festival of unaffected gregariousness, and third a single woman grappling with twin losses – that of a dead child and an approaching divorce. The slightly more challenging task is to see beyond the stereotypes which such characters usually attract, and take a peek into what makes them behave the way they do. Real-life ‘short person’ Peter Dinklage as the dwarf Finbar McBride, Bobby Cannavale as the hugely enthusiastic Joe Oramas operating a coffee-shop-on-wheels and always-perfect Patricia Clarkson as the hesitant Olivia Harris, are the people around whom the story revolves. Michelle Williams as the unsure but well-meaning local librarian (Emily) and cute Raven Goodwin as the sedate school-girl Cleo complete the delectable ensemble.

Intensely reclusive Fin moves from the city to a quiet town called Newfoundland in New Jersey (his lawyer helpfully informs him that “there’s nothing out there…nothing”), to take over a recent inheritance which is actually an abandoned train depot; what follows immediately his arrival is a portrait of quiet but rich mirth. Fin who must have inwardly rejoiced at the lawyer’s dismissive view of placid Newfoundland is met with an acutely polar reality. Picture Fin’s first day in Newfoundland – he goes over to Joe's mobile coffee-shop just outside his depot where he is treated to a morning cuppa accompanied by a relentless flow of friendly questions, and while on his way to the local convenience store, he is nearly run over by a distracted Olivia who apologises profusely and drives off, but nevertheless manages to narrowly avoid crushing Fin a second time while he’s on his way back. Fin’s lengthening stay in the depot is punctuated with all-too-familiar interactions with the indefatigable Joe who persists in plugging away at his reserve and the much quieter interactions with a naturally good-natured Olivia. Fin lets in the other two slowly into his quiet world of the train depot and trainspotting, and we are treated to an unhurried but very revealing slice of how the characters behave, and their motivations.

Writer-director Thomas McCarthy who is deeply interested it seems, in developing stories of unlikely friendships (in ‘The Visitor’, ‘Win Win’, ‘UP’) draws out such minute details of the characters (Fin walks mostly with his hands deep in his pockets and his head perennially held down) with a delicate touch. He builds the characters with a sure-footed intensity, and complements the tumult in the lives of his main characters with the flustered and needy inflections of the librarian Emily and directness of the only character in the cast un-afflicted with any inner struggles – that of Cleo, the young girl with frank questions and an open mind. I felt a clear identification with the characters; their completely real lives and the blossoming of a friendship which is honest and filled with actual warmth.

In a movie which is actually well-acted with just the right amount of expression and reserve, Bobby Canavale’s turn as the unflappable, ‘doesnt-take-no-for-an-answer’ blaze of energy is the real showstopper.  He actually bludgeons both Fin and Olivia with absolute open, warm human connect and wriggles his way into the lives of two very introverted people. Peter Dinklage brings out a real character tethered to his own sense of self and the perceptions so easily expressed, by others; in a life of either ridicule or absolute isolation, the way he has trained himself to be defensively reserved and the manner in which he is drawn out of his solitude by the gutsy friendliness and obvious interest of Joe and the similarly troubled and calling-for-help aura of Olivia, is slowly but clearly tapped into. The surprise in the package for me is Michelle Williams who even in that limited space gave ample proof of the quiet strength which she inherently brings to the characters she plays (like ‘Wendy and Lucy’, ‘Meek’s Cutoff’ among others).

This is one of those movies so sparsely-populated with characters and so thin on a plot, but very riveted on showcasing not ‘what is to happen’ but ‘what exists’. The 3 main characters so perfectly act out a lifetime of feelings in their performances, and convey so many little truths about grief, solitude, compassion and simple pleasures. By the time Fin, Joe and Olivia take their quiet leisurely stroll down the rail tracks in picturesque New Jersey, I very much wanted to be there on that walk with them too.

CineM’s Verdict:

CineM Review: Ikiru (1952)

To Create Is Beautiful

When Akira Kurosawa began filming ‘Ikiru’, the commercial and critical success of ‘Rashomon’ (it won the highest award ‘The Golden Lion’ in the Venice Film Festival 1951 and collected an unheard-of amount for a Japanese film in the US) was fresh behind him. He must have felt very confident about his story-telling abilities. And that shows amply in ‘Ikiru’ – a film examining the struggles in the life of a bureaucrat who is fated to die of cancer shortly; the story itself an inspiration from Tolstoy’s short story "The Death of Ivan Ilyich".

Ikiru means “to live” and strangely (but perhaps not so strange after all), the protagonist starts leading a life true to himself only when he is compelled to stare straight ahead at the grim prospect of death. Kurosawa teamed up with Shinobu Hashimoto (who had earlier written the sparkling script of ‘Rashomon’) and Hideo Oguni to write the screenplay, and the nuances that they bring into a seeming-conventional story are very insightful. The story outline is simple enough – a long-serving, tired and thoroughly insipid bureaucrat is diagnosed with stomach cancer but given a misleading medical prognosis; he gathers though that he does not have long to live and surrounded by a stifling work-place environment and an equally unloving atmosphere at home with his son and daughter-in-law, our protagonist examines his past life, and comes to an epiphany about what he should do in his remaining days. This is a theme which has been widely explored both in literature and films – the onset of a fast-approaching death coupled with memories of a life made up of words left unsaid and work left undone, the ritual breakdown of mind and body, all culminating in a deeply-felt realisation about life (or death). This much-travelled niche is where Ikiru breaks the mould - through performances so sincere, a screenplay so sensitive, and a camera so faithful and alert to what it seeks to capture and what it desires to leave out.

Ikiru’s opening shot with a voice-over narration introduces the protagonist’s death even before we have had a glimpse of the protagonist, in a form of a X-ray film showing the cancerous growth in the stomach. The story then progresses along as the versatile Japanese actor Takashi Shimura in the role of the bureaucrat as Kanji Watanabe, sits through a cold, unsettling (and as proved, ultimately devious) medical diagnosis, stumbles back home to his dark bedroom which is sparsely adorned with certificates of appreciation for a long (but hollow) career in service, ultimately rebelling against his own deep-set frugal nature to seek out a night of pleasures and thrills. This is the definitive point where the film veers away from convention to present us with a truly masterful narrative.

That single night of debauchery has been shot in a marvelous sequence where Watanabe accompanied by a kindred spirit, a writer of cheap novels but possessor of an altruistic sensibility, taste the pleasures of a night that Tokyo has to offer. Stumbling in and out of dubious alleys, in and out of bars, both men end up in a lounge. This lounge is the setting for the scene which strikes me the most; Watanabe requests a song (‘The Gondola Song’) which the lounge pianist starts playing, the young and beautiful people of the night congregate to dance, but stop in mid-step when Watanabe starts singing the lonesome strains. The camera which initially lingers behind a swaying bead screen as the young couples start to dance, glides onto Watanabe as he sings, panning upwards to his face with the glass ceiling in the background reflecting the frozen figures of the other revelers. The sad lyrics of the song which call upon the young to come fall in love before their youth fades away, are sung in a low, so soft voice with the lips scarcely moving and tears silently welling up in Watanabe’s eyes, have stayed with me. This sequence is further embellished with interesting use of reflections of the people on glass surfaces presenting us with allegorical shots of how life holds different views for different people. In a sense, we see the characters both as they really are as well as how they appear to be.

That night is followed by a curious and unlikely relationship that develops between Watanabe and a much- younger female colleague. This bond which Watanabe feels is not easily understandable until the cathartic last dinner in the restaurant when Watanabe reveals haltingly and with characteristic reserve, and later more urgently what he seeks from the girl – the silent and somewhat raw cry of him who is going to his grave for an attempt at redeeming the life which is now past him. Kurosawa directs this part of the story with a stark camera’s eye which lays bare the utter helplessness in Watanabe’s soul – there is a wonderful shot where the side profile of Watanabe’s face frames the picture while the younger, happier, more open face of the girl lingers in the background – a contrast between the two.

Moments in Ikiru are not poetic; scenes are sometimes jagged, insistent, urgent, often giving us close shots of Watanabe’s face as he’s trying to work out his thoughts, perhaps attempting to capture the conflicts in the mind. The most dominant feature on the screen is Watanabe’s drooping figure; the camera follows him ruthlessly around, in one shot capturing his sorry bent figure on knees, frozen in a dark staircase – in a futile attempt to reach out to his son.

As the character of Watanabe approaches and meets its inevitable end, we are presented with a penetrating study into life and human nature, as his family and colleagues attempt to deconstruct his later days and ultimate death, while sipping sake in his wake. Unlike ‘Rashomon’ which captures truth as it undergoes a beguiling and self-mutating cycle of discovery, Ikiru is more concerned with examining the truth as it appears from one incrementally-developing perspective. We, the audience possess the privilege of knowing the unalloyed truth of both Watanabe’s life and death; however as the story’s characters (unsure and some of them, over-zealous) try to understand the motivations for Watanabe’s change from a bored bureaucrat to a tenacious civil servant, we are treated to the scattered and small ways in which the truth and eventually the meaning of life itself, make themselves apparent.

The masterstrokes in this film are too numerous to list them all; however I will make special mention of the scene where Watanabe’s rushes off after that fateful last dinner with the girl, while a bunch of happy party-people gather around the stair-head. They enthusiastically sing ‘Happy Birthday’ for someone who is as yet unseen but coming up the stairs, as Watanabe hurries down below them, his hands clutching his new symbol of hope, with a new flame in his eyes as he understands the way to live. We revel in his re-birth.

CineM’s Verdict:

Western Specials

To many wide-eyed young boys (myself included), the Western was what we initially associated with Hollywood. The numerous archetypes of the Western – the Lone Ranger, man versus nature in a hostile environment, Natives pitted against the Settlers, the power to possess anything if you were fast with a gun, the showdowns between good and bad – drew and captivated moviegoers. The classic elements of the Western found resonance halfway across the globe in the Japanese samurai films of Akira Kurosawa, where the weary but extremely skilled samurai fought against both the evils in the society and the demons inside him. 

It would be unwise to straitjacket Westerns as the place to go for music (raucous piano playing), women (in brothels), gambling, drinking, brawling and shooting. Numerous film-makers found expressive ways to paint the Old West with uncharacteristic colours. Leone’s ‘Dollars trilogy’ introduced the opportunistic, reward-driven hero bound by his own private code (many a time ambiguous and ever-changing) – an extension of the same moody stranger with quicksilver gun-fighting skills, but now, you could not rely upon him to always take the side of the ‘sodbusters’, the wronged, innocent townspeople or the exploited prostitute. The genre of the Western beyond the gun and the gunner, has manifested itself in surprising anti-Westerns like ‘McCabe & Mrs. Miller’, ‘Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia’, ‘Kelly’s Heroes’, ‘Blood Diamond’, the ‘Star Wars’ series – far removed from the typical Western in space and time, but all have incorporated the essential elements which make the Western what it has become today. In many ways, the history of the Western has mirrored the transition of society and cinema.

Sweet Love

Love as a universal emotion, has found a wonderful home in cinema. Films exploring passion and the affectionate involvement of the main characters have always attracted audiences. Romance in films has given birth to that great sub-genre – the ‘Romantic Comedy’ – and the list of wonderful films that incorporate romance into a humourous setting (or humour into a romantic one!) is long and illustrious. Sometimes there are less obvious romantic films too; ‘Shane’,’ Tender Mercies’ or even ‘Once’ I feel, are implicit love stories. Emoting love is perhaps, what the greats do best – who can forget John Wayne in ‘Rio Grande’ (the big man usually so sure of himself around guns and horses, gives a most emotionally-unsure & blustery performance of a man beginning to fall in love) or how tenderly Eastwood directs the romance in ‘The Bridges of Madison County’?

Of course, wild, passionate love given to dramatic, impulsive actions does the trick too. Whether you prefer your love sweetened or repressed or laced with humour or just plain indecisive, romantic films have managed to pull off great canvases and great performances.

Marigolds for Eyes

In little bits and many ways, Simi embodies the guileless and impeccant attitude of a child-like mind. Like I mentioned before, she imbibes an utterly simple mechanism to realise the good and the bad around, without having to resort to duplicity, verbal calisthenics and the rest of that sum total which I suppose, we call ‘worldliness’. No wonder then, that Simi likes wholesome, good-natured and fun films ; films like ‘Jumanji’, ‘Notting Hill’, ‘Baby’s Day Out’, the ‘Home Alone’ series  and so many of Shah Rukh’s ventures. A necessary ingredient when one has a predilection for the kind of films which I just mentioned above is I am pretty sure, a sense of wonderment. Wonder is a precious gift, and too many films now attempt to discover it through cacophony; the trend today seems to create wonder not in the story or in its characters, but in digitally-enhanced sequences.

Anyway, Simi it seems gravitates towards wholesome entertainment in films – a dash of romance, light touches of fantasy, just the appropriate dollop of adventure, canvasses of colourful ecstasy, and loads and loads of comedy. Films which serve this delectable assortment are generally classified as ‘family’. While we are discussing ‘family movies’, I wish to de-bunk 2 myths. A children’s film is not always a family film, neither is an animated one. Now that we have established what a family movie is ‘not’, let us move forward to what it ‘may be’.

A simple rule of thumb for this definition, may be what Roger Ebert prescribes. He says, “A children’s film is a movie at which adults are bored. A family movie is a movie at which, if its good, nobody’s bored.” So, a family film is positioned to appeal not only to a younger audience but to a wide range of viewers. Family films seek to traverse this apparently-disjoint spectrum through an unique balance of story-boarding and humour which oozes sly wit and an edginess, while still remaining universal in appeal.

                                                   

Family films explore universal themes – if ‘E.T.’ is about an unlikely friendship, the ‘The Railway Children’ speaks about dignity in adversity while ‘Fly Away Home’ explores among other things, the sometimes-tenuous bond between child and parent. Family films are wonderful exponents for love too; in ‘Up (2009)’, the tender romance between a reticent Carl and a tomboyish Ellie first sparks and then takes wings with absolutely no spoken words, and on the magical canvas of a lilting score by Michael Giacchino.  

While it is true that so many avant garde family films are actually animated or seem targeted towards the young or the young-at-heart, it is apparent (but not why exactly, to me atleast) that where the story involves children and their immediate setting (parents, teachers, the neighbourhood bully, the reclusive but kind-hearted old neighbour et al), the magic that appears through the child’s eyes and his uncertain place in the world of obtuse-looking adults somehow are easily relateable to most of us too.

I would like to borrow Ebert’s words in his review of ‘E.T.’ to underscore the purport of family films. He says, “This movie made my heart glad. It is filled with innocence, hope, and good cheer. It is also wickedly funny and exciting as hell. This is a movie that you can grow up with and grow old with, and it won't let you down.” It is a moment of intense epiphany for me when I realise that these are just the words I would use to describe Simi. This wonderous touch of gladness, fun, excitement, good-naturedness and timelessness was Simi’s touch too.

Hasta mañana, Simi!  

Quests Road-ful (& Hope-ful!)

Whether the 'the road' as a theme in cinema, qualifies as a genre or exists just as a story-telling frame is not clear. Cinema has found an expression in the road type of films – often-at-times a lone voice stained with wistfulness, fuelled by an idea but also at times, propelled by nothing more than an urge to keep on moving. The road movie places its characters on a moving plane, away from home and known quantities and into a journey which then, becomes the central theme of the story. The road movie also frequently explores other enduring motifs of man – the (often unexplainable) quest, the bringing together of unlikely characters, the visitations of loneliness and reflections, discovery of the self.   The road becomes a metaphor for a lot of realities – disenchantment, jettisoning of old ideologies, attainment of love/ fame/ other definite goals, or simply an escape from set patterns. Very often, the intent of such a journey becomes subservient to the realities of the road – a sort of in-between place where one has neither the comforting notion of a home left behind nor the aspirational idea of a final destination lying ahead. 

There have been stellar road films through the ages. Capra’s ‘It Happened One Night’ and Ford’s ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ are two obvious gems from the classical period; Wender’s ‘Paris, Texas’ and Lynch’s ‘The Straight Story’ are other stark gems where the road or rather, ‘that idea of a journey ‘ exists almost as a separate character in the story, full of a dramatic and visual beauty which might be quite epic.

N.B. Among the recent crop, 1 film which captivated me is ‘Against The Current’ (2009) where it is the Hudson River in New York State that does duty as the road. As 3 friends wind their way down the Hudson river to New York city with the lyrical and steady movement of the water as a constant companion, the film offers an even, hard look into the characters and their lives. The film also showcases the natural beauty of the Hudson Valley (called ‘America’s Rhine’ as a tribute to one of Europe’s most beautiful geographical regions), alongwith sweeping shots of ships using the waterways and the railroads by the riverside and over the Hudson. ATC is a languid and deep portrayal, much like the river Hudson itself. A great ‘Quest Road-ful’ movie!

Looking beyond the colours!

Is animation a film genre or a film technique? In the mind of course, animations are films where the scenes are created by the artist’s hand or the computer.  As the slew of animations past and present amply prove, animated films do not have a fixed stable of settings, neither do they have a predominant mood nor do they follow fixed thematic patterns. Animations today harmoniously nests in a space where they borrow and develop upon elements quintessentially associated with other genres. So, we have a western-style ‘Rango’, a war-themed ‘Grave of the Fireflies’, a sci-fi ‘The Iron Giant’, a fantasy-filled ‘Spirited Away’, the political commentary ‘Persepolis’, a dramatic ‘Mary and Max’, and the list goes on and on.

Defining animated films as those meant for children entertainment is both marginal and erroneous. With major animated productions in recent years with epic settings and advanced technology (notably 3D), animations are no longer the realm of the kids or the kids-at-heart. From the ‘realistic animations’ of Hollywood to the anime toons of Japan to “claymation” techniques, animation films are entertaining and like so many have proved, make for great cinema.

Tumse Acchaa Kaun Hai: The original Indian tobogganist

It was just yesterday that I was taking a drive along with a friend when I saw an Amul hoarding depicting a tribute to Shammi Kapoor who passed away on Aug 14. Like always I wondered at how promptly the marketing people at Amul react to contemporary events, incorporating them into their entire campaign. A much more heartfelt and sobering realization was that the person they were remembering is no more.

I have only seen a handful of Shammi Kapoor’s films but the images which immediately spring to my mind are enduring nevertheless. You say ‘Shammi Kapoor’ and I instinctively see him sliding down a snowy slope in gay abandon, dangling dangerously down the sides of a shikara creating ripples in the water with his fingers, and playing air guitar on a dance floor and twisting like Elvis. If anything, he was a handsome rogue with a style, a panache and nonchalant brashness that we get to see far more (and in excessively cringing amounts) in today’s lot of stars. Yes, Shamsher Raj Kapoor was the original rockstar of Hindi cinema.

It is common knowledge that Shammi Kapoor used to be a computer and internet buff and was an enthusiast long before computing and the internet revolution took shape in India. I once met a person in Mumbai who used to work for a telecom company which offers bundled broadband services. Once he was sent on a customer complaint call to Shammi Kapoor’s residence in Malabar Hills. Understandably he was nervous about meeting one of yesteryears’ greatest film idols. When he went inside the house, Shammi Kapoor himself sat down with him and explained the problem that he was facing - evidently the dongle provided by the company (required to be inserted into the USB port to activate the internet connection) was not working on his laptop. So, he was asking the company to disconnect the services.

The rep found out that Shammi Kapoor was using a Mac and the dongle provided by his company was not compatible. He explained the issue, also suggesting that if he so wanted, he could be provided with the compatible accessory which should expectedly solve the problem. The only glitch was that bringing in that part would take an additional 3 – 4 hours and so, Shammi Kapoor would have to wait. The actor agreed readily, provided the guy with snacks, made small-talk with him and the rep left, saying that he would be back with the part by that evening. When he came back, the actor himself opened the door and sat patiently till the time that the new part was installed and a demo afterwards shown to him. Work done, Shammi Kapoor smilingly led the rep outside, thanking him for his help and the prompt response. When this person told me this story, he remarked that when it is a complaint call, very few customers are so courteous to a company rep and fewer still are willing to patiently wait for a solution. An actor and a legend at that, did what even ordinary people like myself consider an unnecessary and unthinkably difficult task – treating others courteously.

Sharmila Tagore who co-acted with Shammi Kapoor says this of the actor, “It is difficult to imagine Shammiji without life, and life without Shammiji.”

The original Indian tobogganist who attempted the feat for the first time on celluloid and of course, without the toboggan in characteristic fashion, is now living only in our hearts.

Great Greta Greatest

“GRETA GARBO!” – The name itself sounds enigmatic, reminiscent of half-hidden, half-tangible visions of wonderment. If the silver screen be the oracle of all that is sparkling and lucent, then Greta Garbo indeed, is one of the greatest goddesses in its pantheon.

Come on over and become a lily too

Capra

Frank Capra was a prolific American film-maker (though earlier he tried his hand at acting too) whose films have now established themselves as shining stars in the firmament that is the American landscape. He directed 55 long and short films in a career spanning 4 decades from the 1920s to the 1960s but it was the golden period from 1934 – 41 that he gave the world what is now considered as his best and most sparkling.

Why I Like Capra

There have been times when I have gone through emotional and moral distress, primarily arising out of a perennial struggle between the cynicism of others and my own faith and idealism. I have often attempted and faltered redefining my own individual life along the lines of simplicity, freedom of the soul and plain good nature. Capra’s characters do that too, except that unlike me; they succeed – showcasing the ability of the individual to make a difference.

I like Capra because he made some wonderful films which seem to leap at you, make you laugh and cry, and think. But most of all, I like Capra because he reinforces in his champagne-like way and best of all, does it on celluloid and through the luminous faces and voices of all those great actors, my own thoughts and feelings.

A Capricious Life

Actor and film director John Cassavetes says this of Capra, “Maybe there never was an America in the thirties; maybe it was all Frank Capra." This ‘epitome of American-hood’ started his amazing journey as an immigrant in a crowded passenger ship which was by Capra's own admission, "degrading, stinky and awful". Frank's early life reads like a typical immigrant's story of sweat, struggle and a constant feeling of insecurity; peddling newspapers, busking, manual laboring jobs, movie extras.

It was in college that Capra developed a love for language and poetry, and started writing ~ an eye for things. Possibly it was at this time, that he fleshed out the ideals and the type of characterizations which would later on, be termed ‘Capra-esque’.

Capra films usually carry a definite message about the basic goodness of human nature and show the value of unselfishness and hard work. Life gave Capra the opportunity to manifest these values himself many a time and significantly, post the Academy night of March 16, 1934. Capra received the first of his 6 Academy nominations for Best Director that year for 'Lady for a Day', and it seems that he was quite hopeful of winning. When Oscar host Will Rogers opened the envelope for Best Director, he commented, "Well, well, well. What do you know? I've watched this young man for a long time. Saw him come up from the bottom, and I mean the bottom. It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. Come on up and get it, Frank!" In typical Academy night fashion, the audience clapped, the searchlight hovered around trying to locate the winner, Capra got up, squeezing past tables and making his way to the open dance floor to accept his Oscar. Then the searchlight swept away, stopped, and picked up Frank Lloyd who had also received his nomination for ‘Cavalcade’ that year. As Frank Lloyd went up to the dais to collect his award, a shamefaced and flustered Frank Capra slunk off towards his seat among his friends, accompanied by calls of "Down in front!" and "Sit down!".

Capra calls this the "Longest, saddest, most shattering walk in my life.” His friends at his table were crying and after returning home that night, he did what many men would in his place. He called himself names, got drunk and passed out.

Next year on Academy night, he had his own Capra-esque moment when he did walk up to collect his Oscar for Best Director (the first of 3) for ‘It Happened One Night’, amplifying what he has always showed in his films – a common man, struggling and humiliated, rising up for his own feel-good, happy ending, showcasing the power of one against many.

Heroes and the craft

I must profess here that whatever knowledge I have of Capra’s film-craft comes after watching just 5 films – ‘It Happened One Night’, ‘Mr. Deeds Goes to Town’, ‘You Can't Take It with You’, ‘Mr. Smith Goes to Washington’ and ‘It's a Wonderful Life’. But this clutch of 5 films along with ‘Arsenic and Old Lace’ and ‘Meet John Doe’ is considered the hallmark of Capra’s film-making - his golden period.

Capra’s simple narrative, his ensemble of quirky, free-spirited lead and supporting characters, the fast repartees, and sometimes, even the sheer physicality of the scenes, mean that as a viewer, you are always keyed into what’s happening. Capra’s films belonged to him and his actors; perhaps Capra could bring out some element in his actors which imprints his brand among movie-watchers even today.

Frank's Favs

I love Capra’s characters. When I think of ‘It Happened One Night’, I instantly think of Gable’s quick-thinking and equally fast-talking journalist role; ‘Mr. Smith Goes to Washington’ brings to my mind the young and gullible idealist Jimmy fighting against a system. Somehow, when it comes to Capra, I find the connections and the underpinnings quite easy to create and comprehend. Among other stuff, one lovely attachment that I have towards Capra’s films is Jean Arthur; she always appears so wholesome in spirit and beauty, the twang in her voice and the vulnerability and strength in equal measure that she exhibited.

Just like other gifted individuals in the fields of art, Capra displays an astounding intuitive and prescient quality to anticipate how individuals, groups, corporations, administrations and even countries indeed, react and progress. Underlying very hard-nosed ideals of economics, filial obligations, practicality, there would be the typical Capra-esque qualities; his own personal history, transformed on the screen.

A recurring theme in Capra’s films is the irrationality of a crowd mentality, juxtaposed with the strong convictions and humanity of the protagonist. Capra would be again, one of the very first film-makers who chose to portray the media as a self-serving and not necessarily, evangelical entity – a theme to be explored later in films like Network (1976). Capra’s portrayal of how the media manipulates and is in turn, manipulated is evocative of how the power to do good gets corrupted, when it is corporatised.

Capra’s best movies were and still are, known for the happy way in which the final reel unravels itself. Before the pleasurable denouement though, there would be strife, complications, misunderstanding and a lot of heart-burn on the screen. Capra shows that even happy endings have their price, as James Stewart once put it, “Capra made you pay for those happy endings.''

Those who do not like Capra

Capra and his films have their fair share of detractors, of course. Critics have often, commented that Capra’s films are clichéd celebrations of the "pursuit of happiness"; a tiresome exercise in extolling and preaching ideals with whom the audience may not connect. Viewers may feel that the films are talking down to them. Capra is accused too, of creating characters who refuse to perceive the griminess around them, instead preferring to "wander about wide-eyed and breathless, seeing everything as larger than life."

In conclusion

In my personal space though, I am glad that Frank Capra existed and even gladder that he made the films he did. I see in them – a plainness, niceness and goodness – which is difficult to find in too many things these days.

I heard this – “One of the nicest movie things one person can do for another is to introduce him or her to Frank Capra's work.” I hope this introduction serves that purpose.

(The title of this post has been adapted from a line in Capra’s ‘You Can't Take It with You’, the lily here being a metaphor for all creations who sustain themselves through the bounty of the Lord, just like lilies in a field.)

Garden State: Exploring the Infinite Abyss…

Garden State opens with a dream sequence of Zach Braff in a plane evidently about to crash. The co-passengers are panic-stricken, stuff inside the plane are colliding against other stuff, Zach is strangely detached and a sloka to Lord Ganesh “Vakratunda Mahakaaya Vakratunda Mahakaaya….”, is unhurriedly playing in the background. In a way, the sloka beseeching the Lord to remove all obstacles from one’s chosen path, is evocative of how all of us feel at some points of our lives.

Garden State celebrates this……celebrates the breathlessness, the bewilderment, the numbness that life sometimes turn into, with style and oh, with so much of coolness. Zach who makes his directorial debut with this, carries the persona of Andrew ‘Large’ Largeman with a loose-bodied and foppish grace as he ascends from his medication-induced haze onto a re-discovery of his life.

Large returns to his home in New Jersey after nine years for his mother’s funeral and the story unfolds. The Oz-ian landscape he returns to is home to an assortment of quaint characters with quirky interests – a grave-digger friend into collecting play cards, an ex-classmate who’s a cop now but you are left wondering about his supposed sanity for such a job, another is one of those guys who makes a lame but financially rewarding invention and then relapses into bored nothingness. Most of the characters seem to mirror Large’s own mental frame – superficial coolness masking a sense of suffering and loss, just content to be in “the waiting line”. Natalie Portman (Sam) is the odd one in the milieu, a character as free-spirited and unconventional as the foam helmet she wears while traveling and in work.

In the Harlequinade that Garden State explores, Zach is very much a modern-day Pierrot, naïve, unsure and with a sensitivity which is sometimes dorky. The movie joins Large, Sam and his high school buddy Mark (Peter Sarsgaard) on a journey which is replete with scenes that strike a fine balance between simplicity and poignancy, all echoing the sentiment - “I’m still waiting for my time”.

At times though, Garden State becomes meandering with the denouement itself very much at odds with the easy, un-contrived flow that preceded the events before. I have a sneaking suspicion too, that the overt coolness of the movie will wear off as one moves on with his life and gets further and further away, from the ‘nervous twenties’.

It would be fair however, to say that I loved Large, his quirks, the characters he came across, Sam’s effervescence and unusual pantomimes and the ‘geological phenomenon’. Chances are, that you will too.

If you like Garden State, it’s a cinch that you will simply love its soundtrack. Garden State received the Academy Award for Best Movie Soundtrack in 2004 – for a collection of songs which could be in your I-pod favourite songs’ playlist. But it is a collection which Zach compiled specifically for the film and he enclosed the soundtrack CD along with every copy of the film script he sent to producers.

The songs work wonderfully at a level where they unobtrusively but very eloquently underline the emotions which the film seeks to create. The soundtrack employs a mix of indie-rock, techno, blues that explore the eternal themes of youthful angst and loss. The Shins with their twin songs ‘Caring is creepy’ and ‘New Slang’ churn out a curious blend of  disillusionment and resonance, which is further expounded by Nick Drake’s brilliant ‘One of these things first’. Coldplay’s hummable ‘Don’t panic’ introduces a playful hopefulness – “'Cos yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on”. The unusual ‘Waiting line’ by Zero 7and Frou Frou’s ‘Let go’ are languid portrayals of an Elliot Smith-like resignation and muddled acceptance of life’s stuff. Zach’s ex-girlfriend Bonnie Somerville’s ‘Winding road’ and Cary Brother’s ‘Blue eyes’ are bluesy-country numbers full of melody and ‘Blue eyes’ specially has a resounding quality that fills up your senses. Colin Hay’s ‘I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You’ rings easy with Hay’s sonorous voice.

The heartfelt tone of ‘The Only Living Boy In New York’ by Simon & Garfunkel sounds great especially when it is played at that point in the movie where the 3 main characters come up to the edge. There are additional covers by Thievery Corporation (‘Lebanese blond’) and Iron & Wine (‘Such great heights’ of the Postal Service original) which work well if not great, with the rest. My personal favourite is Remy Zero’s ‘Fair’ for its haunting melody and the soulful refrain.

Simply speaking, this compilation works even without the film – an eclectic bits-and-pieces that come together as a mellow whole. In the movie, Natalie Portman offers Zach Braf her headphones and tells him that the song he is about to listen to (The Shin’s ‘New Slang’) will "change his life". No stupid line this cos if you let it, the songs in the album will speak to you – truly and deeply.