CineM Review: Bella Martha (2001)

Spontaneity meets Precision…

 There’s a moment in this film where a painfully young girl confides in her aunt that she’s already starting to forget her mother – a realisation which is all the more saddening and inexplicable to someone so young who has just lost her parent. This scene is in essence what ‘Bella Martha’ seeks to explore – the uneasy initiation into stuff beyond one’s comfort zone. This film is centered around a fastidiously efficient head chef (Martha) and her young niece (Lina) who comes into her care after her single mother dies in an accident. Both aunt and niece are indulgently riveted on their individual fixations (Martha with her kitchen and Lina with the trials of living with a woman who is not her mother) to the exclusion of their mutual realities. Things change with the entry of a free-spirited Italian sous-chef (Mario) into Martha’s kitchen and into the sequestered lives of aunt and niece. The impulsive boisterousness of the Mediterranean spirit collides with stoic Germanic reserve, resulting in a battle of wills starting with the kitchen and spilling over outside too.

'Bella Martha’ is German filmmaker Sandra Nettelbeck’s first full-length feature and she does a remarkable job of confining the escalating tug-of-war within a limited conventional scope without resorting to overt drama and generalisations. ‘Bella Martha’ translates into ‘beautiful Martha’; both Sandra and Martina Gedeck in the titular role infuse a level of strength and vulnerability into Martha which is aesthetically very sensual. There is a definite flow from start to finish; the introduction of Martha’s perfectionist, inhibited character, her guardianship of her young niece, the entry of the naturally demonstrative Mario and their accompanying battles to discover life beyond.

Martina who would go on to personify a similarly gifted and troubled artist (actress) later in ‘The Lives of Others’ (2006), pulls off a great performance facing difficult situations in a muted, true-to-life fashion. For a romantic comedy drama, the tender love story progresses along in a muted, true-to-life manner too. The ‘big’ moment where Martha and Mario recognise and tentatively submit to their mutual attraction with an almost-stolen kiss is delicately played out among spices, flavours and aromas - all parts of a delightfully created blindfold taste session. The niece Lina like so many young kids tossed into an incomprehensible situation, acts out her anger until it is spent or won over by love. The evolving relationship between Martha and Lina lies at the core of the story, with Mario acting as the catalyst which brings together all the elements to realise that perfect concoction. There is a wonderfully crafted comic vignette between Martha and her psychiatrist before the end credits roll out.

The narrative may feel at times, to be running along in its fairly predictable course. And cold and gray Germany is shot in tones which are ... well, cold and gray. 'Bella Martha' is not a ground-breaking story but it is well-told. 

Ultimately, love unlike a food recipe rarely arrives accompanied with its own checklist; it is oftentimes hard but when it all comes together, it is magical.

This is a well-mounted and well-acted film; so if anyone wants a flashier version, check out the blatant ‘copy and paste’ job that is Catherine Zeta-Jones’ ‘No Reservations’.

CineM's Verdict

Armour of Love: From Nippon to Assam

Weaving is deeply rooted in Assamese culture; in fact, it was customary for every Assamese household at one time to possess atleast one spinning wheel and a loom. Elaborate silk panels woven in Assam depicting typical cultural motifs and religious symbolisms have ended up in museums and monasteries worldwide. Weaving was not restricted to a particular caste nor was it restricted to household with means – every woman and girl irrespective of caste or economic standing spun and wove their own cloth. Dexterity in weaving was one of the prime sought-after qualities in girls of marriageable age in earlier days.

One of the customs among Assamese womenfolk was the preparation of armour made out of – you could never guess it – Cotton! During times of war, diligent wives would gin, card, spin and weave cotton to fashion a piece of cloth (all within a single night) and present it to their menfolk in the morning as they set out for the battlefield. This piece of cloth was known as a ‘kobos kapur’ literally translating into ‘armour cloth’; the men proudly wearing it as a belief that it granted invincibility to the wearer. This custom is all the more heart-affecting cos the Assamese army in the days of the Ahom rulers was hardly composed of warriors. Instead, the Assamese soldier was actually a ‘paik’ – a civilian beholden to the local feudal lord or the Ahom king called up to military duty in times of war. So, when these farmers or woodcutters or fishermen or otherwise peaceable folk went out to war clad in homespun armour made out of just cotton, their courage and sense of duty becomes all the more admirable.

Scientifically, there is a basis to armour spun out of soft fibres like cotton. The soft body armour functions just like a very strong net. The interwoven strands of greatly slender and elongated cotton disperse the energy emanating from the point of impact over a wide area, thus reducing injury from abrasions.

One can see a striking parallel in a far-more warlike land like erstwhile Imperial Nippon governed by the strict Bushido code of war. When Japanese warriors of the Imperial army set out to war, it was the custom of their womenfolk to present them with pieces of cotton cloth to be worn as vests, belts, headbands or caps. This cloth was called the ‘Senninbari’ (or 'the thousand person stitches') – a strip of cloth with a thousand stitches, each sewed by a different woman and lovingly presented to the warrior to protect him. During the Second World War, mothers and sisters and wives would stand near the local train station or temple or store and hold out their senninbari to passing-by women so that they could sew in that one stitch. Oftentimes the senninbari was lined with a few strand of hair of the woman or studded with coins as additional amulets.

Whether it is Nippon or Assam or anyplace else, it is the devotion and love of the women of the land manifested in heartfelt simple ways, sometimes even in fragile homemade pieces of cloth which I am sure in ways unfathomable, somehow lend a different spirit to the wearer.

CineM Review: To Have and Have Not (1944)

Bogie and Bacall had it all

Country singer Bertie Higgins’ song titled ‘Key Largo’ has that well-known ditty “We had it all / Just like Bogie and Bacall”. To develop just an itsy inkling of what Bogie and Bacall ‘had’, a viewing of ‘To Have and Have Not’ comes highly recommended. A film directed by Howard Hawks, launching the sultry Lauren Bacall, with a story originally written by Hemingway and a screenplay developed by Faulkner and Furthman and not least, starring that emerging icon Bogart with the gritty ‘The Maltese Falcon’ and a masterful ‘Casablanca’ just behind him – you have reasons galore for catching this movie!

Hemingway’s story was based on liquor-running between Florida  and Cuba, and contained marked classist overtones, hence the story title. Hawks adapted the setting to the island of Martinique under the puppet Vichy regime, the protagonist no longer ran booze up and down the Gulf, the hero Harry Morgan (Bogie) and his alcoholic sidekick Eddie (Walter Brennan) simply offered their boat and services for the more plain thrill of game fishing. One of the early scenes has Hemingway’s mark all over it, when the duo and a client grapple with a feisty marlin - the author's fav sporting fish. Bacall is cast as ‘Slim’ – a magnetic beauty with fire in her eyes, smoke on her lips and smouldering embers in her walk, just the sort of female wheeler-dealer who asks for a light first and then oh-so-slowly, singes your heart with it.

The politics is superficial, back-stories are dispensed with, motivations are simple and introductions are curt – the free-flowing film serving as a canvas to showcase the electric chemistry between Bogie and Bacall. One of the hallmarks of a Hawks’ film is the exchange of rapid-fire dialogues; here the repartees between the two flow thick and furious, the words lie deliciously scattered around to the point of being non sequiturs.

Sample this dialogue between ‘Slim’ and Morgan when the first on-screen kiss is tentatively shared between the two who would eventually become the future off-screen Mr. and Mrs. Bogart.

 

[Slim kisses Morgan]

Morgan: What did you do that for?

Slim: I've been wondering if I'd like it.

Morgan: What's the decision?

Slim: I don't know yet.

[They kiss again]

Slim: It's even better when you help.

The word-play, the scene, the agony and the ecstasy come together in that perfect wispy breath of cinematic brilliance so much so that Hawks would play out the exact scene 15 years later in ‘Rio Bravo’ between the blustery John Wayne and the languorous Angie Dickinson.

Of course, Bogie and Bacall do it infinitely better.

This scorching chemistry is the most substantial reason why anyone should fit in ‘To Have and Have Not’ in their viewing record. That, and the delight of a superlative Walter Brennan comic turn as the hero’s sidekick whose loping gait makes it look as if he is perpetually attempting to step over a puddle in his way.

CineM's Verdict

CineM Review: The Gunfighter (1950)

Revisionist (or not) Western

The first thing you should know about Henry King’s ‘The Gunfighter’ is this: it is not a Western. Sure, it traces its story in the saloon of a dusty town called Cayenne, and the story demands the ready occurrence of men with guns, and boys with guns. Hence, the setting of the West.

You meet a saloon-keeper unlike any you will come across in the mythically tough Old West – he is girlishly celebrity-struck, presides over his domain like a harried schoolmaster, and is incapable of evicting truant schoolchildren from his porch, forget drunk and rowdy customers. You also meet a town marshal (widely acknowledged to be a hard-as-nails hombre) who is mostly content with setting deadlines, then extending them, issuing terse warnings which go unheeded and pacifying matrons, when he is not acting as a messenger boy between a man and his estranged wife. Finally you meet the gunfighter – a guy with a frank, open face and eyes which twinkle when he meets old acquaintances; who is ready to perform as a town peace office by herding characters with guns into the town jail when the marshal is out, and pacifying a particularly strident women’s citizen delegation with all the diplomatic and conciliatory skills of a town mayor. And this man has toted up a personal body count of 12 men!!

 ‘The Gunslinger’ is a spare story which is sad but has played itself out true before and will, again. There is a man who has committed some wrongs, now attempting to ride away from the destiny which he unmistakably foresees, and then there is a bunch of people, some who would like to be the audience when he meets that fate, and a few who would like to be its deliverer. It is a sad story which dispenses with shining heroes or tenacious villains. You will buy into the premise easily enough, and identify with the man heading towards a fate which you can visualize instantly after the first draw.

 

With a story as spare as this, the screenplay is tight and performances are crisp. The film however, stretches further and wants to up-sell the idea of an identifiable setting with a cast of standard characters acting very un-identifiably just because you have bought into the basic idea. It comes as no surprise that when the gunfighter ultimately meets his fate, it is not on the back of a horse or in a sun-baked dusty street, but on a boardwalk, his head comfortably propped up on a pillow with a blanket laid out and the townspeople congregated respectfully around as if they are at the dying bedside of the town parish priest.

CineM's Verdict

‘Can I have a glass of Barfi, please?’

Having sat through the nearly 3 hours of the sweet choco-drop that is Barfi!, we came out of the multiplex. It was the late night show and by the time we came out, it was almost midnight. My throat was parched. The food and drinks counter at the plex had long closed; I went over to the restroom in the hope of atleast rinsing my dry mouth with some fresh water. Alas, the faucet was unwilling to part with even a single drop! The housekeeping guy (helpfully) informed that the water had run out and maintenance would not run up any more water till the next morning.

So, bracing myself for an extended thirsty spell till I reached home, I desultorily started down the dark stairs. In the ground floor of the shopping complex where the plex is located, there’s an outlet of ‘Pizza Hut’ which had an important-looking big sign of ‘CLOSED’ dangling from its door handle. Through the glass façade, I saw that everything inside was dark; there was a single light still on in what I suspected, was the galley cabinet. Against the urgent voice inside which was chiding me with ‘Roon, you’re hopeless! Can’t you see they’re closed?’ I started towards the glass door. It was locked (what did I expect?!), but as I was rattling the handle ineffectually, I saw someone inside. It was a young guy, dressed in a waiter’s outfit, and looking at me quizzically. Having recently observed Ranbir’s pantomimes in Barfi! I immediately raised a cupped hand to my lips, making a drinking motion.

I must have made myself very clear (a la the perfect mime artist!!) cos the guy came up to the door, graciously opening it. I came up with an urgent-sounding ‘Do you have some water?’ and he bade me in. I went up to the galley counter, observed as he took out a tall glass in which Pizza Hut typically serves mocktails and other drinks, put it under a water jar, and poured out a heavenly-looking glassful of sparkling water. He came up to the counter holding the glass and asked, “Sir, would you like some ice?” ICE!! I was delightfully stumped, mumbled out a ‘No thanks, this’ll do perfectly”, and gulped down the glassful in two shakes of a duck’s tail. He took the now-empty glass and was starting to pour out another one. I declined and thanked him effusively for his kind generosity.

Simple joys abound – one just has to look around, maybe rattle a few doors…. and yes, go to the movies!

[This post has been tagged under the 'The Confetti Girl Series']

CineM Review: Barfi! (2012)

A Saccharin Chaplin-esque

Anurag Basu’s latest work ‘Barfi!’ is a graceful tip of the hat to one of the greatest entertainers of all ages – Charlie Chaplin. In fact one passing image of the film has a blink-and-you-miss shot of a standee of Chaplin’s beloved Tramp-character in front of probably a book store or a café. There is another direct inspiration from Chaplin where the character Barfi is shown snoozing on the lap of a covered statue about to be unveiled – the opening scene of Chaplin’s ‘City Lights’  shows the hardy Tramp comfortably nestled on a statue covered under a tarpaulin while pompous dignitaries make a great show of dedicating the figure to the society. In many ways, Barfi! too is about that singular fellow who is content to live in his own world while the rest of society is hurled forward on that big leap of advancement.

Barfi! is about a deaf-mute person (Ranbir as the main character) and the entwining of his life with two girls – Shruti (Ileana) and autistic Jhilmil (Priyanka). Director Anurag bases his story in the mist-filled slopes of Darjeeling and the teeming streets of metro Kolkata, jumping back and forth in narrative. The opening montage which tell (or sing, to be precise) Barfi’s story sets a tone for the movie which propels itself forward in that same breath of violin- and accordion-filled pastiche. There are two love stories in Barfi! – the first romance is a tender, feather-light story of a free-spirited Barfi enticing the more grounded Shruti onto a plane of magical amore; the second is a more strong, developed relationship which is founded on the recognition of shared flaws which set Barfi and Jhilmil apart from the rest of ‘normal’ humanity. There is a bumbling police inspector (Saurabh Shukla as Inspector Dutta) who is consigned to pursuing Barfi’s trail. There are a couple of extended sub-plots too – hospitalization accompanied by the inevitable dilemma of arranging money for operation, and kidnappings – which remain insufficiently-explored and brought to a rather contrived end.

Barfi! at its core is about Barfi and Jhilmil (both outcasts and ill-understood by others) and the discovery of simple joys and quaint pleasures in a world which does not do ‘simple’ or ‘quaint’ anymore. The movie explores the precarious carving out of an existence which cocks a snook at entrenched pretensions of morality and appropriate behaviour. Anurag stamps his directorial vision in every shot, incorporating images of great wonder and artistry with the able assistance of the cinematographer Ravi Varman. Every frame has been meticulously embellished with angles, foci and colours so creative that the viewer may at times feel swept over.

Ranbir as Barfi brings to life a persona to screen which nowadays seems relegated to the age of comic greats like Chaplin, Keaton and the French genius Jacques Tati. His pantomime underscores the universal emotions of love, trust and friendship, and of course, the innate simplicity of a good soul. Ranbir is effortless with his physical comedy; his performance is replete with slapstick, bawdiness and yes, grace. His is such a complete performance that at times, I absolutely forgot that he does not speak at all.  Priyanka as Jhilmil and Ileana as the more-rounded (therefore, more hesitant) Shruti do justice to their characters in a canvas which is all Ranbir’s.

For all the sweetness and wonder that Barfi! brings, it fails at a very basic level. Barfi! wants to speak out but is burdened by the director’s brief to underline every frame with picture-perfect sights and overflowing small touches. In a movie which is so crowded with symbols and motifs (and a running length of close to 3-hours), it is perhaps easy to overlook the inherent pathos of a deaf-mute boy who cannot hear his father calling out for help and goes around with shoes and a coat full of holes (another heads-up to the great little man), or that of an autistic girl who gets manipulated by her own family and is ill-equipped to discharge the basic of personal functions.

Barfi! is a 2-star movie which turns into a 3-star gem due to the magic realism of a painter called Anurag Basu and the immense charismatic talent of a great actor called Ranbir Kapoor. In a world full of cacophony Barfi lives a curious life comfortably stamped with silence – he doesn’t need to utter a single word cos he’s our own lovable tramp.

[Note: Director Anurag Basu was diagnosed with cancer in 2004 and doctors announced that he had only two months more to live. Perhaps, it is fitting that a man who has gazed at the face of death can paint such a gleeful portrait of the face of life.]

CineM's Verdict

Launching Cinemorphemes (attempting to understand cinema’s language)

It has been some time now that I have been toying with the idea of a blog about cinema. ‘Toying’ seems to be the exact word cos I never really got down to seriously putting down anything. I started a separate blog; named it ‘Cinemorphemes’ and even posted a single entry (on 3^rd May this year). So Cinemorphemes as a dedicated vehicle has pretty much got stuck in that rut. Perhaps, he has needed a helping hand all along. Which is why it will be now CPq’s great honour to host its films-snooty and knowledgeable twin blog in its own domain!!

The merger now being complete, I hereby present CPq’s first address to the discerning public about the development.

“Dear Readers, I understand it is to be my great burden to host my brother Cinemorphemes in my house. To say I am completely thrilled at the prospect would be incorrect. In fact, I resent that he so arrogantly purports to run his operations from my demesne – a space which I have so carefully cultivated for my own expression. But as they say ‘Blood runs thicker than water’, and boorish, self-righteous and insufferable though he might be, Cinemorphemes does know his way around the craft of cinema. My brother has always been the smart sort growing up, and I have to concede – he’s always on the level when he talks about films and the people who work in them. I will be quite interested in what he has to say and the themes he wants to explore; so, let us all welcome him and his quirky, strange ideas.

Yeah and one more thing, I call my little bro ‘CineM’ – hope you will too!”

Well, I hope CineM lives upto his older brother’s proud declaration. Lights, Camera, Action……..