Sita Sings the Blues.

Written, edited, directed, designed, animated and produced by Nina Paley, 'Sita Sings the Blues' will remain an absolute delight. It is the greatest, most exalted story ever told, the Ramayana. But no, it doesn't stop at being a mere retelling of the ancient epic.
The plot works in more or less four sub-plots, one dealing with scenes from an 18th century depiction of the Ramayana, one being the musical ('20s Blues) version of episodes from the Ramayana, one being a discoursive discussion of the salient points in the epic and lastly, the contemporary parallel. Even so, the film doesn't attempt to be a 'Modern Ramayana', thankfully.
The juxtaposition of all these four tracks together culminates into one of the most sharply edited and beautifully animated film in recent times. What an absolutely brilliant film, and what splendid animation!

What lies at the crux of the films's brilliance is the contextualisation of how the story moves right from the explosive (literally) starting credits to the noisy intermission to the happy rendition accompanying the end credits. You would think that the presence of a four plot structure would make the film end up being clumsily executed and confusing, but you'd think wrong. The film moves absolutely seamlessly, leaving you in awe of the filmmaker and her screenplay. Stunning, on all counts. Also, at all points, I was stuck by the dexterity of how the Blues (an amazing choice of genre) music corresponds, synchronises and adds to the age-old story.
The film raises pertinent questions about the legacy of Sita, Sita in Ayodhya B.C and the Sita that lives through the ages into contemporary life. The Sita whose entire lexicon corresponds with references to immense sacrifices that a woman "has to make". Nina Paley's groundbreaking film raises questions to the very identity of Sita. Why does Sita opt to sacrifice herself, to show she was a symbol of utmost chaste purity by being thrown into the fire by Ram? Why does Sita feel the need to glorify and worship the man who banished her to the forests simply because he wanted the support of all his allays? Is it merely coincidental that Sita finds maximum emancipation and freedom only after she makes the ultimate sacrifice, that of life, to prove yet again that she remained untarnished, untouched by worldly pleasure?
The contemporary parallel story is an example of how Sita and her estate transcended beyond cultures, beyond boundaries and through times. Nina and Dave, the American couple form part of this sub-plot. Dave leaves for India, and gradually distances himself from his distraught wife. She, like Sita, hangs on to the hope he will take her back. She sacrifices her dignity and her pride to get back with Dave, Dave who doesn't care. Unlike Sita though, Nina doesn't have to die to be happy, to be free.
Sita lives on through us. Who she really was, whether she did exist or not, we shall never know. But through Valmiki's Ramayana, Sita's story is one that has been told and re-told. 'Sita Sings the Blues' just attempts to analyse, to question and to glean that Sita does exist in the woman of today. The real question is, however, whether Sita was right in everything she did? Did she not come with her own issues? Is her constant praise of Rama and the willingness to prove herself to be moral result from unconditional love or is it merely an illusion of love?
It is important to remember why Sita is still worshipped and idolised. Is it an attempt to create male hegemony through constant repitition of Sita's unquestioning, dolice self as being the 'Good Woman'? Or is Sita widely misunderstood? Maybe she did choose death over Rama (evident from her appeal to Mother Earth to take her right in if she has never committed perjury) to ascertain herself, her rights and her sadness.
'Sita Sings the Blues' makes you look inside of you, think, and scrutinise the context in which 'Sita' lived and died and still somehow manages to live. A must-watch satire on mythology, on relatinships and, on Sita.

Love, Sex aur Dhokha: Directed by Dibakar Bannerjee.

I have a confession to make. I knew I would love LSD way before it was even released. Part of the reason to this was my complete, and absolute, adulation of Dibakar Bannerjee. Having fallen in love with him Post-Khosla ka Ghosla and Oye Lucky Lucky Oye, it would be pretty difficult for me to feel let down by his work. And of course, it would be almost implausible for him to make disappointing art.
There is a lot you have heard about LSD, and most of it is not true. If you watch the film with that assumption, life just gets easier. There is virtually no sex, thus rendering the very title of the film useless and ironical. The film is not a documentary, a myth that hasn't failed to amuse me since I first heard it. And of course, the film is based on real life incidents. Just not these.
LSD is basically divided into three storylines: Love, Sex and Dhokha. Each plot is resonant of something you have read about, something you have heard, or worse still, something that has happened to you. In this world of voyeurism and new technology, how do we live without being exploited? Do we come to know when we are being exploited?

Apart from the masterful direction and editing (how I love a taut film!), perhaps what worked for me most was the singular aspect of not being too preachy or all-too-moralistic. To me, the film was more about the culture we are in the process of acquiring rather than the culture that we have given up. That treatment awarded was the defining moment for me. A film is no doubt about the filmmaker and his perception, but when his opinion stays throughout without him having to proclaim and take a moral stand is when I have officially lost my heart.
To me, LSD remains an angry film. Not just in the violence and voyeurism, but even in acts of love, acts of selfless help and in acts of revenge. It comes through very clearly that Dibakar was angry at the sudden influx and influence of voyeurism in contemporary society and was as much amazed by the phenomenon as he was perplexed. In an interview promoting the film, Dibakar says he was surprised that all of a sudden, there are rules that govern social life, relationships, sex life, family life and the vogue. Suddenly, there is this huge internet revolution, and you have to do everything you can to avoid being labelled a 'frigid' or in other, more swanky terms, 'behenji'. The assumption that the film is only about sex and sexuality in deeply rooted in the Great Indian Diaspora. Enough said.
Also, LSD is more than just about making a statement of how this psycho-sociological disorder can wreck our lives. It is physically creepy. There is a part of me which is still reeling from an over-bearing terror. What if I were cut into 30 pieces for doing what I wanted to? What if I were to land up falling in love with a sado-masochist misogynist? And what if I were to be part of a deception so huge words fail to describe it?
This crushing realisation of failure and fear governs our life today. There is no way we can escape hidden cameras. No way we can ask that creepy man at the petrol pump to not click a picture. With technology, easy access to aforementioned technology, there also comes vulnerability. It hurts just admitting that I am in fact, very vulnerable to such violence and abuse.
And as I sat there, watching a too-short film pertaining to issues we hardly talk about (but experience, nonetheless), I felt a sense of shame. Shame for the society I am living in, shame for myself for daring to live in such a society and finally, a gnawing sense of apprehension.
Before I forget, Sneha Khanwalkar deserves more than a mere mention for doing such a brilliant job with the music. Also, the screenplay is done in a way I could only expect out of filmmakers like Dibakar.
Would I suggest LSD to anyone? Oh yes. Watch it for being explicit (and for not treating everything as clandestine), watch it for shrugging off the pretentious. Most importantly, watch it for yourself.

Precious: Based on the novel 'Push' by Sapphire.

There has already been enough written and spoken coverage of the movie, 'Precious: Based on the novel Push by Sapphire' that I feel horribly late, and worse still, naive.
In my defence though, I was dreading watching this film out of sheer apprehension. Not someone to physically weep because of a movie, it is obvious why I didn't wish to blemish that one characteristic of mine.
But when I did get over my anxiety, I realised I had to see it. In one sitting.
Portrayed beautifully by Gabourey Sidibe, Claireece Precious Jones is overweight, illiterate, and abused sexually and physically at home. She ceases to exist, and becomes an object to which things are done. Her rapist, incestuous father, who impregnated her twice, and began the assault when she was only three. Her abusive, unemployed and disgruntled mother, ironically named Mary (played by Monique), who is angry with her for stealing a man. For being obese. For simply existing.

It is in this context that Precious(as she is fondly called) is introduced to the anxious viewer. Through a horrifying glimpse into the incest, we first see her father raping her, while her mother watches in the background. It is also here that we come to know of her latent desires, of being famous, of being beautiful, and of being loved for the right reasons.
Her escapes into this world are heart-wrenching, to say the least. To see how sad one child could be gnaws at you, and then keeps you at your toes.
Precious is expelled from school, for being pregnant again, at the nubile age of sixteen. There on, she joins an alternative school where she meets her beautiful teacher, Miss Blu Rain, and confides in her. She begins to learn, to find solace in the English alphabet. And she writes. Writes about what she feels. All this while, her mother hits her with airborne objects, slaps her, makes her hog. And then Mary calls Precious names, while simultaneously blaming her for taking away her 'man'. As much as I am tempted to, I will refrain from ruining the plot for you.
Precious' story is not extraordinary, it is her circumstances that make it so. Her mother refuses to acknowledge rape, she herself is so confused and so violated she doesn't know what to do, what to say, how to react. She doesn't speak in class, and on the occassion that she does, she finds it difficult to look anyone in the eye. Yes, she is a destroyed child, but she is more than that. She is beautiful and intelligent. What makes the movie for me is the fact that Lee Daniels let Precious be beautiful, intelligent, smart and a caring mother while still showing how much she has been affected by the perils of family life.
The portrayal of the intensely complex mother-daughter relationship was taut and resisted the impulse to be overly melodramatic. No, Mary doesn't hate Precious. She is jealous of her, she is jealous of her own grandchildren. Mary, too, is a woman who has been hardened by life. You almost don't hate her for treating her child like a beast. But then, each time she gets into a physical fight, you want her to keel over.
I admit, I weeped like a little girl. A child (that is what she is!) is sucked into a vortex of hatred for herself and family, without ever realising that there are people who love her. There are people who want her to live. She looks into a mirror and wants to see a skinny white blond 'bitch' staring right back at her. She herself wants to be skinny, thanks to the innumerable comments and criticisms she has received for her weight.
At some point during the movie though, it stops being about her weight. I couldn't care less if she weighed 62 pounds(yes, there is a model who weighs that much). What I did want, and care about was hugging the poor child. Hugging her to let her know someone will be there.
Honestly, I cannot imagine how I would react if I were Claireece. Would I be the same? I think not. I am too small a person to even begin to comprehend being in her shoes.
The one segment/shot that made me smile and cry, together, was when Precious escapes with her son, is walking along the subway platform and chants the alphabet. She seems to be in a trance, and latches on to the hope of being an educated and intelligent mother to her children.
It was then that her short future was laid out for the mute audience.

Persepolis: The story of a Childhood

Marjane Satrapi is perhaps best known for being the protagonist in the movie, Persepolis, based on her own life. Persepolis, literally meaning a town in Iran (ancient Persia), near Shiraz, is originally an autobiography of Marjane. The form is that of a graphic novel (black and white cartoon strips if you will), a growingly popular style in literature.

Like the name suggests, the book traces Marjane’s life through the years and the difficult times during the Iranian Revolution (1979). She is born to revolutionary agnostic parents, who protest against the tyrannical government and do their best to inculcate in Marjane the same values. Marjane lives in a close-knit family comprising her parents and grandmother, and is perhaps closest to her grandmother. The recurring theme in Persepolis is the precocious curiosity that Marjane has towards life. She is not someone who sits by and accepts the imposition of the veil, or can live with the restrictions that the new regime had bought about. She, like every other child, wanted her freedom, wanted to be curious, and most of all, wanted answers to what is happening around her. To control the Communist revolutionaries’ protests, the government resorted to bombing entire streets. It was due to having a close shave with the bombings and the fact that all French schools were shut down that Marjane was sent to school in Austria by her parents to escape the hegemonic regime prevalent in Iran by acquiring a sound education. Her story moves on from there, a story of misguided love, a story of mistaken identity and pangs of guilt.

What is perhaps most striking about the book are the illustrations. The simplicity and lucidity attacks you, and leaves you wounded. Her story is a common one, it invokes reactions from all of us who have had to choose between passions, have had to face confines in life or have used escapism as a means to protect ourselves. And yet, there is something so non-contrived about Persepolis that it will move you, make you cry and laugh, all at the same time!

The issues that Marjane raises are omnipresent, yet very difficult to resolve. The issue of female liberation, for instance, is a gnawing one, especially in Asian countries. She stands up against all of the ridiculous measures imposed by the then government and strives to become a free-thinker. There is also a question of returning to where you belong, not forgetting your roots. It is difficult and painful for Marjane to leave her homeland, and yet she wants to leave her tumultuous past behind and move with her life, while taking on a French identity.

Persepolis is a hauntingly beautiful novel that stays with you for days after you read it. It makes you question, and introspect on the little things that make up life as we know it. A coming of age novel that would leave an impression on you, that’s Persepolis.