God’s own cinema
Cinema doesn’t mean the same to everyone. To its students, it’s a higher calling. To its masters, it’s an experiment with the truth. To its lovers, it’s an escape route to a place one can visit but can’t hide; almost like a distant memory. Bracketing such a divisive character within one prison would be an unfair sentence. For good or for better, art is best left to soar. And that’s precisely what the source of visual medium — otherwise encapsulated by a gruesome task called filmmaking — is all about. It needs to venture out where lesser mortals want to but won’t because they are afraid of what might happen. Cinema, with its delusional spine, can achieve far more than it’s supposed to. The problem is not all filmmakers tend to understand this dilemma. More often than not, a filmmaker strains under the overwhelming weight of worldly (read: commercial) expectations. Owing which, she ends up accomplishing what she planned to, not what she was meant to.
Very rarely do we come across a film like Apocalypse Now (1979). And very, very, very rarely do we come across a story like the one attached to the making of this peculiar film. When you read a book or watch a documentary about what happened on that jungle set, you’re bound to go ‘CRRRAAAAAAAZZY’ while conveniently forgetting that the very process of producing a film is doused with madness. There is no greater stupidity than creating a make-believe world filled with make-believe people spouting make-believe dialogues addressing make-believe principles only to destroy all of those elements once the shooting is complete. What a waste!
My bad.
What a gorgeous waste!
Humans were put on this planet to do things wherever they are:
- waste
- be in their elements
Cinema helps us achieve both these targets. The niggling issue being very few manage to strike a balance. If you’re going to waste, you better make sure you scale up the second point. Something Japanese cinema, especially their anime, has mastered over the past decades. In India, the line is almost invisible. Bollywood, Kollywood, and other tree-based industries tend to be explosive as far as extravaganza and sho-sha are concerned. But what about the elements? How far can a visual medium go if the carriers aren’t true to themselves?
Malayalam cinema remains an exception. For starters, there is no pretence or even the urge to be something they aren’t. From a lush green surrounding to the clouds reflecting in the lake, you know where you are. It’s Kerala. There’s no other place like this. None of the films are complete without taking us on a walk through the narrow lanes, unpaved roads, crystal clear ponds, tiny roadside stores, screaming birds and folks being as local as they can be. But that’s not all. The identity of a character is stronger than the black tea he’s bound to sip in the movie. There’s always so much more to believe.
Which brings us to the question of this millennium: Why do you love Malayalam cinema even if you’re at the mercy of subtitles? I don’t know about others but for me, what I admire the most about the filmmakers is they are willing to tell stories of commoners. Like you and me. Real people with realer problems. The hero of the film doesn’t have to be a studboi just like the heroine of the film doesn’t have to be a damsel. What works for the Malayali filmwallahs is they aren’t shying away from saying things the way they are. On the other hand, popular Hindi cinema continues to be an upgraded version of Punjabi take on the city — either Mumbai or Delhi — not even a state — leaving little space to embrace the elements. Of course, things are changing but into what?
