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#Funtimes #Khet #Mom # Bros4Lyf
Still: Karan Arjun (1995) |
In an attempt at being a more fulfilled
human being, I have bought into the most popular stock option available to
‘young women my age’—going to the gym. This new found gym-rat avatar bodes well
for me—it gives me an excuse as to why I’m tired and sleepy at 11:00 p.m.
(there is no actual reason for this. Sometimes I am tired after having slept a
full nine hours post doing nothing), and it’s my one reasonable claim to
actually ‘taking care’ of my body—lathered by vats of cream-based desserts and
unapologetically fattening meats.
So I am swathed daily in a sea of my own
sweat and a thick coat of feel-good pheromones that are washed away by a hot
shower as I emerge my shiniest, happiest self and begin the workday. I am
inordinately proud of this un-extraordinary achievement, mostly because I am
forced to battle the same terribly boring stimuli on deadbeat-repeat. These consist of
1)
A playlist that’s been looped
so often it would make scratchy vinyl sounds if it were the old days.
2)
A TV with no sound that plays a
Hindi news channel that unwaveringly reminds me of my lengthy stint as a
schoolgirl, struggling to read words like Pratirodh
and Paraadheen.
3)
Countless Health-In-Your-Face
posters of unnaturally hot women like Nargis Fakhri and Lisa Haydon (who ought
to be banned in general for the infinite damage she’s done to the female psyche
simply by existing) on the cover of Healthy! Healthy! Healthy! Magazines
with tips for a ‘Bang-able Bod’ or how to go from ‘Fat To Flat in 15 Minutes’
or whatever.
At some point that Zor-Laga-Ke Do-It-Do-It vibe started to get to me, and my inner
couch potato sought counsel with my new work-out wizard self. We came to an
understanding—I stay on the cross-trainer, but try to get them to change the
channel from goddamn Hindi News/Sports.
And so, I used all 200 grams of charm I
possess and got them to switch over to…’well anything else, really’, were my
exact words. They informed me that, regardless, the soundtrack of Death By
Trance needed to continue, attaching the phrase ‘gym policy’ and a fairly
polite shrug of the shoulders. Ergo, I had to find something with subtitles, so
I could read the TV (working out both brain and brawn, eh? Plenty smart.)
Alas, the one English language channel they
possessed (AXN) had no signal. In a mild effort to help, they flipped it to Zee
Cinema (my ‘I’m Truly Doing Nothing With My Life’ channel), which was playing Karan Arjun, a film whose original reel
should’ve been lost at the godforsaken Mela
instead of it’s duo-Khan leads.
As it happens, watching some Bolly Masala on
volume zero is more educational than you’d imagine. I managed to watch a whole
45 minutes of this muted melodrama without being distracted by the dearth of
sound. Turns out, watching this film without the chaos of sound effects and
dialogue let me focus on about a million other aspects of the film that would
never otherwise have come to the fore.
Like, how much villainous men need to move
their heads in order in emphasize their points. Or how their echoing laughter
while they mess around with an aging Rakhi conveys how truly evil they are, because, you know, Laughter + Someone’s Else’s
Tears + Old Person Angle = Full-Time Bastard.
I loved how dream sequences had a healthy
mix of Shah Rukh tossing and turning, his lower jaw glazed with sweat, on his charpai interspersed with NFAI archived
footage of what looked like Jalianwala Bagh (but I’m guessing was the Kumbh Ka Mela judging by a stray Ferris
wheel I saw in one half-shot). The footage, treated with the gloomiest black
and white and stilted screen movement, was reminiscent of the Civil War
documentaries Discovery used to make way back when (and could easily be
mistaken for it without the dramatic soundtrack).
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| All You're Going To Do Is Talk? Excellent! Still: Before Sunset (2004) |
So, to keep from making this a film studies
dissection of various frames, I’ll stick to the basic fact I took away from
this experience—we care too much about what’s going to happen. It breaks my
heart when somebody says “I don’t care if it’s well written—as long it’s got a
good plot”. Because, my god, I’m so far gone the opposite, I’m no longer relatable.
I’ll watch the swill of the plot world—just because it’s written brilliantly. I
don’t care if a movie doesn’t leave a room—in case you’re wondering, yes, I
loved the Before Sunrise/Sunset/Midnight
films—so long as the conversation is amazing. I don’t mind if a character
doesn’t grow, doesn’t learn… just that he wastes away beautifully.
And I realised, with film, you’d think the
dialogue was the way it was written. But
really, it seems only the vehicle to carry forward a melodious cacophony of
sounds, visuals, expressions, body-movements... The dialogue has us so hooked
on what’s next we forget to focus on what’s right now. And watching Karan Arjun on mute amidst the perspiring
walls of the office gym taught me what six months of a film class could not.
If it helps, Anuradha ma’am, if you’re out
there. I finally think that Cinema as a Language makes sense—and isn’t
eye-rollingly pretentious.
…Well, maybe the pretentious part is still
true.
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