October

If Loving You is Wrong

2011-08-12T07:08:00.013-05:00

NPR recently did a survey of Top 100 Science Fiction/Fantasy Books, and the top 10 came out fairly predictably:

The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
The Dune Chronicles, Frank Herbert
A Song of Ice and Fire series, George RR Martin
1984, George Orwell
Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
The Foundation Trilogy, Isaac Asimov
Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
American Gods, Neil Gaiman

Not that I'm taking NPR seriously as a source for my sci fi/fantasy. And it's not like anybody's Top Whatever lists are things I generally agree with (except for when, say, Memsaab indulges). But sometimes one can't resist the temptation.

By the way, I was tipped off to this via The Silver Key, and I'm going to shamelessly borrow from him by listing my own Top 10, with notations about how my choices ranked:

Stand On Zanzibar, John Brunner (not listed)
Dhalgren, Samuel R. Delany (not listed)
Valis, Philip K. Dick (not listed)
A Scanner Darkly, Philip K. Dick (not listed)
Mona Lisa Overdrive, William Gibson (not listed)
The Conan series, Robert E. Howard (#68)
The Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser series, Fritz Leiber (not listed)
The City and the City, China Mieville (not listed)
The Discworld series, Terry Pratchett (two of the novels are listed at #57 and #60; not sure why they're separate, since the Xanth novels are listed as a series)
Snow Crash, Neal Stephenson (#26)

I didn't include either 1984 or Brave New World, even though they're two favorites: I know it's against the grain, but I just can't think of them as science fiction. Never have. Similarly, much as I love The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I didn't feel right about including it. If pressed, I'd say that Terry Pratchett writes fantasy novels that are comic, and Douglas Adams wrote comic novels with a sci-fi element. The emphasis is different. Yes, that's completely subjective and probably illogical, which is why I'm writing here, and not at NPR.

And why no Lord of the Rings? I dunno. I don't dispute its status as a classic. But there are things I like better.

The main thing I notice about my list is that seven of my Top Ten aren't even in the Top Hundred. Yikes. This gives evidence for that feeling I've always had, that I'm an oddball even among oddballs. On the other hand: no Valis on their list? (Which I'd probably make #1 if I weren't ranking alphabetically). I feel like I should be handing out copies on the streetcorner, spreading the good news...

Oh Black Water, Keep On Rolling

2011-07-21T09:51:00.021-05:00

Kala Pani (1958)

Okay, Kala Pani doesn't mean "Black Water" in this case (it's named after a prison, and the film title is usually translated as Life Imprisonment), but it put the song in my head, so it's share and share alike.

Young Karan's mother has always told him that his father is respectably dead, and he emotes furiously when he learns the truth -- he's actually undergoing "rigorous life imprisonment" for murdering a dancer in a brothel. He rushes to the prison, and after hearing the story, devotes himself to proving that his father was falsely accused. Because Karan is played by Dev Anand, his crusade almost immediately gets him emotionally entangled with Kishori, Hyderabad's Most Famous Courtesan (Nalini Jayawant), and Asha, Hyderabad's Most Beautiful Landlord's Niece (Madhubala).

In his furious urgency to free his father, Karan rushes to a newspaper office to research the details of the the crime, but then has the good sense to be distracted upon meeting their Chief Reporter (who is, by the way, busy telling callers that it's only a rumor about man landing on the moon: "Till now Russia has not sent any man up in the Sputnik.")

The investigation well underway, Karan goes undercover to meet Kishori, at which point I was totally distracted by her makeup, which was very like a teenage trend in the late 1990s. I was teaching Freshman Comp at 7:30 in the morning, and couldn't believe those girls would bother to glitter themselves up at that hour.

Nalini Jayawant is so sympathetic as the courtesan who really believes Karan is going to marry her and take her away from all this, I completely forgot that she let an innocent man go to prison (so she could live on the proceeds from blackmailing the real killer) until he threw it back in her face. I still found it pretty unlikeable how he toyed with her emotions.

But frankly, the reason I watched this movie was because of the song "Acha ji main hari chalo," which was so adorable, I wished there was a lot more romantic frolicking, and a lot less anguish about justice. Not that I didn't enjoy it, and I especially liked Kishore Sahu, who was much sexier than Dev as the mysterious and powerful lawyer Rai Bahadur Jaswant Rai.

Too bad that year's Filmfares didn't have a "Best Scowl" category.

The funniest labors of Hercules

2011-04-18T10:03:00.010-05:00

I wouldn't have guessed that the biggest highlights of my weekend's Sword and Sorcery Sinema night at the local sci-fi convention would have been Hercules fighting a bear -- twice!

First up, from Hercules in New York, "rated G -- for Great!" as my cohort put it:

Arnold "Strong" fights an escaped zoo animal ("known to be surly and dangerous," but actually looking small and kind of drunk), in Central Park. The whole movie is funnier in the version that dubs Arnold's voice, but this YouTube clip with the Schwarzenegger audio track is still pretty funny. Apart from the bear itself, I love the part where the girl asks Hercules if he has a girlfriend and he says "You know how it is." Smooooth! Plus when she screams in terror and kind of throws her hair over her face.

Bear #1

Next up, Hercules (1983). When I heard that this movie features Lou Ferrigno fighting a bear and throwing it into space, I assumed that the throwing was part of the fighting. Like he was going to spin the bear over his head and toss it in the heat of battle. That would have been funny enough, but fortunately, the filmmakers' imagination outdid mine. He has actually already defeated the bear, but then, upset that it had killed his father (sorry for the spoiler, but really, are you likely to watch this?), his emotional reaction is to pick up the bear and, yup, fling it into outer space. It must be the vast scale of the infinite universe that makes it look like a twirling teddy bear.

Bear #2 (This clip has a goofy intro, but at least there's no ad).

I am not finding any evidence off-hand that Kevin Sorbo's Hercules ever fought a bear on his TV show, but it seems like he must have. I'm sure Sam Raimi has seen these seminal films!

Speaking of valiant endeavors...

2011-04-15T08:05:00.006-05:00

Tonight I'm doing Tarot readings at a sci-fi convention, and tomorrow I'm hosting a movie marathon that I'm calling Sword and Sorcery Sinema. Original, I know. (Ha!)

The line-up is:

Hercules in New York, starring "Arnold Strong." I'm showing the original theatrical version, with the Governator's voice dubbed by a veddy proper accent.

Hawk the Slayer, previously discussed.

Red Sonja, previously discussed.

Hercules, starring Lou Ferrigno. Even the opening credits, in which they establish that the Greek Gods live on the moon, is totally whacked.

Conan the Barbarian. Again, the original theatrical cut, and not the oddly bloated "Collector's Edition."

The Sword and the Sorcerer, one of the films I most fondly from the '80s heyday itself. I previously reviewed it, but apparently not here. I'll have to remedy that.

Amazons, my late-night feature. In which Amazon warriors on a world-saving quest stop immediately to skinny-dip. Oh, the joys of a Roger Corman production!

If I survive this, I think I deserve to have someone sing of my mighty deeds!

Where the Good Folk Meet

2011-02-11T09:23:00.018-06:00

New Orleans, 1947

"You don't belong here."
"Well, aren't you jumping to conclusions."

I love cautionary tales. Show me a period piece about how the most trivial transgressions lead to ruin, and I'm in heaven. Even though -- or maybe because -- I've never listened. But here, something looks like it's going to be a cautionary tale, and instead turns out to be against "call(ing) it sin to have a little fun," as one song lyric goes, and that's even better.

On my trip to New Orleans in November, I was awake and at Cafe du Monde for coffee by 6:30 every morning, and I was enthralled by the absolute army of people taking out garbage and cleaning the streets. So when New Orleans shows a guy taking the trash out two minutes into the film, it certainly struck me as the authentic touch.

If you're ever inclined to look this movie up, it's probably going to be for the same reason everyone else does: for the wonderful musical performances by Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, a shoe-horned-in Woody Herman, and other less-famous but revered jazz greats. I'm certainly no expert, but even I was thrilled to see Kid Ory. Or else it's to see Holiday in her only acting credit. When you do, you're going to encounter two continually mentioned criticisms: first of all, it's corny. Yes, that is true. It was made in 1947. Nobody is going to take, say, the dialogue for realistic. Get used to it (it's kiss or kill).

The other issue is, yes, again it's true. We would all rather a film focused on Armstrong (who plays himself, albeit in a fictional version of his story) and Holiday (who plays a specifically fictional singer named Endie). That would be much more interesting than the tale of bland white nightclub owners and patrons that's in the forefront. Sadly, though, I don't think the movie we want to see could have been made in 1947. And if it had, it would have probably been considered a "race film," shown only in segregated theaters to black audiences, and never preserved.

Remember, this is the only movie we've got in which Billie Holiday performs (apart from an obscure French film, and one "short" credited). So although she reportedly hated the role, it's one of those cases where we're lucky to have anything at all.

But anyway: back to taking the film on its own merits. It begins with a wealthy matron who's happy to stay up all night gambling in a swank joint on the wrong side of town, but she doesn't want her sheltered daughter Miralee to go anywhere near it. Fortunately the daughter, who's been conveniently off training as an opera singer, has new-fangled ideas, and is deeply impressed with her new maid's singing -- as she should be, because her maid is Billie Holiday. When told that "young ladies of quality don't visit Basin Street," an acquaintance tells Miralee that she might be able to accompany a gentleman on "one of his slumming parties." She replies, "Sounds much too patronizing," and instead talks Endie into taking her on a girls' night out.

Once in the back room of the Orpheum Cabaret, where Holiday sings with Satchmo, Miralee scoffs at the idea of needing a chaperon, and it seems clear that she's humoring Nick, "the King of Basin Street," when she allows him to treat her like a "girl" and send her home. But not before she's discovered that the respectable symphony conductor who's been overseeing her opera debut sneaks off at night to play ragtime.

"You can't lock it up!" the conductor emotes. "It's as though I had caught some virus. Except that a virus makes one ill, and this music doesn't make me ill. It makes me feel very well. But mixed up!"

You can watch the iconic performance of the song "New Orleans" here.

There's going to be more plot, about the closing of the "Historic Basin Street Area," more commonly known as Storyville, by forces of "public decency," who are really fueled by the desire of a few people, rivals of Nick's, in this case, for personal gain, and enabled by hypocrisy. In other words, a timeless tale. There's also romance with Nick, but he's right, she's more drawn to the music than she is to him. I couldn't invest in the melodrama about whether he was going to break up with her in order to save her reputation, until he made something of himself, yadda yadda.

I just wanted Miralee to get her chance to sing with the band! Because the story is really about the moment in time when jazz was embraced by white people, exemplified by the proper, but modern, Miralee.
The experience of hearing a kind of music you've never heard before, and falling in love with it, wanting it to be a part of your life, is something that's rarely depicted. I mean, there's that scene in Almost Famous when the kid starts listening to his sister's albums. But I certainly didn't expect to find this theme so prominent in a story from the 1940s, with a young woman as the protagonist, and it's awesome.

"I feel I'm exactly where I want to be, and on my way to where I want to go, for the first time in my life," she says. She argues that classical music was new and original once, just like jazz is now. At this point, the movie pointedly doesn't address the race question as a factor in why this music in particular is considered disreputable, or not for girls like her. Eventually, as the film hurried through, jazz would sweep the nation, despite one commentator declaring "It is a sad commentary on the youth of America." Again, some things never change!

Audiences eventually come around to Miralee's way of thinking, and when they do, it's a dubious victory, as well-dressed concert audiences politely cheer a pretty white girl singing "Do you know what it means, to miss New Orleans?" (Tellingly, I couldn't find a single clip of the performance by star Dorothy Patrick on YouTube). It's gentrification, right before our eyes.

On the plus side, we also get this:

Despite its emphasis on the white jazz fans, the film has made no bones about the fact that the music was primarily made by black people, for black people, and for anyone else, white or not, who could appreciate it. Louis Armstrong and his band are clearly depicted as having contributed greatly to American culture. The black characters are treated overall with dignity and respect, and the white government is shown treating the working-class black community appallingly, as in the beautiful "Farewell to Storyville" song seen here. Without the musical performances, it's likely that this movie would have been long forgotten, but for fans of New Orleans and its music, it does have its charms.

For a more serious take on race relations in New Orleans, both good and bad, I highly recommend the documentary Fauborg Treme. It's only about an hour long, and if you can get through it without tears, you're a tougher person than I am. But who isn't?

The Secret Meaning of Disco

2010-12-30T06:36:00.043-06:00

It took me almost a year from this post to come up with an answer. I had been pondering the annoying question of why so many language learning books have exercises without answers. Actually, including the answers may be what sets the Teach Yourself series apart.

Then last night I was reading the entertaining Scribblers, Sculptors, and Scribes, a supplement to the famous Wheelock's Latin I used in college a million years ago, but one that focuses on things like ancient graffiti -- which is a pretty fun idea for learning a classical language. Anyway, in the back of the book, they mention the Teacher's Editions of Wheelock's and the attendant Workbooks -- which are only for sale to teachers. The penny suddenly dislodged. The reason language books don't contain the answers is to prevent cheating.

Okay, duh. But the reason it just never occurred to me is because, dude, I can't find any classes! I can't cheat at something that doesn't exist! Especially for a language like Hindi, I have no choice but to attempt the self-taught route. Apart from the Door Into Hindi online series, my most-helpful book so far is R. S. McGregor's Outline of Hindi Grammar (with the caveat that it's usually a fluke which book is most helpful to what person), which is subtitled "With Exercises." But I can't know if I'm screwing up the exercises or not. When the book was published, though, I don't think it would have occurred to anybody that people would ever use it outside of an academic environment.

Even for a more traditional college language like Latin, I haven't been able to find a physical class that I can actually take. So the thought of trying to cheat just seems absurd.

Anyway, the best part of my Scribblers-induced Latin refresher was the sudden realization that, years ago, I learned the conjugation "Disco, Discere, Didici." Which means, of course, "to learn."

So whenever one is yelling "Disco! Disco! Disco! Yeahhhhh!" (as one does), one is actually saying "I learn! I learn! I learn!"

Sometimes synergy is a wonderful thing.

Actually, when I win the lottery, I plan to open a library with a design scheme based on Disco Dancer stage settings. With a voodoo/hoodoo archive and chapel in the backroom. And a wine bar. Take that, Rem Koolhaas!

Anthropomorphic Tuesday

2010-12-14T07:56:00.000-06:00

Filmi Secret Santas have begun (see ringleader Beth's blog for more info, if you're curious), and I have been blessed with an awesome taste of Disco Masala:

There has been a tragic lack of Disco Masala in my life lately, which I must remedy, and quickly!

Speaking of films, when, o when, will I be able to see this movie? It was clearly designed for a Target Audience of One, who is Me. (Naginas, Irfan, and the author of The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer together at last).

Or this one? For which the same comment applies. (Crazy-looking psychological horror film. About ballet!)

I know it's already too late, what with the cursed "limited releases," but I want them both to be huge hits, or at least major cult favorites, so the "Sci Fi" Channel will someday do a crossover extravaganza: Swan Vs. Nagina. The very fate of the human species will be at stake, so -- dance-off! But in the end, the ballet dancing Swan and the Kathak dancing Nagina will join forces to destroy the dull, colorless Philistines who are going to tear down the roller rink for an overpass ... wait, how did Roller Boogie get in there?

A Small and Of No Account Christmas

2010-12-07T10:50:00.001-06:00

The holiday season has kicked off in the Octoberzine House, and for once, we can indulge in Christmas spirit willy-nilly, since my honey has a new job, far from the fields of retail. And what would we do, besides watch movies? What else is there?

That screenshot is from a trailer for the 1957 animated film The Snow Queen -- a Soviet production which never became a fondly remembered children's standard -- which appears in the Something Weird Retro Christmas Classics collection. I know it's a cheap shot, but it still makes me giggle.

My favorite entry in this collection of strange old short films must be Encyclopaedia Britannica's Christmas Rhapsody -- a black and white tale about The Christmas Tree That Needed Prozac. A little evergreen stands in a mountain forest, and a mournful voice narrates thoughts like "I am small and of no account" (Geez! Who knew we had to worry about the self-esteem of our Christmas trees? Thanks a bunch, Charlie Brown Christmas) and "These trees are small. The forester laughs. He's coming to laugh at me."

No, actually, he's coming to chop you down! Fortunately for the kiddies, the film doesn't graphically portray this, although the tree does fatalistically ponder, "Why have they come for me?"

It all ends in a creepily happy ending, where the tree is taken inside "by the glow of the hearth." Dude, they're burning other TREES! You think you've got "the warmth of the fire on my branches" -- how do you think your brethren feel?

It's probably cruel to laugh 'til you cry over a tree with Seasonal Affective Disorder, but I can't help myself. There's a RiffTrax version available for downloading, if you're into that kind of thing (downloading, I mean), but this is a case where the humor value really speaks for itself. I don't know how it could really be improved upon.

The DVD includes various other shorts to remind a person why Christmas can be the most depressing time of the year. There's one from Sid Davis in which a frankly drunken-looking Santa Claus allows the toys to become human, and then guilts them into becoming inanimate again in order to be given away as gifts. He gives them life, only to take it away! It's really disturbing considering another of the films, about a little girl who abandons her old favorite toy for the new gifts on Christmas Eve. (And in turn, she's punished with creepy stop-motion dreams).

Unfortunately -- just like freakin' Warner Brothers! -- Something Weird seems to be really going for totally no-frills DVD production. Like the other set I recently bought (Boozers and Losers), the Christmas collection is a DVD-R. This is mainly annoying since it contains 16 shorts, with chapter stops every so many minutes. So to find a particular one, you just have to keep fast-forwarding and hope you don't overshoot. I used to mock those cases for no-frills DVDs that would advertise "Interactive Menus" as a feature. Now I realize that really WAS a feature, even a luxury!

Also, again just like the WB movies-on-demand, this trend means that it's hit and miss whether these discs are available for sale through anywhere like Amazon. To get them, or even find out they exist, you have to go directly to their websites, or (at least in Something Weird's case), pick them up on eBay. In the case of Warner Brothers, I've been waiting literally years for William Castle's Macabre to be released in any home format (it never made it to video before DVD took over), and it was only dumb luck (or the hand of fate) that I found out I could get it. Macabre is listed on Amazon now, but it wasn't before Halloween, when I bought it.

With Something Weird, at least it's such niche marketing that the kind of people looking for their collections of strange vintage material will generally know where to go. But who would guess that a weird old William Castles picture from the '50s would turn up in the WB Shop? I had no idea there was any connection. While there's an argument for buying directly from the source, but it does seem like they're making it harder for these films to find their audiences.

At any rate, I can at least assure everyone that the features on the Retro Christmas Classics disc are all G-rated. Potentially nightmare-inducing, as retro cartooning and stop-motion animation can be, but G-rated. It doesn't even have the standard promo, but only the short hypno-wheel logo-n-music, so nobody will have to explain to the kids why that scantily-clad lady is putting a snake in her mouth.

In a nice "Oh, and By the Way" segue to our Feature Presentation: the Retro Xmas disc opens with a trailer for the infamous Mexican Santa Claus, from 1959, which claims that "a dazzling panorama unfolds before your startled eyes." Startled eyes is right. Here's how the creepy Claus keeps tabs on the little girls and boys:

Proving our seasonal masochism, we then watched Santa Claus in its entirety -- fortunately, the Mystery Science Theater 3000 version (speaking of the RiffTrax fellas).

This picture doesn't even begin to convey how truly creepy these wind-up reindeer really are.

The plot of Santa Claus is painfully simple: Santa, as an avatar of goodness, is apparently a long-time enemy of Satan, the avatar of evil. The film does not use the term "avatar." So Satan sends up a shiny red devil named Pitch to thwart Santa's plans, which he does by inspiring a few Mexican street urchins to throw rocks at a department store version, and then plot feebly to kidnap the real thing when he comes to deliver their presents. It's no spoiler to say Santa isn't in any danger.

There's also a little girl who opines that Santa doesn't bring gifts to the poor -- and well, not only does the film actually address the injustices of the class divide, but when the devil is tempting her to steal a doll, he makes some valid socioeconomic points. Because it's a cheesy kid's movie, though, magic makes everything right in the end. Sweet little Lupita and her Mom pray that Santa will come, so he delivers an enormous doll to their doorstep. One wonders how long it'll be before the folks pawn it to buy food.

But never mind that! Most of the film's running time is spent on bizarre hijinks in Santa's Cloud City, and showing him laboriously getting out of the sleigh and going down ladders on rooftops.

Either or both are definitely recommended for hipsters and other assorted oddballs who've seen the MST3K version of Santa Claus Conquers the Martians as many times as some people watch It's a Wonderful Life, and are looking for something equally whacked out to make the season complete. And remember, eggnog can only improve them!

Does Whatever a Spider Can

2010-12-03T21:12:00.000-06:00

So, after enjoying two Spider-Man movies (much to my surprise -- I was never a Marvel comics gal), then being appalled by a third, I was perfectly content with my life of completely ignoring the upcoming reboot of the series. But now I am FORCED to care, by the casting of Irfan Khan as a new Spider-villain.

It's possibly worth it for the headlines like "Irrfan Khan to terrorize Spider-Man" that are starting to appear. If this were a reality show, I would get cable.

Something Fishy

2010-10-28T09:17:00.000-05:00

From what may be my last original post on the local horror-movie blog. I originally set it up in the hopes that the link through the local newspaper's website would allow some folks in my Obscure Midwestern Town to stumble across talk of strange films. Gotta find out these things exist from someone! But with egregious "updates" and other annoyances, I'm rethinking the whole project. Especially since it seems impossible for me to get my custom header reinstalled. Grrr ...

But here goes:

One good thing about Piranha Part Two: The Spawning (1981): if anyone asks what's the worst debut film by a future Academy Award-winning director I've ever seen, I'll have an answer that springs to mind. Poor James Cameron was far, far from being the King of the World when this mishmash of fake blood, family drama, and T & A was made, although a good portion of it does take place underwater -- a hint at the direction of Cameron's later career. The film also fortuitously brought him together with Lance Henriksen (very young, but still weird-looking), with whom he'd work on much, much better films, like The Terminator and Aliens. Henriksen is the best actor in the movie; no surprise, he's that kind of actor. But he really stands out here among the clumsy "comic relief" characters, and the languid topless chicks whose dialogue -- I can tell by looking at them! -- is being dubbed from Italian.

In fact, many commentators claim that Cameron only shot portions of the film, including the scuba-diving stuff, giving him a first-time director's credit, and the Italian producers an American name for marketing purposes. So he may not really be the one to blame for the movie's ineptness. However, I do want to know who to give credit to for the absolute insanity of the fish attacks, because it was worth sitting through just to get to them.
They're not piranhas, technically. They're mostly grunion, that have been genetically combined with other fish, including piranha and flying fish, in order to create killing-machine fish that can survive in any environment.

How those wacky government scientists thought they could control these beasties for military purposes is never explained. But they did breed a hardy species, one capable of living in the body of a corpse, inside a morgue freezer, no less, for at least a day. At which point it can fly out of a wound, attack someone else, then smash through a glass window and fly off to safety. Wow!

This scene was truly laugh-out-loud funny, as were most of the scenes of piranha carnage. Bathing the fish in red light, giving them a loud whirring noise, is clearly meant to build suspense about them. But when these big, rubber-looking things fly out of the water and latch on people's necks, nothing could have really prepared us for the sight.

I realize I haven't mentioned the plot, but it's hardly relevant. Various shenanigans take place at a Caribbean island resort, and then someone gets eaten during a dive class. Lance is the Sheriff Brody character, but it's his estranged wife, a handy marine biologist, in the Matt Hooper role. The resort guests plan to party hard the night of the grunion run, but the fish have other plans. Oddly, when the time comes, the two factions, one group in tropical shirts, with tiki torches, and the other whirring loudly and stirring up the surf, seem like they're marching head-on into battle.

I'd put this in that hallowed category of "I can't possibly recomment, but am glad I watched."

Halloween Three

2010-10-27T14:00:00.001-05:00

The Evil Dead (1981)

Bruce Campbell is so good on TV's Burn Notice as Sam -- a wisecracking, hard-drinking, ladies' man of a retired shadowy government operative -- it's like he's been the character all his life. Of course, that's very much not so, but it was still almost startling to see him recently at the very way-back of his career, in the original Evil Dead.

In the later films, especially Army of Darkness with its "primitive screwheads," Campbell's Ash pushed the limit of how big a jerk a protagonist can be and still get an audience to root for him. In the first one, his Ashley pushed in the opposite direction: the hero was soft-spoken, compassionate, and refreshingly passive. One of my favorite scenes puts him in the background, uncertainly clutching an ax, while his buddy fights off his demonically possessed girlfriend. For once I thought, if this actually happened, I wouldn't know what was going on. I wouldn't jump to assume I should start mutilating my friends. This edition of Ash actually deals with bizarre supernatural threats as reasonably as a person could be expected to.

I was also amused by the scene in which Ash attempts to recite a Greek toast at dinner, but stumbles over the pronunciation. The origin of the famous "maybe I didn't say every single little tiny syllable"?

Despite its flaws, and some obviously low-budget acting on display, I've always been fond of Evil Dead for being the closest thing to a straight horror film in the series. And, well, at this point in history, nothing much else needs to be said.

Night of the Demons (1988)

I must have picked up this video box a hundred times at the old videostore, looked at the cover, pondered, and finally said "Naw." Now I've finally broken down and watched it, I can say that I should have trusted my instinct, since it turned out to be a pretty generic entry in the subgenre of dumb teens endangering themselves.

There are some good points to the film, however: the opening cartoon credit sequence is pretty cool. Star Mimi Kennedy has a great "I'm possessed by a demon" dance scene in front of a fireplace, and her whole big-haired '80s/Goth gown look is not bad either. That's Heathers' Kurt Kelly (actor Lance Fenton) as the Final Girl's date (just as much of a jerk as he would be to Winona Ryder). Most importantly, I'm always happy to see Linnea Quigley, no matter what the circumstances, and here she has one of her most iconic scenes, on a par with the Dance of the Chainsaw from Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers. It involves a lipstick, and some prosthetic toplessness, and that's all I care to say.

Come to think of it, while this is actually pretty inept on all levels, when compared to Quigley vehicles like Nightmare Sisters (top on my list of Terrible Movies I Can't Defend In Any Way, But Of Which I'm Inexplicably Fond), it actually looks like a movie. A bad movie, yes, but at least not like something shot on video in someone's garage.

House of Frankenstein (1944)

Divine Providence seems to be aiding mad scientist Dr. Niemann (a hypnotic Boris Karloff) in his desire to carry on the work of his hero, Dr. Frankenstein. First, a collapsing building springs him and his murderous hunchback assistant from prison. Then they conveniently stumble on a traveling Chamber of Horrors, whose owner they quickly dispatch, leaving them to travel at will with Dracula's bones in the back. (The late lamented Professor Lampini was no charlatan, even though nobody would be able to tell any random skeleton with a stake jammed in its ribs from the real thing). They even find the original monster frozen in the ruins of Frankenstein's old castle, along with clinically depressed wolfman Lawrence Talbot, who helps them find the doctor's old notes.

Niemann is well on his way to revenging all the wrongs done him, with a scheme that involves a shell game of brain-swapping, but a hunchback/wolfman/gypsy girl love triangle is going to thwart his plans. Hunchback Daniel rescues dancer Ilonka from an abusive employer, and she's nice to him in return, but she clearly prefers the gloomy "Larry." I laughed out loud at a delightful scene in which Larry broods, while the rather Basanti-like Ilonka sits next to him, chattering and beaming brightly all the while.

This film packs in a ton of action, even going off on a tangent with a bunch of extraneous characters menaced by John Carradine's resurrected Dracula (a much more distinguished role for him than the one he played in Nocturna, Granddaughter of Dracula), and still gets it all done in 71 minutes. And it's no real spoiler to say that it all ends with an angry "burgermaster" and a torch-wielding mob. Just like it should.

If you can't trust that face ...

2010-09-25T21:46:00.000-05:00

...what can you trust?

(By the way, I KNEW I recognized these outfits from somewhere).

I really had no idea what I was getting into with Badaltey Rishtey (1978), but I was delighted to revel in the enjoyment of Rishi Kapoor, at his baby-faced best, getting to play the bad guy, at least for a while.

Pretty music teacher Savitri (Reena Roy) meets hard-working but happy-go-lucky Manohar (Rishi) in scenic Simla. Every glimpse of view out everybody's window made me swoon! Eventually, he wins her over, as Rishi will. Meanwhile, Sagar, the brother of one of her students, comes to town, and he's totally smitten with her voice, among other things. He's rich, he's handsome, he's Jeetendra, and although Savitri's family lives in genteel poverty, his family is thrilled with the match.

A run of bad luck brings down the heroine's spirits, and poor Reena spends the second half of the movie looking melancholy:

When she initially refuses Sagar's proposal, her mother collapses, and the doctor blames Savitri for causing her tension; Manohar ends a romantic song about their future honeymoon by wiping out on skis and whacking his head on a tree, ending up in the hospital; and when she bows to the inevitable and marries Sagar, her new husband drives a car off a cliff on their wedding day, which upends and bursts into flame! (Fortunately, he was thrown free). All this angst is complicated by an astrologer's prediction that the man she marries will die within 40 days, but that she'll marry again, the second time happily.

Jeetendra scoffs when he hears about his supposed fate, and cheerfully marries her anyway. (The brass band that meets the newlyweds, by the way, plays "Jhoot Bole," from Bobby!) Just in case, though, he vows not to touch his bride until he's safely passed the 40 days.

Feeling guilty over Manohar's eventual broken-hearted decline, Savitri writes a "shameless" letter, revealing all about the prediction. At her brother's wedding reception, Manohar, who's been the life of the party, decides he's not going to leave it up to fate:

Gasp! I was honestly startled by this unexpected turn of events.

Savitri manages to thwart this effort with song, but she can't stop the two men from becoming friends without betraying herself.

The normally reserved Sagar says that peppy Manohar is "a magnet! An absolute magnet!"

"Jumping Jack" Jeetendra was subdued and likable in what I kept thinking of as the Ajay Devgan part. Rishi, of course, deserves a Lifetime Achievement Award in Cheerful Puppy Love, and he's good at it here, but he was also quite convincing (and much more fun) when full of smiling duplicity. Of course, the things that are not as they seem really aren't as they seem -- this isn't exactly a hard-hitting film -- not that I want to spoil any surprises.

There's another villainous Rishi film out there called Khoj -- a Ramsay Production, co-starring Naseeruddin Shah, with a Bappi Lahiri score. This sounds like a whole new level of awesomeness; sadly, one that's only available on VCD. More motivation to study the Hindi!

Lots of fresh, young blood

2010-08-08T15:14:00.001-05:00

Cross-posted from my local side project, Haunted Vinyl. Gotta keep bringing the crazy to the masses!

A neon sign blinks "Hotel Transylvania." An aggressively deadpan young woman in a flowing gown strides down the corridors of a Gothic castle. In the background, a particularly repetitive disco song is insisting that "love is just a heartbeat away." (It's a Gloria Gaynor tune, and you can watch the whole opening here).

Welcome to the world of Nocturna, Granddaughter of Dracula (1979). The lovely but expressionless title character tells us up front that she's "in no hurry to get married." Wow, even vampire chicks get the pressure from their families! She's busy running the tourist trap hotel at the ancestral castle, where she's just hired the Moment of Truth, a multi-musician ensemble whose songs are surprisingly pretty good -- closer to the Motown soul than the bad disco I was expecting (but don't worry, that's en route). Nocturna singles out the blondest (and I have to say, most Jason Stackhouse-like) guy in the group to flirt with, with tragic results. I don't mean anything to do with the plot -- I mean his dancing. Here's the clip, which is labeled "Hot Disco Vampire Dance."

At least that's not boring, unlike the following "love scene." Then the movie grinds to a halt while Bonet takes an excruciatingly long bubblebath, running the gamut "from nakedness to nudity," as her werewolf assistant (billed as Brother Theodore) describes it, while he watches her from a keyhole. For those of you it might make more bearable, the nudity does go on and on.

As she scrubs, she ponderously voice-overs: "Now I have fallen in love with a mortal man. What is going to happen to me?" One Hot Disco Vampire Dance with Generic Blond Dude, and all the dubious vampire/mortal love stories throughout history become instantly more plausible in comparison. She mentions her "eternity of bloodlust and murder," but it's no spoiler to say the worst thing she does in the movie is some disco dancing. Which I guess is evil enough in its own way.

"You have no right to love. You can use men for nourishment only!" Grandpa Dracula tells her. Nonetheless, she runs off with the boyfriend to New York, where she stays with an old family friend named Jugula -- yes, as in Vein. It's Yvonne De Carlo, looking obviously more mature, but still as beautiful as when she played Lily Munster. "In my time, I've seen so many broken-hearted vampires," Jugula says, and come to think of it, so have I! Usually because of their unfortunate tendency to fall for the same human beings they snack upon.

Nocturna, though, thinks that the power of love, combined with the power of disco, is in fact beginning to turn her mortal. "When I hear music, I become transformed...at those times, my reflection can be seen in mirrors." That's something I don't think they tried on Dark Shadows, or Angel, or Forever Knight. We do know that Angel was secretly fond of Barry Manilow, but that didn't do the trick.

The gals go to a meeting where creatures of the night discuss the problems of the "urban vampire," including the amount of hypoglycemia in the population. When confronted by a policeman, they all turn into cartoon bats and fly away! The cartoon bat effects are totally quaint and adorable, and that's the point when the movie really started winning me over. Shortly after that, there's a great scene of Nocturna frolicking through Times Square to the tune of Vicki Sue Robinson's "Nighttime Fantasy."

A sweet little caption pops up over her head there that says, "Oh wow such a lovely city, isn't it?" Agreed. And special thanks to the diverse group of crazy people who've posted snippets of this hard-to-find film on YouTube.

A young Sy Richardson (of Repo Man fame) turns up as a flamboyant character called RH Factor, pushing a sniffable blood product (what could that possibly imply, in the '70s?), and running a vampire massage parlor (more nudity).Then the later disco scenes, with the camera in the middle of the dance floor, make it look like it would be fun to dance there, and live it up in a strobe-lit bacchanalia! So despite its very obvious flaws, the movie definitely has points in its favor.

This was obviously a labor of love -- starring, executive produced, and "based on an original story by" belly dancer Nai Bonet. She gives the impression that she's reading the script phonetically, but she's pretty, and has a big smile. It's the kind of part someone like Charisma Carpenter (speaking of Angel) could have made something of, although she probably wouldn't have done the bubblebathing.

Nocturna's bimbo boyfriend was played by Anthony Hamilton, an Australian model and ballet dancer who died in 1995. Crazy IMDB tidbit: "Cubby Broccoli tested him as the new James Bond when Pierce Brosnan was at first unable to get out of his Remington Steele contract to play the role. According to some reports ... it was agreed by both Hamilton and Broccoli that the former's known homosexuality would work against him in the role." This is also mentioned on numerous other sites. I wasn't surprised by the gay part -- when RH Factor scoffs at Nocturna's non-vampire boyfriend by saying "You got yourself a straight man," my reaction was, well, not exactly.The idea that he'd be a creditable Bond, though, seems like a stretch, but admittedly, Nocturna probably wasn't the best showcase for his acting skills.

Poor John Carradine plays Dracula, griping about his dentures. Unbelievably, this movie came out the same year as Monstroid! Another of the finest awful movies in which Carradine played thankless supporting roles.

More clips:

the Moment of Truth tune "Love at First Sight"

And a scene I think of as "Disco Jealousy"

Tragically still unreleased on DVD, copies of the film occasionally turn up on Amazon or eBay with reasonable prices. Just don't get it confused with the Spanish animated film from 2007, which is usually the first thing to come up in a search. And really, don't mix that one up with Granddaughter of Dracula.

Too Old to Dance, Too Young to Weld

2010-08-01T10:43:00.001-05:00

a.k.a. "My Love/Hate (Mostly Hate) Relationship with Flashdance"

"I'm a steelworker/I kill what I eat."

-- Steve Albini, "Steelworker"

As an old hand at So-Bad-It's-Good, there's nothing particularly odd about admitting that I own a copy of Flashdance. I mean, I've watched The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies more than once. Come to think of it, more than twice. Not even counting the Mystery Science Theatre version.

What I've never, ever told another human being before is: I kinda liked Flashdance the first time I saw it. Wow. It actually hurts to say that. Funny it's so hard to admit, now that it doesn't matter to anybody, even me. I remember the vehemence with which I despised it and everything it stood for, and how much I mocked to my unsuspecting teenage friends, who uncritically enjoyed it for the silly Hollywood fairy tale it is. But deep down, a part of me secretly enjoyed it too.

Embarrassingly enough, after seeing the movie, I had a secret dream of taking dance lessons. These took place in a cartoonish vision of life in the big city, borrowed from sitcomy movies (of the kind written by Neil Simon in the '70s), where I pictured myself walking down the sidewalk with a bag full of workout clothes, and maybe a loaf of French bread. I fell in with punk rockers instead, and that all worked out much better. But for a fleeting time, I wanted to believe in Flashdance, because it managed to manipulate the little girl who never got to take ballet lessons.

Now, knowing me as well as I do, I'm almost certain that I would have hated ballet, with all its fussy precision, if I'd actually studied it back in elementary school. Sports, board games, even the Brownies were too confining for me. It is, however, a chicken/egg situation: would I have chafed under the structure and rebelled, as would seem in character? Or, if I had been exposed to such discipline as a child, would I have learned the value of it? Just like Jennifer Beals' Alex, I never got the chance to find out. Unlike the fictional version, who was the same age as I was in 1983, I knew perfectly well even then that neither of us would really be able to "have it all."

Standard disclaimer applies: the following is in no way meant as a criticism of the many people who have fond memories of Flashdance, or accept its fable of empowerment at face value. As a devotee of Rock Dancer, I'm obviously in no position to judge. And I don't want to ruin anyone's innocent enjoyment. I'm mainly interested in exploring why this particular movie has always put my hackles up, so feel free to bolt now.

For those of you who are still here, let the evisceration begin. First things first: the music. I hated the music! In fact, I hated that whole Fame/Flashdance/Footloose spectrum, and even more, I still do. Many songs that I disliked in the past, I can now look back on fondly. But "What a Feeling" raises the bile in me like I'm still an Angry Young Woman.

I didn't start out as a music snob. I used to listen to the radio, and I liked the majority of it. The FFF movies (and their horrible soundtracks) come from the era when my taste and Top 40 began to diverge. What I find so annoying about the Flashdance songs is that they seem to take themselves seriously, without bothering to have any substance to back up their attitude. They're overwrought, emotionally bombastic, while remaining bland and generic in their sentiments.

Like that "Gloria" song. Re-watching the movie, I remember that when I saw Flashdance for the first time, and realized the song was starting, I was like: Dear God no, not "Gloria"! Laura Branigan is emoting for all she's worth, stretching her voice, being all dramatic and operatic, and the music is all synthesizer-symphonic, but it's not really in the service of anything. She's breaking her back singing "I think they got your NUMBER! I think they got the ALIAS! That you've been living UNDER!"

I know, I know: Rock Dancer! But it's like Laura Branigan and Irene Cara were the beginning of the whole Bonnie Tyler "Total Eclipse of the Heart"/Mariah Carey/Whitney Houston era -- people with these technically fine voices acting like they're singing something so important, but the lyrics and situations are banal. I always remember the Mariah Carey song "Emotions" in this regard, with lyrics like "You got me feeling emotions." Disgust? Scorn? Could she be more specific? The exact same problem as "What a Feeling," which contains more unspecified emotion. I know there's lots of disco piffle that I don't judge so harshly -- ridiculous songs like "Fly Robin Fly" and "Shake Your Booty" -- but those songs were fun and silly and danceable. They had no pretentions.

At any rate, a movie about dancing with music I despised (hey! Despising something is a feeling!) has already got one strike against it. With that in mind, if you stick it out to the end of the post, I will unveil my alternate Hindi disco Flashdance soundtrack, which I think you'll agree would improve it no end -- even if you don't hate the original the way I do.

And then there's the story. OMG! 18-year-old Alex works as a welder in a steel mill by day, and by night, does arty modern dance (no nudity) in a blue collar bar frequented by her coworkers.

Ohhhh-kay.

Her dream is to join the prestigious local ballet company, although she has no ballet training whatsoever. She starts dating her much older boss, who gets her an audition. She overcomes her fears and wows the judges. The end.

In her book Salaam Bollywood, Indian film journalist Bhawana Somaaya interviews the director of a children's home about the problem of runaways who came to Mumbai, either to meet movie stars, or become movie stars, and how they end up on the streets. She describes them as "led astray by false promises and impossible dreams." Now, in the making-of features on the Flashdance DVDs, the producer and director sound very sincere that they were trying to make a female empowerment story, a "Rocky for girls." Jennifer Beals was cast because she was the actress who most appealed to the women who saw the screen tests, and they wanted someone women would relate to, not mainly someone guys would be hot for. Unfortunately, the story they chose to tell -- the details of her underdog scenario -- subvert that by giving the audience only false promises and impossible dreams.

It's one thing to make an inspirational film about following your dreams. But for it to actually be inspirational, the dreams have to be achievable. I could dream about becoming a Catholic priest, but my desire isn't going to make it possible. A sports team might have a distant shot at winning the big game, but nobody makes it to the pros when they've never played the game before. And nobody auditions for a football team by playing tennis. It doesn't matter if you're the best tennis player in the world, that's not going to get you to the NFL.

Or, to paraphrase The Big Lebowski: "This isn't 'Nam. This is ballet. There are rules."

When the Star Wars movies have Yoda telling anyone they're "too old to begin the training," the first thing I think of is ALWAYS ballet. I recommend Zelda Fitzgerald's gorgeously baroque novel Save Me the Waltz for a grueling depiction of what it's like for someone who attempts to start serious ballet studies in her twenties, as Fitzgerald herself did.

But even if Alex could beat the odds, what she performs at the big audition is more a gymnastics routine, involving leaps, spins, and tumbling, rather than dancing as such, much less anything that would be useful in a ballet company. I'm going to guess that ballet judges have seen talented gymnasts before, at least watching the Olympics. They don't rush out and hire them for Swan Lake.

What's going to happen when she shows up on Monday, and is supposed to dance with people who were in "pre-ballet" classes when they were four years old? Who've been training for pointe since they were twelve? Does she know what a tendu is?

The movie makes a point of contrasting tomboyish, blue collar Alex, with her wild hair, heavy boots, and baggy clothes, and the rarefied world of the ballet dancers with their buns and their toe shoes.

But this is the world that it is. Alex is supposed to be a breath of fresh air in an uptight, snobbish establishment -- but she also supposedly wants to be part of that establishment. It's a particular kind of annoying American fantasy, wanting to be recognized, appreciated, as a ballet dancer, without knowing anything about ballet. The film would be more honest if she looked at the ballet company and said, you know what? This isn't for me. I'm from the street, I do things my own way, and that's fine. After all, the one scene in the movie that has real credibility is performed by honest-to-goodness break dancers (the Rock Steady Crew).

Ballet, though, is something different. It has survived as an art form, and kept its identity, because it's a discipline, in which things are done just so. Even in the most entry level classes, you put your hair in a bun, you put your feet exactly where they tell you to, and all the terms are in French. Because that's what ballet is. If you don't do it that way, it may be a valid form of dance, but it ain't ballet. And it's never going to be. Obviously, I also have wild hair and baggy clothes, so I can identify with Alex feeling alienated amongst the dainty ballerinas, but it's ridiculous to blame ballet for being ballet.

I'll note here that although Alex has multiple jobs, and seems to be in no bad shape, financially, there is no indication that she's ever taken a single class in ballet as such, despite that being her dream. Nor has she bothered to pick up a pair of shoes, which, I was recently surprised to discover, aren't even expensive.

Audition Strike #1: Those are not ballet shoes, my friends.

A side problem is that the only reason she gets the audition is because she's dating her boss, a rich older man who's able to pull some strings for her. Because he believes in her dreams, etc: but also because she's freaking gorgeous. What happens to the girl with dreams and talents who has nothing to lure a sugar daddy with?

It's frustrating in that the story offers us a potentially inspiring story with sidekick Jeannie, who's been training as a skater for some big ice show. Unlike Alex, this is something she's halfway prepared for, based on her own hard work. In the film, Jeannie flubs her big audition and becomes disillusioned, her dreams derailed. Now, if she managed to overcome that, with her own skill and determination -- well, in these people's hands, it would probably still be a paper-thin movie. But it might be a little more to the point than what we get.

It's also sort of odd that, after the audition, boss Alex's boss Nick says "She'll do better next time," and Alex sadly responds, "There won't be a next time." Why not? There are no other ice shows in America? If it's meant to be age, actress Sunny Johnson was actually thirty in 1983, but I'd never have guessed. And the United States Figure Skating Association has official competitions for people all the way to ages 61 and up!

For no other reason than she's not lucky enough to be Jennifer Beals, the poor ice skater ends up at Lee Ving's sleazy strip joint, not so much actually stripping, but lounging around topless. At least we can understand how this job pays her anything, unlike the bar where Alex and her friends dance without getting tips. Showgirls is almost a corrective, as if someone realized the only way certain elements -- like the conversation Alex has with an embittered, world-weary fellow flashdancer -- would make sense is if the gals were actual strippers. And yes, that movie's writer Joe Esterhasz also wrote Flashdance.

And what about that welding? I'm admittedly no expert, but plenty of people online have commenting that when they or family members were in the industry in the '80s, it generally took two years of training to qualify as a welder, and then sometimes an apprenticeship before you could get a job. I would be happy to hear from anyone with specialized info on this subject!

Last minute factoids:

Jennifer Beals reminds me of Apollonia in Purple Rain. At first viewing I just thought she couldn't act. But it's really more that both of them come across like sweet girls who've suddenly found themselves in the middle of a major motion picture. They're relatively natural, and they're not trying too hard. For girls obviously cast 'cause they're pretty, they're not doing too badly. They just don't know how to make the most of being on camera: a little too girl-next-door to be really dynamic.

My husband pointed out that the line "And she's dancing like she's never danced before" actually has two interpretations. It's safe to assume they intended the meaning "she's exceeding herself," but literally, it also says she's dancing like this is the first time she's ever danced.

He also pointed out that the ending doesn't actually tell us anything about the result of the audition. The thrilled reactions of the judges, and her joyously bounding into Michael Nouri's arms, both imply that Alex got the gig. But by not saying so in so many words, it's still got plausible deniability.

Bizarrely enough, "Gloria" singer Laura Branigan, and Sunny Johnson, who ice skated to it, both died of brain aneurysms. It took less coincidence than that for, say, Poltergeist to get a reputation as a curse.

According to the IMDB, "Irene Cara wrote the lyrics to the film's Oscar-winning theme song while riding in a car to the recording studio the day she recorded the song." Let's just say that explains a lot.

Also, if the IMDB is to be believed, the ultimate in movie "might have beens" -- David Cronenberg was offered the chance to direct. The same year that Videodrome came out! Just the thought of "David Cronenberg's Flashdance" is almost enough to make my head explode.

And finally, my alternate soundtrack of danceable hits:

"He's a Dream" (also known as "that song where Jennifer Beals dumps water on herself") -- "Barso Re" (Guru)

"Maniac" -- "Nach Baliye" (Bunty Aur Babli)

"I Love Rock N Roll." Okay, I love Joan Jett. But this song is so wildly inappropriate for montage of Girls in Heavy Makeup Do Aerobics Against Stark White Backdrop, it's totally tarnished by association. (Nor could I find the scene on YouTube). Here we need something silly and fun, to clue the audience in that we KNOW this is silly. Hence -- "Shut Up and Bounce" (Dostana)

"Lady Lady Lady" (a.k.a. The Love Montage. Particularly hard to choose, because anything would be an improvement) -- "Pyar Kar" (Dil To Pagal Hai)

"Manhunt" -- "Love Mere Hit Hit" (Billu)

"Imagination" (the Kabuki TV song) -- "Crazy Kiya Re" (Dhoom 2).

"Gloria" There is no love for the ice skating! The only other video I could find with the actual scene from the movie had a different song edited in. Great minds think alike! -- "Jimmy" (from the M.I.A. album Kala). Ahhh, now that makes me feel so much better!

"What a Feeling" is the toughest, but I'm going to say -- "Dance Pe Chance" (Rab Ne Bana De Jodi)

So, until next time, remember ... you may not be able to "have it all," but you can still take your passion, and make it happen. While you're doing that, though, better outfits, a decent soundtrack, and basic logic will go a long, long way!

Crazy movies are nothing without someone you love to share them with

2010-07-31T12:15:00.000-05:00

Oh, come on. Would life even be worth living?

For all that I gripe about Facebook, I have to give it credit: a comment there by friend and one-time Secret Santa Irene Nexica reminded me that I'd never actually seen Mahogany (1975), although I loooved its moody theme song ("Do you know where you're going to? Do you like the things that life is showing you?") when I was a little girl.

It all starts with the kind of insanity on the catwalk that I haven't seen since Rekha's turn as a high-fashion model out for vengeance in Khoon Bhari Maang.

They're throwing this at us before we even know who the characters are, and it's like a fashion show from the Star Wars prequels. Naboo is the only place I can think of where these clothes would make any kind of sense. But the craziest thing about these outfits is that they're only the beginning!

After this "Kabuki" debacle, the word "success" is uttered to Tracy (Diana Ross), the fashion designer responsible, throwing her into confusion and a film-length flashback about the struggles of a girl from inner city Chicago to find success. She works for a department store by day, and takes design classes by night, where she's scolded for her outre work.

At several points, Tracy's reminded that she shouldn't set her sights too high in Chicago -- partly because of racism, but mainly because this isn't where you "make it," it's where you "end up." I couldn't help thinking, hmmm, what does that make North Dakota? Best not to speculate.

Eventually, though, she meets two important men: suave and sexy Billy Dee Williams, who's a political organizer fighting against greedy landlords in the 'hood, and (actually kinda sexy too) Tony Perkins as the jaded photographer who's going to turn her into a famous model, rechristening her "Mahogany." He's first impressed when he sees her in a dress she designed, and chats her up about the sophistication of Rome. Because of this?

Well, eventually the film will take us to Rome, and we'll learn that their parties in the '70s were as full of bad disco as everybody else's, so I'll take their fashion sense with a grain of salt.

The film clearly prefers Williams, with his talk about social conscience, and his selfless working for the little people versus the frivolous world of fashion, but what plays out on screen is largely a man putting his dreams and ambitions over his woman's, which makes him kind of a dick. When Ross helps him with a campaign, she uncovers one of her drawings on the refrigerator, and symbolically covers it up with Billy Dee's handsome face. The symbolism is complicated, for me at least, because it's a drawing of that same rainbow dress.

Maybe some dreams really are better left unlived!

Eventually, however, Tony Perkins tempts her to Rome. For a while they work in a good creative collaboration, but it's at the cost of turning her into an object of fantasy. Then there's the sad fact that when a guy wants to sleep with you to prove he's not gay, but then he can't go through with it, it always puts a strain on a relationship. (One has to wonder if this role hit close to home for Perkins, who's generally acknowledged to have been gay, and also sincerely happy in his marriage to model Berry Berenson). Of course, Tracy's standard pillowside speech about how it doesn't matter, and there's more to life than sex, has all the more conviction because she didn't really want to do it anyway.

Before all the angst starts kicking in, though, we get this:

and this:

Which are all from the very same montage! Okay, to be fair, Ross isn't always ridiculous-looking in the film, but is also quite beautiful:

Also in its favor, the movie has a nice retroactively period-piece quality, with its glamorous, photogenic stars walking through rubble-strewn Chicago streets. (Amusing, since at one point, Williams' activist gets angry about the exploitative nature of a fashion shoot in a ghetto neighborhood). Plus, at one point we hear a radio broadcasting from "WVON, the Mighty 1390, Chicagoland's Black Giant," which is awesome.

Reviews on the IMDB range from "this movie is awful!!" to "THIS MOVIE WAS BRILLIANT," and that actually gives you a pretty fair summary. There's also a great "favorite outfit" thread -- the sort of thing one finds on the Internet that makes one think, thank Rishi, I'm not alone! It's probably obvious to everyone where I'd fall on this question. The song asks "Did you get what you're hoping for?" and the answer is yes, yes, yes!

A Giant Crab Comes Forth

2010-07-12T11:28:00.004-05:00

"What a beautiful night," Pat remarked as they passed along the barbed-wire fence which enclosed War Department property. "If only we didn't have to worry about giant crabs!"

--from Night of the Crabs by Guy N. Smith.

Which the back book jacket describes as "a seafood cocktail for the strongest stomachs." Ha ha ha! While there are plenty of giant monsters on film, and the Sci Fi Channel, there aren't nearly enough of them in, umm, "literature."

The Kamikaze Girls and the Frog

2010-07-08T07:03:00.000-05:00

Odd, disjointed bunch of film-watching lately. The usual, in other words. Here's a few highlights, also cross-posted from Haunted Vinyl:

Chi Bi, a.k.a. Red Cliff (China, 2008)

The cute young cops of Chungking Express (Tony Leung and Takeshi Kaneshiro) have grown up to be the handsome warriors of Chi Bi. Nice! Especially on the Takeshi Kaneshiro front. The movie's so epic and awesome, I immediately ordered the box set containing the 2,340 pages of novel it's based on (Three Kingdoms, also called The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, attributed to Luo Guanzhong). I'm still cliff-hung, though, since I haven't had time to watch Chi Bi II yet.

The Princess and the Frog (U.S., 2009)

Against all odds, Disney has finally made a movie for me. Yes, I could have spent a lot more time with the old hoodoo lady in the swamp, who was much more interesting than the schmaltzy musical romance and the cute anthropomorphic critters. But it was great to see the 1920s New Orleans setting. Even better, Dr. Facilier (great name!) joins the villains of Live and Let Die and Sugar Hill (which I saw advertised as Sugar Hill and Her Zombie Hit Men) in the select list of Baron Samedi-looking bad guys. Plus, he's voiced by Keith David, formerly an important member of the John Carpenter Players. Yup, that's the sound of a They Live fanatic squealing over a Disney picture. It sounds just as strange as you'd expect.

Shimotsuma Monogatari, a.k.a. Kamikaze Girls (Japan, 2004)

Motorcyles, fight scenes, and frilly dresses -- together at last! I don't know if I've ever seen a movie where the plot was driven so openly by clothes, and that's just one of the reasons for my wild enthusiasm. Oddly detached teenage Momoko spends her time fantasizing about her ideal life in 18th-century Versailles, and all her money on elaborate "Lolita" style fashions from her favorite Tokyo shop. Needing cash, she advertises some old bootleg "Versach" clothes her father once tried to sell, and meets tough-talking, long-coated Ichigo, who belongs to an all-girl biker gang.

The film is full of stylized humor and strange asides, even breaking into anime for flashbacks. It kind of reminds me of Muriel's Wedding, even though it's completely different in every way. Momoko ignores Ichigo and Ichigo bullies Momoko, but eventually a friendship develops. As the characters use fashion to give their lives meaning, the film depicts the paradox of expressing individuality by embracing what could seem like stereotypical identities, and it ends up being crazily inspirational. In addition to just plain crazy.

The Girl Who Reviewed the Film

2010-07-06T08:53:00.001-05:00

(Another cross-posting from Haunted Vinyl)

Truth in advertising: the girl does, in fact, have a dragon tattoo, but even more so, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2009) is full of Men Who Hate Women (a more literal translation of the actual Swedish title).

Random thoughts:

Swedish is a very strange and alien-sounding language to me, and it's odd to think that my great-grandparents would have spoken it. (Another set spoke the closely related Norwegian). I have no twinge of connection at all. A couple of generations, and it has nothing more to do with me than any randomly selected language in the world.

While they were at it, the characters seamlessly dropped the occasional English word and phrase into their Swedish, making me wonder if people call that "Swenglish."

There were also the subtitle oddities, like when the guy says he thinks his niece was murdered, and the protagonist says "Murdered?" The vowel sound was slightly different, but the word was clearly "murder." It's not like this is an unusual phraseology: it's a perfectly rational conversation. But someone typing up those subtitles said to themselves, "Hmmm, I don't like the word 'murdered.' Let's say 'killed' instead." I mean, it's not inaccurate. The words are basically synonymous. But I still wonder what they're thinking when they clearly say one thing and the subtitles say another.

But about the actual movie (and I doubt I need to tell anyone that there'll be spoilers): I had some of the same reaction as I did when flipping through the book. There's a pretty horrible level of violence against women -- probably the closest I want to get to a Hostel film -- and that's particularly off-putting in something that gets talked about for its "feminist" slant. Although it was interesting to see so many respectable grandmotherly types packing the theater for a film full of brutal rape and murder. But they must have known what they were getting into, since every respectable grandmotherly type in my Obscure Midwestern Town has read the book.

Anyway -- the thing about the level of violence, and the fact that the film almost seems to revel in the abuse heaped on poor Lisbeth Salander (who I find myself wanting to call Lisander), albeit so it can revel in her turning the tables on her abusers: it occurred to me that this a story about violence against women, as explored by men, for men. I think it annoyed me that Lisbeth, despite being the Girl of the title, was more of an object in the narrative, acted upon, than the subject or point of view character I'd have preferred.

But that may be part of the strategy. There's a lot of material about rape and misogyny that's already directed at female audiences. Here, Mikael is the identification character for the audience, and he comes to understand how bad the situation is for some women via the literal mystery (in mystery novel terms) of what happened to Harriet, and the mystery (in more psychological terms) of what happened to Lisbeth.

I was reminded of those days in the '80s-'90s when there was a lot of academic furor over misogyny, with women reading Andrea Dworkin, and arguing that all men are rapists. Well, all men aren't rapists; all sex isn't rape. But rape and violence do exist, and in Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, the protagonists are decent men who aren't rapists or killers themselves, but are forced to confront the evil committed by other men. The two prominent women in the story have faced it directly (and it's probably on purpose that those women are so different, one being a social outcast, the other growing up rich and privileged). The two men (the sympathetic friend/lover Lisbeth finds, and the kind, nurturing relative who couldn't imagine the abuse suffered by his beloved niece) have to learn about it, and align themselves with the women against evil.

If misogyny and violence against women are part of a society, it's because the society tolerates it in some ways, to some extent. There's almost certainly some symbolic value in the fact that here, the killer didn't flounder into this out of alienation or general psychological traumas. He was literally taught that women were his to abuse and kill. So the metaphors are about the responsibility of men within the society.

Also, sadly, most people aren't motivated so much by abstractions. They almost always care more about things that affect them directly, or could. Which is why women are generally more aware of violence against women, and for men, a good motivational starting point for their concern is the fact that it could happen to women they care about.

Obviously, with this kind of discourse, this wasn't a feel-good film that I'll be re-watching for entertainment value. If you're up for a grim, well-crafted movie with Swedish subtitles, then go for it. I'll add that star Noomi Rapace was really great in the title role, and none of the American actresses whose names are being thrown around for an American remake seem in any way up to her level. We'll see...

The Natural History of the Apocalypse? (with slightly unnerved postscript)

2010-06-21T11:32:00.001-05:00

Part the First, started sometime last week:

I've been reading Cao Xueqin's The Story of the Stone/The Dream of the Red Chamber, and have oddly discovered that one of the primary themes of this enormous 18th-century Chinese novel is much the same as that of Anna Akhmatova's brilliant "Poem Without a Hero" (1942). Then I realized it also has a lot in common with the story of Marie Antoinette (since I just re-watched the movie last weekend, it's fresh in my memory), with Le Morte D'Arthur, with the chunk of the Bhagavad Gita I read most recently, with medieval Christian apocalyptic theology, and with the post-apocalyptic sci-fi of which I am so fond.

To put it in its most reductive terms, let's throw in Shakespeare (from Cymbeline): "Golden lads and girls all must/As chimney-sweepers, come to dust." Or as one the few truly famous 20th-century American poets put it, "So Eden sank to grief/So dawn goes down to day./Nothing gold can stay." (Robert Frost, from the poem aptly titled "Nothing Gold Can Stay").

Or a personal favorite, from Gerard Manley Hopkins: "It is the blight that man was born for."

Then I was doing a little research on the fossil-hunters of the Victorian age (inspired largely by reading Dry Storeroom No. 1: the Secret Life of the Natural History Museum, by Robert Fortey), and that got me thinking about evolution. I don't know enough to argue the science coherently, except to say that I don't think there's any inherent contradiction between science and faith, so let's leave that to the side. Whether an attribute and/or instinct was put into us by our creation by a divine force, by the workings of evolution, or by a divine force working through science, is a question I can never know the answer to, although I personally tend to agree with Thomas Paine in The Age of Reason. That is, if there is a God, what we can "know" about him (as opposed to "believe") is through what he created, and whatever we learn from an objective scientific study of the natural world can only tell us more about that God and his intentions. (Use of male gender based on Methodist Sunday school, and morning laziness).

Now, just like with fossils: if you find the same themes recurring in completely different times and/or places, that's got to be meaningful. And we do find this recognition -- that everything passes away, no matter how immense or solid it seems -- in art from various time periods, from all over the world.

So what popped into my head, from these trains of thought, is that perhaps human beings, in all times and places, have an instinctual understanding of entropy. Just like we seem to have some half-n-half conception of ourselves as individuals and as members of a group (neither lone animals, nor hive ones, but a hybrid: partly devoted to our own selfish self-interest, partly trying to connect with something "more" outside ourselves), the knowledge that nothing can last seems (practically) universal.

(That "practically" is there because, if I learned nothing else from literary study, it's the need for disclaimers!)

Of course, one doesn't really have to posit an actual "entropic instinct" shared by human animals to explain this. But it's fun to do: just like Freud with his "death drive," which is another way of saying the same thing. Where he saw a "drive," though, I just see people who have seen the reality of the situation, and are trying to deal with it in a world that tries to ignore that reality.

In lieu of an actual instinct, all it really takes is observant people of some sensitivity, looking at the world around them. People and animals age and die. The works of human technology -- buildings, roads, monuments -- are subject to time and the weather. Even certain individuals live in a historical period of relative stability, there are records of other places and times, folk tales set in bygone "once upon a times," family histories passed down -- something that will tell them that things have changed. Certainly the Bible, from the Garden of Eden on, is full of examples to teach the unwary about the instability of nations and traditions.

This is relevant because something like The Story of the Stone or Le Morte D'Arthur is about more than the personal entropy of loss and change (although they're there too): they're about the fact that there's a macrocosm, in which societies, nations, empires, all rise and fall and change, sometimes evolving into something totally different, sometimes disappearing altogether.

But despite the omnipresence of entropy in art and literature, both individuals and their larger societies tend to motivate themselves by repressing this fact, in small ways and large, operating as if they'll last forever, until it becomes impossible not to face it. Having this kind of doublethink in their minds, though, doesn't mean that, on some level, people don't realize the truth. Some individuals and some societies come up with ways to bridge this gap in relatively healthy ways. And some don't.

Personally, I’d say that right now we're living in a time when a lot of people are not dealing in a positive way with this inherent fact of human existence. Despite social choices that have accelerated the rate of change into a crazy whirligig of novelty, and a fetishization of change in the business world, too many people still seem to sincerely believe that certain of the underlying principles and structures they believe in exist as some kind of immutable law: just for one topical one, the idea that people of a certain social class, or race, or nationality will continue to be dominant, reaping certain benefits that others don't.

Part the Second:
I had this big chunk all written up, but realized I didn't have any conclusion to make about anything. So I set it aside temporarily.

When I'd been talking about all the different places I've come across the theme of the impermanence of everything, no matter how solid it seems, I remembered a line of poetry, but had to track down which of my many books it was in, to cite the source. It's from Tulsidas, in Songs of the Saints of India:

"Many houses have collapsed;
Many houses are collapsing;
Many houses will collapse.
Says Tulsi, this is a bad way to be --

To see this and hear this and know this
And not let it really sink in." (p. 170)

So on Friday, before I got the correct Tulsidas quote into Part One, and before I could concoct some kind of point to the preceding, my home town was devastated by a tornado. The official pronouncement: "NOAA said tornado was EF4, with peak winds over 170 mph. The damage path was 1.1 miles wide, 10 miles long." Frankly, ten miles is about the length of the whole town! Everyone who's there has said the photos don't even begin to show the scale of the destruction, but here's some photos from the local newspaper:

If you scroll through, you'll see the one that really gives me a sense of perspective: "Wadena’s pool is reduced to rubble." That's where I learned to swim. Whoa! Unfortunately, the shots of all the trees and headstones knocked down at the cemetery, where I spent so many happy hours, are all on Facebook, and thus inaccessible from without.

At any rate, I could hardly have asked for a better illustration of the theme that "houses are collapsing," however much we try not to let that fact sink in.

Excuse me while I go compose a blog post about how some people win fortunes in the lottery and use it all to do good works, with no ill effects to anyone!

The Internet Rumor Starts Here

2010-06-05T10:00:00.010-05:00

Flipping through recent back issues of Entertainment Weekly with my morning coffee, I came across the startling news that there are TWO film versions of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in the works right now. One is being produced by Disney, with David Fincher attached to direct (and let us ponder how strange the juxtaposition of Disney and David Fincher would once have seemed). The other is a co-production by brothers Ridley and Tony Scott, with a script by the Clash of the Titans remake writer, and possibly directed by the guy who did Wanted (two movies I've never had the slightest interest in seeing).

So far, there's no word on the all-important casting of Captain Nemo (but thank Rishi and all else that is holy in life that the rumored starring of Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson has been debunked). Last summer, I pondered this very question, of who could play a "deeply embittered, morally ambiguous genius somewhere between the ages of 35 and 50," one the audience will be sympathetic toward, and who's described in the book as much finer-looking than I imagined from previous film versions.

Sometimes, the laziest and most obvious answer is, in fact, correct: I'm going to make a stand now that if one of these productions doesn't at least consider Shah Rukh Khan for the role, they are freakin' crazy people. He's the right age; he's got the right look; we know his English is fluent; and based on the more dramatic and/or straight-faced roles in his oeuvre, he could be totally awesome! Sure, people, take the gushing fangirl seriously....

But really! There's also the built-in appeal of having an iconic Indian character from classic European literature being played by an such an iconic Indian actor. SRK can do sympathetic, he can do morally ambiguous anti-heroic, and he can certainly do larger than life. If he weren't interested, having gotten his own sci-fi extravaganza off the ground, that's one thing -- but come on, someone should at least try.

From the Forgotten Tales of Conan the Librarian

2010-05-25T12:45:00.013-05:00

A little private joke I threw together for the Nerd/Geek Pride Day they're having on Facebook. If you don't know who Conan the Librarian is: dude, get yourself to UHF!

The Illyrian warrior stepped warily into the cavernous antechamber, where a ghoulish pall already hung over the Borrowing Tab. Broadsword at her side, bejeweled dagger at the ready, she faced the first round of battle. Her face set in grim determination as she scrolled through the symbols and counted her foes, those items that were in the "New" and "Waiting for Process" statuses even though they were owned by her own library.

There was no way to know what kind of enemies she was dealing with, save testing them one by one. The sound of steel rang out in the Borrowing Queue as she hacked and slashed in a frenzy of bloodlust, copy and pasting, first in the Interlibrary Loan module, then in Circulation, piercing to the very heart of the matter: which items were available, which lost or missing in battle. With the panther-like speed of one seasoned in the arts of database war, she toggled to the Word document on which her text was saved.

Straining with every ounce of her enormous strength, she continued to copy and paste, and a red mist rose over her eyes as she furiously clicked the "Print" keys to generate mildly-phrased letters to say "We cannot order items through Interlibrary Loan that are owned by the library. You may place this item on hold." Then one by one, her foes laid defeated before her, she delivered the clean killing stroke of "Delete."

Wary of the time that had already passed, and how far into the cavernous reaches of the module she must traverse before the break of day, she wielded her highlighter swiftly, folded and stuffed the envelopes, and put them hurriedly aside. Later she must face the bloody jaws of the postal meter, which had driven many brave men into a screaming frenzy of insanity from which they had not returned.

But the time was not yet for that task, nor the others that lay before her: the Lending Requests, the OCLC Requests, the Incoming Mail, each weirder and more harrowing than the one before. She wiped the blood from her dagger against her strong thigh, and was about to pass into the next dim chamber when her eye was caught by a fleeting slither flickering in the queue, and she discovered a new foe, camouflaged in the shadows as "Locate in Progress."

She recognized Now That's What I Call Music 31. They had met before, in the crimson-soaked battlegrounds of CD labeling. This was also an item owned by the library, and not eligible for Interlibrary Loan. The warrior cursed beneath her breath. Could it be because the mystical sigils of the ISBN were not attached to the record? But no CD was destined to bear the mark of the ISBN tattooed upon its flesh...

Not only must this request be slain, but the fight would not be over even then. For she must yet face -- the Help Ticket of Doom!

The Old School

2010-05-21T17:58:00.072-05:00

"We cannot learn from doing anything right. We already know how to do it."
-- Systems Thinking guru Russell Ackoff

My recent attempts to belatedly learn something about technology, through the McGuffin of my amateur radio license, have led me to some pondering that, well, at least gets me onto the verbal and theoretical footing I'm more comfortable with. Slightly ironic, considering the subject du jour.

What happened is, one day my honey and I stopped at a used bookstore (and yes, my supposed book-buying fast is still in effect, so not truly wise), where I picked up a copy of Basic Physics: A Self-Teaching Guide, by Karl F. Kuhn. I had read reviews of this very book on Amazon, where the top review (by a reviewer I definitely voted "helpful") described it thusly:

"Dr Kuhn has made a somewhat different approach to the usual methods of teaching physics.
1) Mathematically (formulas!)
2) Conceptually (no mathematics, just ideas, more like 'popular science')...He has sought a pedagogically stronger middle ground (balancing act) between these two methods ... especially in the minds of those who can't do mathematics very well but communicate well, or do mathematics very well and not the communicating thing very well."

That made me think this would be a good text for me, and that's definitely going to be relevant later on.

I started slowly, and much to my surprise, kind of halfway understood the concepts. However, at one point, I had to go back a few pages and re-read the formula for acceleration with gravity. When I did this, I felt a completely disproportionate sense of discouragement, as if it proved I was never going to learn this stuff, and it was probably hopeless. Basically, because I hadn't instantly memorized something I was previously unfamiliar with. Fortunately, I recognized this thought as insane, and then asked: where on earth would I get an idea like that?

Well, how about my entire educational experience?

So, in today's edition of "Anarchivist solves the world's problems," we're going to look at aspects of the American public educational system, at least as it exists in much of "middle America." (That is: what goes on in those private schools or charter schools or what have you, I'm not in a position to judge).

1. Much of our educational system rewards us for what comes easily to us, and doesn't support our learning what doesn't.

The current educational system skews us heavily toward the things we have a "knack," or a natural aptitude, for. That steers us into studying what comes easily, staying within a comfort zone, and doesn't reward us for taking chances, or attempting things that are more difficult.

If you have the knack for something, a natural aptitude, it's like having an ear for music. You know what sounds right and what doesn't. You can start picking a subject up pretty easily, and it's easier to integrate the new material with what you already know -- clearly a boon for learning.

If you don't have the knack for something, the introductory material will already stymie you. Most learning builds on information. If you didn't understand the concept on the first day, the second day is only going to get harder, because the lack of understanding is cumulative. And in too much of the modern American educational system, there's no time: the material is generally presented en mass to a group of students with diverse knacks, abilities, and levels of previous learning. Something is scrawled on the blackboard, and students either "get it" in the beginning or they don't, but either way, the teacher has to move on. Except in rare and lucky cases, if students don't "get it" immediately, they're screwed, because they're never going to have any leisure time to catch up.

Because of this tendency to immediately fall behind, I think too many of us assume that if we can't do something right immediately, we're doomed to fail at it. We don't believe we can apply ourselves and learn, and we don't learn the value of doing so. We give up too quickly. And we label ourselves by possibly insignificant experiences (maybe we just had teachers who mumbled on the first day!) as if we know something essential, and flawed, about ourselves.

2. Teachers of a particular subject are generally people who have a knack for that subject: it came easily to them (relatively), and they won't relate to the problems of students who don't have the knack.

Now, as I get into discussing teachers, I'm not saying it's easy for people to acquire substantial knowledge in their fields. Even people with a natural aptitude have to study and apply themselves to really master their subjects. But if they already have the knack, it's significantly easier than if they don't.

For students who don't have any knack at all for a particular subject, the problem is exacerbated by the fact that the material is mainly being taught by people who excelled in their subjects, or had a natural interest. By and large, Math is taught by people who get math, and English is taught by people who get English. But the knack itself can't be taught -- it has nothing to do with teaching or learning. And it tends to be difficult for people who have the knack to communicate their subject to people who don't.

That's why my memory of math classes consists of someone rattling off some verbal information, writing a formula on the blackboard, and then saying, "You see how I got that, right?" They might as well have speaking Sanskrit for all I got out of it, and today, if they did, I'd have more of a fighting chance that at least something would sound halfway familiar.

I don't blame them, because when I briefly taught English composition and literature, I had no advice to give to students who had a hard time with the basics. I was lucky to grow up in a house full of books, heavily motivated to learn to read; I had older sisters who helped me out whenever I had a question; and I had a natural aptitude. I don't know how I learned to spell, or why I easily picked up how to use grammar and sentence structure. That kind of thing just came naturally to me, and fell into place.

3. All of this creates an artificial divide between people who have the knack and those who don't.

Or to put it another way, between people with a knack for one thing and people with a knack for something else. The classes we took, especially the crucial introductory ones, contained a mixture of people with different aptitudes. So some of the students would get it and excel, others wouldn't and would fail, while everyone watched. I think these experiences led, again, too many of us to divide ourselves up into people who get math and ones who don't, ones who are good with words and ones who aren't. And that kind of self-defeating self-definition is a terrible attitude for learning. Once you say "I just can't do math," you feel doomed to failure, so the motivation to try to learn is hard to come by.

The distinction is really between people who'll get it more or less easily. The fact that you did or not grasp a particular subject or concept immediately doesn't say anything essential about who you are, or how intelligent you are.

Now, the idea of an animosity between groups on the basis of this difference is clearly absurd, and yet it's all too common. I've met my share of academics who were privately disdainful of blue-collar work (where people are sometimes crazy-smart in technical subjects), and more than my share of people who are prejudiced against the book-learned.

Much more might be learned by combining disciplines, and by individuals learning outside what comes easily to them.

Because I more or less randomly decided to get a ham radio license, it forced me to learn something about subjects that I've always been interested in, but was discouraged from pursuing. I very much do not have a knack for gadgets, or for the kind of practical scientific knowledge that most of the radio folks take for granted. But because I wanted to, and began to apply myself, I now find myself in the club meetings with a roomful of people who can be handed some specs and discuss the technical ins and outs of different antennas. For my entire previous life, something like this would have seemed impossible; unthinkable, even. On the one hand, I feel like a poser, but on the other, like I'm overcoming a divide that was put between us at an early age, which now seems foolish and, more than anything else, wasteful.

Obviously, there are motivated individuals who overcome the obstacles and become well-rounded, and thank goodness! And it's certainly possible to meet individuals with different interests and skills, from different walks of life, in various ways. But when one considers our disciplines, the realms where those interests and skills are used, it's often as if they exist in completely separate, parallel worlds. However, the electric company and the poetry reading both exist in the same world: one which has grown increasingly complex, full of almost unfathomable interconnections. Trying to make sense of it, and really solving its problems (as opposed to, say, blogging) will almost certainly require skills from all across the spectrum. The kind of artificially induced segmentation that I experienced, and which I still see all over in society, is totally counterproductive.

So, new law: no more beating myself up for how long it takes to learn things. अच्छा!

Most days, I'm glad to be out of touch

2010-05-20T06:46:00.020-05:00

A friend on Facebook posted a link to a column by well-known political writer Maureen Dowd, which poses the Carrie Bradshaw-like question "When does a woman go from being single to unmarried?"

My first thought was: there's a difference?

I guess so. "Often, for women, once you’re 40 or 50, or simply beyond childbearing age, you’re no longer single. You’re unmarried — meaning it isn’t your choice to be alone."

Huh. Where do people get the handbook that tells them these things?

My second thought was: when does a man go from being single to unmarried?

Apparently, never. "Men, generally more favored by nature as they age, can be single at all ages."

Again: really? Segueing nicely to third thought: on all counts -- says who?

I shouldn't blame Dowd for this, because I guess she's responding to things other people are saying about the new Supreme Court candidate and her single status. But still, I cannot contain myself. It is the year 2010. How the frak can this possibly still be an issue?And why is rampant idiocy still being validated and made respectable by addressing it as if it were in any way legitimate?

If any human being devotes themselves to the kind of life that makes them capable of being a decent Supreme Court judge, with all the learning and effort and dedication that entails, and some people want to turn around and say, well, she couldn't find a man: those people are idiots, they are probably muddying the waters deliberately, and most importantly, the "attack" is not only a non sequitor, but ridiculous, because no woman in the world should be judged for not having a man.

We are not cavepeople. We are not livestock! The worth of human beings has absolutely nothing do with whether or not they mate and/or breed.

It also occurs to me, the whole ideological rallying point of America has always been liberty and justice for all. Now, actual liberty and justice are difficult, contentious things, and involve a lot of grey areas, a lot of definition issues, a lot of conflicting interests, etc. BUT -- it should be possible for the media and the mass audience of this country to say that liberty and individualism are American values, so people should be allowed to make their own choices in life, to live differently from one another, without being condemned for it. In other words: her being unmarried has nothing to do with her job, so who cares? Anyone who wants to judge her negatively for something like that is actually un-American!

Okay, I know how easy the holes would be to poke: but couldn't we make it an advertising slogan? Prejudice is un-American. Discrimination is un-American. Forcing people into little boxes, whatever those boxes are, is un-American. If we can't be free in our daily lives, in any meaningful way, in areas that don't even effect other people, how on earth are we going to be able to stand up for the kind of abstract larger freedoms that our nation supposedly stands for?

Note to the reader:
I've been out of the loop for a bit: embroiled with various plans and schemes, most of them in the so-called real world, leading to less blog time -- and, tragically, way less time for movie-watching. If any of my peculiar notions come to fruition, you'll hear it here first!

In vino veritas

2010-05-08T08:04:00.032-05:00

When people talk about the clothes of the '80s, they're generally referring to the New Wave, or the Miami Vice, or the Madonna look: aggressive pastels, lime green, asymmetrical haircuts. But this is '80s fashion as I remember it:

Oh my God, just look at those ruffles! In Falcon Crest's first season (originally airing 1981-1982), I think red-haired Vickie there wears a front-ruffled blouse like that in every episode. The businesswomen, exemplified by the show's matriarch, Jane Wyman, wear a disturbing array of polyester blouses with floppy bows and shoulder pads. No wonder my early entry to the workforce was so traumatic!

Here she is, flirting with Re-Animator's Fritz Weaver to make her ex-husband jealous! Whenever he talked about her coming to visit him in Vermont, we MST3K'ed something about a side trip to the Miskatonic University.

For those who weren't around in those days, the '80s were a time of big-budget nighttime soaps, with Dallas and Dynasty being the most popular and iconic. Falcon Crest, which focused on a family's dynastic conflicts in the California wine country, is the only one of them that I was ever a fan of, since it always counteracted its melodrama (and oh, was there melodrama!) with an air of slightly campy humor.

I never actually saw the show until its fifth season, but in season one, the characters are already established as the scheming old friends I remember. It's funny to think of me, a starving college student in a fairly literal sense, saving up for a four-pack of wine coolers, so I could open one a week to drink along with Falcon Crest on Friday nights. I knew so little about wine then, I don't think I really knew that vineyards and wineries were different things. I'm positive I didn't know that wineries had laboratories until I saw the one in the show. And I was not only completely removed from the lifestyles of the rich and famous, I had outright contempt for them. But there I was.

The premise is: after his father's death, New York City airline pilot Chase Gioberti convinces his writer wife Maggie and their two (mostly) grown kids to relocate to his childhood home to keep the family vineyard going, and re-connect with each other as they work toward a common goal. The move is partly motivated by the desire to take a step back from the fast-paced, fractured nature of then contemporary society, getting back to the land and the rhythms of nature, as well as embracing older family traditions. Almost immediately, the audience learns (as the characters eventually do), that a family and its traditions can be the source of even more problems than they had before.

Come to think of it, the numerous built-in, Reagan-era ironies may be one of the reasons I liked the show! Not least in the Gioberti family's primary nemesis, aunt Angela Channing (Wyman), who controls the profitable bulk of the family's holdings. She's a rather frail-looking older lady, who welcomes them graciously, talks a lot about the importance of family and higher values, and is played by the ex-wife of the then United States President. But behind this facade, Angela is a steely, cut-throat manipulator, who'll go to any lengths to secure her own interests, and doesn't care who she ruins in the process.

By the time we're midway through the first season, enough has happened that the Giobertis know she can't be trusted, although they still have no idea what she's up to or why.

Two things about the story-telling that I especially appreciate: the multi-generational relationships are nicely drawn. Father Chase's perpetual air of manly confidence makes his self-doubting son Cole feel like a loser in comparison. Mother Maggie (the moral compass of the show) is full of warmth, nurturing, and common sense, which only irritates teenage daughter Vickie, who's desperate to prove her independence -- even when she can barely leave the back yard without getting kidnapped.

The kids' lack of direction is surprisingly true to life for such a fluffy show: Cole wants to be an archeologist, but he thinks college would be a drag, and discovers that working his way up through part-time work on digs is mainly just back-breaking labor. Working at the vineyard gives him some sense of purpose without his having to really make any decisions about his life, which suits him. Vickie dreams of being a dancer, but to this point, the only time she actually takes classes, she skips them all the time to sneak off with an older boyfriend. So they both have vague ambitions, but aren't doing anything to make them happen, which, sadly, is what happens to most people's ambitions.

More amusing is the relationship between Angela and her heir-apparent grandson Lance (designated beefcake Lorenzo Lamas). She's trying so hard to groom him to become the kind of Machiavellian power player that she is, but really, he's just kind of a dopey spoiled rich boy. The sense of entitlement he got being raised to take her place some day actually gets in the way of his ability to do so. Although he spends most of his time being a high-living jerk, Lance is kind of a sad character, especially when he's attempting to flex his authority, and we see a poster in the background of his bedroom that says "A winner never quits and a quitter never wins."

The other aspect of the show that I appreciate is the specificity of it. Too often, fiction is set in relatively generic settings, with the idea that audiences can relate more to it that way. But if it's handled well, otherwise unfamiliar details can actually draw an audience in. In this case, I'm sure someone in the wine industry would find it all hopelessly inaccurate, but I love the industry-specific nature of so many plot lines. So far, various machinations have hinged on: the fact that grapes grown on one piece of land will vary in quality from those on another, because of the mineral content of the soil. Bribing and bullying migrant workers not to help rivals with their harvest. And my favorite: that the '81 zinfandel is too young to bottle! (That detail tipped people off to a fraudulent scheme to --gasp! -- put premium labels on ordinary table wine).

I don't know anything about how potassium levels will effect the wine, or the legal ramifications of mislabeling, but these things are all McGuffins. The important thing is that the characters are plotting against each other, and they're using the means at hand. So far, the writers are managing to keep the schemes interesting, and the whole wine industry as a fresh backdrop upon which character psychology can play out.

In other words, at least the early episodes have aged fairly well. Aagh! Sorry! Bad joke. But it's true. The ruffles and the floppy bows are hideous, and bring back post-traumatic fashion stress, but at least it's not the horrible Dynasty hair. I don't think that's something I could endure.

If you watch, I recommend you institute a drinking game in which you take an enormous slug every time someone says "Thank you, Chao-Li." I already wish I'd started counting. Chao-Li is the Chinese -- butler? I don't really know his job description, but he obviously pretty much runs everything at Falcon Crest, behind the scenes. Here he is helping Angela into her car to join a high-speed pursuit already in progress. See what I mean about the camp humor?

Angela clearly trusts him more than she trusts anybody in her own family, and I think he's keeping detailed files on everyone's misdoings on all sides, because he's clearly the sharpest person on the show.

Actor Chao-Li Chi, by the way, appeared in John Carpenter's Big Trouble in Little China, where he got to lecture Kurt Russell about magic and the fact that "China is here!" He also played real-life stage magician Chung Ling Soo in The Prestige. Of course, Chung Ling Soo was really Caucasian William Ellsworth Robinson in "Oriental" makeup, so his character being played by a real Chinese actor is an interesting twist.

I Know What Various Kapoors Did Last Summer

2010-04-26T08:09:00.053-05:00

Kucch To Hai (2003)

I have some friends who watch Hindi films as part of a well-rounded film diet, and they -- well, recommended is the wrong word, but keep in mind that they know my specialized tastes -- a slasher film they had seen. Eventually the title was tracked down, and imagine my delight when the concept turned out to be an I Know What You Did Last Summer in which the kids run over not a sinister fisherman, but a sinister Rishi Kapoor!

Then imagine my disappointment when I Netflixed it, only to find: no subtitles. But I forged on ahead, and watched the whole thing in one sitting.

When I saw the "Jeetendra presents" in the credits, I wondered which of the youngsters involved was his kid. (He also gets an overly-explanatory acting credit, where they point out that his part is brief on purpose).

Turns out that Tusshar Kapoor, who I haven't had reason to research before, is his son. When I first saw him (as hero Karan), I immediately recognized him as that one guy from the "Deewangi" medley in Om Shanti Om. You can't tell I've watched that too many times, can you? In the film, he's in love with Esha Deol, the real-life daughter of Hema Malini, to whom Jeetendra was briefly engaged. That sounds like a romantic comedy plot waiting to happen.

But wait, there's more: producers Ekta and Shobha Kapoor are Jeetendra's daughter and wife, respectively. There's a nicely gossipy interview with Rishi about the film here, in which he says Ekta is like a daughter to him, but she runs a movie like a TV serial, which caused his role to become "rubbishy." (I also love the bit where he interrupts the interviewer to say "But let me tell you about all the films I haven't done.")

Overall, I think I followed the storyline pretty well. There's a group of college students, playing basketball and going to the prom, with only the quiet heartbreak of Natasha (the Anjali to her friend Tania's Tina) rendering anyone less than happy-go-lucky. Unfortunately, Tania is caught cheating on a test by Rishi's scary Professor Bakshi. I got the impression she was taking a fall for Karan (the designated Rahul), but can't say for sure. The gang decides to break into the Professor's house to steal something to help her, but what they find is a corpse in the basement, and when they flee in terror, they run him over.

Then he's not really dead, but then he is -- you know the drill. Tania leaves to put it all behind her, just like Jennifer Love Hewitt once did, and they all reunite years later at a wedding, where they're stalked by someone in a dark hood. Is it Rishi, back from the grave?

I was going to put in a shot of the stalker, since that's what's supposed to be scary, but frankly, it's just somebody in a generic hood. I couldn't resist a dramatic close-up of the great Rishi eyeballs instead.

Unfortunately, the eventual use of Rishi as red herring made no sense to me, since much seems to be revealed in a dramatic speech which I couldn't understand a word of. So maybe I now have a true Hindi-learning goal. Or just need to track down a copy with subtitles. The edition on Nehaflix is supposed to have them (from Video Sound as opposed to T Series), but they're out of stock. Some day!

Despite the part not being what he thought it would be, Rishi is great as a broody, intimidating guy. He's followed around by dramatic camera angles and music that sounds like it belongs in The Omen, and he even gets to do some amazing maniacal laughter. I want to see him play some kind of Shakespearean villain: I think he'd be great!

Someone on the IMDB says the film is like "an amateurish stage play," but I can't imagine they've seen Dhund: The Fog, the Ramsay Brothers version of the same basic story. This looked great in comparison, and the different elements (romantic college shenanigans; the mostly peppy, vaguely Main Hoon Na-like songs; Johnny Lever; and the suspense/slasher film conventions) were all integrated reasonably well. Maybe a pastiche of the lightweight American horror films of the '90s makes for a reach-not-exceeding-grasp situation. It's possible, too, that not hearing the dialogue might have improved it. Since I didn't know exactly what they were saying, I was much more sympathetic to the characters than I was in, for example,the American I Know What You Did Last Summer.

Speaking of Main Hoon Na, I was kind of surprised that Kucch To Hai came out a year earlier.

Director Anurag Basu, whose most recent film was the very different and critically acclaimed Life in a Metro, recently directed the upcoming Kites, which I suddenly really want to see. I think he and madman Rakesh Roshan were made for each other. The heroine of Kites is even named Natasha, same as a key player in the Kucch To Hai mystery! Coincidence? Or something more ... sinister?

My apologies to the feed

2010-04-25T12:27:00.003-05:00

Anyone who saw what looked like a post that is no longer there, that was NOT a blog. Just taking notes on the Communications Acts of 1927, 1934, and 1996. Scintillating stuff! Maybe someday I'll bore you with it, but not today...

The latest from the Bollywood Book Club

2010-04-21T06:39:00.007-05:00

I recently picked up a slender little book called Light of the Universe: Essays on Hindustani Film Music, which I had seen cited in somebody or other's footnotes. The author, Ashraf Aziz, works as a Professor of Anatomy at a medical school, so that should stop me from whining about the distractions of my day job. In only 126 pages he discusses all sorts of interesting songs (most, of course, that I'm not familiar with), and makes several persuasive arguments.

These include: a strong statement that film music is neither debased classical music nor commercialized folk music, but a true musical genre in its own right. Also, the idea that while people like Ravi Shankar got a lot of acclaim for musical bridging East and West, earlier composers and music directors (including many of my faves -- C. Ramchandra, O.P. Nayyar, Shankar-Jaikishan, and of course S.D. Burman) had been doing that for years, without getting any particular credit for it. He points out, the extent that they didn't merely copy popular western musical styles, but combined elements and instruments to create something new.

"It is as hybrid as the contemporary world" (p. xxv), and "the cinema song continues to mediate between the home and abroad, the city and the village, and between the now and the now that has dissolved into then" (p. xxvi). In my case, it mediates across the decades, across the globe, across languages, to a completely unknown and unforeseen audience. Not bad for something deemed at the time to have nothing but "inferiority and frivolity" (p. xxii).

Another brief chapter makes a good case for Indian society undergoing a reactionary shift similar to the one the United States went through after World War II: that after Independence and Partition, women were pushed back into what was perceived as their traditional "place." He (possibly controversially) attributes the Lata Mangeshkar monopoly to this trend, one that would also explain why she was so often called upon to sing in the high-pitched, "little girl" style that Noor Jehan had used occasionally, for particular effect.

While reading this book's opening chapter on Noor Jehan, I sprung for a 5-disc set of her songs, and so far, I'm willing to concede that she was, in fact, all that. But that's a subject for another day.

The last thing I wanted to mention is a quote on the work of lyricist Sajjad Hussain (whose work is pretty much only available to me on YouTube, until I do more research and track down some more box sets). So here's a few videos:

"Kahan ho kahan mere jeevan sahare"

"Yeh hawa ye raat ye chandni"

"Gham-i-ashiana"

Anyway, Aziz's comment: "Repeatedly one hears that Sajjad's songs are 'remote,' 'obscure', and 'difficult' ... We live in an astoundingly complex and obscure universe. It is, therefore, naive and unreasonable to demand moronic simplicity in everything." (p. 34)

Wow, it's nice to hear someone say that out loud!

Everything Old is New Again

2010-04-20T07:27:00.013-05:00

FYI: Daleks are robotic-looking menaces from outer space. Doctor Who is a television program. Some people take these things very seriously. That is all ye need to know.

When I first heard about the Campaign for Real Daleks (via a tweet from our friends at The Horror?), I idly thought that someone was trying to build, well, real Daleks. I know folks who are building model Daleks, even life-size, but "real" ones would seem a little dangerous. Doesn't stop people from owning other random forms of weaponry, though, so who knows?

But now I realize that the "realness" or lack thereof has to do with the fact that the Daleks are not monochromatic: they're not the classic black or grey, but have been redesigned, and are now in multiple colors. (Or "colours," as we see in the press releases and UK based fan sites).

Now, I remember how startled I was when I first saw Doctor Who and the Daleks (although the movie came out in 1985, I saw it in it 1983). This film was the first time that any manifestation of Doctor Who had appeared in color. I wrote in my original review that these "Daleks were shorter, unthreatening versions -- some classic black, but others bright red and baby blue." So while I understand fans not caring for the new design -- after all, I did put the word "unthreatening" right up front there -- the idea of Daleks being multicolored goes far back in Doctor Who history, and as much, if not more, claim to the status of "real."

As for the overall look, here's a gallery of various Dalek designs over the ages.

Two questions come immediately to mind: why can't I find sci-fi buffs who are screenshotting at the rate of Hindi film fans, so I can get a good picture of those colorful old-timey Daleks to show you? Similarly, I've found promo shots of the new Daleks, but nothing that places them as they actually appear in an episode, for comparison purposes. Dudes, get on this! And secondly, why don't I own a DVD of Doctor Who and the Daleks? That's truly inexplicable.

P.S. The best part of the online campaign is that it seems to have originated from a blog called "Meme-Free Zone." They add, "PLEASE pass this on as widely as you can." This stuff writes itself.

Fog Blog

2010-04-12T11:09:00.001-05:00

More examples of What's Wrong With Hollywood:

John Carpenter's 1980 ghost thriller The Fog has more an ensemble cast than a star. The closest thing to a leading man is 45-year-old Tom Atkins as small-town slacker Nick Castle, who makes a casual living fishing with his beer-drinking buddies.

In the 2005 remake, the character is played by 28-year-old Tom Welling, who's rather more, shall we say, on the Greek Godlike side. He's also been transformed into the responsible captain of his own boat, and owner of Castle and Son Fishing Charters.

Not that Welling hasn't shown some acting chops on Smallville, or that I don't like me the eye candy. It's just -- everything doesn't have to be eye candy all the time. American films used to occasionally feature people who weren't 20-something and/or gorgeous, and I miss them.

Both Fogs tell the story of a small seaside town, whose founders killed a group of lepers and stole their money to bankroll the colony. A hundred years later, the residents are plagued by a supernatural weather phenomenon: ghostly wet lepers that come out of a glowing fog bank, seeking revenge.

There are, however, some important differences between the two, not even counting the addition of the familiar "girl in the present looks exactly like a woman from the past!" bit. (Yup, again).

The characters in the original Fog fall into three groups:

Group 1: Nick and Elizabeth, played by Atkins and Jamie Lee Curtis, have just met and had a one-night-stand. They develop an easy rapport that carries through the rest of the movie, as they investigate what happened to his buddy's missing boat, the Seagrass. (Horror buffs will all know that the character's full name, Nick Castle, is the same as the actor who first played Michael Meyers, in the original Halloween).

Elizabeth, exploring: They drank a lot of beer last night.
Nick: Every night.
Elizabeth: What's it like?
Nick: It's always the same. The room starts spinning...
Elizabeth, sharply: I mean fishing.

Group 2: Kathy Williams (Janet Leigh) is an older woman who's setting up a Centennial hoopla in the town of Antonio Bay, with the help of her crabby assistant Sandy (Carpenter Ensemble Company player Nancy Loomis). They make what the Doctor Who About Time guides would call "an effective double act," with Mrs. Williams a highly-strung Lady Who Lunches type, and Sandy, as her boss points out, someone who can make "yes ma'am" sound like "screw you." Despite that, they show genuine affection for each other, and both get some fun lines.

Mrs. Williams: Are you going to give the benediction tonight, Father?
Father Malone: Antonio Bay has a curse on it.
Sandy: Do we take that as a "no"?

Groups 1 and 2 only interact in that Mrs. Williams' fisherman husband is Nick's friend, owner of the missing boat, which ran afoul of the deadly fog bank.

Group 3 includes Stevie Wayne (Adrienne Barbeau), the radio DJ and station owner, and her circle: her son, his babysitter, and the guy who gives her the weather reports. She recently moved to Antonio Bay from Chicago, and only interacts with the other character groups through her broadcasts, and once through a brief phone conversation with Nick, who calls the station. She spends most of the movie at work, alone.

Stevie: You're just a voice on the phone.
Dan the Weatherman: And you're just a voice on the radio. We'd make a perfect couple. You let me take you to dinner tonight, I'll prove it to you.
Stevie: Sorry, Dan. My idea of perfection is a voice on the phone.

Separately, the different people use their abilities to find and share the knowledge that will save them.

Group 1 finds the physical evidence that something mysterious is going on. Group 2, through a talk with the drunk priest who found a secret journal, gathers the information about the past that explains the "why" behind it. And Stevie provides direct observation of events from her vantage point in an old lighthouse.

As the characters separately begin to realize the strange things that are going on, they become more alert, so that by the time Stevie knows there's a strange knock on the weatherman's door, and Nick hears Stevie talking crazy on the radio, they recognize the actual danger of the situation. It's an intuitive leap, an acceptance of the strange and possibly supernatural, but they've all got different pieces of the puzzle, and are putting them together.

With the exception of Father Exposition, the priest played by Hal Holbrook, none of the characters have anything to do in any way with the back story about the town fathers and the lepers. Elizabeth and Stevie, as well as Stevie's son, are newcomers, complete outsiders, but that doesn't keep them out of danger. There's an idea that everyone in the town is, in an indirect way, profiting from the long-ago evil doings. Much the way that in Precinct 13, our police protagonists didn't do anything to the gang members, but they're judged guilty by association anyway.

In the remake, however:

Nick and Elizabeth (Lost's Maggie Grace) are an established couple, who've been in a long-distance relationship since she left town to find herself. The Seagrass has become Nick's own boat. Nick has gotten involved with Stevie (Selma Blair) in Elizabeth's absence. Elizabeth is Kathy Williams' daughter, although the two are estranged. (Funny they went in this direction, since Curtis and Leigh were, of course, mother and daughter, but any temptation to connect them was resisted. I suppose it's intended as an homage). Of course, Mrs. Williams knows and openly disapproves of Nick, and Elizabeth and Stevie know each other.

And they're all, to a person, the descendants of the original scheming town fathers, so it's a direct "sins of the fathers" scenario, instead of a more complicated form of guilt or responsibility. The movie's first line of dialogue is Stevie on the radio, talking about how one of the founders was her great-great-grandfather.

What's mainly wrong with the relationships in the new movie is that they're so over-determined. Atkins doesn't get drawn into the action because his son disappeared, or his brother, or his best friend: the kind of narrative crutch I'm used to in contemporary Hollywood. It's a guy he sometimes get drunk with. They're just good enough friends for him to know that something is wrong when his boat doesn't come back. The strongest bond he has is with Curtis, who he literally just met. They become a couple because when trouble starts, they stick together.

Welling's Nick, on the other hand, goes looking for the missing boat because it belongs to him. That's an absolutely crucial character difference.

They're also used to provide shorthand for motivation, and the use of shorthand is a way of avoiding complexity. In the original, the characters were connected by the story. They were all important threads, carrying the plot forward, uncovering separate clues, and eventually more or less braiding together.

In the remake, the characters are connected by backstory. All the information is really found and put together by Nick and Elizabeth, without any real contribution to the overall story by the other characters, who've become like the comedy track you could excise without noticing.

For example, the original Mrs. Williams' boosterish celebration of the town's anniversary is the means by which we find out what's actually happening. The remake Mrs. Williams doesn't know anything about what's going on, and is such a caricature, she's not even concerned that her estranged daughter just discovered a couple of horrible corpses. Instead, she's depicted as overridingly brittle and bitchy, for no particular reason, and certainly has no moment as endearing as Janet Leigh's comment about the priest, "Now say a little prayer that he's not in his cups."

Similarly, for the new Stevie: the whole narrative reason that the radio station was in a lighthouse was so she could see where the fog is and where it's going. Because of that, original Stevie finds herself in the position where she's the only one who can do the job of warning the town, and she does it. But the new Stevie actually abandons her post almost immediately. If you removed Leigh's or Barbeau's characters from the original, the actual plot would unravel. If you removed the updated versions, you'd lose scenes that take up time, but you wouldn't lose anything that actually drives the plot or contributes to any overriding theme. They could be replaced with anything, or anybody being menaced.

In the absence of their doing anything important to the plot, or displaying any heroism (see below), the only reason we're given to care about the fates of these characters is because of who they're related to: it's her mother, his girl on the side. And that's not enough reason.

While I'm talking about the characters, I need to go off on an Elizabeth tangent. One of the valid criticisms of the 1980 Fog is that the character development is a little on the sketchy side. What we know about Curtis' Elizabeth is fairly limited -- basically given in about two lines of dialogue -- but it's instructive to note what those two lines tell us. We already know that she's traveling alone, self-sufficient and able to take care of herself. The additional info is that she's from a rich, privileged background, where she wasn't happy and wasn't able to "do what I want," or be who she is. We also learn she's an artist, who sells her pictures to subsidize her adventuring.

There's also a line where she wonders if she's bad luck, but that's pretty clearly a tip of the hat to her role in Halloween. (As is, I suspect, her casual attitude toward sex. There's plenty of evidence that Carpenter was dumbfounded by the common idea that his slasher classic is saying that girls deserve to be punished for sex. In his next movie, he took the actress who played the supposedly significant virgin, and made her a really nice girl who'll fall into bed with anyone she kinda likes, with no disapproval whatsoever).

So the character is changed from someone who's in Antonio Bay because she left her hometown to be herself, to someone who's there because she's returning to her hometown and her old boyfriend. That's a big difference. Not to mention that she had no particular reason for leaving, beyond a vague sense of not belonging, and she came back because she was having weird dreams, so with a lot more screentime, she has a lot less motivation -- seeming to be carried along by fate.

Tangent on a tangent: the later Snake Plissken from Escape from New York is a lone wolf and criminal on the future equivalent of Death Row whose trouble really starts when he allows himself to get involved with other people, and becomes most dangerous to the world when he embraces higher ideals. Similarly, the man in They Live (credited as "Nada," but never named in the movie) starts out desperate and alone, but also becomes most endangered himself, and again, a true danger to the establishment, when he makes connections, joining forces with others. Elizabeth was an early tilt in that direction. Here's she's a young woman (Curtis was 22 when the movie came out) who's been hitchhiking alone on dark isolated roads, alienated from the people in the world where she came from. She only finds herself in a life and death struggle when she makes a connection to someone else, and decides to stick around in one place.

Alienation versus belonging, isolation versus connection: each has a down side. It's not a polarized view of the world, either/or. However a person deals with other people, there's a double-edged sword quality. The examples in these movies, in my opinion, clearly show belonging and connection as better. This is where the possibility of nobility occurs. This is what makes life worth living, worth surviving for. But belonging and connection can also make life harder and more dangerous. There's more to lose, and an individual loses a degree of control over their destiny. The clear, obvious virtue of self-preservation is made murky by concern for the people you care about, and for a greater good. ("The greater good.") Sorry, but if you've seen Hot Fuzz, you know I can't say that without echoing.

There are a lot of movies that show an alienated person learning to connect and love again. I'm gonna pick Garden State off the top of my head, because we just saw Zach Braff on TV the other day. But they rarely depict such a realistic world as Carpenter's, where life and elements thereof are recognized as imperfect, complicated, threatening, and worth fighting for.

In the remake of The Fog, as in the remade Assault on Precinct 13, everything happens for a reason. In Carpenter's films, the whole point is that there is no reason. His characters are in the wrong place at the wrong time (Halloween, The Thing), or being held responsible for things they didn't do (Precinct 13, The Fog). Thus the symbolic significance of Curtis playing a hitchhiker: sheer drifting chance brought her to this place at this time, to be menaced by ghostly lepers, of all things.

These early films (including Escape from New York, although as dystopian sci-fi, it's in a different class) are all set in existential worlds. Whether there are meaningful personal connections is a matter of chance (in The Fog, for example, Nick's parents are dead, and Elizabeth is alienated from her family). The social structure and authority figures that make people feel safe can't help them in the strange situations where they find themselves. The characters are on their own, by and large, and, as usually happens in life, don't really know what's happening to them or why. They're forced to find their own meaning in the world.

As the 1980 Nick says, "I don't believe in luck, good or bad. I don't believe in anything much."

Many people view this existential universe of Carpenter's as bleak, even cynical. When I watch them, though, I find the opposite to be true.

In the original Assault on Precinct 13, the hero's commanding officer asks him at the beginning of the movie,"Do you want to be a hero your first night out, Lieutenant?" When he responds, "Yes, sir!" the officer tells him, "There are no heroes anymore, Bishop. Just men who follow orders."

Then the whole movie goes on to prove the CO wrong. There are definitely heroes, although they're sometimes unlikely ones. In a Carpenter film, anyone can be a hero, because the hero is whoever rises to the occasion.

Carpenter's existential films start out grounded in the attitudes of normal people, rather than obviously exceptional ones. The characters live in safe, even dull small towns, and/or they're at jobs that they expect to be uneventful on a day-to-day basis. They have no reason to believe they're in any kind of danger (a point that decades of critical theorists on Halloween often ignore). They are complacent about their lives. Then something terrible happens that shakes their complacency.

The characters discover that the world is not what it seemed. Their assumptions about the world were wrong: actually, death is inevitable. There's no authority there to protect them, and with sheer personal survival suddenly on the line, there may not be any straightforward moral guidelines for them to follow.

Now, in real life, this is as far as many people go. You're an ordinary person with an ordinary life, taking your everyday reality for granted. Then something happens. It's a personal tragedy of some sort, as in Halloween. Or in the more symbolic Fog, you learn things that put that reality in a darker light.

In the new Fog, it's Elizabeth who reads the journal, and the information will eventually tell her how she's personally affected by the past: it's all about her identity. In the original, the information was given to Mrs. Williams and Sandy, and Janet Leigh handled the Everywoman reaction in a perfect low-key manner, telling the priest (traumatized by this violent disruption of his worldview) gently "There's not much we can do about this right now." She's not meaning to be callous; just realistic. This all happened a long time ago. Almost anywhere we can live has a bloody history we all ignore so we can go on with our lives.

The idea of people walking around unruffled in their little worlds, oblivious to all the terrible things that have happened (and may still be happening) behind the scenes, is of course a common theme, from Peyton Place to Blue Velvet to contemporary exposes about sweat shops and blood diamonds. But Carpenter's films neither respond with a jaded attitude of "Yup, that's life, get used to it," nor with a Lynchian, "Look, it's a pretty birdy! See, the world is okay after all!" (Huh, it just occurs to me, it's the twentieth anniversary of Twin Peaks, where Lynch most tried to really explore this favorite theme of his -- again, not quite successfully, but still mostly darn good).

His characters have to face up to the loss of a coherent belief system, and the absence of any external force that tells them what to do and, more importantly, what to believe, and hang on to their humanity. The people who become his heroes respond to the situation by refusing to act on selfish self-interest. Even in the absence of certainty or any hope of reward, they risk their lives for others.

(Note: I'm not arguing that there is no higher order, power, or meaning to the world. That's beyond my knowledge and capability. Rather, I'm acknowledging that we live in an age where there is much doubt, and loss of faith in the metaphysical structures that once helped people make sense of their lives. Within that state of mind, when the universe seems cold and purposeless, how do people create meaning and retain moral ideals that are for the good of all?)

When the storylines are of stripped of their existential edge, the heroism deflates along with it. For example, it's not particularly noble of Welling's Nick to go rescue a kid he knows personally, who's the son of a woman he's been sleeping with. Atkins and Curtis' characters, only vaguely connected by definable ties to anyone else, just hear over the radio that a complete stranger is in trouble, and rush to help, because it's the right thing to do.

The original Stevie stays at her post in the lighthouse, broadcasting the movements of the fog because it's job that needs doing, and she's the only one who can do it. This absolutely key part of the original story is completely abandoned in the remake, where it doesn't even occur to Stevie that she can help more in the lighthouse than by running off. The original Mrs. Williams even shows bravery in trying to carry on with the town festivities despite learning the awful truth, and the fact that her husband is missing at sea.

And you'd think I've picked on the new Precinct 13 enough, but that too has changes that render the remade characters much less brave or morally strong. In both versions, there's a person in the station that the attackers want the police to turn over to them. In the original, a frightened character suggests that they do it to save their own necks, and the heroes stare her down, refusing to do so. In the remake, by the time the option comes up to give the bad guys who they want, the characters already know they're all going to be killed either way, as witnesses. So the moral decision is taken away from them. They're all mainly saving themselves, not saving each other.

Even most of Carpenter's fans will agree that The Fog is one of the director's minor works, which doesn't hold together in all its details, despite my enormous fondness for it. In general, it's a moody trifle, with a likable cast, and a spooky score in the patented vein of John Carpenter minimalism. But it also contains a message of how to cope in a cold and apparently unfriendly, incoherent universe that I have always found personally inspiring.

An off-topic annoyance: I can't help mentioning that remake Stevie seems to think she can swear on the radio, which you can't do on "regular radio." But "what the hell, I can do whatever I want. It's my very own station." I think that would be news to the FCC.

And one last thing: in the original Fog, when Nick and Elizabeth rescue little Andy, he grabs the kid, leaving her at the wheel of his pickup. This leads to a suspense scene where they're stuck briefly in the mud, We know it isn't her truck, she's not skilled at driving it, and they're briefly trapped as the killer ghosts converge. Then she gets it to work, and they escape. She did it!

In the remake, the scene works the same way: Nick grabs kid, Elizabeth's at the wheel, they're stuck in the mud. But then, she can't get it to work. Nick actually has to get out of the car, get in the driver's seat, and in two seconds he has them loose so they can escape. When I saw the remake for the first time, in the theater, this change was so gratuitous, and so insulting, I swear to god I wanted to punch director Rupert Wainwright in the face.

Assault on "Assault on Precinct 13"

2010-04-10T18:00:00.000-05:00

A bit of conversation from the supernatural TV show Angel, as the characters prepared for a siege by demonic forces.

Gunn: What are you doing?
Wesley: Trying to imagine myself as John Wayne in Rio Bravo. You?
Gunn: Austin Stoker, Assault on Precinct 13.
Cordelia: If we live through this, trade in the DVD players and get a life.

Ouch! Cordy always had a sharp, tell-it-like-it-is attitude, but it usually wasn't directed at me.

There's a in-joke there I doubt I caught the first time around, in that John Carpenter has openly admitted his 1976 urban crime thriller was loosely inspired by Howard Hawks' classic Western, and Austin Stoker in fact played the John Wayne part. What's really funny, though, is the very idea that anyone twenty years from now will find inspiration in Ethan Hawke, or the 2005 Assault on Precinct 13 remake he starred in.

I know, I know: slagging substandard remakes of John Carpenter films isn't exactly a challenge. Nonetheless, analysis of why they go so horribly wrong might lead to some insights into the perennial question of What is Wrong with Hollywood?

Side note: by "Hollywood," a.k.a. the "mainstream media," I mean films that are made or distributed under the auspices of the major motion picture studios, with all that entails: generally large-ish budgets, biggish stars, and the guarantee that the films will play in all markets all over the country. We're not talking about anything arty, anything indie, anything with subtitles. Occasionally a TriStar will pick up something like the Afrikaans-language District 9 and get it into all the multiplexes, but that's not the kind of film I'm talking about.

Assault on Precinct 13 tells the story of a run-down urban police station on its last night of operation. First, a bus containing some prisoners (one of them a famous criminal) stops off there. Then they're all attacked by shadowy adversaries (gang members in the first, a criminal conspiracy in the second). The police and the prisoners end up working together to fend off their attackers, in an attempt to survive the night.

In the opening credits of the new Precinct 13, I was amused to note that one of the production companies involved is called Why Not Productions. I don't mean to pick on them in particular, because I have no idea what part they played, but that seems like a particularly apt phrase in connection with this picture.

The original movie had a strong, self-assured African-American man (Austin Stoker) as the hero cop, and a skinny, weaselly-looking white man as the master criminal. (No offense to Darwin Joston, who was excellent in the original role). So let's reverse them! Why not?

The cop in the original is taking his first test drive at command when it suddenly turns into a trial-by-fire, life-or-death struggle. So let's change him into a well-trained, seasoned veteran, who's burnt out following an undercover drug operation gone bad. We can accessorize him with the standard angst, booze, pills, and the court-appointed psychiatric visits, so that the whole ordeal becomes about him overcoming his demons. In fact, the same character that was a cliche in the "erotic thrillers" of the '90s! Why not?

The original movie also had a cool-headed woman character (played by Laurie Zimmer, still beloved despite an otherwise almost non-existent career) who's easily an equal in strength and importance with the two male leads. Let's get rid of her altogether! We can bring in Maria Bello as a psychiatrist who trades sexual innuendo with Hawke, and then gets put into a sexy, low-cut dress for the siege itself. While we're at it, she can spend most of the movie panicking and hyperventilating. Why not?

In the original, the two sides were both rag-tag crews, armed with the weapons they were able to get ahold of. Let's keep the good guys that kind of makeshift bunch, but up against an enemy with a whole SWAT team's worth of advanced weaponry, including professional snipers and an armed police helicopter, so the contest isn't remotely evenly matched, and thus totally implausible. Why not?

The original was largely about the way individual acts of violence leads to more violence, until events spiral out of control. Because of this, the narrative contains two separate plot threads that together lead to the titular Assault: one is the murder of a civilian, a little girl who gets caught in the crossfire. So let's remove anyone from the entire film who isn't either a criminal or a cop -- in fact, any ordinary audience identification figure. Why not?

The other precipitating factor is that the police have killed some gang members in a raid. The gang's response is to kill one person for each of their own, so that that police are being targeted for the doings of other people they're identified with. Hey! There's that violence breeds violence/revenge theme again, along with the idea of unrelated individuals being blamed for the actions of a group. (We'll see that again in The Fog, coming up next). However, why do that when we can replace it with the tired old corrupt-cop conspiracy I remember from bad Bruce Willis movies. Why not?

(Offhand, I'm thinking of Striking Distance, which contained the full-on burnt-out alcoholic cop character, and the conspiracy within the force. Sorry for the spoilers, but you'd have guessed anyway).

Then there's poor Laurence Fishburne, who plays a major gang lord like he's still trapped in the Matrix, all deadpan all the time, and intoning portentously as if he's talking about the prophecy of the One. Why not?

Dude, I know have you have range! And this is not a role that calls for Morpheus; even a little Cowboy Curtis would have fit the bill.

There are people on the IMDB listing plot holes, and one of them got the awesome response "You are probably the most critical person I've come across." Just like with Cordelia there, I feel like they're breaking the wall and speaking directly to me! Because I can say that this shot was my favorite thing in the entire film.

But speaking of those plot holes: there's much debate online about the tactics used by the corrupt cops -- why did they send the SWAT team in a few guys at a time, for one -- and some of the answers include the fact they didn't know how many people were in the building, or what weapons they had. This is even a plot point in the movie, where someone gets killed rather than tell the bad guys how many people are in the building.

Now, I'm no trained strategist, but I know this much: the good guys are cops, in a police station. The bad guys are other cops, who the good cops don't know are corrupt, even though they know some of them personally. The bad cops could have stopped in to invite Ethan Hawke to the bar after work! They could have seen exactly who was inside and what the sitch was before playing any of their cards. In fact, a whole slew of cops could have walked in the front door together wearing party hats. They could count heads, see that everybody was relaxed and off guard, and then blow everybody away. End of movie.

You should all be grateful that I've applied my potentially criminal mind to blogging about genre films.

In the original film, the previously untested police officers discover their heroism and bravery under pressure. The murderer who fights on their side rediscovers his nobility and his humanity. In the update, Ethan Hawke gets his groove back, and that's about it.

The oddest thing about these remakes is that they seem to be done by people who honestly have no idea what made the originals any good. These aren't Battlestar Galactica-style rebootings, where an old concept is drastically changed to some artistic and/or thematic end. Instead, it's a willy-nilly borrowing of titles and elements, jettisoning everything that made the originals classics in the first place -- the stuff that, without it, they wouldn't be remaking them in the first place.

Another thing: do filmmakers really believe that the audiences for violent, R-rated shoot-em-ups are so sensitive that they can't handle the kind of violence dished out in 1976, where innocent bystanders are shot down at point-blank range? I just re-watched the opening ten minutes of the original, and the scene where the gang leaders become blood brothers is more flinchworthy than anything in the remake, despite the extra explosions and bigger body count.

So far, those are two ways that Hollywood is going wrong: replacing ideas that relate to larger themes with generic scenarios, which seem randomly stuck in for no real purpose. And sanitizing the existing violence, so where it was once harsh, and thus potentially existed for a reason, it becomes all surface. Guns go off, people get shot, but none of it really registers -- none of it is really felt.

One more related post up, and then hopefully back to a good helping of frivolity.

Two random thoughts about Lee Adama

2010-04-08T17:07:00.014-05:00

We've gotten through the much-disliked third season story arc on Battlestar Galactica, with the quadrangle of marital disharmony, and I was left with a few notions about Apollo, who's never been, I'll admit, my fave character.

1. The only other thing the two women who are in love with Lee have in common is that they both worship his father. I wonder if he's ever noticed that, and if so, does it contribute to his angst? It may not be in either Dee's "I want to marry you" way, or Kara's "I want to get freaky with you" way, but I can't help thinking both of them are really, deep down, in love with the Old Man. I suspect that when Lee's being a dick, they think to themselves, "Well, but maybe he'll still turn out like the Admiral yet." (Not that Kara isn't a dick too, because she obviously is).

2. Speaking of the Admiral: even when they're getting along, it seems like Lee is continually trying to prove his worthiness to his father. The irony is that, by and large, Adama really loves the screw-ups best. I mean, apart from Laura, a relationship that's really one of a kind, the people he loves and trusts the most in the world are Tigh and Kara, who've pretty much made careers out of being screw-ups, with some abusive drinking on the side. Then there's the Cylon Sharon, who's the next most trusted friend on the horizon.

So it seems like either Lee is completely misinterpreting what it takes to win his father's esteem, or else the values the Admiral promoted as a father are not necessarily the values he has as a man in the world. Either or both are common enough family failings, and are both pretty sad. As is their whole relationship...

By any other name

2010-04-05T08:00:00.017-05:00

Chandramukhi
Tamil, (2005)

This is the Tamil version of the same story that was re-made in Hindi as 2007's Bhool Bhulaiyaa, which I'm a huge fan of (especially its soundtrack, which is one of my favorites). There's also a 2004 Kannada version called Apthamitra, also directed by Chandramukhi's P. Vasu, and a 2005 Bengali one called Rajmohol, but I haven't tracked those down yet. Most people believe that the original 1993 Malayalam film Manichithrathazhu is the best of the bunch, and I've finally found a source, so I'll be able to judge for myself soon. Fingers crossed for subtitles!

The story goes: a young married couple moves with their disapproving extended family into an estate that's said to be haunted by the spirit of Chandramukhi, a beautiful, long-ago dancing girl, who was wronged by a tyrannical king. The secret room is opened, mysterious things start happening, and the family begins to suspect one of the young women is possessed by the spirit, and out for bloody revenge. Fortunately, a family friend/foster brother is an esteemed, if somewhat eccentric psychiatrist, who works in cahoots with a priest to solve the case.

Like any intelligent person, Chandramukhi's star, Rajnikanth, goes right to the library to investigate the house. Even though I know I couldn't read any of the books in it, I still want to dive right into those stacks.

His main source is a very cool antique book (with a trishul lock!) that contains the history of the mansion. We get a good look at it, and it's called Vettaiyapuram Samasdhanam, by Thoti Tharrani. That's actually the film's set designer! He worked on Kanthaswamy, too.

The two movies are structured rather differently -- in Chandramukhi, Rajnikanth is set up as the indestructible hero from the very beginning, unlike Akshay Kumar's Bhool Bhulaiyaa hero, who turns up midway through. Rajnikanth apparently attended the same school of manly, two-fisted psychiatry that Feroz Khan went to in the seventies, since he's first seen beating up a whole gang of bullying construction company rivals. He also reads minds, just from the looks on people's faces. The character is openly considered a "Super Star," whereas Kumar's interpretation is that of a goofy guy nobody takes seriously, who then turns out to be smarter than anyone thinks.

However, both movies are great examples of architectural porn, set in some of the most gorgeous abandoned mansions I've ever seen on film.

Even the cobwebs are pretty.

(There's a spoiler coming, so beware!)

When the relatively modern young bride, Ganga, convinces Durga, the gardener's granddaughter, to help her get into the amulet-covered room where the dancer's soul is supposedly imprisoned, Durga is reticent at first. But before long, the two secretly get a key made, and both seem excited by the infusion of a mystery into their lives. (Hmm -- what would a Hindi Nancy Drew story look like?) The picture of these two lovely young women, going up some dark stairs and opening a forbidden door, to find forbidden knowledge, is downright archetypal. The whole idea of forbidden knowledge is as Gothic as it gets, even if it hadn't come with the accompanying spooky ambiance.

As in the well-known Bluebeard variation on the theme, when the young women seek knowledge for themselves, what they find is horrible knowledge. And as in the majority of Gothic stories, the mystery is related to the past, about a history that they hadn't known about before. In opening the door, they discover violence, fear, and, usually, the fact that they are themselves in danger. All the things, in short, that a "sheltered" life prevented them from knowing before. But the fact of being sheltered didn't make them safe.

One of the reasons being sheltered doesn't work is clearly illustrated in both these films: when the door to the forbidden room is opened, one of the women opens a door into the darker part of her own imagination, where her submerged emotional and psychological problems exist. It's not possible to protect her from herself.

Yup, that's a giant snake on a chandelier.

Random thoughts:

Coincidentally, this was released on Sri Balaji Video, a company that has its own devotional opening, which is a very nice touch.

Among the many characters, there's a young, smug, buff guy who's always standing behind the matriarch. The camera always pans up to him, making him look vaguely sinister. Just as I was getting all "Who is that guy?" he took off his shirt (revealing very nice abs) and attacked Rajnikanth the night of an engagement party. Apparently he's Auntie's personal henchman -- and why don't I have one to menace my nieces and nephews with?

I've recently watched two Tamil movies, only my second and third (after Kandukondain Kandukondain), and they both had Prabhu for comic relief. Turns out he's the son of the famous Sivaji Ganesan. On the comic relief scale, I found him more tolerable than, say, Rajpal Yadav in Bhool Bhulaiyaa.

Also: this was my first Rajnikanth movie, and while he was good in the role, I think I've heard too much about him, so was expecting a little more. I'm looking forward to seeing more of his iconic films, especially since, along with Frank Sinatra, we share a birthday! Obviously, that's an auspicious date.

The Love Guru

2010-04-04T11:03:00.008-05:00

Mani Ratnam's 2007 Guru is clearly a movie with serious intentions. It's about the inequities in society, the pitfalls of ambition, the corrupting influence of power. I can't say, however, that I followed it all, and I can't tell whether that's because of the oft-chronicled subtitling issues, occasional narrative murkiness, or the fact that I was utterly distracted by the eye candy.

Do I prefer innocent young Abhishek?

Or intense older Abhishek?

Fortunately, I'm under no obligation to choose! Ahh, the wonder of cinema.

Let's go space rockin'

2010-04-04T09:50:00.008-05:00

We had some friends over for superhero movies last night, and they brought along an episode of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century. Apparently, when they saw it, their first thought was "this was made for Anarchivist! She must see it!"

That's always kind of scary, but it frequently leads to some unearthly delights.

And yes, it was in fact made for me. This originally aired on February 20, 1980, here in what has long considered itself the cultural center of the world. I give you the future of rock and roll: Andromeda!

See, Bappi Lahiri doesn't seem so bad in context.

Her Deformed Back and Squeezed Up Figure

2010-04-01T06:21:00.020-05:00

While reading Darlingji: The True Love Story of Nargis and Sunil Dutt, by Kishwar Desai, I was delighted to come across some good barbed quotes from Filmindia editor Baburao Patel. It's like the kind of over-the-top cruelty, but funny, that reviewers used to savage the Romantic poets with -- hence the famous line from Byron about "John Keats, who was killed off by one critique/Just as he really promised something great/If not intelligible." Come to think of it, they were pretty mean to each to other, too.

Our connection at Memsaab Story has shared some delightful Patel tidbits: I'd start here, then follow the Baburao tag where it leads. I mean, he describes films as "Visual Torture for Two Hours." Now, that's the kind of film criticism I'm looking for -- precise and to the point. I've had enough talk about "globalized intertexts," and the "epiphenomenon of historical trajectory." Yes, I've been reading academic criticism again, off and on, which I don't even want to cite. I don't want to make fun of these scholars, who are doing what they have to do to get respect, ugly as it can be.

But back to Nargis. On the movie Aag: "In the dance sequences her deformed back and squeezed up figure without any grace or contours become repulsive." (p. 109) That's terrible! But - ha ha! Even better is the headline for a movie called Ashiana: "Raj and Nargis Give Stupid Portrayals!"

That's what I want to see from the movie magazines when new Hollywood "romantic comedies" come out.

As far as the actual biographical subjects go, I learned that when Sunil Dutt went to Bombay as a starving college student, right after Partition, he roomed with another student, Rajendra Kumar, who eventually played his brother in Mother India. He was also college friends with Mac Mohan, who is described as "a cricketer and somewhat of a lad" (p. 92), which makes me like him even more! Even reading a biography, I'm more interested in the character actors than I am in the leads.

Anyway, Mac Mohan flouted authority by carrying steamy books on campus, and Dutt, who agreed with the disapproving authorities, confiscated his copy of Wife for Sale. Even though Dutt was obviously the straight arrow in his crowd, Desai says "his friends let him be...It was understood that when they went out into the world, Balraj (Dutt) would take up some boring conservative career." (p. 93)

Anyone who knows me will realize that I now desperately want to read Wife for Sale, which I'm assuming is the novel by Kathleen Norris. I suspect I'd be disappointed. One of the used copies on Amazon shows a cover, though, with the subtitle "Has a woman the right to sell her soul for security?" That sounds pretty promising! But come to think of it, her prose is unlikely to be as vivid as Baburao Patel's.

In college Dutt joined a theater group, and then got a job as a radio announcer for Radio Ceylon, interviewing film stars, including -- who else? Nargis! By the time they met up again, the possibility of a boring conservative career was long gone.

Ah, fate is sometimes like a filmi plot!

I'm about halfway through (the book is thick, but a quick read), so if I come across any more must-shares, I'll let you know...

Equal Opportunity Devotion

2010-03-29T11:57:00.000-05:00

Tirupati Shree Balaji (1997)
(Hindi-dubbed version of the Telugu Annamayya, aka Bhakti Annamayya)

Finally, I've watched a movie about a male devotee of a male God! Funny that it's about the poet Annamayya (a.k.a. Annamacharya), who I first heard of in a book about male writers who took on female poetic voices to write erotic love songs to the gods.

That was When God is a Customer: Telugu Courtesan Songs by Ksetrayya and Others, edited and translated by A.K. Ramanujan, Velcheru Narayana Rao, and David Shulman. There's also a book solely of Annamayya's poem's (only a taste of the reputed 32,000 or so -- who did he think he was, Lata Mangeshkar?) called God on the Hill: Temple Poems from Tirupati, translated again by Rao and Shulman. I recommend either, as well as Nanditha Krishna's lovely, art-filled Balaji - Venkateshwara: Lord of Tirumala - Tirupati: An Introduction.

The courtesan-poetry business doesn't come up in the movie, but it does deal with the link between spirituality and worldly enjoyment, emphasizing an anecdote from Annacharya's (almost certainly apocryphal) biography: his romancing of two sisters. Considering how many Hindi films I've seen on the theme of marriage and family disapproval, it really stood out to me how everyone in the film was encouraging the match between the pretty twins and the wanna-be ascetic.

Finally, his mother asks pointedly, "Which god has asked you not to marry and renounce the world?" The disguised Vishnu takes her side, and the three get married in a traditional ceremony.

The movie contains lots of beautiful gowns and beautiful temples, which seems appropriate for such a gilded god as Balaji, and won the National Film Award for its music. Besides the aesthetic niceties, I also enjoyed a lot of the theological elements. For instance, there's a nice scene in which our hero, his mother, and his girlfriends argue why women should be taught the Vedas, pointing out the female rishis, and Gayatri and Sarasvati as female gods.

The religious part of the movie is refreshingly uninterested in suffering or sacrifice. Annamayya's conflicts are more internal: what should he do with his life? What path is right for him? The reason he was born in the first place (magically generated from Vishnu's sword), is because of the particular appreciation the gods have for hearing their praises sung in the vernacular, or "folk" languages. (The opening scenes show Vishnu being worshipped in various languages, but not Telugu).

When he occasionally gets distracted from this destiny, the gods gently nudge him back on his way, those experiences seem to enrich his art. It's a nice middle-path view of fate: he has a specific purpose on earth, whether he knows it or not, but he's not punished for going off-task. Losing the path leads back to the path -- as long as he doesn't go so far into earthly pleasures that he forgets the spiritual side altogether, or vice versa.

Speaking of indulging in the worldly pleasures, look at this outfit! And this bed! OMG, I want them RIGHT NOW!

Once Annamayya devotes his life to singing for Vishnu, wives by his side, the jealous temple administrator brings him to the attention of the King (the very cool Mohanbabu) and his new Queen (the stunning Roja, above). In response, they offer the singer a position at court, which he rather grudgingly accepts. Eventually, they get bored with nothing but devotional songs all the time, and start commissioning songs dedicated to themselves. Of course, he's not willing to do that, so the King angrily sends him to the dungeon with the classic line "Torture him til he sings my praises!"

You might want to listen to what you said there, King Babu. I don't think that's going to work.

Happily, it's not a spoiler to say that eventually the gods are going to put everything right.

My only real quibble with the movie is that star Nagarjuna Akkineni is okay -- maybe not quite enough charismatic to score two hot twin sisters -- but he's not a very convincing lip-syncher. That's kind of a flaw in a movie about a singer.

There are loads of Annamayya kirtans on YouTube, for further study. You'll also be happy to know that if you're on Facebook, you can become fans of Balaji and Annamacharya. Despite my frequent frustrations, the modern world does have its moments!

Why Don't We Paint the Town?

2010-03-28T07:03:00.002-05:00

Following a heart attack, Bob Fosse wrote, directed, and choreographed All That Jazz (1979), a film version of his own death. Which is envisioned as a glitzy production number, hosted by Ben Vereen as a '70s variety show star in cheesy sequins, and with his producers in the audience to gasp "this must have cost a fortune!" That sounds like an improvement on the tunnel of white light to me.

Hard-living show biz veteran Joe Gideon (Roy Scheider, in a whole new level of awesome) has his hands full. He's directing and choreographing a multimillion-dollar Broadway show that stars his ex-wife; editing a feature film (clearly based on Fosse's Lenny Bruce biopic); and juggling the women in his life, all talented dancers. These include the girlfriend (Ann Reinking, in a part based on herself), who adores him despite his double standards about infidelity, which he cheerfully admits are appalling. Then there's the ex-wife (Leland Palmer, and hey, did David Lynch steal the name of Laura Palmer's dad from her?) and young daughter (the very talented Erzsebet Foldi, in her only movie credit). They both see right through him, largely accepting his flaws, but can still be hurt by his behavior.

He's also haunted by visions of Jessica Lange, an Angel of Death who guides him into looking back on his life. This was a comeback role for Lange, who hadn't worked in the three years since her 1976 debut in King Kong didn't do her any favors.

The behind-the-scenes look at theatrical life is sometimes poignant, as when Gideon bullies and then encourages a struggling dancer with whom he had a one-night-stand. And funny, when he takes a corny, stereotypically "Broadway" song with an airplane metaphor, and turns it into "Air-otica," a stylized, symbolic orgy that features Conan the Barbarian's Sandahl Bergman thrashing around topless.

No, I didn't screenshot the toplessness. "Sorry" or "You're welcome," depending.

The film depicts dancing realistically, as very hard work but also a source of pleasure and personal pride. Even someone like me, who doesn't generally care for the conventions of the Broadway style, can appreciate the skill of the performers and the amazing things they can do with their bodies.

Scheider, our beloved Chief Brody, shines in the film, and was deservedly nominated for Best Actor. He looks particularly wiry and athletic, and more like a dancer than his Jaws co-star Richard Dreyfuss, who was originally cast. The character spends most of the movie as a selfish, self-destructive bastard, but he has to remain likable enough for the audience to care about -- as well as to explain why the other characters stay loyal to him. Embodied by Scheider, he isn't a monster, but a confused, messed-up human being.

A very young-looking John Lithgow appears as a rival director, oozing with passive-aggressive smarm. It's also a delight to find Wallace Shawn in a teensy scene, and CCH Pounder (who's hardly aged a day) as a callous nurse who doesn't believe the hospitalized Gideon's heart symptoms.

The level of autobiographical trivia is such that the film-in-a-film's Lenny Bruce character is played by Cliff Gorman, who originated the part on Broadway that Dustin Hoffman played in Fosse's film version of Lenny. Speaking of Hoffman, he's the one who beat out Scheider at the Academy Awards, for Kramer Vs. Kramer.

The Wikipedia has a great (but sadly uncredited) quote from Fosse: “The time to sing is when your emotional level is too high to just speak anymore, and the time to dance is when your emotions are just too strong to only sing about how you feel." Hopefully he said it, because it shows a real understanding of how music and dance work for an audience, narratively and emotionally. And why so many dance-oriented American films leave me cold.

Fosse died in 1987, at age 60, of another heart attack. In honor of him, and of Roy Scheider, who died in 2008, here's the grand finale, "Bye Bye Life," based on the Everly Brothers' "Bye Bye Love."

You are My Chicken Fry, Part 2

2010-03-27T10:11:00.002-05:00

"Do you want to be a hero? Or would you rather be a chicken-man?"
-- from Repo Man

Unlike in the American idiom, where "chicken" usually means "coward," the hero in the 2009 Tamil release Kanthaswamy doesn't have to be one or the other. He can be both!

I believe it was Filmi Girl who posted the awesome trailer on her blog, although I can no longer find the evidence. When I first watched it, I was swept away by its spectacular magnificence. Or as I think were the exact words: "It's like Batman. But instead of a bat, he's a -- chicken?"

It is truly truth-in-advertising here, because for once, the trailer gives a pretty accurate idea of what the movie is like. And while it didn't quite reach the heights of lunacy that I was hoping for: come on, it's a superhero in a chicken costume! That's all I really need to know.

With early research, I also discovered that this film was the source of the annoyingly catchy "Excuse Me Mr. Kanthaswamy" that was very popular on the Hyderabad radio stations at the time -- but more on that later.

The movie is very glossy and expensive-looking right from the beginning, with action sequences full of quickly edited martial arts moves. However, the costumed superhero does in fact make "buck, buck, buck-caw" chicken noises while he fights, which brings it to a whole different level.

Kanthaswamy is both a CBI agent, taking down criminals by day, and a costumed superhero ... taking down criminals by night. This was momentarily puzzling, but it's all part of a Robin Hood thing. In his day job he confiscates the ill-gotten goods, and uses the disguise to redistribute the money to the needy. "Kanthaswamy will see that the gap between the poor and rich is minimized," as one song puts it. Without the secret identity business, he'd probably lose access to the evidence locker pretty quickly.

As it is, his shenanigans, giving money to the poor who leave prayer requests tied to the sacred tree at the Kanthaswamy/Murugan temple, draw the attention of an inspector who is introduced with the caption "Bharathidasan IPSDIGCBCID."

At first I thought this acronym was a gag for comedic effect, but I looked it up for you. That's "Indian Police Service" (IPS), "Deputy Inspector General of Police" (DIG), "Crime Branch-Criminal Investigation Department" (CBCID). Wow.

Kanthaswamy is played by 'Chiyaan' Vikram. The IMDB doesn't know this is the same Vikram starring in the upcoming Raavana, but it appears that he is. Vikram is a well-known playback singer who does his own singing here, which is interesting, and kind of retro. So far, I have no information on the "Chiyaan," or why they put that in quotes. Did you know that Google Translate doesn't have a Tamil option?

Anyway, our hero brings down the crime empire of a bad guy called PPP, who then fakes a stroke for sympathy. All this brings on the enmity of the villain's pampered daughter Subbulakshmi (Shriya Saran), who vows to destroy Kanthaswamy. Both of them pretend to fall in love with the other, as part of their ploys, leading to various complications, and a couple of crazy songs.

First off, there's "Excuse Me." I'd heard this many times, but was completely dumbfounded when I saw the translation for some of the lyrics. The premise is that at this point, she's pursuing him, and he's resisting. Which doesn't explain this:

He: You Hitler's grand daughter. Love is not a Jew to kill it!
She: You Lincoln's grand son. Don't kill me by talking philosophy! I'm Kashmir and you are Pakistan! There will be no end for our fight.

What the? What? WHAT? I heard "Excuse Me" on Radio Mirchi for the first time in ages the other day (obviously an omen of some kind), and when I listened closely, I could hear the word "Hitler." Funny how it never popped out until I knew it was there.

On a lighter note, the next verse includes:

He: You are an egg of a duck and you can't enter into the group of ducks!
She: Don't talk like crazy, you rogue.

Which is the first logical thing anyone's said since the song started.

Then there's the "Meow Meow" number, in which both of them make cat claws and cat faces at each other. Even apart from being a cat song in a chicken movie, it makes me giggle a lot, and also, is a lot racier than I'm used to!

This song also gets an amusing reprise later on. The two are on an airplane, and she corners him in the restroom for a heart-felt talk about how she's learned the error of supporting her evil father, and is now on his side. Meanwhile, all the other First Class passengers imagine that the two are Mile High Clubbin' it in there.

Throughout the movie, we get more explanation about what's going on. The superhero is actually backed by a whole team of experts, college friends who accidentally ran afoul of a crime lord, thus changing the course of their lives. He also has a whole complicated network of informers and helpers. Subbulakshmi solves the mystery of his identity in literally about two seconds, so even as the authorities are zeroing in on his accomplices, her father is able to manipulate him into working for the bad guys. Or so the crime bosses think! All leading to various double-crosses and what have you.

Sadly, the second half gets bogged down in all these machinations. We're not here for a serious crime caper film; we want more Attack of the Neon Chickens stuff!

One intriguing aspect of this admittedly silly film is that the wealthy lifestyles of its characters are openly contrasted with the lives of the poor and downtrodden. There's spoiled Subba living in a mansion, dancing in lavish stage shows, and even Kanthaswamy drives a very expensive-looking car. The people he's helping live in ramshackle houses on dirt roads, and are struggling to find clean drinking water.

A member of the team even brings up the age-old question of how to best help the poor, whether their simple redistribution of wealth to needy cases can ever change things substantially. Are their actions really going to help people in the long run? Kanthaswamy responds that there's "lots of money on one side, and no money on the other side," adding, "What to do?" What to do indeed.

Full disclosure time: I swear, I was half-way through this movie, after weeks of Rock Dancer-related chicken silliness, before it occurred to me that my last name actually means "Rooster" in an Eastern European language that shall remain nameless to protect the innocent.

If, like me, you simply must see this movie, be warned: Nehaflix only carries a $30 Blu-Ray. Even I'm not that crazy. Once again it was eBay to the rescue, where supplies are hit and miss, but I didn't pay anything like $30 to get my fix of my wild chicken action.

The Night-Club Temper

2010-03-26T07:07:00.000-05:00

I finally finished Ashok Da. Ranode's Hindi Film Songs: Music Beyond Boundaries (one year after I started it; not uncharacteristic of me, what with the twenty books I have in constant rotation at any time). Much over-my-head technical discussion of songs I will never hear, from movies I will never find. Alas! But also lots of new areas to explore which I can track down, and numerous entertaining tidbits.

Such as, from a discussion of Geeta Roy/Dutt: "It is to be expected that the idiom of night-club songs is too attractive to be restricted to night-club situations and to composers especially fond of that idiom! Geeta's success in vocalising this idiom tempted or prompted composers (even when not otherwise comfortable with this idiom) to use it as also to use it (sic) in non-night-club situations. Under the circumstances, one can describe this way of singing as full of the 'night-club temper'!" (p. 356)

Dividing worldly experience into night-club and non-night-club situations strikes me as a very handy way of looking at things! Or is that just what someone of the "night-club temper" would think?

Rab Ne Bana on Main Street

2010-03-25T18:00:00.016-05:00

I know: one would think I've said everything that could possibly be said about Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi. There's a previous post here, if you have hours and hours with nothing better to do. However, our friends at Deewani for Bollywood and I recently used the film (successfully!) to convert a Bollywood newcomer, and thus had to discuss it all over again at length, which led to some strange new revelations.

Actually, it's really only random happenstance that RNBDJ is the what set off this train of thought, but since it's the example I have at hand, I'm gonna talk about it a little here and there, in as round-about a way as possible. Because that's what I pride myself on.

The couple in RNBDJ each have a separate, largely internal story arc, which cross in the surface storyline about the husband disguising himself and entering a dance contest to woo his wife in disguise. The wife's narrative is about what happens when someone has suffered a tragedy that leaves her in a state of numbness, going through the motions of being alive, thinking she'll never love again. She has to learn that she can bear to go on, and eventually be alive and happy. The husband's narrative is about someone who's spent his life doing without, who has to find out who he really is and what he really wants, and then, most dauntingly, say what he feels and become who he is.

So when their marriage begins, Taani is trying not to feel anything, and Suri is too self-effacing to express himself. I suddenly realized: this could be an Ingmar Bergman film, or a Sinclair Lewis novel!

Once I thought of it in those terms, it occurred to me that, while nobody was ever going to try to marry me off against my will, I definitely do identify in some ways with the conflicts between the individual and society/family/tradition, as seen in many Hindi films. The idea that we have all these freedoms in America -- that "Anything Goes!" -- is to some extent true. But many of these issues turn up in the U.S. as well, albeit in different forms, and expressed in different ways. This is certainly true where I grew up, in a heavily Scandinavianized environment (see previous post on the movie Careful for more insight on that).

India is often talked about as a more tradition-based society than the United States, but within it, there's obviously a great range of attitudes and opinions. For another example, Japan is often publicly depicted as a very conformist environment, certainly as contrasted to "American individualism." But within American society, there can still be tremendous pressure to conform to social standards and family expectations, even if this often goes unspoken. The degree to which that’s true will depend on many factors outside the individual's control.

No society is truly monolithic. The balance between tradition and modernity, between society and the individual, is going to depend on who and where the person in question is. Gender, religion, social class, personal family upbringing, the ethnic background, region, and even the specific town where a person lives, are all going to play a part in how much, and in what way, a person express his or her individuality, and how much they conform or rebel.

Bollywood-specific Tangent #1

There's a commonly floated idea that Kabhi Khushi Khabhi Gham tends to be harder for many Americans to relate to, because ideas of tradition and obeying the family aren't as strong in the U.S. as in India. However, I believe I could remake K3G today and it would be a totally, unquestionably American story.

Here it is: Ryan Reynolds is a handsome, athletic, WASP-y Manhattan businessman, with extremely wealthy and conservative parents (Harrison Ford and Diane Keaton) who have spent his whole life heaping expectations on him. He’s engaged to a staggeringly blonde, Grace Kelly-ish Katherine Heigl, whose parents are long-time friends and business associates of his parents. However, there are hints that with this engagement, he’s given in to the inevitable more than that he’sactually in love with her.

One day, while visiting his retired nanny, he stumbles upon a street parade in Greenwich Village, and there he meets her grandson, played by Nelsan Ellis, who plays Lafayette on True Blood. I don’t mean to typecast the actor, who’s obviously really talented, but I can't help it. That’s totally my concept: Lafayette in the Kajol part. He’s a young African-American man, out and proud, who’s fun, flamboyant, crazy and campy, and unashamedly working as an exotic dancer to support himself and his baby sister.

The two men quickly fall in love, and Ryan decides to break off his engagement to be with Lafayette. This leads to a terrible fight with his father, who gives him the “you’re no son of mine” speech. Several years later, little brother Zac Efron finds out the story behind why his brother moved across the country and never visits anymore. Deciding to reunite the family, he goes to San Francisco and becomes his brother's boarder in a beautiful Victorian home, under an assumed name.

Also living there is Lafayette's younger sister, a wild, aspiring R&B diva, played by whoever the up-and-coming teenage R&B diva of the moment is. She performs some sexy numbers in an inner-city dance club that are going to teach Zac new moves. She agrees to help him in his quest, and the two fall in love, although Zac knows his father will be no happier about him wanting to marry an African-American woman who grew up in the ghetto than about his brother being gay.

We'd even have a subplot about how the Ryan/Lafayette couple have spoiled the crap out of Little Diva because of the love they were denied as children (Ryan because of the repression of the wealthy, Lafayette because his troubled parents abandoned him with his Grandma in the projects, thus showing how people suffer emotionally on all sides of the economic spectrum). They've gone overboard in raising her self-esteem, so she's becoming kind of a man-manipulating monster. Fortunately, family-uniting, started as a lark (and a way to make Zac fall in love with her) will prove she can be empathetic and care about other people.

Geez, no wonder these Bollywood screenwriters do this plagiarism-with-a-twist thing: they write themselves!

The thing is, we don't even have to posit any specific racism or anything here to show that, in a roughly similar situation, it could be as hard for the Ryan Reynolds character to defy his family, his upbringing, the opinion of his entire world, all for the sake of love, as it was for Shah Rukh's.

Architectural Tangent
Then I got to thinking about a conversation I had with my sister, about how different some things are when one travels to different parts of the country. In Boston, for example, there were gardens and courtyards and little architectural delights tucked into all sorts of odd corners in public buildings. My reaction was, they have so much! Why can't we have even a little? Why does everything have to be so plain and unadorned back home? It's like there's a real distrust of anything that smacks of frivolity, that isn't practical, sensible, and nothing but. (And yes, thanks so much to all the exceptions, past and present!)

At least our ancestors here used to lavish their aesthetic sense on church-building. Recent decades have led to a reversal even there: the new churches look like banks on the outside, and are full of tan and beige on the inside. I was startled to discover that this architecture was a conscious choice -- a Suburban Puritan, if you will -- that views beauty as a threatening distraction from God, rather than an awe-inspiring reflection of God. Author Moyra Doorly has called this "the Denial of Transcendence."

It's part of the same idea that when emotions are habitually repressed, even positive emotions can be threatening. Just like it's hard to have color and art and creativity without individuality becoming an issue. When some individuals express their individuality, it threatens the people who've managed to repress theirs. A little color can highlight how bland everything else is. Suddenly the sense of control that people associate with order and safety feels off-balance. Some people may even begin to doubt the premises of control that underlie the society, which will frequently cause them to clamp down even tighter.

Ha! I'm talking about the movie Pleasantville. But it's not like the problem went away because it isn't the '50s anymore.

Lagom and Jantelagen
Now, for all I know, much of this might not be true in other parts of the country (and again, can depend on personal upbringing, among other factors). Where I come from, however, in an environment largely influenced by Norwegian and Swedish immigrants (my own ancestors among them), there are two concepts that, when I first heard about them, automatically made many things click into place.

Lagom is a word that means, more or less, "just enough," or the exact right amount; for example, being satisfied with enough, rather than being greedy. Which not a bad thing, but a concept with positive consequences for social equality can have repressive ones when we're talking about people's private lives. How do you have "just enough" love, but no more? How do you follow your creative dreams without wanting to assert a desire for more in life than you have? Obviously, "just enough" can go too far, as we see with RNBDJ's Suri, who doesn't feel entitled to any more than he has.

See! Told you we'd dip our toes back in Rab Ne Bana Land!

The other concept is Jantelagen, or the Jante Law, which takes its name from the fictional small town of Jante in the 1933 Danish novel A Fugitive Crosses His Tracks, by Aksel Sandemose. The book --which sounds like a Danish Main Street -- is strangely hard to come by, considering how famous the jantelagen idea has become.

Here is the "The Law of Jante," which is basically ten ways of saying the same thing:

1. Thou shalt not presume that thou art anyone [important].
2. Thou shalt not presume that thou art as good as us.
3. Thou shalt not presume that thou art any wiser than us.
4. Thou shalt never indulge in the conceit of imagining that thou art better than us.
5. Thou shalt not presume that thou art more knowledgeable than us.
6. Thou shalt not presume that thou art more than us [in any way].
7. Thou shalt not presume that thou art going to amount to anything.
8. Thou art not entitled to laugh at us.
9. Thou shalt never imagine that anyone cares about thee.
10. Thou shalt not suppose that thou can teach us anything.

The "we" is of course the collective community. I took the translation from a website that includes the original Danish. It's from a guy who got a Ph.D. in computer science in Denmark, which seems to have given him some food for thought.

For those of you who've read Main Street (Sinclair Lewis's novel is considerably easier to come by than Sandemose's), it might interest you to know that I grew up 56 miles from the prototype, Lewis's home town of Sauk Centre, Minnesota. They were pretty unhappy about it in his time, but now, it's turned into a tourist industry, with the motto "The Original Main Street." What a thing to be proud of! But at least it's not as bad as the witch-killing publicity Salem milks wherever it can.

And speaking of, a few years ago I was talking to a college student who was reading Main Street, and was surprised how relevant it still is. "You could replace the blacksmith with an auto repair shop, set it in the present day, and nobody would know the difference," I agreed.

Again, this is not to say that all small-town folks are petty, close-minded anti-intellectuals. Far from it! But in many cases, the Jante Law is still in effect: and yes, larger communities can have pockets of Jante-ness within them, in neighborhoods, smaller social groups, workplaces, etc. Anywhere that rocking the boat would threaten the group identity.

It's the "hold your horses/put a lid on it" syndrome all over again. Don't think you're important, don't think you're going to amount to anything, don't expect anyone to care about you. In many cases, I think parents who were themselves raised with these notions think this attitude is for their children's own good. They're trying to prepare them for what's perceived as a cold, cruel world, where if you don't expect too much from life, you won't be disappointed. But it's still pretty harsh.

The result is: we grow up being taught that we shouldn't draw attention to ourselves or stand out, and never show that we think we're better than anyone else, even by accident. There are times I have often been accusing of "thinking you're better than everyone else" because I was sitting quietly, reading a book.

Then we grow up and are sent out to compete in the world, to auditions and job interviews and grant applications and first dates, deeply uncomfortable with any kind of self-promotion or "horn-tootiness," as I like to call it. How do you express your feelings and win the true love? How do you "sell yourself" in the job market? How can people who are barely able to accept a simple compliment (not uncommon in these parts) negotiate to get paid what they're worth? You'll never get anywhere in this world if you're a self-effacing Suri, but as soon as you start asserting yourself, there are people who'll accuse you of being a Raj: narcissistic and show-offy.

Obviously, there are people who manage the trick of acting like they're more important and deserve special treatment, without setting off other people's Raj-alarm. I won't give any embarrassing specifics, but with my own eyes I have seen otherwise sensible people suddenly fawn all over Important People just because of the way they're dressed, or because of some title or marker of authority they have.

In many (not all, I realize, but many) cases, these are people who grew up in privileged environments: they had well-off businesspeople for parents, and picked up the social cues to use in certain situations that will allow them to be treated like the Boss without seeming pushy or desperate (which tends to happen to ordinary people who try to assert the same rights).

This is all still part of a larger paradigm of expressing individuality within certain narrowly defined parameters. This is all deeply individual: some people aren't going to relate the jantelagen thing at all -- where to me, it seems almost self-evident. I know that I express my individualism more than a lot of people around me do. I know this because of how often people have reacted to me with strange extremes of horror and admiration. Like I was/am performing some kind of miracle by walking down the street wearing what I feel like wearing.

And really, I'm no Lady Gaga here: it's pretty small potatoes, non-conformity speaking. But that's the point. People act like it takes extreme bravery to go out in public without wearing makeup, if all the other women are wearing makeup. What I do is nothing. But it's a lot more than a lot of people feel they could do.

Running parallel is a strange paradigm that it's okay to excel in football, for example, but not in academics. Maybe ultimately football prowess is less threatening than the idea that some people are actually smarter than others? It's okay to enter a beauty pageant, and compete seriously for the title, possibly again because this is a realm that's set apart from everyday life. Sports and organized competitions mark off specific areas where people can strive to excel. The people who do excel in them, though, are thrown into a love/hate relationship with a public that admires them, but still enjoys seeing them "brought down a peg."

Despite its bravado about "American individualism", on the everday level, the country still has too many people who are afraid of laughing when they think something's funny, of wearing clothes that are too colorful ("flashy"), or expressing any kind of emotion. And, I mean, to some extent they're right to hesitate, because they do open themselves up to the possibility of being judged.

Now, despite what my grandparents, Masters of Jantelagen, thought, I'm of the opinion that if a little emotion and color and weirdness can collapse the whole house of cards of society, then the people in it are wound to an unhealthy tightness. People need those mountain nodes, as in Careful, where "cautious vent can be given to stifled impulses."

In Bollywood films, with censorship more rigorous than in American ones, this can of course occur in the song sequences, which sometimes overflow with eroticism that isn't directly expressed. I remember my original "Yowza!" reaction to Veer Zaara's "Main Yahaan Hoon," which is super-super-sexy, even though the characters haven't had any romantic physical contact, however slight, in the "real" story. There's an aspect to many Hindi films that reflects the repression of emotions and individuality, while still providing a layer that allows a colorful expression of emotions and individuality. Some people might not relate to the repression part, or feel frustrated by it; some people might feel uncomfortable with the expression part; but for some of us, it comes off just right.

Despite my having almost nothing in common with RNBDJ's Suri on any level, I have to admit that the small-town Scandinavian environment I grew up in makes me relate to his struggle to strike the balance between the expectations of others, what he expects from others, and what he really, truly wants out of life. Even more, I relate to the lead character in Billu, who has a stronger sense of self, but similarly expects no positive reinforcement from the people in his community. When he occasionally gets it, it's a surprise.

I can't explain why 2009 was the year that Shah Rukh Khan made two movies exploring these particular themes, or how specifically they might have been viewed in the context of Indian society. But they are definitely more relevant to certain aspects of American society than the makers could probably have guessed.

This influence on my life does perhaps explain why my favorite part of the RNBDJ movie star medley is when, in the Rishi Kapoor section, Sonu Nigam sings "Hum kisise/kum nahin hain" with such confidence.

When I first saw the movie the line was taken from, I was all like, yes! This is the motto for me! Because you'll notice what it says. It's not "I'm better than anyone else." After all, "Thou shalt never indulge in the conceit of imagining that thou art better than us." It's not even "I'm as good as everyone else," which is also problematic. However, it's totally fair under the Law to say, "I'm no less than anyone else." There's really no internal conflict there at all. And yet, the spirit of the law is such that even claiming this much is a powerful assertion of the self and one's right to expect something from life.

One more specific tidbit about RNBJD that came up in the course of these thoughts -- more or less a P.S., on the subject of repressed emotions. There are various movie-within-the-movie scenes of Taani and Suri at the theater, where she enjoys silly action comedies, but dislikes romances. This makes perfect symbolic sense, because she's seeking distraction from her emotions. She's numb, and whenever she starts feeling again, it's going to be painful.

She doesn't want to sit at home alone with her thoughts all day, and physical activity (the dance contest) is a not uncommon thing for people to sublimate their feelings into. (Like on Dexter, when Deb became addicted to working out in the wake of a serious psychological trauma). And part of the reason why she falls for the Raj persona is because to care about anyone, she had to let her defenses down. The reason that can happen is because in the beginning, she doesn't even like him. He irritates her, and she clearly thinks he's an idiot. Therefore, he's totally non-threatening, which allows her to relax, have fun, feel like her old self again, without her attention being drawn to the fact that she's starting to feel again.

If I'd thought of that before, it would have been included in my previous post.

Anyway -- it's been weird writing up these notions, even as disjointed as they are, because it's made me think about various events and trends in my life, which I didn't necessarily want to think about any more than Taani does! I've pretty much come into my own as a non-conformist (one of the advantages of getting older), so I get much less overt tension than I used to from other people. And yet, when I look back, I wonder how much more I might have accomplished if I hadn't had to exert so much energy just in working against resistance.

That's waaaay more than enough introspection for now! Next time, we'll indulge ourselves with what I like to call The Dark Chicken: a Tamil superhero conspiracy! With, yup, chickens. And plenty of them!

Prologue: "Here, cautious vent can be given to stifled impulses"

2010-03-21T21:18:00.000-05:00

The first five minutes of Winnipeg director Guy Maddin's Careful (1992) is among the funniest things I have ever seen. And it probably says more, in its bizarre fable-like way, about the environment in which I was raised than I could otherwise explain. The film is set in a fictional European village that is in constant danger from avalanches, that can be triggered by any sound, thus mandating near-total repression of movement and sound.

The rest of the movie can't live up to this opening, and frankly, it doesn't, becoming more weird-for-weird's-sake. That sounds promising, but it gets tiring. As an introduction to some forthcoming thoughts on Bollywood and Scandinavian-American culture (No! Really!), and since there's nothing on YouTube but this trailer, I'm transcribing the words of the dour narrator, with a few notes in parentheses. It seems exaggerated, but it is all SO TRUE.

Careful, Otto!

Don't spill it.

Hold your horses.

Children, heed the warnings of your parents. Peril awaits the uncautious wayfarer, and screws grief where laughter once played.

Think twice.

I'm sure you can live without that.

Don't get wet.

Nature has built for us a beautiful world. Allow yourself to drink in its wonders safely. (We see people looking through binoculars).

The path must be climbed with the sure-footedness of a mountain goat. But beware of your skill at climbing. Skill assures nothing!

The heedless heart can be lured to dangerous heights, the sudden ice field, where a single worn stone prying loose from the path can serenade you with the whistling wind of the death plummet.

Then there was always the avalanche. When the snow relaxes its grip on the slope and is dragged downward under its own crushing weight.
The slightest sound. (A man sneezes).
For any false move by anyone can trigger these deadly landslides and sweep all into oblivion.
Guard yourself and your neighbor against making that fatal sound.

Be vigilant.
You have your binoculars. Use them!

Silence! Propriety!

While clutched to his mother's bosom, a baby in Tolzbad once lost an eye when a carelessly unpinned brooch pierced right through the baby's eyelid. As if infected with this carelessness, the same baby, by then a grown swan-feeder, lost his other eye when he got too close to a clock.

Caution is not enough for the blind.
It wasn't long before the swan-feeder too heard the loud song of the wind.

"You should never hold a baby's face near an open pin." (A different old-timer says this, as a proverb).

Once an avalanche started by the single bleat of a lamb uncovered all the graves.
The dead had been so well-preserved by the ice, long-dead youthful husbands were revisited by their brides, now withered and old. And young parents, by their old children. Henceforth, before burial, all the dead had their hearts perforated with the long nail of the coroner, just to be on the safe side. And ever since, to prevent a repetition of the tragedy, all farm animals have their vocal chords severed.

Absolute silence is required of us.

Children, sit still. The noise of your play must be muted until you comprehend the risk you represent.

Keep a lid on it!

Don't be rash.

I'll do it.

Don't stand so close to the walnut tree!

You'll catch a chill.

Don't put too much pepper on it.

After long research, I have discovered the existence of mountain nodes, rare and extremely hard to find places, quirks of the mountain ranges, where all sounds sent up are perfectly canceled by their own echoes. For here within these acoustic shadows, no dangerous noises can escape to let loose the crushing mass of snow. Here, cautious vent can be given to stifled impulses. We can sing, laugh, cavort, but I must stress, even though safety is assured by the acoustic laws of the ranges, we must not believe ourselves safe.

For always there is wild uncontrolled sound of nature. The terrifying time, twice yearly, when the noisy flocks of migrating geese pass overhead.

And where death passes its hand, all will be white.

Careful, children. Careful, careful. Careful!

(Coming soon: lagom, jantelagen, and -- what else? -- Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi).

It's Magic, You Know. Never Believe It's Not So.

2010-03-17T15:10:00.006-05:00

"For those who Believe in God and Universally Accepted Creation, Known or Unknown." So begins the opening sequence of Jadu Tona (1977), and I think that's vague enough for me to agree to. More than that, however, I believe in Good, Old-Fashioned Skeleton Gloves, and the kind of movies that have a picture of the Amityville Horror house on the cover, when there's nothing like it in the movie. This one throws in a pleasant Feroz Khan/Reena Roy romance, an eccentric Ashok Kumar, and a Hanuman-based miracle, thereby making it my second-favorite Hindi film with an Exorcist flavor (although neither this nor top-choice Gehrayee, which I desperately need to re-watch, is any kind of straightforward copy).

Oddly, we are not in Ramsay Brothers Land, but in another equally strange place -- the one belonging to director Ravikant Nagaich, who was soon to bring us the Mithun Chakraborty spy pictures Surraksha and Wardaat. I haven't seen either of those yet, which is obviously another thing I need to remedy ASAP. Let me know if you come across any grants to sit around and watch films, because I need one.

This whole movie is available on YouTube (alas, not subtitled), which means: so are the awesome credits. There's some "Tubular Bells"-like music, along with some hints of Giorgio Moroder, and some multicolored, shadowy hands and skulls. Then we get a montage of images, stock footage, and references to different religions, along with more deep narratorial wisdom: "This cosmos which is seamless is a locked treasure of countless secrets! The truth is not just what we can see. The things which we can't see are also true."

Also, the movie is dedicated to "The Vibrations (Bombay)." I wish I knew why!

Fortunately, this isn't Haxan, so a storyline does kick in: a big-city man brings his two daughters to visit their grandparents in an isolated village. He scoffs at the illiterate, superstitious yokels who tell him to greet the banyan tree. (The young fellow among the villagers is named Billu, which made me wonder if his dad is a barber, but he needed to work as a servant to earn extra money). As they pass, a black cat glares at the family with a wonderful scorn, but since my littlest kitteh gives me that look all the time, I'm not sure I'd have taken it as foreshadowing.

Older sister Varsha (Reena Roy, who's suddenly all over on my radar), is bored, reading a trashy novel, but little Harsha (Baby Pinky) is delighted by the beautiful countryside. She has a sweet song of celebratory dancing in the fields, singing "There is nothing but love here." Not quite true, since the number is intercut with shots of that sinister cat. Eventually she wanders into a ruin and, finding an old man tucked away there, agrees to get his "medicine" for him.

Before you can say "Linda Blair," she's beset by the forces of darkness, but at least they don't skimp on the visuals. This isn't one of those slow-acting possessions that creep up on the characters, but a more dramatic instant possession, with maximum thrashing about.

The villagers try to rush her to the Hanuman temple, but she fights them off, having gained super-demonic strength. She snaps out of it when Grandma gets a talisman from the local Saint (who's delightfully offended when accused of being out for money), and they go back to the city. But whenever the bracelet comes loose, or whenever the little girl gets a cut, she starts freaking out again.

Her case -- possibly a form of epilepsy -- comes to the attention of dashing, manly young psychiatrist Feroz Khan, who's moved by the patient's pretty sister. Besides, it makes a break from dealing with people who think they're Prince Salim. He gives her the usual battery of medical tests, but his bedside manner is so kindly that, for once, they don't seem too disturbing.

Before long, with Harsha's condition no better, the servants don't want to work in a house full of bhoots, and Varsha's engagement gets broken off -- not that she's unhappy about that, since she wasn't too thrilled with the prospective groom even before Dr. FK started making house calls. On his end, Feroz gets an appropriately surrealistic love song, addressed to Varsha's bathroom mirror, about how lucky it is to look at her (including, it's implied, in the bathtub).

When a shady character turns up dead, and the police learn that the little girl on the scene suffers from violent amnesiac fits, the case is handled by Inspector Jolly Goodman (Ashok Kumar). He has a habit of abbreviating everything, but in a way that nobody around him understands. For example, he has to explain that his comment "Nice ID" is a reference to the "interior design." He's sharp, though, and puts everything together pretty quickly. Given the nature of the case, that means he starts trying to prove the existence of the bhoot that's tormenting the girl!

Eventually it becomes clear that the people dying aren't random victims, but are the bad guys who murdered the spirit in the ruin. Jeevan appears in a leapard-print pillbox hat, with moll Aruna Irani, who's totally wasted in such a tiny non-entity of a part. I was waiting and waiting for her to turn up, and when she did, she hardly even got to speak.

Interestingly, Jolly Goodman is established as a Christian, whose belief in evil spirits causes him to encourage the family to get help from that original village Saint, who follows Bajranbali (Hanuman), or "the ducky of Sita," as he's called in a devotional song. It appears that either Christianity or Hinduism is better than the limited point-of-view of the modern scientific approach, which only exacerbated the situation. At least when it comes to things unseen.

Sensitive animal lovers should note that there's a brief, apparently stock-footage shot of two cats hissing and batting at each other. No sign of any animal injuries, but I know people who'd be disturbed by that.

Speaking of felines, though, here's a shot from little Harsha's bedroom. Growing up in central Minnesota in the'70s, I had this exact same cat picture on my wall, when I was about her age.

I did not, however, wander into any ruins and get possessed by an evil spirit. Or did I?

Beautiful Songs and Beautiful Women

2010-03-16T07:46:00.006-05:00

...in movies I know NOTHING about. Welcome to my perpetual YouTube experience!

In between my lengthier posts (oh yeah, you know they're coming), I've been looking up songs based on the book Hindi Film Song: Music Beyond Boundaries, by Ashok Da. Ranade. Much of which is over my head when he talks about musical technique, but I love his enthusiastic use of exclamation points!

Today's videos are "Phool Gendwa Na Maro" from 1964's Dooj Ka Chand. I have no idea who these people are -- is that lovely girl Saroja Devi? -- but it's Manna Dey singing, and the music is by Roshan. Ranade describes it as "spoofing on a large scale -- caricaturing almost all ways of singing Hindustani 'classical' music!" (p. 266). The picturization is also quite humorous, and it even includes a snake!

The other is from the same chapter, because I started where I was when I sat down at the computer, so it's also a Roshan song: "Nigahein Milane Ko Jee Chahta" from Dil Hi To Hai (1963). At least I know this is Asha singing, and Nutan in the picturization.

Both these movies are only available on VCD. Nahin! Or maybe, thank God, since YouTube is an inexhaustible source of movies I've never heard of otherwise. If I could find all the DVDs, I might be crushed by a collapsing pile of unwatched DVDs.

Personal Update

2010-03-15T11:15:00.002-05:00

I've decided that I'm not going to worry one little bit about flooding this year. If we do have major problems, I'm going to assume that Shah Rukh will lead the country to my rescue, just like in My Name is Khan. I think that's a sensible plan.

Let's Break Out the Booze and Have a Ball

2010-03-08T18:09:00.000-06:00

In her final film, Raat Aur Din (1967), Nargis suffers from a multiple personality disorder that manifests itself in drinking, dancing, and listening to records late at night. In other words, behaving exactly like I did in my younger days. Unlike some of us, though, she looks absolutely stunning while doing it. Flirty Western decadence certainly suited her, or maybe it's partly those beautiful mid-'60s dresses. Or the fact that I last saw her in Mother India, which was not a role noted for its glamour.

Pratap Varma (Pradeep Kumar) meets quiet, well-mannered, but intriguingly self-sufficient Varuna in the isolated countryside where his car breaks down.

They immediately hit if off, and quickly get married, without even stopping to check their horoscopes. Before long, Varuna is suffering from headaches, and there are strange episodes in the night when she walks, laughs, and -- most scandalous -- turns on the record player and dances wildly. In the morning, she doesn't remember any of these incidents, which nobody really seems to believe.

Her mother-in-law (crabby and cruel even by filmi standards) brings in a spooky-faced psychic to drive the bhoot out of her; Varuna slaps him, then bursts into giggles. I believe that last part is pretty much how I would react to the same situation! After this, the couple moves to Calcutta, and her condition worsens when an older woman at a party tricks her into drinking liquor for the first time. Alcohol makes the straight-laced Varuna bright and lively, and she sings one of the film's many lovely, lovely songs by Shanker-Jaikishan, this one about enjoying the moment.

Before long, she's sneaking out at night to a club, where she meets handsome young Feroz Khan, who's sure he's met her before. Her husband shows up and scenes ensue, but instead of shooting her for cheating, like he wants to, he decides to bring her to a psychiatrist. They discover that Varuna has a second personality, a party girl named Peggy, and neither knows about the existence of the other. In order to cure her, the two men and her doctors need to unravel the mysteries of the past that she won't, or can't, talk about.

As a Decadent Midwestern Woman myself, I thought in the beginning that we were headed for a condemnation of corrupting modern values, what with Peggy's drinking, smoking, and forwardness being the symptoms of her troubled mind. Not to mention the Everly Brothers and "La Bamba" appearing on the soundtrack. I did notice, however, that we get to see a lot of chic people having a good time without the benefit of mental illness, so that gave me hope.

In the end --without giving too much away -- it was quite refreshing that the source of her problems turned out to be much the opposite, and that the desire of people to have fun, occasionally free of social constraints, is shown as perfectly normal. The scene in which Peggy tries to entice one of her doctors (Rock Dancer's Anoop Kumar as a young man!) to take her out somewhere "Where there is music! Where there is dancing! Where there is life!" sure sounds like the cry of someone who grew up in a stifling small town to me.

On a personal note, I love a glitch in the opening moments of the film, where we see a very sophisticated-looking Peggy hailing a cab. When it gets there, she languidly says "Firpo." That would be the Firpo Restaurant and Hotel in Calcutta, thanked in the opening credits. The subtitles, however, tell us this:

But rest assured, it's a classy joint, with nary a disco ball or a proto-Mithun in sight.

His Face is His Enemy

2010-03-08T08:50:00.000-06:00

The WTF-ery of Kaho Naa ... Pyaar Hai (2000) is subtler than the other Rakesh Rohan movies I've seen, but the story is still all over the place. There's a nice orphan boy who wants to be a singing star. He meets a pretty rich girl, and they go on a cruise. They get shipwrecked on a desert isle. After they're rescued, her father vows to destroy his life. All her friends plot to help him become a huge pop star, so he can prove himself worthy. This plan actually works, but then he sees his old boss from the car dealership blow away the Police Commissioner in an underground garage. So he gets killed, and his grieving girlfriend goes to New Zealand, where she meets an exact lookalike of her dead lover, who falls in love with her at first sight.

Scene for scene, a person could mistake this for a normal movie (something unsayable about Koyla or Khoon Bhari Maang). But when it's all put together, it's still pretty insane. And of course, I have now finally seen Hrithik flex his muscles in that black mesh shirt, snippets of which I've seen in a million ad montages since my obsession with Hindi films began. Not that it was particularly life-changing -- for me, anyway. If I hadn't known, I wouldn't have guessed it was history in the making. But that's the way these things sometimes go...

Behind the Music: The Stars of Rock Dancer

2010-03-06T15:20:00.001-06:00

Or, Who the Hell Are These People?

After an afternoon of extensive research, I am relatively confident that I have identified most of who played whom in Rock Dancer. At least one of them made me go "duh!" The names are listed as they appear in the movie's credits, and in that order.

Kamal Sadanah. Played Rocky. His father was director Brij Sadanah (of Oonche Log fame -- and his Kathputli is near the top of my Netflix queue), who apparently went on a drunken rampage on Kamal's 20th birthday, killing Kamal's mother, sister, and himself. He also shot Kamal and a visiting friend, who both survived. Shocking! There's a story here, but mind the pop-ups.

Ritu Shivpuri. Played Ritu. One of the few people in this film identified on the IMDB. She debuted in a Govinda/David Dhawan movie, so maybe that explains his presence. I found a where-are-they-now piece on her, but again, beware the pop-ups. Darn Times of India site. Not much detail, but loved the bit about her alleged romance with Kamal Sadanah! They don't say if it was on the set of Rock Dancer, sadly.

Ronit Roy. Played Rakesh. Not only was he recently in Luck By Chance, but got a "Special Thanks" in the credits. I don't know why.

Shammi Kapoor. Played a Dance Master, who was really an undercover cop. He should need no explanation.

Sharon Prabhakar. She must have been Jaya, although the pictures aren't helping me. She was a playback singer who appeared in a few films.

Javed Jafri. (Better known as Jaffrey). Played J.J. Of course the name was familiar -- he's the crazy Crocodile Dundee guy in Salaam Namaste. Among tons of other things. I hadn't realized before that he's the son of Jagdeep. Squee! I thought he was quite dreamy. Javed, that is ... but then, I've really only seen Jagdeep in crazy get-ups, so who knows?

Anoop Kumar. Played, I'm pretty sure, the old dude who runs the hotel, and turns out to be one of the undercover cops. There are two Anoop Kumars, one a Bengali actor, and the other the brother of Ashok and Kishore. I'm going with the latter.

Jhony Lever. Or Johnny, as we know him. Played a cop.

"Introducing Bappa Lahiri." Son of Bappi, now a music director in his right, although I haven't heard any of his work. He'd have been only about twelve or thirteen when Rock Dancer was released, so all I can think is that he was the weird, inexplicable Michael Jackson impersonator in "Traffic Jam":

I know what I'm asking Bappi if I ever get a chance!

Pental. (Also seen credited as Paintal). Another thankfully familiar face. Played a cop.

Late Jalal Agha. Played the Elvis dude, who was really an undercover cop. Among many, many other roles, he was, as noted in Rock Dancer, the banjo player in Sholay.

Sudhir. I have been unable to find anything out about him yet, but I'm guessing he played Jaya and Ritu's father, since nobody else fits the bill.

Baby Gazala. Played Jaya and Raj's daughter Pinky. If you put her into Google, there are a million hits, but none seem to have any information -- like maybe her real name?

Mac Mohan. Played the lawyer, Advocate Mehra. Well, we should all know him. Here's a chat with The Hindu online. I agree it was a tragedy that he didn't get more diverse roles, although I appreciate the ones we got.

Sevanand. A.K.A.'ed on the IMDB as Shivanand. I have no idea who he played.

Ahmed. Well, I'm not crazy enough to try to find someone just based on the name "Ahmed."

G.P. Singh. Sadly, no idea on him either.

"And Deb Mukerji." Played Raj. He's Kajol's uncle. Of course. He was recently in Kaminey, which almost, but not quite, makes me want to see it.

"Special Appearance Govinda." Well, he played Govinda, so that was easy enough.

"International Star Samanta Fox." For those of you who missed the '80s, she was a topless British "Page 3" girl who became a pop star with songs like "Touch Me (I Wanna Feel Your Body)" -- the only one I can actually remember. If you're curious about her, watch your step when doing research at the public library: there was an adult film actress with the same name. According to that unimpeachable source, the Wikipedia, The Daily Star voted her "Best Page 3 Pin-Up Ever" in 2008.

A standing ovation, please!

This Is, In Fact, My Chicken Fry

2010-03-06T14:32:00.000-06:00

There's a famous story about the P.J. Soles/Ramones comedy Rock 'n' Roll High School (1979). According to producer Roger Corman, he originally commissioned a film to cash in on the current disco craze, so the original title concept was Disco High. However, director Allan Arkush convinced him that if he wanted it to be "hip," it had to be rock-n-roll.

Most of my life, I would have agreed with that assessment. But now, with all the delight that Hindi disco films have brought to my life, I realize what a lost opportunity that was. Not that I'd change a shaggy hair on Rock 'n' Roll High School's perfect head: I just wish we could have had both! Preferably with the same irreverent attitude -- and Mithun Chakraborty as the new principal who's going to raise everyone's grades with the power of disco.

In the late 1970's United States, the superiority of rock to disco was self-evident. In India in the '90s, however, rock music is just a wannabe, a pretender to the power of disco. Or at least that's the impression one gets from 1995's Rock Dancer, which attempts to recapture the magic that was Disco Dancer -- down to opening credits that shamelessly mimic the earlier movie's title tune, spelling out what all the letters stand for. "O" is even still "se Orchestra," although I do have to laugh that the last "R" in "Rock Dancer" stands for "Rock," making the whole thing an exercise in tautology. (And take that, Amazon, with your "statistically improbable phrases").

Just so you know: this introduction to the "Rock Dancer" concept takes place over a scene of fashion models on a catwalk -- which has nothing to do with anything else.

Fortunately, we've all been able to brace ourselves, since the movie starts with the equivalent of a warning label that this is not for the faint of heart: "Bappi Lahiri Presents."

I have often pondered the distinction between "so bad it's good" and "so bad it's bad." Much bad art is just plain bad, and only worth ignoring. Some bad art, however, actually contains entertainment value within its very badness. Some reaches a pinnacle of backwards genius: the point at which the pleasure of it is directly proportionate to its badness. The problem is that this spectrum is completely individual, thus hard to share (and even harder to justify). For me, the movie that most clearly exemplifies this principle is the American musical The Apple, which by any objective standard is one of the dumbest movies I've ever seen, but which makes me roll with joyous, carefree laughter. That's a movie that isn't fun in spite of its badness, but totally because of it.

Which makes me consider that Rock Dancer may actually beat Disco Dancer at its own game! Because Disco is actually a much better movie (whoa, ponder that concept...), albeit geared to a Bad-Movie Taste, Rock might actually be a better Bad Movie. Oh, my head.

The reason I rushed to acquire Rock Dancer is because, on its soundtrack, Bappi reaches a pinnacle of bad-is-goodness with the instant classic "You are My Chicken Fry," which has become a Number One hit inside my head.

There is some controversy here, since the YouTube clip where I first heard it contains the lyrics "You are my chicken fry/You are my fish fry." In the movie, however, the young lovers sing it as "I love my chicken fry/I love my fish fry." I don't know if this is a case where it was changed slightly on the soundtrack release (and I'm assuming there was one, like that Haathkadi movie I cannot find anywhere, although the vinyl LP, featuring NPR favorite Asha Bhosle's "Disco Station," is all over eBay). I think "You are my chicken fry" is funnier, so that's the way I continue to sing it to my husband and my long-suffering cats.

You can compare the two clips: this is "Kabhi Na Kudiye Bye Bye Bye" as seen in the movie. And really, you should watch it, even if you ignore the rest of this post. It's a worth-a-thousand-words type situation. (The big guy in the black leather jacket is a cameo by Jalal Agha, but more on that later). The visuals in the "You Are My Chicken Fry" version are the maker's own music video. Rock Dancer is pretty random in some respects, but it does not contain a cameo by the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Although if it did, it wouldn't be any stranger than the appearance by "International Star" Samantha Fox, which the credits also warn us about. Just so that, during the film's attempts at being a thriller, we can ponder the real mystery: how on earth are they going to fit Samantha Fox into this?

Despite a few spots of real lameness (the "Rock Around the Clock" number, oy!), this is my favorite Bappi Lahiri soundtrack. So far. It's so over the top -- with lyrics that are ridiculous to the point of genius, if such a thing is possible -- that it really almost seems like it's done on purpose, being stupid for comic effect. Much the way that the "Aaja baby love me" lyrics in "Love Mere Hit Hit" never stop amusing me.

We'll be delving into the credits more later, since the IMDB only identifies a few characters, and while watching the movie, I had no idea who most of these people were. Thank goodness for the reassuring presence of Shammi Kapoor. I will note up front that the choreography was done by one S. Ganeshan, just so we know who to blame. (There was some speculation in my house that this might be the "Alan Smithee" of the choreography world). Also, the film was directed "By Menon." If you watched TV in the US in the '80s, this might bring something, Pavlov-like, to your inner ear. (See randomly-chosen clip here: you only need to sit through the second commercial to hear it, but feel free to enjoy the other ads, including ones for the Bush-Quayle campaign -- wow, does that seem like a million years ago).

Anyway, there's a lot of players to keep track of here -- a very complex human drama is about to unfold -- so let's tally them up.

Jaya is a hugely popular Rock Dancer. We suspect she's the person who put Rock Dancing on the map. It's such a part of her identity that, when a killer has broken into her house and she calls the police (well, after calling her sister, and then waiting around for a while), she announces "I am Rock Dancer Jaya speaking."

Raj Malhotra (yes!) is her husband. He's a good-for-nothing gambler and ne'er-do-well that her father never approved of. Also, he has a mullet. He torments Jaya with his continual demands for cash, and there's a lot of talk about him squandering her wealth. But since she claimed in an interview that she doesn't take money for her Rock Dancing -- it's all for charity -- I'm not sure where her money is coming from. All the the self-sacrificing Rock Dancers seem to live in pretty high style. Be that as it may, I found Raj perversely attractive, in an Irfan-Khan-in-Dhund: The Fog kind of greasy villainous way.

Ritu is Jaya's younger sister. She doesn't care for show biz, and has no interest in becoming a Rock Dancer. No interest whatsoever. Seriously, quit asking her! When she gives in, though, she attains Jaya's skills and success in less than the time it takes to do a full training montage song.

The other Rock Dancers are:

Rakesh. Boyishly handsome, he obviously has quite a thing for Ritu. While he's good enough for a dance partner, Jaya doesn't trust his intentions, for no reason that's ever made clear.

J.J. The best-looking in the bunch (despite an unfortunate beret-n-headband look on display below), he's also blessed with a resonant, dramatic voice. Like the other guys in the cast, he's occasionally given close-ups with ominous shadows and musical chords, to keep us in the maximum suspense about the identity of the villain.

J.J. says "Stand and deliver!"

Extra Love Interest:

Rocky. A floppy-haired, kinda dopey romantic who's Ritu's Number One Fan. Just like in Chandni, she is impressed rather than creeped out by the photos of her all over his room. Rocky conveniently works in the hotel where she stays on tour, so he's always on hand to rescue her from the rioting fans that follow her everywhere (Rock Dancing brings out a rowdy crowd!), even if means jumping off a roof to do it.

Any of the guys mentioned may or may not be the Sinister Black-Gloved Man, right out of a Dario Argento movie, who plots in a dark room while screams play on the soundtrack behind him. At first, I thought there was actually a person in the background screaming, Silence of the Lambs-like, but then I realized that the screams just follow him around.

There are also some fumbling cops, but they're played by Johnny Lever and Paintal, so we know who they are and what they're doing.

Our real introduction to whatever Jaya and her friends do for a non-living as "Rock Dancers" comes in the song "Dil Bole Koi Aye Aye. Fortunately, it involves shiny fringed tops and anklets, and makes me think maybe I should revisit Flashdance, in which I would probably discover a whole new dimension. Two things to notice about this song: it's yet another Bappi reprisal of the "Billie Jean" tune. And when the woman sings "I am alone ... Will he console my heart?" in a duet, the man calls back "Why not?" (in English). Why not? That's the most feeling he can summon? My god, it's true: they really don't make romantic lyrics like they used to.

When Jaya is shot at the end of the number by the Sinister Black-Gloved Man, my snap thought was, "It wasn't that bad." Tragically, her leg gets amputated, and the troupe fears they will be unable to fulfill a contract that would help them build a cancer hospital for children. I bet that's the same story they used to lure the cast into doing this film. To help them with this completely unselfish dream, Ritu finally agrees to learn to dance. After all, as J.J. tells her, "I know that art is hidden within you, that can illuminate and spread in the world."

Yes, with this result: "Zindagi Dance Hai."

All the screenshots that include the phrase "Rock Dancer" or some variation thereof are from different songs. It's like they thought if they kept saying "Rock Dancer" over and over, it would eventually catch on.

When Jaya finally refuses Raj's requests for more lakhs of rupees ("I am trapped in a strange dilemma," he tells her, implying that lives are in danger, but never bothering to ever TELL HER what the heck is going on), it suddenly becomes a Ramsay Brothers film already in progress. Doors fly open, the soundtrack fills with screams, and Jaya dies before she can tell Ritu who stabbed her and threw her into the pool. Since Johnny Lever and Paintal are the police officers we meet here, I don't hold out much hope that the killer will be brought to justice.

But we have other fish to fry. (Sorry). If we're going to get that cancer hospital built, we're going to need some more Rock Dancing. So in between red herrings, there's "Launda Badnaam Hua," with Ritu in shimmery red, J.J. in the aforementioned sporty beret-n-headband, and Rakesh in the yellow pants. There's a song with a Caribbean feel and prominent lyrics like "Ah-la-la-la-la/Ah-la-la-la-la" and "Then I went bonkers." We have to endure the "Rock Around the Clock" song. And then Shammi finally appears, for the "You Are My Sajna" song (imagine walking around all day with "You're my deewana, I'm your deewani" in your head). That one also includes a chorus, "Let's sing together/Let's dance together" that's roughly to the tune of "You Are My Sunshine."
Yes, there is a giant book behind Shammi's head. It appears that some sort of parade is going on? With floats? That all say "Kingfisher" on the side?

I wouldn't turn up my nose at a little insight, but at least Shammi is around to remind us what a better class of heroes we used to get. His presence inspires the first of two Arsenic and Old Lace gags, this one in which Johnny Lever thinks dance teacher Shammi is in fact Shammi Kapoor. After the "Chicken Fry" song, he'll talk to the leather-clad, Elvis looking Jalal Agha about his singing the "Mehbooba" song in Sholay. But they're not playing themselves, which gets kind of confusing once Govinda and Samantha Fox eventually show up, and they are playing themselves.

After Ritu is almost strangled by a white muffler, suspicion falls on dandy Rakesh. When he proves that he still has his muffler, he soulfully tells her, "Remember one thing in life. Friends save the lives of their friends. Not kill them." I don't know if I can remember that or not, but I'll try.

In the end, there's a kidnapped child, a huge melee, and the revelation that almost everyone is an undercover cop. Govinda also does some undercover work in his spare time.

Unfortunately for all the future kidnapped children and menaced Rock Dancers, his cover has now been blown.

Most importantly, we get "Traffic Jam," with Samantha Fox wearing her characteristic lingerie, and Govinda failing to channel LL Cool J. The song is a rambling narrative explaining his mishaps on the streets of Mumbai, with the chorus "I am sorry, sorry, madam, I am late because of traffic jam!" I'm told this is a rip-off of a Michael Jackson song called "Jam," but I don't know that one. At least it's a change from "Billie Jean." And I love the background "Traffic Jam!" echo.

The popular fusion of showbiz story with crime drama is a strange thing which, again, I can only trace back to the long arm of Karz. If anyone knows an earlier example that fits the template, please comment! It makes me imagine someone saying, "Hey, you know what would improve Dil To Pagal Hai? If there were some drug dealers, or maybe a dissipated thakur, trying to kill the dance troupe!" And someone else saying, "No, for once, let's try it without that." It's like it's not enough just to enjoy the dance beat -- the fluffiest of escapism has to be turned into a matter of life and death.

But frankly, nobody would care about the so-called mystery without the Rock Dancing. So who am I kidding: I've not only become openly fond of Bappi Lahiri, but will be on the look-out for more films "by Menon," and more classic choreography from S. Ganeshan, whoever s/he was.

The Immortal Villainy of Amrish Puri

2010-03-05T16:21:00.006-06:00

Remember I was talking about how Amrish Puri never won the Filmfare Award for Best Villain? When called upon to make a short video to edit together for a community ed class, only one subject came to mind: paying tribute to Amrish's evil (fictional) ways.

Here it is: Me on YouTube. God help us all.

Obviously, there are three things I plan to change in editing: the shuffling needs to be shortened, the part where I look at the camera (gah!) needs to be removed, and it needs to end with a close-up of Amrish Triumphant. Maybe zoomed in three times. However, I didn't get the lighting right for the last part, so the footage I had on hand didn't work, and as for the first two problems -- well, I'd been editing for three hours on a completely new, non-intuitive computer program, so I'd had it! But I just had to share my glee that it turned out even this well, and I'll let you know when a better version is available.

Vintage Bhoots

2010-03-01T10:03:00.002-06:00

I have to give super-kudos to Memsaab for bringing 1966's Bhoot Bungla to my attention, and covering everything we really need to know here, including the presence of R.D. Burman as a comic sidekick, and the great Ted Lyons as a bad-boy gang leader.

What we have in Bhoot Bungla is a classic mid-sixties Old Dark House comedy, which looks and feels completely contemporaneous with Hollywood productions like The Ghost and Mr. Chicken and The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini (which Filmi Girl just blogged about here --yay!), both also released in 1966. Only with the addition of good music -- Burman wasn't just there to cower in the face of dancing skeletons, after all -- and even a little social commentary for the kids. The spooky ambience is handled very well by Mehmood, who also gives the most restrained performance I've seen from him so far. Since he directed, and gets a story credit, I've had to consider the possibility that his annoying comic performances might be a matter of giving people what they wanted.

I've been taking a class in basic video production, and I have to say, even rudimentary background about filmmaking gives me more appreciation for the effects that were done in earlier films, with the technology available at the time. The phrase "they did it with mirrors" is clearly applicable in this film, but knowing that doesn't make the wizardry any less impressive to me.
The famous Victorian stage illusion "Pepper's Ghost" was also done with mirrors, but that fact doesn't dismiss the effectiveness of the effect. Similarly, Mehmood didn't have access to anything like our easy-to-use digital technology, and he'd never even directed a film before, so I really have to give him credit for those dancing skeletons, and the overall air of suspense.

Since I also have a fascination with urban architecture in films (I could watch The Warriors just for the shots of subway trains and run-down tenements, so luckily the movie also has other virtues), I also appreciated the visuals in the poignant song “Jago Sonewaalon Suno." There's a great shot where the camera makes a 360-degree turn, from Mehmood to Mehmood, around the empty fronts of high-rise buildings. It's clearly on a soundstage, but it still looks great.

If you go looking for this -- which you should, or what's wrong with you? -- be aware that Nehaflix lists it under the title Bhoot Bangla.

Just like the decade...

2010-02-28T06:48:00.000-06:00

...all good things must come to an end on a giant record player. Wait, isn't that the way the saying goes? Well, it should!

Earlier in the week, I talked about 1980's Karz, and specifically the "Om Shanti Om" number, in the context of Rishi's ability to turn on the sunshine. In the Kapoor biography by Madhu Jain (problematic in many ways, but we'll take whatever reference materials we can get), Rishi is shown as a fairly complex personality: moodier, touchier, less friendly and outgoing than the other Kapoors. Unlike his screen persona, he claims to be completely unromantic in real life. As far as acting is concerned, it sounds like he went into the family business by default: "I didn't make a great effort. I just did what I was told. My father used to show me what to do and I did it." (The Kapoors, page 294) Although I think that's a serious underestimating, it does say something about how he's viewed his career.

Sometimes, too, I ponder the fact that Bobby features a character in rebellion against his cold, apparently unloving father -- with the actor directed by his real-life father.

In Karz, his Monty is an orphan who's been "adopted" by a rich man, even given his surname, but it's really all a sham to exploit Monty's singing talent, when all Monty really wants is love, and a family. "Don't call me Daddy!" the old man keeps snapping. Hmmm.

Still, whatever went on in his life, when he's called upon, he can come across on screen like the happiest person in the world. When Rishi was performing, he was able to convey something very different than the way his reality is described -- taking it, of course, with a grain of "who knows what the truth is, and it isn't my business." Because I'm watching a movie; it was his job to entertain me in that movie; and no matter how silly the premise, how flimsy the story, he gave it everything he had.

Which has an interesting resonance in just how often in those movies Rishi is actually playing a performer: a musician in a band, a drummer at the temple, a singer of qawwalis or of modern pop songs. Inside of the movies, Rishi was always on stage, an entertainer literally playing an entertainer.

One thing I need to point out here: the ability to lip synch is a skill that tends to be underappreciated, because when it's done well, there's a flawless illusion that the actor is singing. In that case, it obviously isn't noticed. Rishi lip synchs with technical accuracy, but also in a way that seems really natural. Most importantly, he does it with conviction. When I think of actors using the song picturizations and playback singers to really convey emotion, thus creating emotional identification in the audience, he and Shah Rukh Khan are the two who leap to my mind. Both of them are primarily performers, entertainers, rather than actors -- which is not to say they aren't good actors. It's to say that, in my mind, they're more than actors.

So it seems appropriate that the first time I ever saw Shah Rukh was when he metamorphed into Rishi's Karz performance in the opening of Om Shanti Om. My fate as a Bollywood fan was pretty much sealed on the spot.

The story of Karz: rich man maries pretty girl. She kills him for his money. His mother stands up to Kali and demands that her son return home to her, as he promised, so he is reborn in the body of Monty: singer, guitarist, violinist, trumpet player, and incurable romantic. Which reminds me, the other day I mentioned how in Hindi films, even the trumpet can be played for good, as Rishi does here and in Hum Kisise Kum Nahin, or for evil, as Amrish Puri does in Dance Dance. Too bad they never faced off in a trumpet competition: it could have been like "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," with bulging cheeks.

At any rate, just like SRK will in Om Shanti Om, Monty begins to have flashbacks to his past life, tracks down his old family and, most importantly, the old villains who plotted his previous death. Only he takes more time to woo the pretty girls with his violin (and no, that's not a double entendre).

Many people talk about how this movie is a rip-off of the American flash-in-the-pan The Reincarnation of Peter Proud (I remember 1975, when everyone was talking about it, but it's largely forgotten today, and has never been released on DVD). Other people point out that Hindi movies like Madhumati predated that, and besides, where did the idea of reincarnation come from in the first place, hmm?

The pre-reincarnated version of Monty is pretty good-looking, which I hadn't remembered from my first viewing: so blinded was I by the sequins, apparently. He's played by Raj Kiran, who's in Star (which I own, but haven't gotten to yet). There's also a movie called Ghar Ek Mandir, in which he and Mithun play Shashi Kapoor's brothers. Calling Netflix! Somehow, when Shashi and Mithun are in the same movie, it's like worlds colliding. Matter and anti-matter? It seems so wrong, but somehow the idea draws me into its vortex.

Speaking of Mithun, I always think Karz sort of accidentally set the stage for his career. The much-maligned music is Laxmikant Pyaralel's attempt to mimic contemporary "pop." Personally, I love the music, but we've well established that I have what can be charitably called "camp taste." Once you have the "Om Shanti Om" song, with Kishore Kumar's soulful vocals layered on top of a disco "wacka wacka" rhythm, we're alreay on the road that will lead to the evergreen tunes of the Disco Dancer soundtrack. The basic template of "stage performer seeks revenge" with aggressively "trendy" songs (heavily showcasing whatever electronic effects happened to become available, or with picturizations that increasingly borrow from American pop culture) really kicks off here. These elements were already around, of course, but Karz strikes me as an archetypal film, where it all came together, for better or worse.

As for Rishi, Karz is really the swan song of his career in young love. After this, he did credible romantic performances in Yeh Vaada Raha (1982), Nagina (1986), and Chandni (1989), but by then, they'd put him in the sweaters full time, and he'd never really be able to pull off the kind of callowness he still has in Karz. Some movies, as in the first half of Deewana (1992), still attempt to put him in the role of frolicking innocent, but it doesn't come off well, and that's a movie where he no longer seems to be having any fun at all. And, well, there's the snaky Sheshnaag (1990), but in that he's more a holy fool type than a romantic lead.

Disclaimer: this is all keeping in mind that there a zillion films we're dealing with, and I've only seen a fraction of them, proportionately speaking, so I am in fact making a sweeping generalization prone to revision at any time.

One last thing: I knew I wanted some illustrations from the "Om Shanti Om" number, partly because it's such one of Rishi's famous moments, but mainly because of my personal associations. Before seeing the Karz clip in Om Shanti Om, I had no idea of all the awesomeness waiting for me out there in world. (Then, of course, "Dard-e-Disco" came along and did me in completely). At the same time, this song could be a very easy thing to make fun of, and I certainly didn't want to do that, even unintentionally. I'm not making fun of Rishi here. Not at all! I love him sincerely, in all his glittery glory.

It's sad to see the end of my self-imposed Rishi Week, although I know there'll be more in the future, what with him being my ishta devata and all. Until then, remember, "Om Shanti Ommmmmmmmm -- HA!"

"Everyone contributed to making me"

2010-02-27T13:00:00.000-06:00

Thanks to '70s Week, I finally got around to finding a clip of Rishi getting the Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award in 2008.

I hadn't realized it was Ranbir (or Rocket "Crazy Legs" Singh, as he's known around here) who presented it to his dad...sniff. The standing ovation makes me a little teary-eyed, especially considering how proud Neetu looks of him. Then Dimple calls Neetu on stage, and Rishi thanks her at length: "Most of this actually belongs to you." Double sniff.

I'm not sure why people are accompanied by the Indiana Jones theme, though. At first I thought it was somehow for Ranbir's benefit, but Dimple gets it too. I know I've heard some musical cues at the Oscars that are almost as nonsensical, so I'll keep my ears peeled this year, just to give equal critique.

I also rustled around and came up with an address:
Rishi Kapoor
27 Krishna Raj, Pali Hill
Bandra, Mumbai 400 050

But what would I say? I haven't written a fan letter since Junior High. Although I did actually get back a lovely signed photo of Carrie Fisher. So, nothing ventured?

Feels Like the First Time

2010-02-27T09:55:00.000-06:00

As we near the end of Rishi Kapoor Week, a few tidbits: here's a song from Rishi and Neetu's auspicious first film together (Zahreela Insaan, 1974). Who knew to what it would lead?

Unfortunately, their first few movies together are "out of stock" on Nehaflix, including this one and Khel Khel Mein, which has crazy Rakesh Rohan as a prankster friend who gets them involved with criminals, so I'm obviously desperate to see it. I must not be the only one doing research on the early years.

I did order a copy of Zahreela Insaan, hoping it might make it to my door in time for '70s week, and it arrived last night. The description reads in part: "Arjun was like the King Cobra, deadly when someone stepped upon him and aroused him." That sounds pretty tough, considering that on the cover, a fluffy-haired Rishi has a definite resemblance to that middle boy on The Brady Bunch. Unfortunately, while the DVD menu has normal coloration, the film itself is entirely tinted green! Somehow, I don't think that was an artistic choice based on the vaguely snaky theme.

So now, instead of griping, I'm grateful that the YouTube clip is as high-quality as it is. Since Rishi doesn't sing in this number, it makes him seem like the sex object of the piece. But he is pretty cute with that mustache -- if overshadowed by the truly amazing earrings Neetu is wearing. I'm not sure there's a man alive who can compete with those earrings.

Double Your Kapoors, Double Your Angst

2010-02-26T12:13:00.000-06:00

"The problem with you intellectuals is that you look for answers in books. So far removed from life!"
-- the wisdom of Flashback Shashi in Doosra Aadmi (1977)

Of course, it's not always shiny and happy in the films of Rishi Kapoor. But after all the melodramatic parental disapproval of Bobby, it is a nice change to see the more everyday concerns of the parents in Doosra Aadmi (alternately Doosara Aadmi, as my copy transliterated it), who argue that the couple are young, don't know each other well, and don't yet appreciate the seriousness of marriage. They ask them to wait, get to know each other better, and then, if they still want to get married, the parents will throw them a big wedding. It's like the earnest advice in a '50 mental hygiene film.

Lovers Karan (Rishi Kapoor) and Timsi (Neetu Singh), however, don't want to wait, so they go to the courthouse, and then it's off to the honeymoon, where Rishi tries to buy condoms without telling the druggist what he wants. I can't be the only one thinking of the famous scene in Fawlty Towers, when the guest unwitting asks if the chemist's is still open. ("I know what people like you get up to, and I think it's disgusting!")

When Karan insists on making his own way in business, further alienating his wealthy father, he becomes determined to hire a woman named Nisha, known as a reclusive genius, as a way to set his new ad agency apart. She turns out to be the glamorous, chain-smoking Rakhee Gulzar, who quickly agrees to the job, much to his surprise.

Before long, they're working late together, and Neetu, charming as the young newlywed who still calls her husband "my boyfriend," starts to feel neglected. Rakhee is nicely enigmatic, getting overly familiar with Karan, but subtly enough that it doesn't seem like alarm bells should be going off. Eventually we discover her ulterior motive: Rishi reminds her of her lost love, his real-life uncle Shashi Kapoor. And Rishi quickly proves his (screen) father right: maybe he was too young and immature to make a life-long commitment, since he clearly likes the attention. I don't care if there's literal infidelity or not, when your husband starts doing romantic song sequences with someone else -- it's cheating.

A few things to mention: usually the presence of dual Kapoors means good times, as in the superlative Duniya Meri Jeb Mein, which I won't bother to blog about, since the ultimate post on the subject has already been written here. Sadly, because of the whole flashback situation, they don't get to act together.

Also, as someone who recently absorbed two seasons of Mad Men in about a week, it interested me how Rishi's character comes to realize how much of a hollow man he is ("I have no identity of my own.") His earlier rebellion, and his ambition to prove himself in business, hasn't stopped him from letting himself be led by circumstances, and trying to be what other people want him to be. He'd fit right in at Sterling Cooper; maybe it's an occupational hazard in the world of advertising.

Costumes, by the way, are partly credited to "Jennifer Kapoor." I like to think she's responsible for Rakhee's outfits, which have busy '70s patterns, but still manage to look lovely. Rather than anything that might be seen at the hilarious Ugly, Ugly, Bollywood Fugly site.

And here's a little motto for the online Shashi Club:

No Less Than Anybody Else

2010-02-26T06:30:00.001-06:00

As Anirpan pointed out in the comments a couple days ago, within a few years of his uber-nerdy film debut in Bobby, Rishi would be playing "coolness personified" in films like Hum Kisise Kum Nahin and Amar Akbar Anthony (and I'd add Rafoo Chakkar to the list) -- a peculiar turn of events indeed. His Akbar is probably the best starting point for understanding the mystery of his appeal: the point where many doubters go, "Okay, I get it." But he's not cool in the Cary Grant mode that his father could switch on; it's more like a hipster cool (for lack of a better phrase). An uninhibited, I-don't-care-what-anybody-thinks cool, kind of like a young Bill Murray cool, only cuddlier, and less in-your-face.

The plotline of 1977's Hum Kisise Kum Nahin is almost too complicated to bother with: it's mainly an excuse for some chases, a few fun scenes, and a bunch of great songs. There's a second hero (Tariq) who's in the earnest leading man mode, and he's okay, but luckily Rishi is there to steal the whole movie.

So cool! And that's while he's wearing a freakin' bow tie!

Since he doesn't have the matinee idol looks (except for Laila Majnu, and thank goodness there were cameras around to document the peak flourishing of his manly beauty!), in many of his better films Rishi tends to play a charismatic guy-next-door type who proves himself a hero, partly through conventional heroics (fisticuffs, rescues, etc.), but largely by standing up and doing his thing. His characters are usually creative -- singers, dancers -- and they don't care if their costumes are ridiculous as long as everybody's having fun. For example, I'm not sure I've ever seen a male actor (as opposed to an actual drag performer) look less self-conscious in a showgirl costume than he did in the marvelous Some Like It Hot-esque Rafoo Chakkar. Similarly, in HKKN, like in Duniya Mera Jeb Mein, he plays a character who started well-off (or thinking he was, in the latter case). When suddenly brought low by circumstances, he may not be happy about the situation, but it doesn't fundamentally change who he is or how he thinks about himself.

The kind of cool that's internally driven, rather than depending on how you're seen by the world, seems like a much more "modern" kind of cool. (It sounds absurd to say there's a "traditional" kind of cool, but I think there is). Instead of fitting into a style, it's making your own style.

I'm with you!

Super Tailor: the name says it all

2010-02-25T06:30:00.000-06:00

Amar Akbar Anthony is one of the defining films of the 1970s -- maybe one of the defining films of my entire life! Much has been said, and there's even a book on director Manmohan Desai (Enchantment of the Mind) that covers it in some detail.

Along with Don, I'd say this movie is one of the better introductions to Masalaland (Masa La-La Land?) -- not too violent, not too ridiculous. In fact, I'd say it's just ridiculous enough. But I'm not here to sing the praises of blind mothers, long-lost brothers, and Johnny Walker Black, even though they're all super-awesome. I'm here to talk about what's really important in life -- sheer shirts and other fashion statements!

My original idea for Rishi Kapoor paper dolls involved the colorful sweaters of Chandni, which would be delightful to reproduce in paper form, but the outfits of AAA would make an even better start. The plot may hinge on his character, Akbar, being raised by a Muslim, but I think it's far more significant that he's raised by a tailor. Because look how stylish he is!

Onstage, in green:

Lurking, in a fabulous floral print:

Sheer shirt, in casual sightseeing white:

And its counterpart, in red. Maybe from the same department store?

The devotional look is subtle, but still, I love the rose-patterned cap:

And my favorite:

Let's get a better look at that fabric:

Yum City! I would so wear this shirt.

Since I don't know who specifically was responsible for Akbar's particular look, and who was dressing the heroines, all hail to the wardrobe staff of Amar Akbar Anthony: Mani Rabadi, Leena Daru, Kachin, and Super Tailor.

In the '70s alone, top-billed Mani Rabadi worked on films like Bobby, Jangal Mein Mangal, Geeta Mera Naam, Rafoo Chakkar (squee!), the 1976 Nagin, Dharam Veer, and Don. Earlier she did "Dress Design" for the Shammi/Sharmila An Evening in Paris, and in the '80s even went on to my beloved 3-D Saamri, aka Purana Mandir 2. That's a really special "All hail!"

Leena Daru also worked on Dharam Veer, along with other movies like Seeta Aur Geeta, and later was the Costume Designer for Chandni and Deewana. I wonder how much she's to blame for picking out Rishi's sweaters?

Kachin, like Super Tailor, appears to be a company, with a huge list of credits from Sholay all the way to -- Khoon Bhari Maang. Mwa ha ha! We'll never stop running out of examples for "from the Sublime to the Ridiculous." Super Tailor did costumes for the clothing-centric Hum Kisise Kum Nahin, the largely clothing-optional Satyam Shivam Sundaram, and even -- my beloved Disco Dancer! It just gets better and better.

There's also a credit for "Dress" to the Late Narayan Rao. I don't know what distinguishes "Dress" from "Wardrobe," but it's appreciated anyway, especially since his short list of credits includes International Crook. He definitely deserves marigolds around his picture.

Love in Miniskirts

2010-02-24T06:48:00.000-06:00

Bobby (1973)

Fair warning: if I had to pick one favorite soundtrack from the '70s, it would be Laxmikant Pyarelal's soundtrack for Bobby. I can't even begin to pick a favorite song, so I'll cover them as we go...

The film's generation gap theme is laid out almost immediately. Raj (played by Rishi, obviously), sent off for misbehavior to boarding school (where the headmaster ironically exhorts them to be their own men), gets called a "Mama's Boy" within the first five minutes! He's turned into an obedient son, but he has a Hair poster over his desk! Sorry, I'll try to keep those exclamation points in check, but it won't be easy. Anyway, the sense is that the young have been let down and abandoned by their parents, so their obedience to them is misplaced, and they need to make their own way in life.

When Raj retuns home, his first song, "Main Shair To Nahin" ("I'm not a poet") has him performing a poem in front of an audience, an idea we'll get to see more of later in his career. It's a lushly orchestrated ballad, sung by Shailender Singh in a simple, straightforward style -- the artistry of artlessness.

Raj and Bobby (the lovely Dimple Kapadia) meet, and once they decide they like each other -- once the hugging starts -- we get "Mujhe Kuch Kahna Hai" (the catchy and adorable "You first"/"You first" song), and I realize: this is the teen romance I wish I'd had! A lot of people think the relationship in Bobby is too lightweight, too much puppy love, but I think it's well-handled. They've never had such strong feelings before, so it's very momentous to them, but because it's new doesn't mean it isn't real.

The misunderstandings that occur when Raju takes Bobby to a party full of "Richie-Riches" are straight out of a John Hughes movie, but fortunately, it gives him an excuse to first enact broken-heartedness, which he does very well, and then to follow her to Kashmir to prove his love -- which is, again, exactly what you want your first love to do! Some guys don't even want to return your phone calls, for pete's sake. There's no question about whether Raju is that into her or not, what with him traveling all that way on top of a bus. Perhaps most importantly, it's a pretext to hear the beautiful, Sufi-flavored "Beshak Mandir Masjid" song by the fire, which I've always thought really elevates the teenage quarrel to a higher level of emotion.

At this point, I noticed how many of these songs have the common theme of speech and communication. The first song is about how he's not a poet, but can't help expressing his feelings. The next song is also about how they're afraid to tell each other the truth, but can't bear to keep silence. The third is about suffering in silence, with the refrain (ironically spoken) about how the singer won't say a word. Sorry, no conclusions about that yet -- I'll just need to watch it again.

Eventually, circumstances accidentally get the young couple locked in a house together for three hours, leading to "Hum Tum Ek Kamre Mein Band Ho," with its all-time classic "They Totally Did It" picturization. As the couple embraces on the bed, the scene cuts to various places -- lost in a dark threatening wood; then confronting a tiger, who is tamed by Bobby's willingness to be devoured; and an energetic horse-riding scene, which includes some lyrics about how their innocent frolicking could end in tears: "Who knows what will happen tomorrow/That's worrying me a bit/Think, what if something happens?" What could they mean?

But when the door opens, they stride out confidently, arm-in-arm, lost in each other.

They Totally Did It! Also, I will note that in the house party of misunderstandings, Aruna Irani's Neema told Raj that she was willing to be "lovers," but later, he tells Bobby that he respects Neema and considers her a confidant. The film doesn't show sex as something to be taken lightly (an attitude clearly condemned in Raj's creepy friend), but nor is it judgmental about it. Morality is about being a decent person, not about following the rules, so Neema can sleep with whoever she wants and still be a good person. If Raju and Bobby treat each other with respect, getting physical can make their attachment stronger -- as it clearly does.

"Na Mangun Sona Chandi" shows Raj frolicking with Bobby's father and other festival-goers, as he innocently sets up the meeting between their parents. It's another sweet tune, representing the happy feeling of love. This transitions right into "Jhoot Bole Kauve Kata," which I've already talked about. As Bobby joins the dance, warning him not to lie about his feelings (another of the songs on the communication theme), Raj turns and sees her, and the moment is totally charged with hormones. How could it not -- look at her! Every time I watch it, I wonder how she manages to move like that. Wow. There's a scene in the 1977 Dharmenda/Hema Malini movie Dream Girl, when a TV gets turned on in the midst of some hectic comic shenanigans. "Jhoot Bole" is playing on the set, and the action stops while they all watch Dimple dance for a moment.

Odd as that is, it is also perfectly understandable.

In retrospect, one of the things I like best about the song is its placement in the story. With its obviously sexual charge (including that mock spanking!), a lot of directors might have made it the moment of their feelings being made clear. But because it's after "Hum Tum," it's not an awakening -- it's a continuation. Also, because it occurs in a public place, right in front of her father, it helps represent the idea that the young people's feelings are more or less inevitable, so they're being transitioned into the larger society. That is, the idea that if they want to get married, their parents should just let them get married, is under the surface.

That usually should seem obvious. But sadly, the meeting between their parents goes horribly wrong, and by the time it's over, both their fathers forbid them to see each other. (The song that illustrates their separation, "Ankhiyon Ko Rahne De," is the only song in the film that I'm not wildly enthused with: it's a nice little sad number, but nothing too special. Sorry, Laxmikant Pyaralel, but you've still got a pretty good track record here).

Bobby gets sent out of town, and Raj's father immediately finds him a bride-to-be, which clearly horrifies Neema. Aruna Irani is fantastic throughout as the vampy "older woman" who's seductive toward Raj, but she proves that she has his and Bobby's best interests at heart, encouraging him to run away while he still can. Of course, because she's a self-respecting vamp, she reveals this in the crazy cabaret number "Ae -- Ae -- Ae -- Ae -- Phansa!" while wearing a shiny orange minidress. And I want to have a New Year's Eve party full of freaky, enormous paper mache monsters! Fortunately, there's still time to plan.

Yesterday I described Rishi's Raj as a nerd, and that's clearly how he starts. But the course of true love gives him a makeover:

Black Leather Baby Face! Still squeaky-clean, though.

Luckily for my tear ducts, the angry fathers, who've been trading insults and threats, eventually learn that their enmity only endangers the lives of their own children. Talk about a theme even more eternal than Laila Majnu/Romeo and Juliet. Supposedly, the film was originally intended to end unhappily, but for once, it almost seems more radical to give it a happy ending. Raj's impassioned speech about how children aren't their parents' property, and they have the right to their own lives, makes it kind of an anti-Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, especially to someone who saw that latter film first. Sometimes you have to go back further to find the less conservative messages.

The child is father to the man

2010-02-23T07:28:00.000-06:00

A brief introduction to the the cult of Rishi Kapoor:

Despite some bobbles during the '80s, he's had a long career, playing strong romantic leads from 1973's Bobby to 1989's Chandni (both named after their heroines -- I may already be onto something about his appeal). Along the way, he also stole some larger ensemble films with his comedy roles. He's since gone on to a second act playing fathers and wise uncle figures, and in 2010 is up for Best Supporting Actor (thrillingly, along with his first romantic costar, Dimple Kapadia) in this year's Filmfare Awards. Go, Rishi!

But probably the most important background that a new viewer needs to know is that Rishi is part of the famous Kapoor family. He's the uncle of today's superstar Kareena, the nephew of iconic stars Shammi and Shashi, and the son of the super-iconic Raj Kapoor, who I always want to tag as an "impresario." Well, why not: he wrote, he directed, he starred, he discovered new heroines, he steered the music, and generally strikes me as somebody with an ego larger than life.

Rishi made his debut playing his father's character as a young man in Mera Naam Joker, but since that's over three hours long, and the word "self-indulgent" is the single most common description I've heard, I'm not going to sit through that -- not this week, anyway. Still, get a look at that chubby schoolboy in this clip (but beware, he's tormented by the thought of a naked chick at the end. Don't want to startle anyone. I was certainly startled. That's Raj for ya). Likewise, his first starring role was also in one of his father's films, the iconic teen romance Bobby (more on that later).

When I started with the Bollywood, I was almost immediately dubious of Raj, just from the looks of him. When I finally got around to seeing him in a movie -- Shree 420, to be precise --I knew all about the Charlie Chaplinesque Everyman figure he was supposed to play, and was psychologically prepared to be irritated by it. And yet, the film had barely started before I found myself totally drawn in by "Mera Joota Hai Japani" number, especially Raj's one-handed arm flings. I tried to do a screenshot, but it's all in the movement, so I gave up.

What was I finding so endearing about Raj's musical numbers, especially compared to his acting overall? The song itself is great, but that's no excuse. He wasn't exactly grateful, at least based on this specimen. On the contrary, he was kind of stiff and awkward. Then it hit me: he reminded me of Rishi! Rishi is graceful more often than not, but I have seen him occasionally look awkward, and even in those moments, he remains deeply likeable. More exposure has proved to me that I do, in fact, like Raj pretty much only to the extent that his performance reminds me of his son.

Here's the original version of Karz's famous "Om Shanti Om" number, which at full length is even sillier than the Shahrukhized version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eS29KERO_d4.

Rishi is definitely having one of his more awkward moments here, especially while climbing onto that spinning platform. During one viewing among many, it suddenly struck me: it looks for all the world like it wasn't even rehearsed. Like they got the thing working just in time for the shoot (reminiscent of the shark in Jaws), or else they just said, "Yeah, well, and then we'll lower you down and you'll jump off," and he's trying to figure out how to do it without wiping out, live and on camera.

But for the most part, he's so buoyant and happy. And he seems to have such confidence in himself. As someone who has sometimes been a sucker for angsty men, it's refreshing to see someone on the screen who seems to be having a plain old good time. That quality spills all the way over into effervescence in Amar Akbar Anthony, especially in his musical numbers, but even in the quick bits like his keeping a hospital bed booked (the better to woo pretty doctor Neetu Singh).

But more on those topics later.

For now, let's use the "Jhoot Bole" number in Bobby, for which I can't find a decent quality video on YouTube, to explain Rishi's career. In this corner: a beautiful, sexy girl in a filmy, midriff-baring costume, bursting with energy and dancing like her life depends on it!

In the other corner: a soft, squeaky-clean, Mama's Boy-looking nerd in a powder-blue pantsuit.

But he's such a happy, adorable puppy! I am totally willing to believe these two disparate souls will fall in epic love.

In Shree 420, Raj proves he can do both the nerdy innocent and clean up to become a suave gentleman. For the most part, Rishi seems to have gotten a double dose of the nerdy gene. Fortunately, that's my type.

(To be continued...)

Introducing the Man of the '70s

2010-02-22T08:09:00.000-06:00

There are all sorts of classics I've never reviewed, mainly because, well, they're classics. Someone has already done the job. So I've neglected a whole bunch of things that I would consider classics by any standard: Sholay (1975), Deewar (also 1975 -- a heckuva year, as we say here in Fargo-land), Don (1978), and even, most criminally, Amar Akbar Anthony (1977).

Apart from AAA, which I'll get to later, I'd most highly recommend Don for those who are wondering about the '70s. (And don't we all, one way or another, wonder about the '70s?) If you're not sure how the off-the-wall villains and decorative motifs of the groovy decade will sit with you, it's a pretty pain-free introduction. If you're going to like the crazy-wacky, you'll probably know by the time you're done with Don. It's got Helen, Pran, tiger masks, a double role, a clever plot, and various random acts of violence, but in a context that never gets too heavy.

Strangely, all the movies in that list of must-see films from the '70s seem to have two things in common: I haven't written about them, and they star Amitabh Bachchan. I guess I've written about Zanjeer and Naseeb, but largely, I've pretty much ignored the whole Big B oeuvre in my blog. The weird thing about Amitabh is, even when I love him, I just don't have much to say.

It's funny how that is. There are certain tropes, certain themes, and certain personalities that I can't help gravitating toward. Like how I didn't choose to be obsessed with disco movies; I just am. If your film contains disco; outrageous clothes; shrines or temples of any description, from any religious system; graveyards and/or skeletons; or cephalopods, preferably squids -- I don't really need to know anything else about it. In fact, I was recently reading about a film (Bhoot Bhungla) and came across the phrase "song and dance sequence involving skeletons and the Twist." I think I'd ordered a potentially dubious copy on eBay before finishing the review!

And while there are many actors that I admire, many I lovelovelove -- I don't love them in a way that makes me want to talk about them all day, which is the ineffable quality that makes them bloggable. That is an elite group, and let's hope nobody gets it in mind to do a '90s week, because one of those people is in fact SRK, who I know has been talked about to death...and yet, I always find more to say. Fortunately, for now, my Ram Jaane obsession is twenty years in the future, and let's hope unleashing it remains an idle threat. Because I have PLENTY to say about the Man of the '70s.

Logically -- even looking at the movies I think are objectively the best, and the ones I'd recommend in a second as most archetypal, as well as entertaining -- Amitabh Bachchan owned the '70s. Besides him, many other actors of great talent and supernaturally good looks (male and female) ruled the screen, and are well worth discussing. But in the strange, squid-encrusted world of ghosts and goddesses that I call home, only one man can be said to reign supreme in the '70s.

Yup -- may as well call it Rishi Kapoor Week around here. Of course, it's always Rishi Kapoor Week somewhere. But this week, I plan to revel in it! Movies that are such obvious classics that I don't need to write about them, I'm going to ramble on about them anyway. Consider yourself invited -- or warned, as the case may be.

Today's Travesty of Justice

2010-02-21T18:03:00.001-06:00

Yes, I've been straying into all sorts of odd research areas, as I blog feverishly for '70s Week. But DID YOU KNOW:

Although Amrish Puri won 3 Filmfare Awards for Best Supporting Actor, he was nominated 7 times for Best Performance in a Negative Role and he never won? He never won Best Villain!

I am planning some sort of ceremony, a la the MTV Movie Awards belatedly presenting Chewbacca with his medal for blowing up the Death Star...

Today on the Anarchivist Channel

2010-02-21T13:13:00.003-06:00

A Sunday afternoon video, just because the song is stuck in my head. Anil and SRK are a super-cute couple, and you get a look at the movie's OTT, heavily made-up Tantrik bad guy. Very good! There doesn't seem to be a soundtrack available. Very bad!

My Name is Han

2010-02-19T20:52:00.004-06:00

(Images courtesy of my honey. Welcome to the wonderful world of Bollywood blogging!)

Summer Lovin' -- Happened So Fast

2010-02-16T14:18:00.001-06:00

The other day, while writing up a Rishi Kapoor sob-fest, I idly thought to myself "How long are they going to keep making Laila Majnu/Romeo and Juliet stories?" After watching 1988's Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak, I've decided the answer is: as long as they need to. The specific obstacles and/or cultural taboos may change, but until the day comes when nobody has a love affair disapproved of by parents or society, there'll always be an audience.

The young lovers in QSQT are so happy-go-lucky in the beginning, with their college dance parties and cheerful co-ed camping trips (despite the "rowdies" lurking in the woods, ready to attack young girls who are out on their own), I found their budding romance a very disconcerting fit with the tragic blood feud that's going to wrench them apart.

I guess that's really the point, and also makes the movie a good example of the conflict between modern and traditional attitudes: pretty Rashmi is an old-fashioned dutiful daughter, but she's also a contemporary college student. Here, suddenly, her parents are saying that her arranged bridegroom will get to decide whether she can finish school or not. Even without a Raj waiting to carry her off on his red motorscooter, I like to think she'd have rebelled sooner or later.

A lot of movies debut new faces, but few are as auspicious as "Introducing Aamir Khan and Juhi Chawli." (Although of course Aamir worked as a child actor, and Juhi had a few earlier minor credits). When Aamir showed up in a polo shirt, holding a tennis racket, I couldn't help but think: Jeetendra Junior! Or maybe, since he's so young and preppy, like early John Cusack. Of course, Cusack's teen movies didn't, as a general rule, start with grim subplots about suicide and murder.

There's a whole slew of awesome angry relatives: Dalip Tahil, getting some motivation for his scowling. Alok Nath, as always, the voice of reason. Reema Lagoo, on the other side of the feud. I also loved new-to-me Shehnaz Kudia (who sadly has very few credits) as Rashmi's most modern-thinking friend, always trying to get her to stand up to her dad, and happy to help the couple elope. As an added bonus, the soundtrack contains some evergreen Udit and Alka tunes I was already familiar with, especially "Ae Mere Humsafar" and "Akele Hain To Kya Gum Hai."

Most importantly, the movie very sweetly includes a personal greeting in the credits: "Special Thanks - Time Pass Club."

You're welcome!

Croc beats Cheetah

2010-02-08T10:02:00.000-06:00

I have a necklace with an antique Ganesh pendant that I wear quite a bit. Once in a while, someone will comment on it, but not very often. One day, a frequent customer spotted it and said, "That's Ganesh, isn't it?" When I said yes, he began to regale me with how much he loves Shiva, the Goddess of Death, because she gives such tough love to her devotees. "You might be thinking of Kali, dude," I thought to myself, but this is someone I'm used to dealing with in "smile and nod" mode, so I continued to smile and nod.

About an hour later, another customer came in, clearly someone with developmental issues, but pleasant enough. Once more: "That's Ganesh, isn't it?" When I said yes, he added confidently, "The Remover of Obstacles." When I agreed, he beamed and added, "I know that from The Cheetah Girls: One World." He went on to explain that there's a whole Ganesh-related subplot in the Cheetah Girls movie.

Oh, great, I griped inside my brain. Now I feel like I must watch this, just for the morbid curiosity of it all! So I got the movie at the library, brought it home, put it in, and, inundated with trailers for Disney products, just couldn't bring myself to do it. I turned to my pile of recent and semi-recent purchases for solace, and what did I see: a picture of Rekha with black lace gloves and an enormous, crazy-shiny bow on her head. Khoon Bhari Maang (1988) it was!

I can't image that anyone who reads my blog isn't also reading Memsaab Story, which is where I first heard about this miracle of science, medicine, and plastic surgery. Really, click the link and read her review -- and pay close attention to the photos -- but put down your beverage first, or I won't be accountable for the consequences.

From her review, I recognized the storyline immediately from something called Return to Eden, which I watched religiously on late night TV in the 1986-1987 school year. What we've got here is: an Eighties Hindi film knockoff of an Eighties Australian soap opera knockoff of Dynasty. With crocodile attacks (both versions). If anyone knows of anything that sounds more ridiculous, please let me know ASAP -- just keep in mind I've already seen more than my fair share of Mithun movies.

Just for background, compare this with this. Isn't it great that we can have both?

Since I just did a Goddess film overview, I have to mention the devotional opening, which started things off with a lovely image of Sarasvati. I couldn't help thinking of that part in Kal Ho Naa Ho, when Shah Rukh tells the singers to quit torturing Sarasvati with their out-of-tune worship. Hopefully, the Goddess of Art and Wisdom appreciated this crazy artifact. And then, OMG -- how did I not realize this was directed by Rakesh Roshan, of Koyla, Karan Arjun, and Hrithik-spawning fame? His movies are always insane!

As the movie begins, Rekha is all dowdied up, with a smudge on her face that I think is meant to be a disfiguring scar, and frolicking about the estate with her cute little children. She's making an effort, but she's sad, because she's a widow. Little does she know how lucky she is! The phone rings, just in time for her to unknowingly hear her father's murder. Then her "best friend" and the friend's lover cook up a scheme for him to marry poor bereft Rekha for her fortune. The friend doesn't know that he intends to kill her, and well, neither does Rekha, obviously, until she's standing up in a boat, merrily snapping photos of a crocodile, and he shoves her right in.

Luckily, she survives. Oddly, the most damage seems to have been done to her face, which is now really disfigured. Like the beast just wanted to mess with her more than eat her. Once recovered, she gets plastic surgery, and returns home with an assumed name, to supplant her former friend as a top supermodel (and as Memsaab has hilariously documented, oh the horrors of '80s so-called "fashion"!) and take revenge on the man who ruined her life.

Now, I understand, when someone has pushed you into the waiting jaws of a crocodile, you might be eager to indulge in a little croc-feeding of your own. However, just going to the police would actually make life a lot easier in the long run. And what about the children? Somehow, Rekha seems surprised to discover than this guy hasn't been nice to her kids. Maybe his throwing her to the crocodile was a warning sign?

Two things I have to add: what's going on the world when a film contains a disco version of the "Chariots of Fire" theme, and the music wasn't even by Bappi Lahiri? I have to wonder if Bappi feels ripped off.

Secondly, we are all familiar from disco films with the scene where the hero faces his rival in some kind of dance-off. Here it's a sort of catwalk competition. I know we're supposed to be rooting for poor wronged Rekha, but sorry -- not in that pink monstrosity she's wearing! If I were judging, the bad girl would win in a landslide:

In the interest of historical preservation, here is my review of Return to Eden (the ongoing series, not the more Khoon Bhari Maang-like mini-series, which I still haven't seen, and yes, there's an emptiness in my life). It appeared in The Time/Space Continuum, the proto-blog I wrote and sent to one subscriber (my sister) when I was college. DVDs of the show are available, but you'd need an all-region player. Fortunately, there are clips on YouTube, including this one of the original croc attack, and a random office scene that features some of those ugly hats. I was actually shocked to discover a different actress played Jilly in the miniseries...maybe she had plastic surgery too.

Adam and Eve Are Turning in Their Graves

When Dallas and Dynasty get dull, it's nice to know that their fine traditions are being carried on with truly awe-inspiring tacki- and tawdriness by the imported nighttime soap Return to Eden, the obvious low budget of which gets in the way of its attempt to portray the life of "the richest woman in Australia." Peta Toppana, formerly the nice, long-suffering "Kahr-en" of Prisoner: Cell Block H, plays Jilly Stewart, the half-sister and evil nemesis of mining heiress Stephanie Harper (Rebecca Gilling). In recent episodes, Stephanie has lost the business she ran, the family home (an estate called Eden), and the plastic surgeon husband who repaired her face after a near-fatal crocodile attack. Although wealthy and eligible men regularly fall all over Stephanie, she is known in my social circles as "the Lizard," due to her weird eyes and facial contortions. And come on, no real millionaire would allow her only daughter -- a supposed fashion designer, no less -- to dress like such a frump. Featuring the ugliest hats in soap opera history and throwing the word "bitch" around at every opportunity, this show has plot lines that edge right out of improbable and into the utterly ludicrous. If you can find it on late-night tv, it's a don't miss!

Rishi Aaj Kal

2010-02-08T08:26:00.001-06:00

After Layla Majnu, I popped in Love Aaj Kal (2009), a Netflix that had been lying around for a few days. Until it started, I had completely forgotten that Rishi Kapoor is in it, playing an Elder Statesman of Love, a la Delhi 6.

We've just been gathering loads of evidence about that, yaar.

Saif Ali Khan and Deepika Padukone play modern lovers who openly reject the idea of a Layla Majnu "one soul in two bodies" kind of love. They've been together two years, enjoying the relationship without any kind of overt commitment. When their careers take them in different geographical directions, they break up amicably, staying in touch by phone and chat, in many ways more honest with each other than when they were dating.

But once they start seeing other people, each is more conflicted than either wants to admit. Eventually, the story that the friendly coffee shop owner (Rishi) is telling Saif, about the extremes he once went to for love, starts to resonate more strongly with that of his contemporary counterparts.

Talking about sex, Rishi says that in his day, "There was respect, and a proper way to do things. First, we would fall in love, then rebel against our families. After that, we would get married." The "rebel against our families" part is stated so matter-of-factly -- just part of the traditional way of doing things. Ha!

Among other things (like the fact that Saif's rebound girlfriend isn't the total blonde bimbo she at first appears), I really enjoyed the whole subplot about how Saif gets his dream job, and moves to his dream town (San Francisco). At first, he's ecstatic. Everything is exciting and new. But eventually, as we see in montage, the dream job becomes just the job he goes to every day. He sinks into a dull routine. Even apart from the whole lonely lack-of-love thing, movies rarely show the kind of let-down that can occur after a life goal has been achieved, when there's an accompanying high, and then it's back to normal life again.

Above all, the ideas about love -- that people can fall in love whether they believe in it or not; that making a relationship can be just as hard if the obstacle is family honor and disapproval, or just knowing your own mind; and that choosing plain old commitment can be as squishily romantic as some huge romantic gesture -- are all ones that I just really, really like. There's a reason why Persuasion is my favorite Jane Austen novel, so while I can sob over a sweeping Bollywood melodrama with the best of them, a romance that's balanced with realism and tempered with cynicism is sometimes even better.

Rishi Kapoor: Before the Sweaters

2010-02-07T13:21:00.019-06:00

Possibly part of a series. But no promises!

The unbearably romantic tragedy-fest of Laila Majnu (1976) begins with a story-song about two warring clans (led by Iftekhar and Kamal Kapoor, so it's already awesome). Their children fall in innocent love, but are separated by the hatred of their families. The scene abruptly shifts to a camel auction at an open-air market, interrupted by a sudden, violent dust storm.

"What does nature want?" someone wails in the crowd. Nature wants one thing -- to bring this man:

Together with this woman:

The wind blows her scarf right onto his head, he follows her around in the streets, and that very night, he sneaks into her bedroom to tie an anklet on her while she sleeps. Excuse me while I stop to gape at the spectacle of Chintuji's astonishing handsomeness.

Obviously, hot as this all is, it can't end happily. But along the way we get cleverly staged stunts, gorgeous gowns (even on the servant girls), and comic sidekicks who are actually funny (including Rishi's delightful Rafoo Chakkar cohort, Paintal). Danny Denzongpa gets to show his stuff in a role that's noble rather than sinister. As for Rishi -- given the release dates, he could well have been filming this concurrently with the modern teenage Romeo of Kabhi Kabhie, or his classic comedy role in Amar Akbar Anthony. Mind boggling. Here he gives the performance of a lifetime, sensitive and nuanced even when he's rolling around in the sand, a tattered madman. He may have won some of us over while spinning on a giant record, in a ridiculous sequined jumpsuit, but neither he, nor we, have anything to be embarrassed about.