Arrrr...

A friend of mine randomly messaged me on the chat feature of Facebook the other day urging me to watch "Steal this Film" and then blog about it, before returning to her usual set-building. At the time, I was clueless as to her apparently random passion on the subject. However, now, having seen both parts of the documentary, it makes as much sense as the diet of an athlete. She probably chose me since I am a filmmaker, and was interested in my take on the whole piracy issue.

So, here's the deal folks. I don't really care about piracy. If someone copies my film and puts it on the internet, it is nothing but a stroke of my artistic ego. The "someone" obviously thought the project to be good enough to share with millions of others. It only helps to strengthen my reputation as an artist. The Hollywood studios seem to be thinking only in terms of business and overlook the artistic side completely (as expected). All those ads you see of people fed by the industry asking you not to copy stuff is absolute hogwash. All those people are salaried, including the biggest of directors, and the only people who really "loose" money are the already bourgeois studio executives.

Also, the studios have this totally pessimistic view of things. If the product is really really good, the audience will flock to the theaters to watch it a second time, because no matter what anyone says, comparing watching a film in a theater to squinting into differentiating pixels on your forced perspective computer monitor, is like comparing eating a Brazilian steak to consuming a packet of Knorr or Campbell soup at home. And I am not just saying that because I am a film fanatic, and would watch any decent movie in a theatre, and that my laziness doesn't allow me to look for fullproof torrents online and that I am more likely to be found haunting electronics stores going out of business (read SirKit Seetee) for discounted DVD's.

The filmmaker in me cannot but help analyze the documentary film. Firstly, it is too long. I kept loosing interest and hallucinating about future Oscar speeches, especially when they went down this long winded history lesson on the printing of the Bible. Also, they kept harping on the same points (which, don't get me wrong, are good) for far too long, thus underestimating the intellect of the target audience, trying too hard to impress. Having thrown all the dirty linen at you first, let me say that the ending of the second part was as clear as a sunny sky after a night full of rain. It talks about the limiting nature of anti-piracy laws on one's creativity and the shadows it casts on one's innate goodness. I was also impressed by the haphazard structure of the documentary, as if to say, there isn't really a structure to creativity.

Jobless on a Sunny Saturday Morning

It's a luxury I haven't enjoyed in a while now, but the optimist in me (like most protagonists in Ray's movies) knew that bad times don't last forever. Kishor's Kahan Tak Yeh Man Ko flashes though the head and Youtube makes a reality out of what a friend had once said was the reason for the banality of life - the lack of live playback music, like in escapist Indian cinema. The luxury, by the way, is wondering what to do on a sunny Saturday morning.

Talking of Indian cinema, just saw Slumdog Millionaire, yeah yeah, I know it was actually a British film set in Bombay, but you get my drift. I liked it, but didn't think it is the #44 top movie of all time as IMDB and most people are making it out to be. I was pissed off with all the dirt shown initially, bringing back memories of arguments with "fundamentalist" friends about the ongoing propaganda of the West to show only the dark side of India, but I thought it was paid off well in this film towards the end. The ode to The Man was amazing and my American friends raised eyebrows as I told them that an non-fanatic like me would also entertain such thoughts at that age if He was around. "Yeah Police Station Hai, Tumhare Baap Ka Ghar Nahin". Wah! Wah! Also, what emotionally stirred me was the way the whole country stopped and got behind the protagonist as he was on the threshold of everything he hadn't dreamed of.

I'll stop before this turns into a rambunkcious movie review. It's probably cliched and like most Indians, I am genetically programmed to appreciate Ravi Shankar after a certain age and subsequently use the sitar in my films, and get panned by critics, but I can't get over his "Essential Ravi Shankar" that I just bought in Calcutta's College Street. I like the fast, happier numbers. The sarangi is more adept in doling out sad melancholism IMO.

Sometimes I just want to run away to the French countryside and make Indian New Wave cinema. Just saw some Jacques Tapi (sp?) films in Calcutta, and they all reinforce what Trauffaut and even a modern film like Amelie suggest about French cinema - beauty in simplicity, much like our own Hrishida, but with better lighting and better camera work! A regret in life - to be Hrishida's DP.