Month: June 2021

‘Cinema’s characteristic forte is its ability to capture and communicate the intimacies of the human mind.’

– Satyajit Ray

For someone who has devoured cinema for over a decade, it may come as a surprise that I have yet to watch Satyajit Ray’s work. But I have come to realise that there’s a time and place for everything. I’ve been meaning to dive headfirst into the world of the master filmmaker – who was also a gifted composer, calligrapher, writer, graphic designer – and experience the raw, visceral, and unapologetic cinematic gaze with which Ray conquered the world – influencing the industry and its cohorts till today.

Although his films have eluded me for quite a while, sometimes all it takes is a trigger.

Not only has the Netflix anthology compelled me to watch his feature films but has also led me down a path which branches and reaches out – twisting and swirling, eventually coalescing to form an interconnected web; a constellation of sorts highlighting the beauty in connections. This introduction acts as a magical portal to the wonderful and compelling world of Ray – to me, as well as to an entirely new generation of viewers.

The four films in the series – criticised and lambasted by certain reviewers, which I shall talk more about, going forward – do a commendable job at enthralling the viewer and taking them through a whimsical, astonishing, mystical, provocative, and metaphorical journey – across time, both literally and metaphorically.

This emphasis on ‘the journey’ is ever present – the transformation of the self, the exploration of the capacities of the mind, the dichotomous nature of life, the human condition – simple tropes that revolve around greed, power, acceptance, and contentment.

Being adaptations of Ray’s work, the filmmakers, naturally, felt inclined to pay homage to the Master. The four episodes are Meta in a way, not only by how they seem to reference the director and his work but also, in essence, are films about artists, the industry and cinematic styles – the first episode isn’t as explicit but is a nod towards a certain narrative technique where what is shown to the viewer may not necessarily be true.

Each part has its own quirks – with positives and negatives – but in the larger scheme of things, ‘Ray’ commands attention.

In part one, Ali Fazal shines and takes centre stage – from his meteoric rise to his cataclysmic fall into the abyss. Martin Scorsese often talks about how Ray has influenced his work. With ‘Forget Me Not’ shades of Shutter Island are ever present.

In ‘Bahrupiya’, Kay Kay Menon is delightful and unnerving. Be careful of what you wish for as this dark and twisted adaptation plays out like a speculative fiction film infused with the mystical – which reminded me a bit of Ted Chiang’s The Tower of Babylon and Seventy-Two Letters.

Part three – the Manoj Bajpayee starrer – exults in camera work influenced by Wes Anderson’s whimsical takes (who co-incidentally also has been influenced by Ray and his work). ‘Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa’ is beautifully executed as it flits from being a cinematic experience, to a dream, to being a theatrical performance – carefully crafted with a spellbinding narrative that pays homage to artists and performers.

‘Spotlight’ explores Ray’s disdain for dogmatism with religious and political undertones all the while highlighting the fickle and transient nature of our state of being.

The Netflix anthology has effectively opened a pandora’s box, setting the stage for more adaptations – accentuating Ray’s range and ability to conjure up tales that startle and delight. My favourite out of the four, you ask? It does not matter. My opinion at this juncture will only colour your own sense of judgement. And that is exactly why some things just need to be left alone in the world.

For those deriding the Netflix series, I urge them to not be myopic in their over-enthusiastic frenzy of dismissing the anthology as a hollow, commercial rendition.

While you may ridicule the processes and techniques adopted you cannot compare them to Satyajit Ray’s style or what could have been done. Comparison – while normal and obvious, in this case, is bordering on the criminal – each film stands on its own two feet and this is where reviews start to annoy.

Sometimes we as critics (and I include myself here as well) lack the humility to see beyond our own noses and ultimately judge content from a lens that is biased – spurning potential viewers from gems that are diamonds in the rough.

The purpose of a review is to objectively critique a piece of work. But in the end what are we being critical of? The structure? The Narrative? The Style? The Acting? The Camerawork? These seem superficial if we fail to look beyond the visual. It’s not about what you see, it’s about what you take back and ‘Ray’, through its 4 films does prod you enough to make you sit up and take notice.

We live in an age where algorithms are tailored to our tastes and in some cases push content that you are forced to consume. YouTube does that with movie/tv trailers for me and while I do get sucked in, I also do make it a point to abstain – case in point – Ray.

Hence, the lack of a trailer here.

‘Ray’ will be seen as a deeply polarising collective that while taken in negative sense could be a blessing in disguise. As much as I hate to say it, in our fast-paced world, to be polarising is to be relevant.

The process of writing this piece has been extremely enjoyable, introspective, and bordering on the therapeutic. Sometimes we try to impress our own thoughts and perspectives and thrust them onto the world. It’s time to be more mindful and in the words of Satyajit Ray – “There’s always some room for improvisation.”

My journey continues with The Apu Trilogy + Satyajit Ray: The Inner Eye by Andrew Robinson + Satyajit Ray | A Documentary by Shyam Benegal

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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe once said : ‘Music is  liquid architecture; Architecture is frozen music.’

With Last & First Men, Jóhannsson successfully oscillates between the two – melting and crystallising – and ultimately fusing to form a transcendental experience both visually and evocatively.

Enamoured by films & literature – with no formal qualifications in music – Jóhannsson went about his craft with verve and tenacity that broke free from the confines of genres and styles of his time. This individuality can not only be found in the music he created but also in the processes and concepts behind the creations themselves.

My first brush with the Icelandic composer was while watching Prisoners – made by one of my favourite directors ‘Denis Villeneuve’ – where he effortlessly manages to treat each scene with its own individual piece all the while culminating in a connected sombre yet foreboding whole.

He went on to collaborate with the filmmaker and worked on three successive films in Sicario, Arrival and Blade Runner 2049 – which was shelved due to creative differences, and Zimmer was brought in. However, their bond was deep. Like Zimmer is to Nolan, so was Jóhannsson to Villeneuve. With Sicario, the composer earned an Oscar nod for his interpretation and depiction of violence through his score while Arrival on the other hand used human voices as an instrument – layered with classical segments.

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While remembering the composer’s work on the film, Villeneuve says “it is imbued with a beautiful depressive Nordic sensibility. Like when snow falls at the end of a day. His music brought a lot of humanity to this dark story.” – IndieWire , Zack Sharf

And it is with this same sensibility and inimitable style that Jóhannsson shares his final masterpiece with the world – a speculative fiction feature with architecture as his muse.

We learn about civilisations past, through their architecture. Which in turn helps us understand how they lived and how they communicated. Jóhannsson uses that very idea of archaeological mystery with remnants of the built environment to conjure up a sense of nostalgia for the future – a poetic reflection of the past with a keen grasp on the pulse of what the future has in store.

By capturing the essence of a bygone era, through its architecture, Jóhannsson also – consciously or subconsciously – draws from the numerous muses scattered across the landscape and hints at a new world order – which act as beacons of prosperity, creativity, ingenuity and above all else, hope.

The film is based on the book with the same name and written by the British author Olaf Stapledon and is described as a “future history” science fiction novel. As Yair Elazar Glotman – collaborator and composer on the film – beautifully puts it, ” The way I experienced this project is a bit like a three-line counterpoint in which each different line supports the other, but could also be perceived as one single line where you could follow. The three main threads are the narration by Tilda Swinton, the score and the brutalist architecture on display.”

“Listen Patiently”, says Tilda Swinton, as she recounts the days of Men – a cataclysmic event pushes humans to the outer reaches of the solar system, where they take refuge on Neptune. A strange new planet gives rise to strange new entities where humans have evolved to become close to sentient beings – living for thousands of years and in sync with each other’s thoughts, a collective telepathic hive so to speak.

The ethereal, ambient and elegiac nature of his score enraptures and enthrals – enchantingly profound, that conjures up a sense of awe and wonder – as the jagged edge of an otherworldly concrete behemoth takes flight, soars and reaches out to the stars, the feature proves that Jóhannsson was an adept storyteller as much as a proficient composer.

The idea of time, sense of place, moods and atmospheres have always been inextricably intertwined with the art of filmmaking. And more so when it comes to the sci-fi genre where monumentality and a sense of scale are accentuated through amorphic forms and intricate geometries – giving rise to the notion of advancements in technology as well as the exploration of ideas pertaining to power, might and the human condition.

Last & First Men is an ode to the power of filmmaking. Pure, elemental and stirringly evocative, the geometric futuristic forms rise far and wide – initially symbolising the remnants of the past, which through the power of the narrative alone, soon transform into seemingly alien artefacts of the future.The film manages to instil a feeling of familiarity through the landscape juxtaposed with eerily unfamiliar structures which spring forth and sprout from the surface – the alluring, enigmatic and surrealist brutalism on display.

The hauntingly powerful nature of Last & First Men is a testament to the composer’s vision bringing together the “three main threads” which without a doubt, will evoke a myriad of thoughts, questions and emotions – ever growing and constantly changing over time.

A quiet yet tenacious creator and one of the modern greats to have walked the surface of this pale blue dot, his work resembling an entity in itself.

Jóhann Jóhannsson is not a household name, but his memory lives on and his legacy will transcend time, through this film, his music and his many students and collaborators. May his brilliance shine resplendent like a thousand sons and continue to inspire the Last and First Men.

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