Dinu of Small Things

Yet, see no end –

Or the beginning

To which my ways do tend.

Till sweat-hewn patterns

Swell with the rays -

Oh! That mortal feeling.

Hands, clutching a loose ridge;

Its bare physical form

Draws a fading line between

My resolve and the fall.

Feet, kick up like a child’s,

When first risen by our stench

As it lands with all its weight

On infant nostrils -

I gather speed with every swirl;

Its ‘let go’ at this height!

White specks shifting in a row -

As my eyes keen up to the world.

A termite rank braves it slow

While the rest of us paddle.

How strange these tiny acrobats

Should live on waste we strap

Round ere beaten dust -

Perhaps I’ve reached the Underworld!

As eternal Sky drew her canvas

In routine from times of Prometheus,

My veins cracked a call

‘Give up lest you fear the fall’

The thoughts stole my footing!

After a rush of pebbles,

Dizzying dust,

My last strand of might

Fastened, settled.

Amidst the flurry I glanced down

To distances outgrown -

Now a wondrous kaleidoscope! 

Shedding its divisions,

An expanse of life;

Alive with hope…

In a mellow sadness

My mind sank to a truth -

If all the peaks we adventure

Turn bleak and pathless,

This vantage hindsight

Should hold the climb’s fruit.

Behold, the fighting froze!

One by one out of bunkers

A homeward march began

As terrorized heads got blood into veins

One flung his arm, cried:

“Yonder brothers, freedom shines,

Let us march to merry South!”

Kindled by this bold soldier flare

The troop clapped in rejoice

Drenched in hope, with the sun at their back

The company forgot North.

As they crossed the barb, rose an orange hill

Upon it a child;

Seeing the parade he yelped at once:

“Did the enemy trade your guns?”

The soldier crowd bemused by the pun

Laughed aloud, replied:

“Rest your worries there need be none

We let them to the wild”

Having spoken thus the leader of men

Reached to hug the child

But he flinched aghast, took to his heels

Disappeared behind a frown.

 Hollywood film is narrowed to thirty or forty special effects-dominated flicks and an equal number of farces and romances Hollywood makes each year – far less than half of the town’s output.

Art film in the broadest sense means non-Hollywood, more specifically foreign film, even more specifically European film. Each year Western Europe produces over four hundred films, generally more than Hollywood. Art film, however doesn’t refer to the large number of European productions that are blood-spattered action, hard-core pornography, or slapstick farce. In the language of  café criticism “art film” ( a silly phrase – imagine “art novel” or “art theatre”)  is restricted to that trickle of films like BABETTE’S FEAT, IL POSTINO or MAN BITES DOG, that manage to cross the Atlantic.

These terms were coined in the wars of cultural politics and point to vastly different, if not contradictory views of reality. Hollywood filmmakers tend to be overly (some would say foolishly) optimistic about the capacity of life to change – especially for the better. Consequently, to express this vision they rely on the Archplot  and a high percentage of positive endings. Non-Hollywood filmmakers tend to be overly pessimistic about change, professing that the more life changes the more it stays the same, or worse, that change brings suffering. To express the futility and destruction of change they use Nonplot or Miniplot Structure with negative endings.

These are tendencies of course, with exceptions on both sides of the Atlantic, but the division is real and deeper than the seas that separate the Old World from the New. Americans are escapees from prisons of stagnant culture and rigid class who crave change. The old world on the other hand has learned through centuries of hard experience to fear such change, that social transformations inevitably bring war, famine and chaos.

from STORY by script guru Robert McKee

‘Today was different,’
She mused,
Beneath the thickly, aging Jack
Where she played princess
To boy kings bygone;
Decked in patchy brown crown.

Today was different
From all those vacant evenings
By the winnowers or the well
Or by the dwindling boatman
From the lake bend;
Trapping her in like watchmen.

Her finger aged through moist
Clogged in the old tree’s shedding,
Its tip treading heartily
Where men dare not set her free
Like a plough in mid September;
Furrow by furrow
Before rain set in. 

She thought about it twice -
Leaving town
With the factory workers
Or the crop-lorries,
When eyes were caught up
With seasonal blessing
Like fat-bellied flies crashing her skirt.

Not more than once
Her courage drowned
In stunting waves of time;
Her time -
When walls and beds spoke
Behind spliced gliricidia   
To wind-worn ears.

As the sun got tired
She breathed out like a flame,
Counting another day
She willed to stay
For her heart to be unlocked.

The film has a refreshing take on the life-long ideological clash between left wing - right wing politics and Art. Set in the crumbling decades of Communist run East Germany the story follows the beautiful character arc of a meticulous, straight-face National Security agent who is assigned to dig dirt on a reactionary playwright. Ulrich Müch brilliantly plays a difficult role with limited dialogue and gestures, half the time left to react in scenes shot without co-stars.

 The cinematography and music is simply marvelous and a must mention is the art department. Details on apartments and props are excellent – complements the camera work and holds together a most economic narration for a political film.

Loved this – Thanks Umesh made my weekend…esp after the dead leg Bradby!

Perfume is an adaptation of a seemingly fascinating book about a young man born with a keen sense of smell - Again touching on the Kieslowskian sphere of destiny and sensuality. But the film ended up being a cross between Peter Pan and Hannibal! I watched on disturbingly as the most innocent and whimsical premise got butchered into some sick fantasy trapped inside writers Andrew Birkin and Bern Eichinger (brace yourself: when I checked on IMDB Birkin has actually written Peter Pan for TV 21yrs ago) . The formula: get some curvy curly blondes, dress them up in corsets, throw some cleavage and turn a perfectly normal boy into a sick pervert! Most breathtaking cinematography and music. And yes it’s John Hurt who did an amazing job in Dogville on narration once again!

Why Letters from Iwo Jima was ever made let alone nominated for Best film is beyond me! Another cheesy attempt at glorifying war and heroism. Clint Eastwood’s direction is as cut and dry as his westerns!  If I was a Japanese I would bomb Pearl Habour a second time round after watching this crap!  According to the film the only intelligent Japs are the ones who can speak English and have traveled the world! Time after time the Japanese are portrayed as lazy, arrogant, short-sighted and lousy marksmen who can’t plan a defense without their ‘trained-in-the-American-ways’ General coming to the rescue! Elsewhere we are stuck inside dimly lit caves watching Japanese soldiers trying to kill each other over issues of honour while the US Army is launching their biggest offensive in the pacific front! When they are not going at each other’s throat they commit suicide. And the story goes on…

If you don’t like war movies pat yourself on the back and do thanksgiving…if you like war movies watch Saving Private Ryan again and listen to George Bush speak…what ever you do DON’T WASTE your afternoon on this!!

Talk about crash landings…not a single decent movie since returning!!

Swallowed about 80mins of Bridge on the River Kwai, half the time thinking how beautiful Sri Lanka looked 50yrs ago and what little imperial sense this film makes…!

Then sat down to a pirated copy of Todd Field’s Little Children. I went crazy over his earlier effort In the Bedroom that hooked me into American Indie films. Things were promising this time as well until the DVD cracked! What a horrible way to miss ‘copyright’ Singapore!

The knockout was local film Aksharaya. A story that was not set up, characters with no motivation, the most hideous dialogue and half baked performances…what a week!

Salvation finally came from Last King of Scotland. A very interestingly shot film. Certain scenes are shot in multiple angles often digressing from main action to include details that add nothing but atmosphere. Wasn’t surprised to read that director Kevin Mcdonald is known for documentaries. If depicting the uncertainty of living in a third world country was an objective - 10 outta 10 there!

It’s quite surprising that Forest Whitaker walked away with an Oscar for Best Actor in a leading role! The film is about the young doctor not the dictator! This is no biopic – wake up!

It’s well set up with the central conflict between ideals and reality. Nicholas Garrigan enters Africa with a typical youthful western perspective of cherishing the unexpected. Just like the first explorers that set sail to the New World from European ports. But the Garrigan expedition is more insightful than anything his white civilization undertook over the past centuries.

I liked the film because it showed Garrigan’s fall as tragic - A man with potential blinded by his passion. Mirroring Amin himself. It comes a full circle when he realizes his tragedy. A message for western pundits who jump headlong to back charismatic political figures that promise the sun, moon and earth to people in underdeveloped nations. There should be a special screening of this film for all foreign press and the NGOs in Sri Lanka!

The film moved from actors to an inconsequential take on sentimentalities involving colonialism. After a series of flashbacks the characters are isolated in a remote village with a cholera epidemic. Someone starts questioning the grounds on which the British occupy China. The village becomes infested with Nationalist unrest. Suddenly you are having political soup for film!