Tag Archives: short film

I Am The Very Beautiful

Mumbai Mirror, Friday, September 7, 2007

“A Beautiful Life”

I Am The Very Beautiful’s protagonist Ranu’s victory lies in having made her difficult but elusively victorious journey

“International” bar singer Ranu is the plot of Shyamal Karmakar’s film I am the very beautiful. She ‘survives’ the impoverished life of a refugee as a child in Kolkata, an abduction as a teenager, early pregnancy, suicide attempts and a series of broken relationships to emerge as the ‘triumphant’ subject of the film. Her ‘victory’ is elusive even as she struggles to define it in terms of the flat she has procured in Mumbai after ‘hard work’ or the new found ‘respect’ she has among her relatives who once disowned and despised her footloose ways. Yet Ranu is not a tragic character. Somewhere in her subconscious she must know, as her audience will understand, that her real victory lies in her having made her journey.

Karmakar has filmed his subject over six years and edited the material to create a documentary which questions its traditions. Right from the start the filmmaker establishes his intimacy and involvement. He is not a scholar dissecting his subject comprehensively with objectivity and equanimity but a character in the film who makes us a part of his quandary about this woman. He objectifies her, checks her out voyeuristically, gazes at her burnt body compassionately, disbelieves her, attempts to understand her, never letting his audience think he is in a better position than they are. He is determined not to be her saviour in any way and labours to point out that he is as much an exploitative man as any other in Ranu’s life. His relationship with her is less organic and more what he had decided it should be perhaps. But it is important in the scheme of this film, which means well and is conscious of that. It is self assured. As a result it does not attempt to justify, emancipate or patronize Ranu or her like. It does not worry about political correctness either. It is not afraid to barge into Ranu’s world as it is.

Ranu tells the stories of her life, etching out her longing, loss, pride, pathos and abandon. The filmmaker and the audience can never be sure if she is telling the truth and more than once she gives them reason to doubt her (her conversation about age or her education in IIT for instance). But there is no attempt to probe further, for facts and figures are not the point of this film. It is a portrait of Ranu, her unforgettable smile, her inimitable ways; and as the camera gets closer it begins to blur the social and economic boundaries that differentiate her from any other Indian woman. The taboo of what Ranu does for a living cannot hold her story apart for long. Not every Indian woman may have had to prostitute herself but she has fought the double edged sword of dependence, moral dilemmas, ancient traditions, religious sanctions, vulnerability and at times even her own desires to make a small place where she can house her own individual identity. She knows Ranu and will find it easy to join in her celebration.

Pragya Tiwari

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Hridayatteieykku Oru Madakayathra

(This article first appeared in the Mumbai Mirror)

Hridayatteieykku Oru Madakayathra (directed by Abhinand Kumar) is a simple story of conflict between a father and son on a personal level, and tradition and progress and civilizations on the other. A young man defies his father’s wish to see him don the colours of Kathakali and takes a journey to the west in search of a ‘better’ life.

As the title suggests the film traces his path back home. Given the constraints of time, there is but a couple of lines from his letters that convey the disenchantment that precedes his return. The reasons are predictable and personal- a broken relationship and such, at least on the surface. The lack of incisive detailing is partly compensated for by leaving room for the imagination to take in a range of emotions.

The screenplay of the film is pleasantly clever in places. A journalist is used as a device for the father to deliver a touching monologue on his dying art and the camera pans over various stages of his applying dramatic makeup to create engrossing visuals for the voiceover of the son’s letters home. The brevity of expression of the last shot is emphatic and skilful.

But for all the ways in which the film milks the short film genre, there is a feeling of incompleteness that lingers. The audience is witness to a journey but not a participant in it. It is a relief that the film does not subscribe to the commonplace twist in the tale formula ever so popular in the genre, but perhaps falters in choosing a subject that envisages a not just a great depth but also a formidable width of human issues.

Pragya Tiwari.

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