Bulbbul [dir. Anvita Dutt]

I remember Anushka Sharma's Pari had a gotten a lot of good word but for sheer cussedness, I did not see it in the time that it was making waves, and then it went out of my consciousness (I had better catch it while it's still on Prime). As some kind of atonement I suppose, when I heard that Sharma was producing another horror flick to be shown on Netflix I pounced on immediately. How did that work out for me?

In early 20th century Bengal, strapping young lad Satya returns after many years to a home where his much elder brother has deserted, abandoning his child bride Bulbbul. Much nearer in age to Satya, Bulbbul's coquettish behavior suggests old passions. Meanwhile, a bunch of murders in the neighborhood are being attributed to a Chudail.


Bulbbul is the kind of horror story that, if you've seen / read any horror stories before, you will know within the first 15 min EXACTLY how it's going to play out; the film does not once in its entire 90 min running time surprise you. I suppose one must be grateful for its not having the twist-for-twist-sake convolutions that make you want to slap the writers silly, but it is a slog.

It's not unwatchable, though. There's some serious thinking behind the visuals (DoP Siddharth Diwan), with lovely colors, dramatic lighting (and aggressive color grading), which make for the best reason to sit through. Director Anvita Dutt is obviously going for a lush Gothic feel a la Crimson peak (even if certain scenes like a prominent bathroom sequence evoke hilarity rather than the intended gut-wrench, while another set on a hospital bed is undeservingly icky). The climax with a forest fire fares well in terms of the integration of the CGI.

The titular Bulbbul is played by one Tripti Dimri who is...actually good. Depending on the scene, she has a smile that alternately conveys innocence or a knowing sensuality, and commits to the part. One wishes the writing had done her more justice. Male lead Avinash Tiwari seems to come from the T-series stable of bland movie heroes (interestingly, Deepa Gahlot gives him a lot of credit in her review of the recent Laila Majnu movie, so maybe he was just badly let down here). Rahul Bose in a double role is twice as awful. Damn it, why can't he be implicated in one of these #metoo scandals and made an industry pariah?

Samskara aka Funeral Rites [dir. Pattabhirama Reddy]

It was probably a couple decades ago that I came across writer and academic UR Ananthamurthy's 1965 short novel Samskara, a searing indictment of the the hypocrisy in ritualistic Brahmin society. UR was a perennial iconoclast (in the years before his demise, he got into trouble with the establishment for suggesting that the Mahabharata has references to the consumption of flesh, including beef, by Brahmins) and a passionate fighter for his secular beliefs. In Samskara, by engineering a moral question that leads to the disintegration of a Brahmin colony he prods the hollowness of orthodox society, suggesting that in its quest for self-denying austerity and ritual, it has lost essential humanity. The 1970 film version, which I am seeing only now, is a faithful adaptation of these themes.

Fittingly, Samskara begins with a death. The victim is one Narayanappa, who during his lifetime was notorious for deliberately offending the Brahmin orthodoxy in which he was born, by abstaining from the prescribed rituals, indulging in meat and liquor, and - horror of horrors - consorting with the low-born woman Chandri. His lifeless corpse embodies the dilemma facing the community - should one whose life was dedicated to mocking Brahmin traditions be accorded the ritual funeral reserved for the high-born? And if so, who among them should undertake to perform the rites, since he then cannot be touched by anyone other than a Brahmin. The situation is compounded when a grieving Chandri offers all her gold jewelry to ensure a proper sendoff for her beloved Narayanappa. Trapped between their fear of ostracism and greed for the reward (and general necessity, as they are forbidden to even partake of food until the dead man has been taken care of), the Brahmin locals place the matter in the hands of Praneshacharya, the deemed leader of their community.

Praneshacharya is a study in contrast to Narayanappa. Known for his deep knowledge of scripture, he is single-minded in adherence to their prescribed norms and austerity. His marriage to an invalid woman he assiduously tends to by himself makes his home life also a model of self-sacrificing devotion and celibacy. Even his critics like Narayanappa admit that unlike the others he is at least a sincere Brahmin. In Sanskrit the name Pranesha roughly means "Lord of One's Life" and can be used as the term for a spouse. While not a caricature prig, Praneshacharya appears to have designed his entire life to focus on climbing the spiritual plane hierarchy. In fact one of the reasons why Narayanappa had not already been ostracized from the Brahmin community despite his provocative behavior is that Praneshacharya held back on this step, hoping that he could, by personal example and counseling, reform the wayward prodigal. This again can be interpreted as selfless benevolence or a calculated piety-garnering exercise.

Anyhow, with the matter placed in his hands, Praneshacharya feverishly pores over his texts but finds no answer. He then prays for divine intervention from the god Maruti / Hanuman (also a representative of celibacy and unswerving devotion in the Ramayana), relying on the device of placing a flower on the idol and waiting to see which way it falls. Here too, Praneshacharya's prayers fail him. In a daze from disappointment, exhaustion and hunger, he comes upon Chandri; at that moment, his self-control fails him and they give in to their physical urges.

His lifelong commitment to the austerities of spiritual life breached, followed immediately by the death of his wife (a reflection of the death of his self-imposed celibacy?), Praneshacharya wanders out of the village barely conscious of himself. In the meanwhile, Narayanappa's body continues to rot, and dead rats and hovering vultures show up as omens of blight. A plague is spreading through the community and nearby villages. As Chandri desperately tries to get her man cremated by any means, Praneshacharya's aimless tramping brings him in contact with the garrulous hedonistic Puttu, who takes the guru under his wing to show him the "sights of the world" (or at least the neighboring temple fair). In partaking of these pleasures (and eating at the temple feast without undertaking any purification rituals), Praneshacharya 'pollutes' the entire temple community. He begins to regard himself a bigger sinner than Narayanappa, who was at least open and honest about his transgressions.

I normally do not like to dissect plots in so much detail, but in Samskara, the course of the narrative and the questions it raises is what powers both book and film, and without bringing out these themes, there is no discussion. It questions the rigidity of strictures that force individuals to shirk basic human decency or be so conscious about denying oneself any gratification that the merest tremor can bring down the arduously built tower of virtue. Ananthamurthy's book was the subject of much debate when it was released, and the film version in turn had to fight the imposition of a ban by the censors.

Made on a low-budget with location shoots and a wholly naturalistic style, Samskara is a milestone in Kannada film. The crew, assembled as a true collaboration of creatives coming together to work on a meaningful project, included a foreign DoP (Tom Cowan) and editor (Steven Cartaw), possibly because the makers felt that local technicians at the time were not sufficiently conditioned for cinema verité. Acclaimed writer and stage personality Girish Karnad in his first screen role brings a lot of humanity to his portrayal of Praneshacharya, drawing our empathy for his dilemmas even as we realize that he (and the community he represents) has engineered his own fall from grace. The film adaptation of Samskara is undoubtedly a precursor to the social justice focused cinema of Shyam Benegal (Ankur, Nishant, Anugraham) and an engaging experience in itself.

The Return of the Vampire [dir. Lew Landers]

I am astonished that 1943's Return of the Vampire (RotV) isn't better known at least among classic horror fans. Starring Bela Lugosi as the titular vampire, it works almost like a sequel to Universal Studio's iconic 1931 Dracula (which IMDB's trivia section for the film tells me is what Columbia Pictures was aiming to put it as, before Universal threatened lawsuits, after which they changed the name of the vampire to Armand Tesla and made it anyway). RotV stands high with any of the classic monster movies and in some ways it is refreshingly progressive. The leading lady and Dracula...er, Tesla's nemesis is a woman (Frieda Inescourt), and not some screaming damsel in a negligee, but a strong-willed middle-aged scientist and mother who is willing to do what it takes to stamp out the vampire's menace, even if no one believes her.

Taking notes from the mashup movie Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man, RotV includes a werewolf (Matt Willis), who is  slave to Tesla (although one wonders what he carries in those frequent packages to his master, it's not like the vampire needs takeout). The early part of the film is also notable in its implying of the vampire feeding off a child (I'm surprised the censors were okay with that). Later he also drinks from a young man, belying the exclusively heterosexual context of vampire attacks, at least in classic movies.

The resolution is a little pat and rushed (the film runs a brisk 70 min) but it carries sufficient interest and has some atmospheric fog-shrouded visuals (remember the movie clips used in Iron Maiden's video for Number of the Beast? They come from here). The dissolve effects used to show the vampire's demise might have been an inspiration for the death scene in Hammer's 1958 Dracula /  Horror of Dracula.

Vanaprastham - The Last Dance [dir. Shaji Karun]

If I correctly recall my school lessons, Vanaprastham in ancient Hindu scripture literally means "retirement into the forest". It refers to the phase of life when one gradually dissociates oneself from the affairs of the world - possessions, family - and becomes more spiritually inclined, in preparation for Sanyasa, the phase of complete renunciation and asceticism.

But what does this have to do with Kunjikuttan (Mohanlal), the sad-eyed protagonist of Shaji Karun's ravishingly mounted poetic drama? Kunjikuttan is an exponent of the operatic artform Kathakali, a star on the rise. When the film begins we hear that he is graduating from female parts (he portrays the demoness Putana, known for trying to kill the god Krishna in his infancy, by suckling him with her poison-tainted breasts) to heroic male leads - he is slated to play the  Mahabharata's famous warrior Arjuna. But Kunjikuttan is also a tragic figure. Born of an illicit tryst with a lower-caste maidservant, his father refuses to acknowledge Kunjikuttan, even though he is also his rigorous mentor in the Kathakali discipline. All through his youth, Kunjikuttan has yearned for a father's affection, for the identity it would give him, and always it has been denied because of his mother's lower social status.

Even as an adult with his own family Kunjikuttan feels the loss; it is reflected in his perennially distant gaze. His marriage is an empty shell, only his little daughter bringing a spark of liveliness in his face. Kunjikuttan's art is his sole raison d'être - against the red glow of the flickering oil-lamps, under the layers of traditional make-up and costume finery, escaping into an entirely different character is when he lives rather than merely exists.

The second act of the drama of Kunjikuttan's life begins when his role-playing of Arjuna is attended by Subhadra (Suhasini). A high-born erudite woman of literary persuasion, Subhadra is the niece of the local diwan (landed nobleman representative of the ruling class). There is an innate double entendre in this: The Subhadra of mythology is the consort of Arjuna and the mother of his celebrated son Abhimanyu. Our Subhadra too is smitten by Arjuna; apart from entrusting Kunjikuttan with her own libretto for the famous episode of Arjuna's abduction / rescue of his consort, she also pulls him straight from his Arjuna performance into her boudoir. After their love-making, she exults in smearing the colors from his make-up on her face, while he quietly slips out like a thief into the night.

This courtship also marks the end of their affair, because Subhadra has no feelings towards Kunjikuttan, the lower-born Kathakali performer. Her eyes are only for the mythical Arjuna. She shuns his attempts to contact her, and even the son born of their one-night stand is shown to him only once (Subhadra's moneyed status in old Kerala's matriarchal society means she does not need a husband to rear her son). Kunjikuttan's caste thus robs him also of the identity of father to Subhadra's child. His soul torn apart at these repeated betrayals, Kunjikuttan turns away from hero parts, preferring to play demonic characters that mirror the rage within him. Time moves on, seasons change, people around him grow older or die, his own head grows gray, but the void within Kunjikuttan remains; he is neither the son of his father nor the father of his son. He decides that there is but one way to resolve the situation. He must stage Subhadra's libretto in which he will for one last time return to the role of Arjuna.

Those who have watched Shaji Karun's previous films like Piravi and Swaham will know what to expect - a languorous reflective journey with feet placed in the boats of past and the present. Vanaprastham is something of an epic project in Karun's career - a co-production between Indian and French studios, it has apart from Malayalam cinema superstar Mohanlal, an international behind-the-scenes crew (the gorgeous cinematography is by Santosh Sivan and Renato Berta while editing duties are shared between Sreekar Prasad and Joseph Guinvarch) and is scored by the acclaimed classical music maestro Zakir Hussain. Thankfully, all of this does not add up to a tiresome prestige piece. While Mohanlal does not seem entirely convincing in the performance segments (it takes several years of practice for an actual Kathakali practitioner before he/she can ascend the stage), he anchors the tragic arc of Kunjikuttan's personal life with a restraint that is evocative; In his soft-spoken words, in his silent stares we feel the pain of a rootless man. This Vanaprastham would seem to be for one who has renounced the hope of having an identity in this world.

Vettai [dir. N Linguswamy]

Vettai's plot about two brothers, one timid and the other foolhardily brave, was potentially interesting as masala entertainment. Madhavan as the timid elder one becomes a police officer after he is goaded by rogue sibling Arya, and gets posted in a town where lawlessness runs rife. The brothers have an arrangement where Arya ass-kicks all the bad elements and Madhavan gets credit for it. The entire basis of such an arrangement is supposed to be the loving bond between them. This is however sketchily conveyed, with Arya getting almost nothing from the deal. Madhavan doesn't especially acknowledge him in private, and does not even come to his defense when his haughty wife labels Arya a loafer mooching off her "braveheart" husband.

The wife is played by Sameera Reddy, with Amala Paul as her sibling. These two are introduced in song as a super-spunky pair who send suitors packing because they don't settle for just anybody. Except, when Arya comes with Madhavan's proposal, they don't even feel the need to meet the actual man before accepting the proposal. Make up your mind ladies, liberated or not? It's still interesting that the initial encounters are between Arya and Sameera in a series of feuds that you think will set them up as a romantic pair, but they end up as devar-bhabhi (siblings-in-law). The main baddie is a dubbed Ashutosh Rana doing a stereotype tamil movie villain role, 'nuff said. This guy is so thick-headed he makes Prakash Raj in Wanted look like a genius.

While there are occasional thoughtful touches and winking nods to popular Tamil cinema, the major problem with Vettai as a movie is that for its butt-testing 2.5hr length there are no surprises and no tension. Arya is so badass he can beat up dozens of goons alone. At one point in the film, Madhavan's character undergoes a transformation that with a quick training montage converts him into an equal badass. Every encounter has a foregone conclusion, which makes the film a chore to sit through.

Sarkar [dir. AR Murugadoss]

AR Murugadoss' Sarkar is a masala puri that mixes elements from Shankar's Mudalvan / Nayak and Upendra's Super. Joseph Vijay aka 'Thalapathy' Vijay plays Sunder (apparently inspired by Pichai), a mega-bucks earning tech CEO known for swallowing up other companies when he's not strutting around a gaudy Las Vegas for a number called (I kid you not) CEO in the House. Sunder flies down to India in a private jet to vote in the elections. Apparently he does it every time, but someone forgot to give that memo to the local companies who, till his intention is announced on TV, are shitting bricks about whether they will be the next target of Mr. Acquisition. Anyhoo, swaggering in to the election booth, Sundar finds his vote has already been cast, and decides to take the Jallikattu by the horns.

This unveils the main social message of the film, awareness about Section 49p of the Conduct of Election rules which says that anyone who finds their vote has been illegally cast can demand to cast a ballot paper vote. Of course, like any self-respecting Tamil hero in the post-Shankar world, Sundar is not content with winning the right to cast his single vote; he provokes the public at large to submit similar petitions. As a result, the party celebrating its sweep of the polls finds that the administration has called for a re-election. This means war between Thalapathy and his politico enemies - P. Karuppiah and Radha Ravi in the best sneering tradition of Tamizh Padam villains - where he must go from merely claiming voting rights to setting up a virtual party of independent candidates to stand against the baddies. No prizes for guessing who wins.

Much speculation has been made about the part played by movies like Sarkar as a deliberate ploy by Vijay to pave the way for a future political career. The film works to promote him as an aggressive youth leader with a pulse on the people (one scene has him give the "I too have come from poverty" spiel). This is the first time I have seen a Vijay film in full, and this guy is basically a Rajinikant clone in terms of acting style and gestures. He is always two steps ahead of the bad guys, and takes on roomfuls of goons with barely a crease on his natty beige blazers. The fight scenes are boring, with random slow-motion, camera-shakes and freeze-frames, the bad guys flipping over if Thalapathy even looks in their general direction.

Keerthy Suresh plays a barely there romantic interest (more so, since we fast-forwarded the forced PT exercise duet songs), while Varalaxmi Sarathkumar has a little more presence as the steely daughter of his political opponent who masterminds many of their shady maneuvers (Her character's name of Komalavalli created a huge stir in TN, being the birth-name of J Jayalalitha). It is nice to see mainstream Indian film do a female antagonist that's not the femme fatale type.  A pivotal scene where she and her father discuss political sacrifice warms the cockles. Beyond that, there's no nuance to her character (and someone hilariously described her expression as though she was constantly smelling something bad under her nose).

Sarkar is still better than most Murugadoss movies I've seen (Ghajini, 7 Aam Arivu), especially since it dispenses with his excruciating flashback trademark and keeps the soggy romance to a minimum. The script doesn't have too many diversions from the main plot line (even Yogi Babu's comic track is surprisingly restrained). But it never achieves the high of the Shankar blockbuster (nor the insanity of Upendra's film), and Vijay's Sundar is unlikely to engage the full sympathies of an audience outside of his (considerable) fanbase.

Song of the Sea [dir. Tomm Moore]

A review of 2014's Song of the Sea, which I had first seen 5 years ago, but recently re-watched.

I haven't seen his previous entry The Secret of Kells, but with this film alone director Tomm Moore shows himself to be an Irish Hayao Miyazaki, with similar sensibilities towards nature, mythology and cultural heritage. In this wonderful fantasy, a Selkie (a mythological creature that can transform between human and seal forms) marries a human - a lighthouse-keeper on an island off the coast, but leaves him after the birth of their second child. The man is rendered a depressed shell and the older sibling Ben blames his new sister Saoirse (pronounced Seer-Sha) for the loss of his mother. Their paternal grandmother, insistent that a lonely island is no place to rear children, forcibly takes them to her home in the mainland city (the puffs of black smoke from her automobile, and the crowd and noise of the urban environment indicate where the director's proclivities lie). In the midst of this, Saoirse, who has not spoken since birth, is discovering her latent Selkie abilities.

This story is linked with that of an ancient legend of the giant Mac Lir who once cried oceans for a great sorrow, which his mother Macha the Owl Witch addressed by draining out his emotions, in the process turning him (and most of the faery folk) into stone. Saoirse is kidnapped by Macha's owl minions and Ben must now work to rescue his sister (and eventually free the faery folk from their stone husks and allow them to return to their mythical homes).

Song of the Sea is a 2D animated venture that uses the flat dimension as an artistic tool, placing the characters against impressionistic fantasy backdrops, giving each frame of the film the look of a gorgeous painted illustration. Colors are masterfully used, whether it be the muted natural shades of the island locale or when they run riot in the fantasy realm. The soundtrack (Bruno Coulais with Irish band Kila) has some haunting Celtic melodies that are an integral part of the narrative. The characters and their adventure elicit the same degree of emotional response as Miyazaki classic Spirited Away, and I would highly recommend this to all Miyazaki fans.

For those interested, a few remarks about the UK blu-ray from Studio Canal:

It provides a gorgeous 16:9 image that pleases from start to finish. Like I said before, you can pause the film at any point and have a ravishing painting facing you. There are options of 5.1 DTS-HDMA audio in English (default) and the native Gaelic (HOH English subtitles are available). Even in the English version, the songs are in Gaelic and there is occasional use of Gaelic phrases, so you may want to keep the subs on for the first time you watch the film. The audio is not as boom-bang as Disney-Pixar productions, but uses the surround channels to provide a welcome buffer.

Apart from the commentary, the extras are brief, with a behind-the-scenes, animation tests and a concept art gallery. The US release from Universal seems mostly identical (except for having French audio in place of the Gaelic track)