Tuesday, January 5, 2016
Somehow, it does not feel wrong, a man on the wrong side of forties, listening to heartbreak song from a girl of 19, 21 or 25 (though she is 27 now). She is pure voice and when Adele sings, such songs are not teen, girly stuff. She infuses those cries, angst and pain with so much classical dignity that it pierces the heart with simple happiness. Not for nothing, her song writing has been compared with Shubert and Beatles. So the sartorial dignity of yours truly remains uncompromised.
Elsewhere, while talking about painting, I wrote of Cezanne’s ‘imperative of solidity’. An artistic output that strives for a solid presence without losing any of its lyricism and suppleness, Adele’s songs are solid. She delivers a fully formed concrete reality. Many find her ‘incapable of a false note’. Such perfection can turn mechanical, blemishes are life, perfection is stone. There is nothing plastic when she sings.
There may not be any false note but she has that “perfect imperfect voice”. A voice that is capable of hitting you with total brutality. Coarse reality living on those notes but fine sensibilities get transmitted through supreme control and superlative vocal skills. The throw and thrum just gets conjured up and stands up in person. Just watch the video of ‘Hello’ and first ‘hello’ comes with burning of stove-yes, let there be light and there was light.
Her songs convey doubt, uncertainty and yearning but this she does by hitting every note fully – totally bereft of tentativeness. Note comes out fully formed, loud, clear and confident of its purpose. No wobble, no dithering. This direct appeal, this ‘unmediated expression, further reinforced by next door, simple English girl persona is huge part of her appeal. Her voice is not silken but throaty, ‘toothsome’ throw. It has timber that can carry her frailties and pain with a confidence of a supremely talented youngster.
What has been termed as ‘throwback classicism’ of her song writing led to Newyorker slotting her as a “soul singer in the most expansive and truest sense.” Songs that are “points of reckoning, reflections, admissions of culpability sung purely and without guile, because what’s it matter now?” Adele from her retrospective analysis and regret is able to convey joy of a relationship with all the attending joy of poetry and music. She can be angry as a youngster or regret some of her behaviour or choices or just stay amazed at the intensity of pain (“They say that time’s supposed to heal you, but I ain’t done much healing.”). Beyond all this artistry is the artist who manages to create musical tsunami at will without surrendering to the demands of the cutthroat world of music industry.
She can afford to bring out albums after gap of years, say no to tours that sell music, have a combative stance with the streaming services, indulging in a voice destroying eating and drinking habits (though now subdued)and having absolutely non flashy song delivery style (“. I just want to sing it. I don’t want to perform with my body.”). With this she comes back and as matter of routine nonchalantly collect Grammy, Oscars and sales of millions. This next door girl image add to her relatability. Audience feel protective about her and when such a person delivers music with such sublime facility, response is huge. As was said earlier, it is pure voice that hits with its completeness, and comprehensive throw that has made Adele what she is today. Absence of antics is part of this great ‘unmediated expression’.
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
Imtiaz Ali has created a mature love story in ’Tamasha’. It is one of those complex movies which demand a little more indulgence and attention than usual, not for everyone to enjoy. Trailers and pre-release hype had rightly prepared the audience for a certain interpretation of the storyline. Expectations were that this film will explore the toll that yearning for honesty takes on a relationship. There were some interesting choices of clues in Tamasha apart from obvious product placements. The book that everyone was reading was ‘Catch 22’ and the conference in Tokyo was on bipolar behaviour. Tamasha has two beautiful movies in it and both are very powerful. One deals with ‘Catch 22’ of role-playing and other is more to do with personality disorders brought about by not being able to live by one’s choices. Merging of the two strands, howsoever expertly, has left a dissonance in the experience.
Milan Kundera wrote a beautiful story on role-playing by lovers titled "The Hitchhiking Game". In the story a young couple on a trip decided to play strangers. They delved into excitement and madness that such games are prone to induce. The experience excited them initially and, even, brought out hidden aspects of their personalities and relationship. But things went bad and the story ended with protagonist calling for pathos to rekindle emotions and failing. The Role-playing resulted in deforming the relationship and killing romance for all practical purposes. Debauched abandon of such temporary leave from constraints of morality, habits, and obligations may leave permanent scars. That was Kundera writing in restrictive communist milieu. This is Imtiaz Ali deploying the state of breaking free to a different and somehow, opposite impact while keeping the agony angst, ecstasy and madness of the enterprise intact.
To begin with, there wasn’t any relationship to deform and role play created one and here anonymity of role-play was used to pry open maladies and heal them. Actors (a superb Ranbir Kappor and sublime Dipika Padukone) rose up to the challenges and infused the characters and situation with genuine joy and heart rending agony. Their on-screen chemistry gave the story that critical emotional heft. Imtiaz created beautiful moments used Corsica and Hauz Khas Delhi not only as backdrops but also as characters (Ved/Don used to talk to mountains). Results are very satisfying.
The Director has gone arty and sophisticated about laying foundations of the major concerns of his film. His tools were the story teller (very effective Piyush Mishra) stage play, monologue by Ved/Don. One has to be attentive and patient to follow the direction of the story. ‘Sitare Jameen Par’ or ‘Three Idiot’ or Munna Bhai wre more direct about their core messages. Imtiaz takes his time and allows the audience to participate in the process of deciphering characters and decoding core message – pay off is better, if a bit strenuous sometimes.
Imtiaz Ali is good at many aspects of direction. His song picturisation is great, he exploits locales beautifully, he captures joys and pain of romance very deeply. At the same time he is very sympathetic in his portrayal of unravelling of person. His portrayal of ruin conveys its grandeur. ‘Rockstar’ saw impact of agony and total unravelling by creative torrent. However, in the entire process there was no doubt about where the Director’s sympathies lay. He applauded the ruining by the acid of honesty/creativity and intensity of feelings. Here too he was appreciative of the madness of it all.
I was rooting for ‘Catch 22’ of pure of nameless, free lunatic anonymity of role playing. You like someone for a role which may come back to haunt you when expectations change. But to my mild disappointment he deployed this crazy relationship to heal a personality flaw or helping a sick person, to get his freedom. Power female of the crazy relationship was not somewhat reduced to a tool of healing. She was an equal partner in the crazy adventure in Corsica, while in Delhi, it was all about Ved. Story tried to convey repression and bipolarity of Ved, Ranbir Kapoor showed remarkable resourcefulness in tapping crazy nervous thrill of his character’s lunacy. Dipika showed equal aplomb in sliding into supportive role. She was great in conveying her bewildered disappointment on meeting robotic ‘normal’ Ved. All said and done, Imtiaz Ali brings certain smartness in the interactions of his characters. Whether it is coquettish banter or it is catharsis of brutal longing, it is never less than posh without being showy.
Another issue with the core message is its insistence on superlative. It exhorts against mechanical pursuit of mediocrity and shackles that habits and expectations put on us. It asks us to create our own story. But what happens when you are a mediocre trapped under mediocre expectations. Not everyone has the exit route of a ‘Storyteller’. Don’t they deserve a place under the Sun.
Monday, November 9, 2015
Milan Kundera is a writer of moments, of fleeting experiences or even further sub division or an interpretation of that emotion. He likes to call his method or style as ‘meditative interrogation’ or ‘interrogative meditation’. However, those delightfully ponderous and long meditation are almost always about a moment as said above, a fleeting one. It can be about an old lady waving goodbye or a rather disgruntled look at the female midriff. Fleeting or momentary this might be but Kundera weaves lifetimes out of it.
Old masters, here I am talking in terms of age, tend to acquire a telegraphic leanness in their output. In case of writing, often, paragraphs start looking something like formulae- Condensed and distilled – expressing core truth with the benefit of commentary. This can go either way. It might strike as a whiplash of understanding or leave the trail of unsatisfied craving for understanding sometimes.
Autumnal output by master authors swings in one more direction. The author sleepwalks through the product. Due to innate greatness or ‘muscular memory’, broad parameters of the products are usually in place and it has some signature flashes of genius. But this work fades in comparison to earlier works which were less of products of practice but of genuine inspiration supported by indefatigable craftsmanship. Soul simply does not shine through. Admirers of the artist get into nostalgia mode and start celebrating diminished sparks that remind them of the original fire – their own and that of the artist. But, as I mentioned somewhere else, nostalgia has both its utility and futility. ‘Festival of insignificance’ Milan Kundera’s first novel in this millennium, a 115 page telegraph of a novel, exemplifies all the facets of aging maestros discussed above. But, a fan, like yours truly can’t but be thrilled by the offering.
‘Festival of Insignificance’ is a sparse stark reminder of Kundera’s core capability of analysing a moment/feeling/situation/concept and see how that can pervade the much larger canvas of life despite seemingly niche quality. Kundera has great powers of perception to grasp underlying ingredient of a situation and deploys his meditative interrogation with great success on that. Here, he dwells on insignificance as the leitmotif of human existence and has developed an enjoyable book. The novel, despite its sparse bulk, is able to cater to the ruminative cravings of the reader. However, one can’t shake the feeling that Kundera is playing like a retired or retiring player. He has retained his key capabilities but the novel needs more. However, the fact remains that the Master always delivers, at least to the basic minimum level, even when he is sleepwalking.
It has given rise to voices in many quarters doubting the continued significance of Milan Kundera. In a recent article titled ‘How important is Milan Kundera today? in the Guardian Jonathan Coe writes “The Festival of Insignificance, then, is certainly typical Kundera, if not classic Kundera. It is an old man’s book and, while there are flickering signs of a mellow and playful wisdom, it would be surprising if there were not something autumnal about it. A glance at the back covers of Kundera’s novels in the Faber editions reveals a raft of quotes from the likes of Ian McEwan, Salman Rushdie and Carlos Fuentes, most of them more than 30 years old, reminding us that his reputation was at its zenith in the 1980s, the decade when everybody was reading The Book of Laughter and Forgetting and The Unbearable Lightness of Being.” Another article in Atlantic Monthly ‘Does Milan Kundera Still Matter?’ says “Reading Kundera in the ’80s was like watching Mad Men with the conviction that smoking, drinking, and grabbing the secretary’s ass were bold assertions of individual autonomy in the face of a cruelly repressive state.
Czech Communism collapsed 25 years ago. Kundera, who is 86, has lived in France for 40 years and written in French for more than two decades. The Festival of Insignificance—his first novel in 13 years—is an excellent opportunity to ask what happens to his fiction once the backdrop of Soviet oppression no longer throws his dark jokes, nihilism, and naughty interludes into bright relief.’
Such observation may be valid and writing in Kundera style may no longer be having its novelty kick but that does not take away much from his importance. He is a great novelist and a pioneer for his style which he himself confesses is in the tradition of great European novelists. His key works stand the test of time and resonate with brilliance that appeals to human concerns beyond a certain epochs. His best works contain the intellectual and emotional pleasure of an examined life. His capabilities of “forging connections between the individual consciousness and the shifting currents of history and politics” has the thrum of operatic proportion and never fails to elate. This sophistication of feelings which hovers in the no man land of psycho-philosophical fiction.
He has mastered the art of deploying the tool of novelistic inquiry to issues of his choosing and that has often led to a hugely satisfactory literary pay off. His key works of the so called middle period are the foundation of his reputation. The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, The Unbearable Lightness of Being and Immortality will find place in any pantheon of great novels for the intensity of their inquiry, their amusement at the complication that grim realities of life throw at us. Despite their playfulness, irony and ponderous meditation these novels were and remain urgent due to their evident connection with the zeitgeist.
One of the qualities of great literature is that its esoteric highbrow abstraction does not affect its accessibility. Kundera seemingly obtuse phenomenological (a term that he politely refuses) inquiries are illuminated with the easy recognition. Reader never feels distant from the text despite ‘interiority’ of the material.
Kundera has achieved a unique voice in his books. A playful wisdom that abhors seriousness. He may look formidable due to his erudition and European sensibilities but he is never serious. The twinkling naughtiness of his voice, that impish tone is sure shot antidote to dogma. This is also a protective armour that saves the scepticism from being fossilised into dogma of his own. With these voices he confidently ‘pursues the lost possibilities’.
This pursuit is essentially interrogative. Frequency of questions in his text is only overtaken by the open refusal to subscribe unambiguously to any point or belief. Even the most extensive enquiries yield answers that have an air of work-in-progress. This is not tentativeness on his part, simply an acknowledgement of the logic of evolution that human issues don’t lend themselves to final answers.
Much of requiem for Kundera’s relevance centres around the fact that his strengths like taste for irony, philosophical gravitas, essayistic style has been either equalled or overtaken by later writers like Julian Barnes and Alain de Botton to Slavoj Žižek. This should be seen as another instance of his greatness if he is able to inspire greatness. As an original he retains his primacy. If he discovered a genre or a style that is still relevant enough to attract great talent, credit is all his.