Dibyajyoti Sarma's Blog, page 47

Inherent Vice

Writes Xan Brooks in The Guardian/

America makes no sense to the denizens of Gordita Beach, California, down by the ocean at the edge of the world. It's the end of the 60s, the death of the age of Aquarius. Everybody here appears to have mislaid the plot. Paul Thomas Anderson's gloriously rambunctious Inherent Vice follows the fortunes of a stoner investigator who finds himself hopelessly lost in a case he can't solve. Doc Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix) is interviewing witnesses in a frenzy and scribbling "Paranoia Alert" in his detective's notepad. It's clear from the outset that he's going nowhere fast.

Inherent Vice, by contrast, turns out to be a ramshackle triumph; a colourful detour disguised as a crime caper, making antic hay from Thomas Pynchon's 2009 novel. Anderson's yarn arrived at the New York film festival confidently billed as one of the prizes of the autumn season, buttressed by an all-star cast and exciting instant talk of Oscar glory. And yet Vice, for all its virtues, is too wild, baggy and disreputable to play well with Academy members - and this is surely for the best. The film's natural habitat is with the deadbeats and the dreamers, in a bygone California where hippie freak-ins bloom like wildflowers and a menu at the massage parlour advertises oral sex for $14.99. They should screen it in a pop-up cinema in a city park, with complimentary reefers and a henna tattoo.

Here comes Doc Sportello, sporting mutton-chop sideburns, a natty straw hat and a permanently glazed air. His duplicitous ex-girlfriend (Katherine Waterston) has embroiled him in a missing person's case and he's fallen foul of Josh Brolin's straight-edge LA cop. A real estate tycoon has vanished and neo-Nazis are suspected. "Beware the Golden Fang", Doc is warned at one stage - but does the Golden Fang refer to a rock band, or a boat, or an Indo-Chinese heroin cartel? Who can say for certain? "It's real name isn't really the Golden Fang," explains Benicio Del Toro's lawyer in a conspiratorial whisper. Except that this, of course, leaves us none the wiser.
MORE HERE/

Foxcatcher

writes Matt Zoller Seitz in RogerEbert.com/

"Foxcatcher" is a heartfelt, intelligent, deadly serious drama based on a real murder case in which a wealthy patron hired two wrestler brothers, tried to seduce and control one of them, and ended up murdering the other. Every frame of it is sincere. As cowritten by E. Max Frye ("Something Wild") and Dan Futterman ("Capote") and directed by Bennett Miller ("Capote," "Moneyball"), it's also a throwback to a '70s style of commercial filmmaking. Much of it unfolds in long takes, in medium or long distance shots that draw attention to the environment around the characters, and there is minimal dramatic assistance (or intrusion) by music. Parts of it evoke films by the late Alan J. Pakula ("All the President's Men," "The Parallax View," "Comes a Horseman"), a master of understatement.

And yet in the end "Foxcatcher" proves impossible to embrace because of fundamental miscalculations in performance, direction and makeup, along with a certain clumsiness in the way that it tries to make some kind of grand statement about American values, or the lack thereof. If I had to make a list of movies I'm saddest about not having liked, this would rank near the top.

Its heart is a story of brotherly love and rivalry that turns sour, sordid, and ultimately tragic. Olympic wrestlers Mark Schultz (Channing Tatum) and his older brother Dave (Mark Ruffalo) have a very deep bond, which we later discover was rooted in shared childhood trauma. They didn't just grow up together, they raised each other, with Dave serving as a surrogate father to Mark. When the story begins, Mark is already withering in his brother's shadow. Both won Olympic wrestling medals, but Dave is the more likable and functional of the two. He's made a career as a coach and settled down to raise a family. Mark is single, seemingly has no friends and no sex drive, and spends his free time in monklike solitude, eating Ramen noodles in his bachelor pad. The way Channing Tatum plays him (and in some cases regrettably overplays him) he's a cartoon caveman with a jutted-out chin, trundling around in sweats.

Then billionaire John Eleuthère du Pont (Steve Carell) calls asking Mark to come out to Foxcatcher, his 800-acre Pennsylvania horse farm, and help him create a world-class training facility that'll prepare the U.S. Olympic team for the 1988 Seoul Olympics. Mark hops into a helicopter and quickly succumbs to the promise of lavish living quarters and a steady check. (In one of the film's many agonizingly true observations of how the rich exploit class-based ignorance, John asks Mark to name his price, Mark names an amount that John could probably fish from couch cushions, and John says yes as if bestowing a great favor.)
MORE HERE/

As Mason, whom we have seen grow up before our own eyes, ...

As Mason, whom we have seen grow up before our own eyes, in Richard Linklater’s Boyhood (2014), finally goes off to college, his onscreen mother Patricia Arquette has an outburst. The empty nest syndrome. Then she says something profound: “I just thought there would be more.”

As I go through the motions of living, I am haunted by the same feeling: “I just thought there would be more.” I thought even after all the gambles I played, my life would turn out to be okay.

Now, I am wiser, and distraught. There was no miracle, and my life is reduced to a list of missed opportunities.

“I have always told you some version of the truth,” says ...

“I have always told you some version of the truth,” says Jack Nicholson’s playboy Harry, to Diane Keaton’s playwright in Nancy Meyer’s Something’s Gotta Give (2008), and I am reminded of someone who told me something similar.

“I may not have told you the truth, but I have never lied to you,” said he, as I discovered the other side of him, a side he was trying to hide, obscure.

On this day, two years ago, I had reached Delhi, numb wit...

On this day, two years ago, I had reached Delhi, numb with cold, and my heart filled with trepidation and expectations. Things have changed considerably since then; not all for the better… but I get by. Thank you, Delhi, for being a part of this journey.

As I reminiscence about my last days in Pune, there is th...

As I reminiscence about my last days in Pune, there is this song playing on the loop in my mind. For a long time, it was my song; how a public piece of art becomes the trigger to very private emotions. This song, from the soundtrack of Bangla film ‘Antaheen’, performed by Chandrabindu. ‘You’ remember, don’t ‘you’?

The song HERE/

At the Palate Fest Food Festival, in Nehru Park, on Satur...

At the Palate Fest Food Festival, in Nehru Park, on Saturday, November 29, 2014.

The come-and-eat show had food from countries like Turkey, Spain, Mexico, France, Italy, Japan, China and other parts of Asia, though there were very few Indian representation, barring Punjabi food, of course.

Which is understandable; for one thing, the festival was located at one of most tony areas in Delhi, surrounded by embassies, diplomats and high-level government officials in Chanakyapuri. So, obviously, they would prefer fancy foods, at a fancy price, as well.

That’s the reason why some of the city’s luxury hotels have also set up stalls. And that’s the reason why there was also a market selling organic produce.

My vegetarian friend had another problem, finding a good vegetarian dish (he finally settled for the good ol’ chole-bhature from Punjabi By Nature); he wanted to eat some hot stuff, hot, both in terms of spicy and in terms of being heated. Most of the food served was cold. We did try some olives at the Spanish food stall. But it was cold.

Finally, I settled for a veg falafel from the Turkish Embassy stall, supporting my friend’s choice of food. It too was cold; but it was sufficiently spicy.

At the New Delhi Queer Pride, 2015, as the party walked f...

At the New Delhi Queer Pride, 2015, as the party walked from Barakhamba Road to Jantar Mantar, on Sunday, November 30, 2014.

It was my first time at the annual event, and it was also the first gathering of such kind after the Supreme Court dismissed the 2009 Delhi High Court decision reading down the controversial Section 377 of the IPC, thereby effectively banning sex between persons of same sex.

The event was sexy, but sex was not the issue. The issue was comradely support. So there were people from all hues, LGBTQI, and even strait allies, running the number to thousands. To my conservative estimates, there were at least 3,000 people, which I thought, was a big deal.

Indian poet Jeet Thayil (who won the Sahitya Akademi awar...

Indian poet Jeet Thayil (who won the Sahitya Akademi awards for his collection of poems, These Errors are Correct, 2013), reads his new and old poems, at an event titled ‘Two Poets, organised by The University of Chicago Centre in Delhi, on November 27, 2014.

The other poet in question was University of Chicago Professor Srikanth Reddy, author of two books of poetry - Facts for Visitors and Voyager, and a critical study - Changing Subjects: Digressions in Modern American Poetry.

The session was moderated by Akhil Katyal, assistant professor, Department of English, Shiv Nadar University.

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