I just started reading "The Big Sleep" by Raymond Chandler (known most famously for his witty one liners) and could not resist leaving a small note about the book. This book published in 1939, is believed to be the starting point of the detective/crime pulp fiction novel. It is hard to believe that he brought in everything from blackmailing, gambling to pornography in a book - way back in 1939.
In Ian Rankin's words - The Big Sleep is a story of sex, drugs, blackmail and high society narrated by a cynical tough guy Philip Marlowe. As such, it provides the template for much of the urban crime fiction which came after, as well as most Hollywood thrillers. What sets it apart from the crowd, however, is the quality of mind which conceived it. Chandler's pulp credentials show in the twisting of the plot, yet it reads with the simple inevitability of classic tragedy.
For now, I am going to leave you with a fragment from the book - this is in the first page, when detective Philip Marlowe meets the seductive daughter of a millionaire.
"You're awfully tall," she said. Then she giggled with secret merriment. Then she turned her body slowly and lithely, without lifting her feet. She tilted herself towards me on her toes. She fell straight back into my arms. I had to catch her or let her crack her head on the tessellated floor. I caught her under her arms, and she went rubber-legged on me instantly. I had to hold her close to hold her up. When her head was against my chest she screwed it around and giggled at me.
"You're cute," she giggled. "I'm cute too."
There are songs of love. And there are songs of pain. And then there are the songs of nostalgia.
But not too many songs can blend the three feelings together, and spice it up with a panache of Rock 'n roll that lay only within the creating power of the 60's. This quintessential classic rock number - #364 in "The Rolling Stones' 500 Best songs of all time" list - very succinctly validates the biggest argument against Atheism.
Eric Clapton is God. Eric Clapton exists. Therefore God exists.
So what makes this song so divine, you ask?
Think of the dark lady in your life. The one you loved the most, and who hurt you the most.The one you can never forgive or forget. Get or get over. The one you can't stop hating, can't stop loving. Well, picture her now, at that moment of eternity, when you look into the crouching tigers of her dark eyes, and know its never going to be the same again.
All you have ahead of you then, is the White Room.
And that's the place you wait, while the sun never shines.You hold her hand at the train window, as she sits, and try to convince her for the last time. You urge her to give it one more shot. You apologize for everything - for what you are, and what she is. You promise and beg, and tell her it will change. You tell her, you will change. But she is distant. In her head it is already over.
"No strings can secure me", she says at the station.
And as you walk out, you find suddenly that your own need is just beginning. And that's when the lyrics of White room start making sense to you. But the train's already left, and its just the beginning of an eternity sad time. No way to deal with it, except to get lost in the theatrics of thunderous bass drums and Clapton's sometimes extended solo, and dwell upon it as year pass in the brief interlude of the song.
And then when vocals come in again, years have already passed. And you bump into her again at a party. Time has helped you move on, you have lost yourself in the mediocrity of normal life - but the mere sight of her in the hard crowd, strokes that old feelings again and makes them resurface. But she has moved on, and she is almost kind when she talks to you.
At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd.
Consolation for the old wound now forgotten
The song, made mostly of colorful four syllable phrases, was coined by lyricist Pete Brown. Accompanied by bassist Jack Bruce and had Clapton on guitars.Along with "Sunshine of your Life", it became one of the most notable songs of Cream's career as a band. It is the sort of song that only grows on you with time, and leaves you with a feeling of longing and nostalgia for what once was.
And eventually, as the song finishes and the mediocrity of life takes over again, what you are really left with, are the last two lines of the song.
Ill sleep in this place with the lonely crowd;
Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves
****
Cream
- Jack Bruce - Bass guitar, vocals
- Eric Clapton - Guitars
- Ginger Baker - Drums, Tympani
I discovered Fleetwood Mac in the summer of 2008, over a chance hearing of the track "Dreams" on slacker radio. And I knew, even in that first hearing, that this was a band that I was going to love. I think it was several weeks later that I finally "obtained" their discography and went through their albums.
After a brief exploration that included dwelling into their 4 CD The Chain series and listening to isolated tracks from "Tusk" and their self titled debut album, I finally hit upon "Rumours" - my personal favorite Fleetwood Mac album. Rumours, I found out later, is ranked on #25 by Rolling Stones on its list of 500 Greatest albums of all time.
Now Rumours isn't as phenomenal as say, Sgt. Peppers for The Beatles, or The Dark Side of the Moon for Pink Floyd. There is no sonic exploration as in the case of Floyd, or mind teasing lyrical journeys as was the case with Sgt. Peppers. It was instead, as music critic Patrick Donovan said, one of the great lost blues band - either the quintessence of California Soft Rock and L.A. excess or one of the greatest pop groups of all times.
To understand why, it is necessary to get into the psyche and pain of its band members - the drummer Mick Fleetwood (and the Band's namesake) aching under the separation from his wife, or the love gone bad tale between the lady singer-songwriter Stevie Nicks and the lead guitarist Lindsey Buckingham. Concurrently, there was also the divorce between the Bass guitarist John McVie and singer Christine Perfect.
With so much aching between the five band members - and a world of awkwardness between them, they sat down to write and compose this momentous album and feelings came pouring out. Before long, they realized that each was writing about the other - although the lyrics never seemed to be too specific or clear. Hence, they did what they could and called the album "Rumours". But before long, they realized that they had created such a beautiful album which drew them out of their misery.
The album begins with Lyndsey Buckingham's peppy track Second Hand News - a track that sounds more high spirited than its lyrics seem to be, where he seems to be directing a message to Stevie when he says,
"When times go bad
When times go rough
Wont you lay me down in tall grass
And let me do my stuff"
Stevie replies in her second track Dreams - possibly Fleetwood Mac's best composition till date, when she sings in melancholy and tells Lindsey-
"Now here you go again,
You say you want your freedom..."
And in a haunting tune that flows through the song like a wave, she tells him about women that will come and go, and how in the end he must -
"Listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness,
Like a heart beat - drives you mad,
In the stillness of remembering what you had,
And what you lost..."
And then, there is the haunting guitarwork of "Never Going back again" by Lindsey where he revisits the grievances of his previous number. This song with its acoustic guitar ring is very reminiscent of Going to California by Led Zeppelin, another song that talks about the woes of a woman unkind.
The next track on the album composed by Christine called "Don't Stop" , which appears to be an attempt to look ahead and think about tomorrow since Yesterday's being gone, moves on with a classic riff that spreads through half the song. There is advice that is seemed to be dealt to a scorned lover here - asking him to continue to seek happiness elsewhere, and done nonchalantly and a little too happily as if, in an attempt to mask your own pain.
The sixth track in the album is "Go your own way", which talks about Lindsey's acknowledgment of -
"Loving you, isn't the right thing to do,
But how can I change the way I feel?"
Again, with a fantastic riff, and an effort to get lost in excessive rock and roll to forget the aching of the heart brings us this fantastic number by the band.
Go you own way follows up by a track called "Songbird" a soft number in which Christine sings the ache of her heart and reinstates that she will love like never before.
My second most favorite track from the Rumours album (Dreams being the first), is The Chain. This song has everything a good song ought to have. Beautiful guitar work, a good chorus and voice, good beats - and of course, the slightly accusatory lyrics where Stevie Nicks and Lindsey sing together-
"And if you don't love me now,
You will never love me again."
So let's just break the chain shall we? And see where life takes us. Let us instead dwell on other things and be happy, like that accelerating riff that comes in past three minutes into the song and gives us the enthusiasm to run headlong into life.
"Oh Daddy", is most probably a tribute to Mick Fleetwood, the caretaker of the band, and the strength that held them together while they faced their biggest crisis of their relationship as a group. The album ends with Gold Dust woman, in which Stevie speaks about Lindsey's downward spiral into Cocaine abuse when she tells him to
"Take a silver spoon,
And dig your grave."
Rumours went on to be come the 10th best selling album of all time, and Fleetwood Mac became a commercial success with this album, although none of the band members ever got back together with each other. They went on lead different lives, and meet different people.
And yet, the strange thing was they stuck on together as a band. And they continue to play till this day at live concerts. They all have different lives now - but each time, any of these songs are sung, Stevie says, it is like visiting old memories - and we love each other in ways that wouldn't have been possible if we had been together.
And the intensity behind their relationships gives me all the more reasons to love this album.
Some movies deliver to the older folks. And others work strictly for the younger multiplex going generation. This movie promises to address both but sort of immerses itself in the younger story - the multiplex story. And in that context, it works splendidly.
Saif Ali Khan's production debut begins with Love Aaj Kal - a movie by Imtiaz Ali - The same guy who directed the sloppy "Jab We met". Jab We Met was a hit - for reasons beyond my understanding. For all I knew, it was a DDLJ rehash with a poor man's Sharukh who was incapable of any menacing expressions whatsoever (Okay, I have heard about Kaminey, but I guess its something we ought to wait and see - not hype up. Even good directors make bad movies, as Ram Gopal Varma could tell you).
Now why Jab We met was a hit? I must probably give credit to all the punjabi women who went gaga about it. That, and the fact that we had a recently broken up Bebo and Shahid who created enough publicity with the last movie they would do together, and the few kisses they shared on and off screen that somebody has been kind enough to upload to youtube.
Enough said about that. Jab We Met was a mediocre movie.
Love Aaj Kal, on the other hand, is good. Now, it isn't excellent. It isn't without its little failings, its badly placed songs, occassional spurts of unemotive acting by a model turned actress with a behind to kill for, and a star actor with the worst dancing skills since Sunny Deol. Don't believe me? Just watch him prance around for Twist, looking goofily straight at the camera and trying too hard not to mess it up.
But what makes Love Aaj Kal work for me, is its plausible storyline -about love in today's world and the practicality of letting someone go - even if you feel somewhere deep inside that this might be the right one. There is an ounce of truth in what happens in the movie - and it is bitter. Yet, we are shown the sweetness that once existed - in the story of yesterday, which unfortunately, plays like a romantic comedy track. This story is told through Rishi Kapoor's narrative although in a flight of cinematic license unknown previously to Bollywood, the character is played yet again by Saif.
And thus we see two stories unfold as we witness a Saif of the older days ( who is actually Rishi Kapoor when he grows old)- spotting a turban and beard and making declarations of love as he follows his loved one miles and miles just to see her. And on the other side, there is the Urban Saif - the talking, blundering and philandering Saif, who lets love take a backseat and immerses instead into work and playstations and growth, only to find himself terribly lonely, when all is lost.
Love Aaj Kal works because its script does not travel the familiar path. It moves into unchartered territory and talks about relationships and confusion. It addresses the fear of commitment all men feel and what Indian movies conveniently ignore. Happily ever after is tougher than ever today, and this is what Love Aaj Kal portrays.
Having said that the acting is not too great, there are times - when the acting does deliver - the sorrow that runs deep behind Deepika's eyes, or the drunkenness with which the pair stumble into an apartment complex and Saif mumbles a hello. Deepika, who got away playing a prop in Om Shanti Om, gets ample space to act in Love Aaj Kal - Sometimes, she does deliver, showing that she cannot be written off immediately. At other times, it is clear that she is still raw. There is much to be learned.
The movie therefore, rests mostly on Saif's broad shoulders - and he pulls through, despite his rather large nose and balding forehead. The forehead is conveniently covered in the Sardar's avatar - but the broad shoulders gell well into the Sardar's shirt - although they make the new generation Saif look pudgy and fat. I personally liked his look as the older Saif better. Being an actor of caliber, he manages to bring out the unchecked agression and insecurity of a Punjabi munda.
Lastly, a word on Harleen Kaur - that beautiful beautiful Italian lady they have cast as Saif's love interest. She fits into the role of a beautiful Punjabi maiden perfectly and is tailor made gorgeous.
For me, a good movie is something with a script that doesn't bore, dialogues that I find easy to comprehend and a story that keeps my attention till the end. Love Aaj Kal managed to do all three of these - and it is therefore a movie that is not your average Bollywood movie - despite being packed and disguised that way.
And thus it becomes the sort of movie you must see. If you were ever in love. Or in a relationship. Or confused.
Yesterday. Or today.
Four Stars on Five.
Six months ago, I came across a Dutch movie unwittingly as I stood outside a remote movie hall in New York City. Released sometime in 2007, this movie was titled "
Kærlighed på film".
The English Translation: Just Another Love Story.
One glance at the poster told me it was anything but that. A man, stands with a gun drawn over a dead man in a pool of blood. Time wasn't wasted. Tickets were bought. Seats occupied.
The movie begins like promised with a series of numbered love scenes. Except that it was hardly love. It begins with the protagonist Jonas's narrative of how it all ends and then we are thrown into his life as he struggles through a slightly sickening job and a boring wife and kid, when he suddenly meets the femme fatale Julia through an accident. The accident leaves Julia injured and comatic. Jonas makes his way to the hospital to be misunderstood by her family as her boyfriend.
When his feeble attempts to clear the misunderstanding fail, Jonas finds himself being handed a wet sponge to wipe the naked and comatic Julia's body with clear instructions to clean between her armpits and legs. And thus begins a strange, erotic, cruel, ambivalent and sometimes funny journey as he claims to be who he is not, and leaves the life that was originally his, suddenly and unwittingly drawn into a passionate love, an exotic fantasy and a forbidden life.
And as we follow him through a sensory overload of events, we are both repulsed and strangely attracted to his actions. The guilty pleasure of enjoying something really despicable. There is always a woman, the protagonist says, and there is one here. One, we are as much mesmerized with, as is the protagonist. Cleverly written, the characters often dwell in the intricacies of metafiction. A woman and a mystery are the ideal ingredients of a movie, one of the characters says sarcastically. A good shot, says the protagonist in another scene which is a classic film noir shot if any ever is.
The background score is brilliant, alternating between a slow haunting acoustic guitar, to a symphony of sorts as we move through the protagonist's life. The script is fresh and pulsating with energy as we laugh one second and are repulsed the very next. If a movie can make you grimace, laugh and bite you nails with apprehension and wonder at the intelligent sharp exchange of dialog, it is one that has managed to make its mark. This particular movie has surpassed the mark.
Acting by the lead characters is ace. The confrontation scene between the protagonist and his opposite number is fletched out stunningly. Fragments of each life are shown to you, and as you put everything together and move towards what is a stunning climax, you realize somewhat surprised, that this movie is exactly what it promised to be.
Just another love story.
First, there is the article on 27th of June 2009, that says Mahatma Gandhi was re-incarnated as Van Jones, a celebrated civil rights activist, which Deccan Chronicle News paper reports "
here".
The theory is propogated by researcher
Walter Semkiv, who states (among other things) that Van Jones shared with Gandhi, similar bone and face structures. Walter Semkiv also says Van Jones had the same affinity towards Civil Rights movements than Gandhi had.
And just as I give the article an "I-don't believe-you" eye and decide to let it slide by, I come across this second article on Michael Jackson possibly being reborn female in future. This article, on the 28th June 2009, which Deccan Chronicle(again) prints, can be read "
here".
This article, written by... *rubs eyes*...the same
Walter Semkiv guy, talks about Michael Jackson being earlier born as a French entertainer and then as a young soldier who lost his life at a battle. Walter Semkiv also goes on to say (among other things), that with Soldier Jackson's young death in battle, he had lost a chance at boyhood.
This, my friends, explained Pop-king Jackson's craving of boyhood. Find no errors in that sentence. And speak no evil of the dead, mind you.
But this
Walter Semkiv guy
is alive. (And so is Deccan Chronicle). So it isn't nearly as bad to wonder what it is that these guys are cooking up. And why is it that"our correspondent" is writing so many things about him?
But before Walter Semkiv can wonder why his article causes me to furrow my eyebrows in deep concentration, he must look at my coat, long hat and pipe. He must wonder who it is I could have been in a fictitious previous life.
Isn't it elementary, dear Walter?
If this story is indeed plausible, and not something out of science fiction movie, it might do well for you to click "
here" and learn about these genetically modified mosquitoes, that a research team in Chennai is working upon.
In the words of visiting Oxfordian research fellow S.S. Vasan, the technology "deploys these genetically sterile Aedes aegypti male mosquitoes to fight disease causing ones." The disease they are targeting seems to be dengue, in this scenario.
That sounds like bloody science fiction to me! But on second thoughts, if such a thing really were possible, I can't help but wonder if it wouldn't be easier to genetically modify those bloodsuckers to love animal blood and leave us humans alone? I mean think about it. It sounds a lot easier than manufacturing clones to fight the bad guys. (Yet another Terminator movie?).
Oh well. Random useless thought apart, I must concede that science does have its limitations. And from what I read of the article, so does the benevolence of our Indian government.
I just started reading "The Big Sleep" by Raymond Chandler (known most famously for his witty one liners) and could not resist leaving a small note about the book. This book published in 1939, is believed to be the starting point of the detective/crime pulp fiction novel. It is hard to believe that he brought in everything from blackmailing, gambling to pornography in a book - way back in 1939.
