Watch and weigh

Do we really identify that classification called genre be it cinema or literature? I'm not sure. For ages now, we've been calling Titanic (1997) a love story dipped in honey (or freezing water). This is also the reason why upcoming movie critics are often seen deriding the monumental film. They simply can't get over its romantic tinge. And while doing so, they conveniently forget that it's the greatest disaster film ever attempted or accomplished. If James Cameron hadn't gone ahead with this seemingly impossible endeavor, it's hard to imagine Darren Aronofsky doing the same with Noah (2014) almost two decades later. Building the ship wasn't as big an achievement as sinking it. And that climactic scene when the liner is literally standing at right angle—about to trudge downwards—is a prime moment in the history of cinema. Had that scene failed to achieve what it set out to, the movie would have sunk instead. However, a corny dialogue—perched on the top of the doomed ship—by Rose reminding Jack that they ARE precisely where they first met each other superseded the visual treat. The selfless love exhibited wouldn't let us appreciate the scale a movie based on a historical disaster can reach. 

     Something not-so-different happened with Fight Club (1999) too. Because of the uninhibited violence and never-seen-before style of filmmaking, we tend to forget that the film is actually a comedy. It was meant to make us point finger at our species and laugh our gut out. The characters—real or imagined—keep shifting from one situation to another with the required comic punch. Be it Jack's incurable insomnia or Marla's unpredictable personality or Tyler's desirable insouciance, each one of them is blessed by laugh-with-me lines and expressions. Not only them, even the supporting cast tickle you. A boss who wouldn't give in unless you beat the shit out of yourself. Or a fighter who gets punched in the balls repeatedly only to be helped up by the guy who punched him down there. Or a priest who'd do anything but fight. Even the dark Kafkaesque climax involving Project Mayhem is funny because of the way Edward Norton's character is helplessly tied to a chair in his white office shirt and boxer. During that instant, you predict something bad is going to happen because in the back of your head, you ACTUALLY want it to happen. At least that's what Jack wished for before you fell for Marla. All the gyaan that was directed at you was existential for a purpose. Adding a twist to a knotted screenplay—moreover, to quench everyone's thirst—he blows his head off. What follows is far from what you expect from an  action adventure or a gripping thriller. 

     Moving ahead to the twentieth century, we saw how Inception (2010) gave birth to innumerable  dream-within-a-dream joke formats. For excuses ranging from "I didn't get it!" to "I love it when Nolan fucks with my head!" the marvelous film was referred to as a cautionary psychological thriller instead of a tragic romance. Well, there's no denying that the director took us on a walk through human subconsciousness but a bigger fact can't be ignored either. Every little thing that happened in the film was a testament to Dom's desire to spend some minutes—if not moments—with his dead wife Mal. He hasn't gotten over her death yet. Going by his nature, he never will. So, whatever be the consequences, he needs to be with her and for that sake, he's willing to jeopardise a lot of lives. And he almost does. But there's a twist in the tale here. He can be with her in his dreams but he can't control those dreams. In other words, he can't stop his beloved wife from killing herself again in his mind. At the same time, he would rather have the privilege of at least trying to stop her for a change and thus redeem himself of guilt. He loves her, you see? Wait. There's a another twist here. In his dreams, Mal doesn't seem to share mutual affection for him. Maybe she too wants him to move on. But he won't and a stupid totem can't do anything about it. He's part of the most brilliant one-sided love stories ever told on the big screen.

2012's must-watch contender

There’s something about Quentin Tarantino’s films that grows on you until you go wow. And then you wonder a bit about what really happened. After all, he’s one of those few directors who writes as brilliantly as he directs. His vision remains undiluted and it shows on the canvas. While he’s at it, he makes sure the entertainment factors don’t compromise themselves under the heavy burden of a message to be delivered. And this is precisely what he has done with Django Unchained.
Released with a few cuts in India, this period film has all the ingredients of a typical Tarantino venture. However, none of them are predictable and the pace is maintained throughout. The story beautifully weaves forward from a cunning yet affable bounty hunter (Christoph Waltz) and his calculated eccentricities to a former slave (Jamie Foxx) and his quest to free his wife (Kerry Washington). Set to the south of Mason-Dixon line in an era where racism was the unwritten code of life, an unlikely friendship blossoms between the two protagonists. Both are quick with bullets, motivated, smart and possess colourful shades of humanity.
During their horseback journey together, they come across several characters — one more evil than the other — allowing humour and action to mingle wholeheartedly. To get what they want, a plantation owner (Leonardo DiCaprio) has to be fooled as he technically owns the hero’s wife. But his Man Friday (Samuel L Jackson) won’t let that happen. At least not without a fight. No wonder there follows delightful rounds of mind games, witty dialogues and bloodshed. Speaking of which, blood spills like ketchup and the body count only keeps increasing. Obstacles, no matter how big they are, eventually bow down to gunshots
Intriguingly, racism shadows this marvelous piece of cinema from its very beginning to its end. But historical realities don’t deny the bare setting and that works in the writer-director’s favour. When you pitch a black gunslinger with a German ally against a Francophile American with a black attendant, the racial closure is basically neutral. Meanwhile, the haunting background score with timely cheerful songs contribute to the Western drama.
Speaking of performances, Waltz takes the cherry for his remarkable portrayal of someone who believes in goodness more than his skin. Foxx comes across as a sturdy sharpshooter who won’t leave anything to chance. Playing a villain for the first time in his career, DiCaprio is menacing while Jackson is equally brilliant. However, Washington’s role appears inconsistent. She switches from grief to euphoria like a baby.
The film could have finished quicker as the finale seems draggy. But then, it’s okay to let a filmmaker like Tarantino indulge a bit and let us wonder a bit longer.

PS: This review was published in MiD DAY, my first for an English language film.