The Prestidigitator

You spend enough time with people and you realize that it’s always tempting to reduce them to cultural stereotypes; the proverbial clown car so to speak.  It would have been depressing if it weren’t so much fun.

So yes, I spend happy hours after work with this rather colorful group - a group I’ve grown particularly fond of over the past few months; the Indian couple who after 3 years of marriage still seem to be all over each other, the proselytizing right wing American who cannot stop blathering about the USPs of being ‘born again’, the pretty Chinese girl who for some strange reason finds it imperative that she photograph every waking moment of her life, the computer whiz who downs more energy drinks than anyone else I know and the jolly chain smoking (militant) atheist who would have made a brilliant Santa Claus if he weren’t, well, such an avowed atheist. (Note how I consider myself above all generalizations.)

A couple of nights back, during one of our inebriated sessions, religion comes up. Pretty Chinese girl starts raving about how Buddhism is the one religion/philosophy that in the last 2500 years hasn’t instigated a single conflict. Not to be outdone, Santa Claus reiterates how secularists have done more good for humanity than followers of all religions combined. Mr Yankee, piss drunk and understandably offended starts mouthing verses from the bible much to the consternation of Young Married Couple.

Things take a turn for the worse when insults are exchanged between Santa Claus and Mr Yankee (“Let’s see you turn the other cheek when I…”). Emotions flare and I try my best to break the tension with lame attempts at humor. For a moment they seem to work and Yankee calms down visibly.

“You bastards can say whatever you want but Jesus saves.”

An awkward pause follows and then Computer Whiz, “Well then he should bloody well invest in real estate, shouldn’t he?”

He was clumsy at almost everything that required any sort of physical exertion; litheness was an unattainable pursuit. Goddamn genes. Yet, there he stood, at the edge of what he was told was a 50 meter drop. Nausea set in. It wasn’t too late to back out; but what would he tell them?

“Hey Earl, has anybody died abseiling?”

“Fifty meter drop. Death is being optimistic.” Condescending chuckle.

“What?”

“Nope. Nobody’s died.”

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the gear he had on; like a chastity belt. Everything seemed so tight and restricting. That was how it was supposed to be he assured himself. He buckled himself on to the belay device that went through a set of pulleys and other contraptions that were meant to keep him from having to depend on himself. He tried recollecting the coefficient of rolling friction and felt safer. Deep breaths, Earl kept telling him.

“You have to enjoy the moment man, it’s pointless doing this otherwise.”

“Hey Earl, I think my legs are shaking. Is that going to be a problem?” Beads of sweat made their way from his forehead to his lips.

“Self awareness is the key.”

“What the hell am I supposed to be aware of?” He slowly leaned back and felt the rope tighten around his waist. Craning sideways, he took in the view. It was a long way down.

“You aren’t a separate entity. One with the rock. One.” Tree hugging bastard.

“Earl, I think I want to come back up.”

“You’re not coming back up. Lean back and trust the rope. Ten year olds do this, you little shit. Work your fingers through the buckle and slowly loosen your grasp on the rope. You won’t fall.” A beat. “If nothing, you will have learnt something about yourself today.”

“Right.”

He did as he was told and felt himself being lowered. Confidence rushed in from nowhere. He let a little more rope go and swung wildly scraping his knee on a jutting rock. Great day to wear shorts. He paused for a minute to collect himself. People do this everyday. Why was he making this seem so hard?

As he felt warm blood trickle down his knee, he suddenly felt more alive; more determined to see this through. Sometimes, all it takes is a knee-scrape. On his way down, he bruised himself a couple of times more but was no longer perturbed. Pain was a only a sensation, he told himself. He smiled at his borderline masochism.

Feet on hard earth again, he felt the rush of accomplishment, fleeting as it was. Sun beating on his face, he looked back to where Earl was.

“Hey Earl, I want to do this again.”

“Climb back up then.”

Closed till further notice.

Wong Kar Wai’s My Blueberry Nights is a strange film. Some thirty minutes into it, there’s a scene in which Jude Law’s character kisses the sleeping Norah Jones; and they barely know each other. Whether or not you’ll fall in love with this film depends on how you react to that one scene. You could either think it’s immensely beautiful or incredibly creepy, like I did.

WKW’s films are filled with strife and agony that aggravate the already existing emotional and sexual tension between characters. He makes them go through terrible bouts of loneliness before giving them a reprieve. The emotions are underplayed; what really does the trick in a WKW film is the visual style. He’s probably the only director who can make neon lights, blurs and bright colors look sensual and intimate as opposed to well…sleazy.

My Blueberry Nights follows Elizabeth (Norah Jones) as she takes a road trip of sorts whilst trying to come to terms with a recent heartbreak. Along the way, she meets the proverbial clown car of characters, each of them struggling through life themselves- a troubled couple (played by David Straithairn and Rachel Weisz) and a compulsive gambler (Natalie Portman). You know she’s supposed to learn something along the way, but you can never be sure of what Wai really wants to say. Elizabeth shares an ambiguously defined connection with Jeremy but still goes a long way before she realizes truths that only characters in films do. My Blueberry Nights has a very weak screenplay; one that’s not quite sure of what it wants to tell. The character arcs are ill conceived and you never really get a satisfying resolution. I have to agree with the critics who say WKW’s vision got lost in translation somewhere; it’s pretty obvious he was never comfortable with the language or the nuances involved.

However, the film is perhaps the most beautifully shot film you’ll come across this year and has one of the most amazing kisses ever filmed. If nothing, this film will be remembered for that one (creepy yet beautiful) kiss. At the end of the day, My Blueberry Nights is a disappointment for WKW fans; a beautiful disappointment.

Links:

• My Blueberry Nights is not so tasty: Daily News
• Norah Jones’s Three Day Kiss: Telegraph

PS: See how I didn’t go overboard with Natalie Portman this time?

Why is it that you always want what you can’t have?

Damn you Jagger.

Yet again, I find myself in an existential funk.

Just when you think things are going pretty well, you make the mistake of ‘reevaluating’ your life and the choices you’ve made over the years. And just like every other time, the resulting epiphanies are dime a dozen and as always, a little disturbing.

I find solace only in the knowledge that there is nothing beer and a week long vacation can’t remedy.

If there’s one breed of vermin that deserves zero respect/sympathy/empathy, it’s the one that comments without abandon on sites like YouTube and Redditt. Going through some of the comments on YouTube (as entertaining as some of them are) is pretty much all the proof we need for dysgenics. For the average internet junkie, sitting in the confines of his/her room is all the empowerment he/she needs to air his/her retarded views onto an unsuspecting world. Most of the time they end up being just plain ridiculous and sometimes marginally offensive.

(Click to view)

There is a comment that shows up beneath an article on Wired,

I want to destroy young generation of India Delhi is the best place to do bomb blast in SouthDelhi mainly in Mohammad Pur, Nehru place buildings, Vasant vihar flats, RK Puram Lodhi Road, Sarojani Nagar are the best place to do the bomb blast and do lot of casualties. Lot of Colleges are are also the best place to do bomb blast if anyone will do bomb blast here then there are maximum casuilties done and ISI will become happy. I want to Tell that if anyone want to carry bomb laptop leather bag is very good for this.
Put the bomb in the leather bag.

Include punctuations where necessary to make sense of what you just read. How exactly do you react to something like this?

Additional Links:

• An interesting read by Andrew Chen
• What You Tube comments really mean

I love the way this country smells. I’ll never forget it. It’s kind of spicy.

Wes Anderson, in many interviews has stated that this film was intended as an homage to Satyajit Ray (and even inspired by Jean Renoir) and that’s exactly what hits you from the first frame; a poignant, stylized and funny opening sequence shot somewhere on the streets of Rajasthan. A character (referred to in the credits as The Businessman) played by Bill Murray rushes to the railway station in a cab and chases a train that has already started moving. Enter Adrien Brody with a couple of bags, cue slow motion and the track, ‘This Time Tomorrow’ by The Kinks. If you’ve seen a Wes Anderson film, you’ll know this is a sign of good things to come.

Wes Anderson, pardon the cliche, is one of a kind. His worlds are inhabited by people born into decadence with quirks and eccentricities that seem far too unreal but still manage to exhibit emotions and oddities that are quite humanistic. The Darjeeling Limited is hardly concerned about conventional plot mechanisms but flits across many familiar themes; sibling rivalry, love, family, oedipal conflicts and of course, closure.

Three brothers who have fallen apart over the years meet up on The Darjeeling Limited under the insistence of one of them who feels they need to feel something on the lines of a spiritual awakening. As they visit temples, meet people, share adventures and embrace the culture, they come apart at the seams. One of the more beautiful scenes is when the youngest brother Jack wonders if they would have ever been friends if they weren’t brothers (I wonder if the three of us would’ve been friends in real life. Not as brothers, but as people.).

Ever since Rushmore, I’ve been a huge fan of Anderson. While critics think his films are more stylistic than anything else, I think that’s pretty much what Anderson strives to create, that and characters who in spite of their inherent weirdness still manage to redeem themselves. Anderson’s choice in music is impeccable. The score features tracks composed by Satyajit Ray himself and obligatory punk rock songs from the 70s.

The cinematography by Robert D. Yeoman is as usual very Andersonesque; wide angle lenses and some pretty inventive shots. The settings and locations are a tad bit over dressed but this isn’t unusual considering the man at the helm. The casting is near perfect too. Apart from the main characters, it will be criminal not to mention the beautiful Amara Karan who I intend to immediately hunt down and propose to. She has an amazing screen presence and oozes with sensuality.

Of course, India is portrayed as exotic (to Anderson, India doesn’t seem to have changed since the 1970s) which isn’t such a bad thing since he points to Ray as his inspiration. Also, some of the Indian characters have very noticeable Yankee accents; all forgiven, mostly because I feel Anderson has created his best film to date, moving, heart warming and stupendously beautiful to look at.

9/10

PS: Hotel Chevalier is a mandatory companion piece to the film.

“I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” -Woody Allen

A recent article on Wired points out that Sirtrius Pharmaceuticals treated diabetic mice by slowing their metabolism or simply by slowing down age related cellular breakdown. There have always been an umpteen number of articles on anti aging research in the past thanks to people’s obsession with death and fear of aging.

The drugs apparently work on the Mitochondria which over time accumulate damage and cause cellular breakdown; so Mitochondria rejuvenators (in lab animals) have halted diseases and extended longevity. So you basically reduce suffering before death but in spite of this it’s still known that animals inexplicably drop dead at the end of their traditional lifespans.

No matter how well anti aging drugs work, death still is an inevitability…but what had me really interested was another Wired article that ponders on how anti aging research will change the way we die thereby altering the way we live. Would we live life more fully if we knew that death was an inevitability that came without warning as opposed to long disease ridden miserable lives that preceded death (thanks to medical advances and all which in effect does nothing more than stall)?

The jury is still out but this is all very mighty interesting stuff.