“The loss of religious faith is a slow and fragile process, like the raising of continents,” writes Darwin to his wife. That one line from the film resonates greatly with my personal philosophy and  is perhaps one of the few reasons I enjoyed this rather ponderous study of Darwin’s struggle with faith and evidence.

The more I think about the film, the more glaring the flaws seem. The film seems conflicted about what caused Darwin’s inability to complete his treatise, On the Origin of Species – the death of his daughter or his accommodationist views on Christianity.

Creationists have long argued, albeit with no documented evidence that Darwin recanted on his death bed. Creation, based on the book, Annie’s Box by Randal Keynes dispels the myth and portrays Darwin as a man with strong convictions even if he occasionally questioned them.

Trust Woody Allen to make you sit through a film about an insufferable intellectual who calls children, “submental cretins”. Diminutive middle-aged man constantly ranting about death, sex and existential angst – never gets old. And always funny.

I’ve been drawn to Woody Allen’s shtick since college (there’s a dirty joke somewhere in there); I’m one of those very few people (going by the huge backlash from critics) who think that Allenesque male angst  and pathos are as socially and culturally relevant today as they were back in the 70s. And if you look a little closer, you’ll realize that Allen’s philosophy has somewhat evolved over the last 40 years.

Towards the end of  Manhattan, Issac Davis speaks into a tape recorder and asks himself why life is worth living. There’s Groucho Marx, Willie Mays, Flaubert’s Sentimental Education and then, Tracy’s face. That scene has always appealed to the romantic in me.

Exactly 30 years later, an older and perhaps wiser Boris Yellnikoff seems to have gotten a little less materialistic.

My story is, whatever works as long as you don’t hurt anybody. Any way you can filtch a little joy in this cruel and pointless life, that’s my story.

I’m willing to overlook the cinematic flaws for the simple reason that at the end of the day, his films tend to remind you that there’s always clever humor to be mined from meaninglessness and paranoia.

The concept of destiny irks me; that way, I buy into Dostoevsky’s morbid world view. But Danny Boyle (28 Days Later, Millions) has intricately woven magic realism into a modern day fable about survival and love; a film set at the center of India’s commercial hub.

Reaction to this film has been intriguing. Critics seem to be spellbound by the rather straightforward screenplay. The film would have never worked weren’t it for Danny Boyle (and his Indian counterpart, Loveleen Tandan). For one, Boyle infuses the proceedings with an overdose of realism; so much that you can almost smell what goes on. On the other hand, he romanticizes the aspirations of the protagonist. Jamal Malik, cares more for his long-lost sweetheart than the 2 Crore (20 Million in the film) Rupees at stake.

Remarkably, the use of HD (SI-2K Mini Digital Cinema Camera) gives a vibrancy and immediacy to the otherwise appalling backdrop. Boyle employs the frantic pace that he used so well in Trainspotting and achieves a structure that few Indian filmmakers have been capable of. Danny Boyle, much like Richard Linklater belongs to a rare breed of filmmakers – those capable of telling a story both empathetically as well as intellectually.

There is so much to say about the film- the characters, the score, some brilliant sequences; but I shall refrain at the risk of coming across as vapid and dense. To the discerning viewer, there are plenty of flaws but the audience at a limited screening I watched this film with burst into applause towards the end. The film is life-affirming without being overly sentimental, escapist without being ridiculous and most importantly, bloody entertaining. Reminded me why I love cinema so much.

9/10

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1010048/

The recent passing of Arthur C Clarke drove me to revisit the film yet again, that too two weeks after I watched Soderbergh’s 2002 interpretation of Stanislav Lem’s novel featuring George Clooney’s buttocks. This time around, both the films blew me away. The films while being (long) meditations on grief, are also explorations of existentialism and love; themes that feature in the two films to varying extent. For the uninitiated, Solaris was a novel written by Polish sci fi author, Stanislav Lem about a planet (Solaris) being observed by humans aboard a space station. But it soon turn out that it’s merely the humans who are under observation. *cue ominous music*

Tarkovsky’s Solaris is unabashedly more philosophical; it flits across consciousness, guilt, memories and (drumroll) love. The protagonist Kris Kelvin finds that his deceased wife keeps reappearing aboard the spacehip. We are soon privy to the fact that she may be a manifestation of his idea of her; she posseses memories and characteristics only Kelvin is aware of. Kelvin cannot seem to come to terms with her and at one point tries to get rid of the apparition by shooting her/it off into space. Dr. Snaut, another human aboard the ship decides to broadcast Kelvin’s brainwave patterns to Solaris in an attempt to communicate with the planet. The ending is one I consider far superior to Soderbergh’s version. The brainwave patterns (brainwave. heh.) cause islands to appear on the planet surface; the islands are occupied by manifestations of Kelvin’s childhood home.

Soderbergh’s Solaris is exponentially more artistic with exquisite set design and photography, heavily inspired by Kubrick’s 2001 and like 2001 is a film that is slightly ahead of it’s times; a film that will be fully appreciated only 10-15 years from now by 20 something art aficionados and intellectually impotent folk like yours truly. The science is updated too; Higgs Bosons replace Neutrinos as explanations for the spooky occurences.

I would reccomend both films but then again, what do I know? Stanislav Lem hated both.

Links:

• Philosophy in the stars: CSM
• Solaris and the philosophy of consciousness: Mind Hacks

Flinders St is actually being used as a filming backdrop for the upcoming Steven Spielberg/Tom Hanks produced WW II mini series, The Pacific (a sequel of sorts to Band of Brothers). Needless to say I couldn’t contain my excitement. I was secretly hoping that The Pacific was just a working title for the new Indiana Jones film (Indian Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull), but it turned out that The Pacific was actually just, The Pacific. As if it weren’t enough to block traffic to and from one of the busiest streets in Melbourne for 35 hours, they covered up the entire shooting area with…well…giant black drapes.

Hoping to catch a glimpse of the bearded sensei, I rushed home to get my camera; but nada.

After close to 45 minutes of sighing and dodging pangs of envy, I returned to my dreary existence.

Sigh.

Link: Steven Spielberg movie chaos in city (Herald Sun)