A.K.Lohitadas - A Tribute

A.K. Lohitadas, a highly respected scriptwriter and director of the Malayalam film industry, passed away last Sunday.

I do not know what it is about the Malayalam film industry that it has lost four of its finest directors within the last two decades at relatively young ages when they were still at the height of their creative powers. G. Aravindan and P. Padmarajan both died in 1991, aged 56 and 46, respectively. Bharathan, when he passed away in 1998, was 51. And now, Lohitadas at 54.

Lohitadas, or Lohi as he was popularly known, came into cinema from theatre as a scriptwriter. “Thaniavarthanam” was a critical and commercial success and Lohi won the Kerala State Award in 1987 for Best Screenplay. The director of that movie was Sibi Malayil; Lohi was to partner with him for the next decade or so to give Malayalam cinema some very memorable movies like Kireedom, Chenkol, Bharatam, Kamaladalam, and His Highness Abdullah.

In 1997, Lohi came out with his maiden directorial venture. Bhootakkannadi, a dark, brooding tale of one man’s descent into a personal hell of his own making, did not exactly set the box-office on fire but was acclaimed by film critics and movie aficionados alike. Many memorable movies followed –Kaarunyam, Kanmadam, Kastooriman, and Arayannagalude Veedu, to name a few.

What I like most about Lohi’s work is that he refused to bow down to the dictates of crass commercialism and spun simple stories of love and grief, sorrow and separation, hope and despair, that touched a chord somewhere in the average movie-goer. The protagonists were always people whom you could relate to and identify with; the very ordinariness of their lives acquired a rare poignancy at the hands of this talented film maker. No wonder that most of his movies did well at the box-office as well.

It is also interesting to analyse how women characters were portrayed in Lohi’s films. Lohi’s women were never mere embellishments to an otherwise male-dominated script like most Malayalam movies of today. Lohi’s women were complex creatures, hardened by adversity, defiant against injustice, and yet possessing an inner core that was both vulnerable and morally incorruptible. It is no coincidence that talented actresses like Manju Warrier (Kanmadam) and Meera Jasmine (Kastooriman) reserved some of their best performances for Lohi’s films.

Fate played an important role in the lives of the characters created by Lohi. In an interview given few years ago to writer and journalist Shobha Warrier, Lohi remarked: “...that is my attitude to fate. Life does not proceed the way we want it to. It has a course of its own and it will move only in that direction.” Did fate play a role in his end as well? Was it fate that made him ignore the doctor’s advice six months ago to go in for an immediate coronary by-pass surgery?

Lohi and his films will be missed.

Kerala and Hindi Film Music: Part 3

Curiously enough, by mid-1960s, Malayalam film music began to give its Hindi brethren a stiff fight, mainly thanks to a slender young man in whites who came from the suburbs of Cochin and whose mesmerising voice, impeccable diction, and outstanding tonal range took Kerala by storm. K. J. Yesudas transformed Malayalam film music and took it to new heights of glory like no other singer before or after him, ably supported by poets-turned-lyricists like Vayalar Rama Varma and P. Bhaskaran and immensely-gifted music directors like M.S. Baburaj, G. Devarajan and V. Dakshinamurthy.

But the Malayali was not to forsake Hindi film music which, in the 1970s, re-invented itself thanks to another precocious talent called R.D. Burman. Trained in Hindustani classical music, Burman was also in touch with musical trends from all over the world and had this uncanny knack of connecting with both young and old alike. Thus in Kerala, he was appreciated as much for the lilting and melodious “Chingari koi bhadke” in Amar Prem as for the jazzy acoustical arrangement of “Dum Maro Dum” in “Hare Rama Hare Krishna”.

What should not be forgotten here, of course, is the fact that the 70s saw the re-emergence of the versatile Kishore Kumar as a credible singing force. Kishore could be soulful or mischievous, romantic or funny as the situation demanded, and was the perfect foil for Burman’s genius. Burman’s success was also, in no small measure, due to Asha Bhonsle and her sensuous and melodious voice which he was able to deploy in a manner that no other composer before him, with the exception of O. P. Nayyar perhaps, had been able to do.

And thus the Malayali’s love affair with Hindi film music continued to flourish, in the absence of other distractions such as television, cable TV and the Internet.

The 1980s were not a good time for Hindi film music in general, the focus having shifted to action dramas which had little scope or inclination to showcase music. The 1990s did show some marginal improvement but the old masters were either no more or retired from the scene. Crass commercial interests had taken over and the newcomers like Kumar Sanu and Abhijeet found themselves unfavourably compared to their legendary predecessors. But what about today? Are the present-day singers like Shaan, Naresh Iyer and Rashid Ali or music directors like Himesh Reshammiya and Pritam as popular in Kerala as they are in the North?

Perhaps, some young blogger living in Kerala now should write the concluding part of this post!

(Concluded)

Kerala and Hindi Film Music: 2

Vividh Bharati service of All India Radio (AIR), started operations in 1957 and was designed around a format that gave importance to music, predominantly Hindi film music. This was not surprising, considering it was put together in the first place to stave off the challenge of Radio Ceylon and its extremely popular “Binaca Geet Mala”.

Radio Ceylon played the latest film music no doubt, but transmitted in the Short Wave (SW) metre band which called for a more expensive SW receiver. The reception quality was also inconsistent as the signal waxed and waned depending on the atmospheric conditions. Vividh Bharati on the other hand, beamed its programs from a series of linked transmitters installed in major cities and towns and that too, in the Medium Wave (MW) spectrum. Reception quality was excellent and the signal could be picked up from a low-cost, single-band receiver. Even from the sheer variety of film-music based programming that it offered, the new entrant scored, with specific time-slots targeted at youth, housewives, elders, jawans and so on.

But to come back to the Hindi film music of that era: while the songs were full of touching melody and meaningful as well soulful lyrics, it was still steeped in the traditions of Hindustani classical music and were sometimes heavy, ponderous, and overtly sentimental. It took the music director duo of Shankar-Jaikishan, a maverick composer called O.P. Nayyar and an upcoming actor called Shammi Kapoor to rewrite the prevailing rules of the game and in the process, save Hindi film music from its own excesses.

Shankar-Jaikishan and O. P. Nayyar lightened up Hindi film music considerably by giving it a racy beat and experimenting with a western style orchestra. Borrowing as they did from western music styles such as jazz, swing and rock ’n’ roll, they infused a robustness and vigour in their music, faithfully portrayed on screen by the inimitably-animated Shammi Kapoor. But, for many Keralites of that generation, the music of Shankar-Jaikishan or Nayyar was just a door-opener. Once they entered the marvellously diverse world of Hindi film music, they encountered the varied but distinct composing styles of such talented composers as Naushad, Madan Mohan, Roshan, Laxmikant-Pyarelal and Salil Chowdhury and were hooked forever.

Within a very short time, Vividh Bharati broadcasts became a rage and became the most preferred radio channel in every Kerala household.

Kerala and Hindi Film Music: 1

When I wrote about Mohammed Rafi few weeks ago, a friend from Mumbai called me and wanted to know the connection between Kerala and Hindi film music. Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, he knew, shared a common border with Maharashtra and both states had sizable Hindi-speaking population. Tamil Nadu was rabidly anti-Hindi, especially during ‘60s and ‘70s when Hindi film music was at its peak and thus hardly could be expected to nurture a culture that bred aficionados of Hindi film music. But in Kerala, the southern state farthest from Mumbai, Hindi film music thrived and flourished to such an extent that you had fan clubs of Mohammed Rafi and Talat Mahmood in places like Kozhikode and Cochin. How did this come about?

It is an intriguing question and I certainly am no social scientist who has all the answers but the history of Indian cinema throws up some interesting facts.

The first Indian talkie was in Hindi. Alam Ara of Ardeshir Irani was released in Mumbai in 1931. From 1935 onwards, great singers like K. L. Saigal and Pankaj Mullick were singing playback for Hindi movies and very soon built up a pan-Indian fan following including in Kerala. Around the same time, the first Tamil talkies were seeing the light of day and Tamil singers such as M. K. Thyagaraja Bhagavathar also became extremely popular in Kerala.

But Malayalam cinema itself was a late bloomer. True, the first Malayalam talkie came out in 1938, but the movies were being made in what was then Madras and in very small numbers. The numbers acquired a modicum of dignity only after 1947, when Udaya Studios opened its doors in Alappuzha and movies started getting made in Kerala. But the industry still moved in fits and starts and had to wait another four years for its major box-office hit, which was Jeevithanaouka, released in 1951.

So it could well be that Hindi cinema, and through it Hindi film music, insinuated itself into the Malayali psyche during that crucial period from 1935 to 1951 when there was tremendous interest in this new entertainment medium, but not many locally-produced movies to cater to this passion. Thus Bharat Bhushan and Ashok Kumar and, later on, the triumvirate of Raj Kapoor, Dilip Kumar and Dev Anand became household names in Kerala, at least among the urban, educated youth.

A happy conspiracy of circumstances helped carry this momentum forward to the 1960s. One was, of course, the fact that Hindi film music was moving towards the pinnacle of its glory at this time thanks to the confluence of such great music directors like C. Ramchandra and S.D. Burman, wonderful lyricists of the calibre of Sahir Ludhianvi and Hasrat Jaipuri and singers of such immense talent and range such as the Mangeshkar sisters, Mohammed Rafi, Talat Mahmood, Mukesh, Hemant Kumar, Kishore Kumar and Manna Dey.

The other was a phenomenon called Vividh Bharati.

Hollywood Magic

Unbeknownst to the wife, I have loved several women, the tragedy of course being the love was unbeknownst not only to the wife but also to the women concerned.

Rene Russo is one of them. Uma Thurman is another.

If you were to sit up and ask, “Rene who?” no, I will not be offended or surprised, for you are only proving the point I am about to make. This beautiful and talented lady is one of the most underrated and underutilised actresses in Hollywood today. One of the reasons could be that after being a top model for a number of years, she came into films when she was past 35. The other reason could be that she is married to the same man for the past 16 years and may not have given much grist to the gossip mill unlike so many other leading ladies of her time.

To the uninitiated, some necessary filmography: Lethal Weapon 3, Lethal Weapon 4, Outbreak and Ransom, opposite Mel Gibson.

I may have not perhaps mentioned in these posts, but I am a huge fan of Clint Eastwood, right from his “A Fistful of Dollars” days. In my pantheon of Hollywood Greats, old Mr. Squinty is right up there, somewhere close to the very top. And there is one movie where Rene Russo and Clint Eastwood come together and this is the movie I want you to see. It’s called “In the Line of Fire” (ITLOF).

ITLOF is a predictable but well-made thriller where Eastwood plays a veteran Secret Service agent. Russo is his FBI associate and the duo race against time to foil an assassination attempt on the US President. Predictable stuff indeed, but Russo imbues what could have been a typical Eastwood-sidekick-and-love-interest role with a certain luminous charm and gives the character a solid veneer of professionalism and reliability.

What really works for me in ITLOF is the on-screen chemistry between Russo and Eastwood which doesn’t exactly boil over but sizzles quietly in the background. My favourite scene is the one where the duo is having ice cream with the sun setting over the Washington monument. Eastwood says something particularly annoying and misogynistic and Russo asks him ever so sweetly: “Do you really have to try to be obnoxious or is it a gift?”

“It’s a gift,” says Eastwood, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Photo Courtesy: Chuang’s Public Gallery, Picasa Web Albums

Bisque the Collector

Bisque has been a collector all his life.

In college, Bisque for no apparent reason, decided to collect newspapers from various countries. He wrote to all the foreign embassies in New Delhi beseeching them to send him old newspapers in their local language. I guess the housekeeping sections of the various embassies were only too happy to get rid of the junk. Very soon, the packets started arriving: Newspapers in different languages, sizes and shapes filled up his room, which started resembling a ruddiwala’s shop.

Soon, his normally stoic mother became totally fed up with her son’s crazy behavior and when Bisque was out with his friends, sold off the entire sorry lot of old newspapers to a hawker for 46 rupees and that was the end of that story.

But nothing can deter Bisque. He continues to collect with a vengeance. Only the object of his collection changes from time to time. Once it was old Hindi film songs. Then it became old Tamil film songs of the 1940s. Last time I went to his house, there were twenty videotapes of song sequences from Hindi movies of the 1960s acquiring dust and cobwebs, never mind the video recorder conked off three years ago.

But guess what Bisque is collecting these days?

World Cinema.

He started with Hollywood few years ago, with the Clint Eastwood collection, the Paul Newman collection, the Julia Roberts collection and so on. Very soon, he started cross-referencing and started collecting genre-wise: Romance, Action, Thriller, Horror, Comedy etc. Now the crazy coot has awesome looking ring binders with partitions for individual movies where he carefully records details of the main cast and crew, plot summaries downloaded from the net and a unique numbering system that helps him track the movie from the shelves.

Now Bisque is on a spree collecting film classics from all over the world, including Korean, Japanese and Chinese movies. When I last talked to him, including Hollywood movies, he had a collection of over 600 movies!

Bisque is a generous soul. Being a close friend, he allows me to borrow a few movies whenever I visit him. He will carefully note the names of the borrowed titles in his little black book, promptly crossing them off when I return them. Any undue delay in returning the movies and Bisque will start calling and dropping not-so-subtle hints, till you get the message.

I am not complaining.

Cinema: 2

To get back to the “Ingmar Bergman” retrospective.

On three consecutive days, I watch “The Seventh Seal”, “The Silence” and “The Virgin Spring” and feel as if I have been punched in the stomach. I had not seen anything remotely resembling these movies before!

Looking back, what were the factors that created such a deep impression on me? There was, of course, the magical use of light by the two cinematographers: Gunnar Fischer and Sven Nyquist. There was the barely concealed sexual imagery that in a way highlighted the pain and torment the characters were going through. But above all, it was the sheer scope and breadth of the themes that took my breath away, I guess. Themes such as Love, Desire, Religion, Loneliness, and Death.

Another great master the film clubs introduced me to, was Satyajit Ray. But here, being an Indian, it was much easier for me to get into his idiom and look inside the minds of his characters. What fascinated me about Ray’s work was the subtext, this subliminal element that was being played out in the background, when the main action was unfolding in the foreground. This subtext, which could be small, insignificant actions or gestures by the characters themselves, cleverly mixed external sound cues, or even subtle adjustments with the background score, lend the final movie greater depth and visual appeal.

Once I left the cosy, domestic environment of Trivandrum and moved to Bombay, movie-watching had to, necessarily take a back seat. Of course, one still managed to catch the odd screening at NCPA or Nehru Centre, but they were still few and far between.

With the advent of the VCR, one could have the convenience of watching a movie from the comfort of one’s home. But the movies which were available on rent were often the more popular ones, often pirated and need one say, often of very bad quality!

But for a true movie buff, the humble DVD has been a godsend. The visual quality is fantastic and the choice available is mind-boggling. I can walk into my DVD lending library in Chennai and browse the “International” shelves and decide whether to take home a Fellini, Kurosawa, Kieslowski or Almodovar for the week-end.

It is a great feeling.

Cinema: 1

I wanted to become a “great” film director and make classics that endured the test of time. I ended up doing Engineering.

Back in 1970s in Trivandrum, where I grew up as a teenager, they had a very active film club movement going. For a nominal fee, you could get an annual membership and could be assured of at least three to four screenings every month. These film societies vied with each other to bring you, not only the great classics, but contemporary world cinema as well. Periodically, there were theme-based film festivals which were either country-specific or director-specific. So, one month it could be “Indian Panorama,” followed by a “Bergman Retrospective,” couple of months later.

You have to see this movement in the context of the college campus scene those days. Campuses in Kerala were throbbing with raw energy and were hotbeds for creativity and political activism. We spent less time worrying about our examinations and grades (terms like TOEFL and GRE being totally unknown those days) and were more concerned about a war being waged in far away Vietnam. We had little time for our textbooks, but were enchanted by the existentialist dilemmas put forth by writers like Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre.

It was but natural that the young people of my age whole-heartedly embraced the new cinema movement. I guess it spoke to the rebel in them.

It is in this context I suddenly remember a brilliant movie called “27 Down”. Released in 1974, the movie won critical acclaim as well as reasonable success at the box office. With Rakhee and M.K. Raina essaying lead roles, the movie told the story of a young couple in Bombay trying hard to maintain a relationship, with the city and its inhabitants constantly intruding into their time, privacy and consciousness. 27 Down was shot in black and white and had a lot of street scenes including a few at the VT station during peak hour.

The movie marked the debut of a talented Kashmiri director, called Awtar Krishna Kaul. Sadly enough, it was to remain his last film as well. A few months after the release of the movie, Kaul died in a “drowning accident” off Juhu beach, in Bombay.

As for my romance with the movies, it continues to this day.