Calcutta Mail (2003)

Have you guys ever seen the Korean film, Oldboy? It's a great movie. A stylish, intense, hyper-violent thriller with a plot like a bullet train. It's one of the Founding Films of the PPCC - something we always wanted to write about, and decided to start a blog to do just that - yet it lingers on our To Review list for an embarrassing 1.5 years now.

Now that we've just watched a very similar Hindi movie, Calcutta Mail, we're reminded just how good Oldboy is, and how we really should get to reviewing it.


Lots of great shots of Calcutta. See the chawl!


The crowds!

The parallels between the two films are eerie, though the plot of Calcutta Mail differs in several key respects (and it's a remake of a Telugu film, Choodalani Vundi, anyway). In both films, we begin in media res, with a tormented, haunted protagonist getting harried by all sorts of goons and bad memories. (Oldboy shows us at least some of what's haunting protagonist Choi Min-Sik - being forcibly imprisoned for 15 years without any apparent justification.) Both protagonists are likable Everymen who are driven by an intense and mysterious desire for revenge (and gosh, they even resemble each other physically!). Both have iconic moments of totally flipped out intensity - the scene in Oldboy when Choi Min-Sik eats a live octopus, or the scene in Calcutta Mail when Anil manages to blow a police officer's desk aside by the sheer force of his screaming. Both films feature a seemingly implausibly bubbly female foil, a perky potential girlfriend who both aids the protagonists and keeps their tenuous morality in check. And, of course, both films are moody, dark thrillers that leave the final mystery's details unsolved until the very, very last moment. Both have some pretty kick-ass fight scenes, though Oldboy's (especially that legendary single tracking shot in a corridor) are generally better. That said, Calcutta Mail is dark, fun and intense. It is a genuinely thrilling thriller.

Without giving too much away - as the mystery of the narrative is one of Calcutta Mail's strongest points - the film begins with our harried hero, Avinash (an exhausted-looking Anil Kapoor), arriving in Calcutta from Bihar. He is searching for one Lakhan Yadav (Sayaji Shinde), and is, by his own account, bahut pareshan ("very troubled"). As he phones shady-looking goondas at mysterious telephone numbers, he arouses the interest of the evil Lakhan himself, who starts trying to kill him. Meanwhile, Avinash finds a room in a chawl (yay! we love chawls!) with the zesty Bulbul (Rani Mukherjee). Bulbul, an aspiring writer, is immediately attracted to this mustachioed Byronic hero spending sleepless, weepy nights on her balcony, and she - by way of two songs (one which is completely inappropriate considering the film's vibe and one which is an adorable fantasy) and some fake drama - weasles her way by Avinash's side. Her support becomes very useful as knife fights, train crashes and Manisha Koirala scenes begin piling the problems up.


Storm's a-comin'.

The director, Sudhir Mishra, is an expert at building and maintaining tension. He establishes it with brooding "before the storm" moments and punctuates it with excellent editing - for example, there are several scenes where he'll cut away from the drama, just when Anil is to be squished by two oncoming trains, to show us a wide shot of the countryside, or the city. "Argh!" we would scream. "You tease! Show us what happened!" And he always does - don't worry. His camerawork provides excellent pacing - shaky, disorienting fight scenes, sweeping mob scenes, and quieter stuff for intimate moments. The palette - if our crappy VCD can be trusted - is muted and filled with shadow. He makes everything - even the expected comfort of a homey middle-class chawl - look hostile and threatening.


Black and white flashbacks, shaky cameras, scary!

Some things to note, for those that have watched the film:

• Isn't Ishu the Hindi name for Jesus? If so, that's interesting.
  
• Is it just us and our Shashi-shaped glasses, but to what film is Anil referring when he does his Shashi-impression? ("Jahan baaaaap hai to kya baaaaat hai?") It's totally intentional. Aa Gale Lag Jaa?

Anil Kapoor, newest PPCC favorite, is a legend, as usual. One of our favorite things about our favorite actor, Toshiro Mifune, is how he would totally flip out sometimes. He would just lose it! Indeed, our highly-honed and practiced Toshiro Mifune Impression is us, spouting garbled Japanese ("Domo arigato!!! Ohaio gozaimas!!! Toshiro Mifune gas ki des!!!") at an increasingly frenzied pitch. Anil has some similarly demented scenes of maximum voltage - and we loved it! It was intense and it was awesome! He's good at those. We were also impressed by how sleepless he really did look - method acting, or cunning lack of make-up? One of the very satisfying Anil meltdowns. MAXIMUM VOLTAGE!!! Poor Rani had a bizarre role and did what she could with it. Her scenes of light-hearted teasing, her invented drama and total initial misunderstanding of the gravity of Anil's problems were loud false notes in the narrative. Unfortunately, the best she could do was get out of the way. This is a shame, since a well-written girlfriend/sidekick would have been a treat and Rani's always great. Alas, we'll retreat back to Nayak for the Anil/Rani jodi (tho thweet!). Sayaji Shinde was an excellent villain. He managed to project a sort of demented explosiveness coupled with moments of creepy vulnerability (ughh, his scenes with Manisha). Manisha Koirala, who we haven't seen since Dil Se, was acceptable but made us miss Rani.

Devdas (1955)

"As such, the hero’s perhaps attractive rebellion is offset by his continually emphasized weaknesses: he is spineless, cruel, narcissistic, and a virtual Hindu Hamlet in his frustrating inability to act, especially when action seems most necessary."
- Corey Creekmur's review of Devdas

Oh, Devdas. How you torment us.


No kidding.

Nominally, we hate Devdas, and yet, like the man himself, we keep coming back for more. Watching his narcissistic, self-centred spiral into liver-failing oblivion is so, well, addictive. And it doesn't matter who's playing him: all our past Man of the Moments - Shah Rukh Khan, Amitabh Bachchan, Shashi Kapoor and now, Dilip Kumar - fail to make us sympathize with Devdas. Thankfully, quiet, sensitive Dilip comes closest in making us almost - almost - tolerate and pity him.

Soaked in the gentle realism of regional Bengali cinema (think Satyajit Ray's sun-dappled forests), Bimal Roy's Devdas is considered the best adaptation. Perhaps this is because it is most faithful to the book's vibe. Not that we've read the book, but this version - with its emotional complexity - certainly felt more faithful to something.

The film opens with an extended look at Devdas and Paro as children. Already as children, their personalities and their relationship are starkly evident: Devdas is older, macho, self-absorbed and entitled. He's a little peacock, and he thrives on Paro's adulations, even if he pretends not to. Meanwhile, Paro is his main devotee - in one scene, likening herself to Radha and he, Krishna - she laughs exaggeratedly at his shenanigans, and she relishes taking care of him when he hides from his abusive father. However, despite her simple devotion, she is also proud and prone to sulking. In one scene, Devdas slaps her. Upset, Paro immediately strikes back: she runs to Devdas' household and tells on him, which leads to Devdas getting a severe beating. Time passes, wounds heal, and Devdas and Paro reunite, all forgiven.


Oh, Bimal Roy, how we love thee.

The rest of the plot is well-known: Devdas is sent to Calcutta for his education and he returns to the little village a big city man. When Paro and Devdas are reunited as adults, the sparks fly. Yet Devdas' family refuses Paro's marriage proposal since Paro's family is much too low-caste. When Paro begs Devdas to do something, even risking her reputation by breaking into his bedroom one night (big taboo!), Devdas grows spineless and flees back to the city. Moping aimlessly, he writes Paro a letter claiming that he never loved her, but then regrets sending it. Meanwhile, boozy friend Chunni Babu (Motilal, reprising his role from Jagte Raho dhoti for flower garland) slowly introduces Devdas to the world of wine and women. Paro is married off to a much-older widower, becoming the stepmother to adult children. While Paro makes the most of her situation, Devdas skips the pleasantries and moves immediately to raging alcoholism. His new friend, Chandramukhi (Vyjayanthimala), develops a massive crush on his Byronic studliness and attempts (unsuccesfully) to rescue him from himself. Alas and woe ensue.

Although the character of Devdas retains his general unlikability, this film is leaps and bounds better than the 2002 Sanjay Leela Bhansali version. We at the PPCC don't mind unlikable anti-heroes - heck, we love those complex, tormented knuckleheads. Fab... and thorny, like a rose! What made the 2002 Devdas so problematic was that there was:

(1) No apparent link between Shah Rukh's jerk Devdas and Aishwarya's weepy, brainless Paro.
(2) No apparent personality on the part of either women, Paro or Chandramukhi.
(3) Only grovelling and bombastic sympathy for Devdas' self-induced plight.

The University of Iowa people - as always - said it right by noting that Bhansali's Devdas overemphasizes what should be subtle emotional nuances; the delicate and complex are enlarged to grotesque, silly size, and much is lost.

Thankfully, Bimal Roy's film has a much softer touch. It presents a believable and poignant relationship between Devdas and Paro - a relationship based on mutual dependency and life-long affection. Their doom is genuinely sad. Paro is also, thankfully, given a strong will and a complex personality. Unlike Aishwarya's devotional zombie, Suchitra Sen's Paro is fiery and proud. Indeed, the best scene turns out to be the famous moment when Devdas strikes Paro (as adults), leaving a scar on her forehead. Their argument - mutually abusive, scathing and needy - is painful and poignant to watch.


A gorgeous moment, aesthetically. Prelude to the argument.


Amen, sister. You smack him down.

Regarding the problematic Sympathy for Devdas (the name of the PPCC's new band, by the way), we think the main structural problem is embodied in Chandramukhi, patron saint of self-neglecting servileness. Chandramukhi is the archetypal Whore (cf: Paro as archetypal Virgin): the fallen woman, dreaming to break free of the gutter and ascend back to purity. When Devdas initially meets Chandramukhi, he is disgusted - and tells her so. His abuse continues merrily along, with Chandramukhi lapping it up and loving it. Aargh! Indeed, Chandramukhi "reforms" herself in an effort to please Devdas - becoming a traditional Good Indian Wife, complete with pooja set.

Which brings us to...

A SIMPLE GUIDE ON HOW TO IMPROVE DEVDAS

Yes. Call us presumptious, but we think we've got it. So, all right: you've got a seriously flawed but still potentially sympathetic alcoholic ex-lover played, to the best of his ability, by the man of the moment. You've got a fiery, stubborn, self-defeatingly devotional heroine. What's the problem? The problem is Chandramukhi! Brainless, masochistic Chandramukhi! It's that damned Chandramukhi woman that turns the film into a Virgins and Whores fest, misogynistic, meekness pornography, complete with a man who can do no wrong, even when he clearly does wrong.

So how do we fix it? We look to Naina.

Yes, Naina! That film does a lot of things wrong, but it does some things really, really right. And one of the things it does right is present a Devdas-esque love triangle which is evocative and brutal, but blessedly gender friendly. That is, you've got your Devdasian Ravi (played by the scrumptious Shashi Kapoor, our number one), you've got your virginal and devotional Paro-esque Jyothi (played by the adorable and young Moushmi Chatterjee), and then you've got your complex, love-hating, drinking buddy "whore" ??? (played by some lady). That is, the courtesan doesn't feel ashamed and immoral around Devdas/Ravi that she has to sell her body. She doesn't judge all the drinking and hardcore partying. And she doesn't allow herself to be judged. Indeed, the poignant relationship between Naina's Ravi and his courtesan drinking buddy is the excessive, fun-loving hedonism that barely masks their mutual pain.

THAT is what Devdas needs. THAT is what Chandramukhi and Devdas should be like. Chandramukhi should be the devil on Devdas' shoulder. She should have dug herself into the same hole of despair and drinking that Devdas is in, and therefore she should be well-acquainted with the whole self-hating, self-pitying cycle. It would be so gloriously, pitch perfectly emo.

Anyway.


Our DVD had a lighting issue.


It was hard to see anybody!

So Dilip Kumar is very effective as Devdas - presenting him as a morally gray anti-hero with an emphasis on the anti. He drips with, as the Lutgendorf reviewer, Corey Creekmur, likens, Hamletian indecision and acidic self-pity.

The women, as we mentioned, seemed to have grown some self-respect in this one, thank goodness. Or at least Paro has - well-played by Suchitra Sen, who gravitates between misty-eyed infatuation and steely stubborness. Indeed, one of the sweetest moments of the film is when Paro's shields come down completely and she confesses to Devdas that all she ever wanted was to take care of him. Devdas is likewise exposed and, with him clearly in decline and her resigned, regretful defeat, the scene is a wonderfully tender, vulnerable moment - a moment when the PPCC suddenly wanted to take care of both of these two twisted, idiotic people. Oh, you two! Vijayanthimala, who we are slowly growing to love (she's like the old Moushmi Chatterjee, aww!), gets the worst role in the film. Le sigh.

Motilal has the easy job of playing Chunni Babu, always a lovable character despite being the pied piper to oblivion. Chunni Babu's the sole grace note of clueless good humor - as played by Jackie Shroff in the 2002 Devdas, as played by Ram P. Sethi in the loosely adapted Muqaddar ka Sikandar. Motilal doesn't have much to do in this, though his familiar drunken staggering and flower garland around his wrist reminded the PPCC immediately of his mirror performance in Jagte Raho.

Soundtrack-wise: surprisingly, many of the songs were average tending towards rubbishy. The only two that stood out for us were:

• Jise Tu Kabul Kar Le, wherein Chandramukhi (wonderful Vyjayanthimala) attempts to dance away Devdas' (Dilip Kumar) demons, after having fished him out of some gutter covered in sewage. This song is so good that even Devdas, in his black-out haze, pauses in his misery to go, "Daa-amn."
  
• Mitwa, wherein Devdas wails his laments to the pond lilies. That pond is a source of many poignant moments in the film - the place where we transition from child Paro to adult Paro, the place where Paro and Devdas have their ultimate fight, and the place now where Devdas goes to woe. This is such a gentle, sad song - and it's in this delicate moment, when the thunderclouds are reflected in the calm pond, and poor Devdas sits forlornly with his glorious Stubble of Woe, that we at the PPCC think, "God, maybe Devdas isn't so bad after all."

Jagte Raho (1956)

The alienating demon apartment block, standing in for Dante's rings of hell.

We were pumped to see Jagte Raho (Stay Awake). First, after hearing the song, Jago Mohan Pyare, our weak little dil filled up with great red excitement and our hair stood up on end. Check! Second, it was written and directed by Sombhu Mitra, a "legendary Bengali actor-director". Bengali cinema! Finally, we get to see what all the fuss is about. Indeed we were predisposed to approve of anything that came from the land of Devdas, Satyajit Ray, and Amartya Sen, a region in India renowned for its intelligentsia. Check! Third, it promised to be one of those wonderfully stark, arthouse Raj Kapoor films. Triple check!

Jagte Raho takes place over one long, surreal night in a city apartment block. A thirsty villager (Raj Kapoor) arrives in search of some water. When he worms his way through the apartment gate to drink from a pipe, he is quickly spotted and accused of being a thief. As the apartment comes alive, demon-like, the villager goes from flat to flat in search of a safe hiding spot. And in every home, he's confronted with corruption and moral bankruptcy. A group of angry young men, headed by a wannabe tough guy (a very young Iftikhar!), organize relentless search parties. An alcoholic (Motilal) insists that his wife sing and dance in the manner of loose Western types. A corrupt Hindu pandit (???) charges commission for false predictions on the upcoming horse races.


Director Mitra uses a lot of widely framed shots, where the characters are dwarfed by looming buildings and deserted city streets.


Raj Kapoor disguises himself as a Sikh, while the thuggish Iftikhar freaks him out.

Eventually, our poor, hapless hero gets trapped in this web of sin when he gets mixed up with an illegal money-printing business in the basement. Now, some scary money-printing thugs are going to kill him if Iftikhar's mob doesn't, and all he wanted was a glass of water!

Much in the manner of Martin Scorsese's After Hours, this film is a satirical look at the dark side of humanity, using one interminable, weird night as the allegorical setting. By day, the apartment block is full of respectable people going about their respectable, middle class lives. By night, the apartment becomes a living inferno, complete with Dante's rings of increasing evilness. Neighbors have petty feuds. Daughters disobey their fathers and have private affairs with cowardly men. Husbands attempt to pawn their wives' jewelry. It's a violent baptism by fire for our naive protagonist to see how flawed and hypocritical these rich city people are. In one sequence, when he's reached the end of his tether and has been literally cornered by the mob, he lashes out, screaming and voice breaking, "You're literate people, big people! You taught a peasant like me that you must rob to be rich!"


Our favorite scene, for Raj's acting. Here, he's confronted with loads and loads of money.


Motilal, hamming it up. He's a good sharaabi, but he's not the best; that title belongs to our beloved Shashi!

The pervasive cynicism is occasionally lightened by tragicomic details - no character is spotless, but they are human, and their human frailty is treated with a sort of weary sympathy cum despair. Raj Kapoor is surprisingly sweet as the child-like villager, scared witless and head spinning. And while he's technically the protagonist, he acquiesces the spotlight constantly, acting more like a peripheral Greek chorus to the drama of the petit bourgeoise around him. It's notable that he hardly says a word in the film - mostly emitting terrified squeaks and sqawks and reacting rather than acting. The only scene where he says anything of substance is his moment in the corner, when he declares he too will be a thief, if that's what the stupid world wants him to be. But, no! Don't give up, Raj!

A constant theme of the film is sleeping versus waking. In the final scene of the film, when the woman at the temple (Nargis, in a gorgeous cameo) beckons for the flowers and Krishna to wake up, we see that all the evils fade away in the dawn light. Just like to be a buddha means to be "awakened" (from the Sanskrit root, budh, to know, to understand), the film draws parallels between the evils committed when the mind/conscience is "asleep" and the importance instead of remaining "awake", that is, mindful. Just as, in the opening scene, night watchmen cry out to each other, "Jagte raho!" (Stay awake!) So the film cries out to the audience - wake up! Whether this be to your social reality, political injustices, or personal demons.

This rather broad moral theme is painted on the canvas of post-Partition India. Several times in the film we see characters committing evil deeds in front of portraits of national heroes. In the end, when dawn finally breaks and the light hits our hero's eyes, these portraits reappear in all their bombastic glory. It is, depending on how sentimental you are, either powerfully moving or somewhat undermining of the film's earlier nihilistic despair. Prof. Lutgendorf, as usual, sums it up perfectly:

"The coexistence of patriotic schmaltz with trenchant social critique is of course characteristic of Kapoor's films, as is the suggestion, in the apotheosis-like finale, that the vision of a buxom goddess in a blouseless sari (played by Nargis, naturally), accompanied by a soaring hymn to Krishna, (Jaago Mohan pyaare, "Wake, O beloved Enchanter") might suffice to lift this dark Dystopia into a bright New Day. The awakened viewer gets to choose between lingering skepticism, and surrender to enchantment—or go away savoring both."
- philip's fil-ums: Jagte Raho

This tension between "skepticism" and "enchantment" is perhaps the film's golden touch: the extreme highs and lows of humanity are on display, from mindless mob violence to gentle compassion.

Raj Kapoor is very effective in his Chaplinesque tramp persona. We've never liked this character, and yet here - partly because he seems to naturalistic and, well, terrified, and partly because he allows himself to remain largely peripheral - we thought he was very effective. Other reviews have noted Motilal's performance as the drunkard, and he is indeed very touching, infusing his character with that sort of tragic, debauched Sufi-esque epistemological doubt. Life is a dream, he sings continuously. People make decisions based on what their heart says, but when they "wake" up, they're not sure whether they did the right thing or not.