24 novembre 2021

Andrea Guerra, il compositore di musiche per il cinema dei due mondi

Vi segnalo l'intervista concessa dal compositore Andrea Guerra a Lisa Bernardini, pubblicata da La Voce di New York il 22 novembre 2021. Andrea Guerra, il compositore di musiche per il cinema dei due mondi:

'Nel 2015/16 ti sei dedicato alla scrittura della musica per il film indiano Fan. (...) Quali sono le principali caratteristiche del cinema firmato da registi stranieri rispetto a quello fatto da registi italiani, secondo te?
C’è una mutazione in corso nel cinema indiano. La trasformazione - da musical con danze al vero e proprio cinema di immagini - sta prendendo piede, così anche il ruolo della musica sta cambiando. È una mutazione dolorosa per noi occidentali; è rimasta ad esempio la struttura a “quadri” tipica per mettere in scena le coreografie e che è una eredità narrativa interiorizzata. Il concetto di bellezza e riuscita dello spettacolo in India prevede che si attraversino tutte le fasi narrative. Dramma, situazioni grottesche, commedia, amore, thriller, situazioni patetiche: ciò proviene dalla loro storia letteraria e religiosa. Un film indiano deve contenere tutto questo. Le canzoni e le danze si prestano perfettamente a questi cambi repentini, anzi: li magnificano; questa mutazione verso un cinema più tradizionale invece deve adattare un racconto più identitario e unico, che può smarrire l’intensità nelle singole emotività.'

17 novembre 2021

Vidya Balan: I love Italian men

[Archivio] Vi segnalo un vecchio articolo decisamente insipido ma dal titolo interessante, Vidya Balan: I love Italian men, di Sumitra Nair, pubblicato da iDiva il 6 gennaio 2011. L'unica frase degna di nota: 'Her dream destination is Sicily in Italy since she loves "Italian food and men!".'

15 novembre 2021

River to River Florence Indian Film Festival 2021

La 21esima edizione del River to River Florence Indian Film Festival si svolgerà dal 3 all'8 dicembre 2021, parte in presenza e parte in streaming. Vi segnalo l'incontro virtuale in diretta con Amitabh Bachchan, il 5 dicembre, al termine della proiezione di Chehre. In cartellone anche Kabhi Kushi Kabhie Gham, sottotitolato in italiano e in inglese.

Aggiornamento del 5 dicembre 2021: video ufficiale della partecipazione di Bachchan.


10 novembre 2021

Amitav Ghosh: Jungle Nama

È in distribuzione in libreria Jungle Nama. Il racconto della giungla, il nuovo lavoro di Amitav Ghosh pubblicato da Neri Pozza Editore. Nei prossimi giorni lo scrittore sarà in Italia. Di seguito le date:
- 15 novembre, Roma, inaugurazione dell'anno accademico dell'Istituto Europeo di Design, lectio magistralis What do we miss when we speak of sustainability?
- 15 novembre, Roma, teatro Piccolo Eliseo;
- 16 novembre, Roma, evento Green&Blue Open Summit (aggiornamento del 17 novembre 2021: video de La Repubblica);
- 16 novembre programma Fahrenheit, Rai Radio 3;
- 18 novembre, Mestre, museo M9;
- 19 novembre, Torino, Circolo dei lettori;
- 20 novembre, Milano, Castello Sforzesco, evento BookCity.
 
Aggiornamento del 21 novembre 2021 - BookCity, Amitav Ghosh presenta la sua favola ambientalista: "I cambiamenti climatici sono una violenza", Annarita Briganti, La Repubblica: '"La cosa sconvolgente dell'avidità è che un tempo era considerata negativamente, ma da un certo punto in poi è diventata un 'valore'. Il sistema la glorifica, le élite al potere in tutto il mondo la pensano così. (...) Non si può più nascondere la realtà: i cambiamenti climatici sono una guerra, una violenza. Chi è tra i meno fortunati subisce perdite e deve affrontare situazioni difficili, come in una guerra. Una emergenza che non risale, come dicono gli esperti, alla rivoluzione industriale, ma bisogna andare ancora più indietro, fino al XVII secolo, al colonialismo, alla violenza coloniale. (...) Non c'è solo Greta. Lei rappresenta l'idea del bambino redentore che viene a redimere gli adulti dai loro peccati".' 

Aggiornamento dell'11 luglio 2022: intervista video concessa da Ghosh a Rai Cultura nel novembre 2021.


BookCity 2021

26 ottobre 2021

14 ottobre 2021

Nella spettacolare residenza londinese di Sonam Kapoor

Il 4 ottobre 2021 l'edizione italiana di Architectural Digest ha pubblicato l'articolo Nella spettacolare residenza londinese di Sonam Kapoor Ahuja. Il pezzo include un video, sottotitolato nella nostra lingua, nel quale Sonam mostra la sua casa. L'articolo è la traduzione di AD Open Door: Sonam Kapoor Ahuja's spectacular London townhouse and studio, di Farah Shafiq, pubblicato l'8 settembre 2021 dall'edizione indiana della stessa testata.

'Sonam Kapoor Ahuja è nervosa; i membri del team di Architectural Digest Open Door sono i primi ospiti che filmano la sua residenza londinese: «Le troupe televisive non sono mai entrate a casa mia». (...) Camminando per le stanze della sua casa londinese a Notting Hill, Kapoor Ahuja spiega che quegli spazi rivelano «un aspetto della mia personalità che molti non hanno visto», aggiungendo anche che «casa e ufficio rispecchiano al massimo chi sei come persona». Che cosa ha trovato AD? Un’oasi di tappezzerie dipinte a mano con paralumi abbinati, una promettente collezione d’arte indiana, arredamenti contemporanei e antichi messi insieme nel corso del tempo... Ma il pezzo forte di Kapoor Ahuja ci ha sorpreso. «Sapete qual è la cosa più speciale? - ci domanda entrando nel suo bagno tappezzato Ralph Lauren - Questa toilette POTO. Ne vado pazza», esclama ridendo, divertita dalla passione per la toilette ad alta tecnologia. L’attrice, imprenditrice e filantropa ha passato gran parte dello scorso anno nel Regno Unito a causa della pandemia, facendo di questa casa il suo santuario. Mentre ci parla del ponderato design degli interni, indicandoci i suoi tratti preferiti, confessa di aver sentito la mancanza della sua famiglia a Mumbai. “Ho voluto che tutte le stanze mi ricordassero l’India e i suoi colori,” afferma. “Tutto mi riporta a casa mia, di cui sento un’enorme mancanza.” 
Nel frattempo, a poca distanza da casa sua si trova lo studio che condivide con suo marito Anand Ahuja, imprenditore della moda. I due sono sposati dal 2018, e come i tanti che lavorano da casa con un partner, Kapoor Ahuja afferma: «Viviamo e lavoriamo insieme, il che è fantastico e impegnativo allo stesso tempo». Qui l’attrice organizza sessioni di lettura del copione, riunioni e prove costume... Infatti, tutte le prove costume del suo ultimo film Blind, girato seguendo un programma di 39 giorni in Scozia all’inizio del 2021, si sono tenute qui. Ci avviciniamo di soppiatto all’ufficio di Anand Ahuja. «Anche se non potrei farlo, voglio portarvi al piano di mio marito. Lui non c’è, quindi abbiamo poco tempo», afferma in tono cospiratorio. Chi comanda? «È lui il grande capo - ci dice sorridendo, per poi fermarsi a riflettere - No, sono io il grande capo». Qual è il suo mantra principale quando si tratta di stile degli interni? «Di qualsiasi cosa si tratti, l’importante è che abbia un aspetto favoloso e che sia comoda».'

7 settembre 2021

Mammootty: The discreet masculine charm

La superstar del cinema malayalam Mammootty compie oggi 70 anni. Per celebrare l'evento, Film Companion pubblica un lungo articolo nel quale ripercorre la carriera dell'attore. Mammootty - The discreet masculine charm, C.S. Venkiteswaran:

'The variety of roles he has essayed, the diverse acting modes and speech styles he has experimented with, and the untiring efforts he puts into each role, are phenomenal to say the least. (...) A rare and unique combination of magnetic personality, physical charm, longevity of career, diversity of roles and ever-increasing popularity - all make Mammootty one of the greatest actors in Indian cinema. (...) 

He entered the scene when major actors of the earlier era were at the fag end of their careers. (...) This was the scene when both Mammootty and Mohanlal entered it in the early 80's. But it was the decade when the Malayalam film industry was witnessing a huge jump in terms of production: from around 80 films a year in the previous decade it rose to more than 110, averaging about 2 new releases every week! It was also a period when gulf remittance to Kerala was on the rise, spurring film production and the growth of exhibition halls. In terms of content, treatment and themes too, this decade proved to be very prolific: films of all kinds - 'art', 'middle' and 'commercial' - and genres - suspense thrillers, family dramas, northern ballads, socials, films based on contemporary events and politics etc. - were being made. All this created a vibrant industry atmosphere that encouraged experimentation with daring themes, introduction of new techniques and technologies, and the entry of more and more new talents: scenarists, directors and technicians, as well as producers. (...) Entering the scene at such a high point in Malayalam film industry, a hardworking actor like Mammootty had ample opportunities to hone his skills, connect with the audience, and to entrench himself as a star in the industry and as an actor in popular imagination. In his first decade itself, Mammootty had the opportunity to work with all the important filmmakers from different generations, and in diverse categories and genres. (...) So much so that in the very first decade of his entry, he had acted in more than 200 films in all conceivable genres - socials, family dramas, mystery thrillers, ghost stories, period films, art films, and also some light comedies. By the end of the decade, he had established himself as a very dependable and successful star with an acting style of his own.

Even in the 1990s when the entry of television rocked the film industry by capturing its most favourite and popular thematic terrains, and hitting the box office by bringing visual entertainment to the audiences' homes, the popularity and stardom of Mammootty continued to grow. Actually, in the case of both Mammootty and Mohanlal the coming of television was a blessing in disguise. Though television captured the most important segment of the movie market - the 'family audience', as far as its entertainment content was concerned, it predominantly depended on cinema for its films, songs, comedy scenes, clips and the umpteen parodies based on that. (...) The burgeoning popularity of Mammootty as an actor and his pre-eminence within the industry are evident from the fact that he acted in as many as 220 films in the 1980's. From 1983 to 1986, he acted in about 35 films every year! In the next decades, along with the general decline in film production, Mammootty films also came down to an average of around 55 films a year. It was also a period when production, turnover and also the number of theatres were on the wane. If the 1990s saw a more mature Mammootty performing with greater ease and in a variety of roles, in the post-millennium years his persona has assumed greater gravitas and grace. A host of young 'newgen' actors were entering the field in the last decades, and superstars like Mammootty and Mohanlal becoming more selective in their choice of roles and films, and so, figuring mostly in mega productions. But even in the so-called 'newgen' films one can see the glare and shadows of these super stars - in the form of references, tributes, jokes, imitations or parodies. (...)

Evolution of an actor 
(...) In most of the films, (...) one can see both these character-types and role models - that of the protector of the weak and women, and as the enforcer of Law - being elaborated in various guises, diverse situations and different milieus. (...) In many of the (...) films in the 80's, Mammootty plays the role of the family man who is caught in domestic and marital conflicts of different kinds (...) strengthening Mammootty's fan base among the female audience. (...) Soon, too many films of the same genre led to a series of box office failures. (...) By the end of 1980s and the beginning of 1990s, we see the actor persona of Mammootty strongly leaning towards hyper-masculine roles, with a slew of commercially successful and thematically engaging films. (...) These films expanded and placed Mammootty on to a wider canvas of narratives that portrayed different and more complex shades of masculine power and conflicts. Compared to earlier films, the narrative world of these macho protagonists expanded from the realm of the individual and the family, to that of society and nation at large, and the paternal/protector figure turned into an authority figure representing the State. These narratives traversed history and legends, and were animated by various shades of desire, valor, love and troubling questions about corruption in public life and crime. These varied roles successfully combined Mammootty's stature as an actor and appeal as a star. What distinguished Mammootty the actor was his continuing engagements with films outside the commercial-mainstream that constantly enriched and expanded his repertoire, and brought him critical acclaim and national accolades. (...) Though not very comfortable in his comic roles, Mammootty also experimented with light comedies. (...) Another feature that distinguishes Mammootty is his ability to embody and voice 'regionalities'. There are several hit films where he plays the role of a hero belonging to a particular locality/region/milieu, and speaks the respective local lingo. (...) While elevating him as a versatile actor, these roles also indicate the pan-Kerala image that he has built up through his career. (...)

Mammootty-Mohanlal duo and the Ambivalence of Malayalee Masculinity
It is impossible to talk about Mammootty and his acting career without referring to Mohanlal, the other super star, his friend, competitor and his alter ego. (...) One, the upright, powerful, masculine and monogamous family man, and the other the playful, eternal flirt and boy next door, vulnerable, polygamous, lyrical and romantic. While one readily sings and dances around trees, the other is averse to it. (...) Such strange equivalence could be read as the expression of the ambivalence in Malayalee male masculinity - one that is torn between the macho and the tender, the masculine and the feminine, the strong and the vulnerable, the rigid and the flexible, the tragic and the comic. Incapable of making any final choice between the two, Malayalee masculine imagination seems to waver between the two, consciously and subconsciously, and indulges in the possibilities and diverse pleasures they open up through these star-duo. (...) As a lone, masculine hero, age and aging go much more comfortably or convincingly with Mammootty whereas with Mohanlal it often looks odd or a little forced, for we always associate him with youthhood, playfulness, and often childlikeness. (...) While Mammootty roles are more often associated with seats of power and authority, (...) Mohanlal plays the common man, the one who is in search of security, life, freedom and love. (...) While the concern of one is to control and conquer the world, the other explores and revels in all its uncertainties and accidents. So, while one offers love and invites our identification, we are in awe of the other and look up to him in admiration. While one is a companion and fellow prankster, the other is a protector or guide. (...)

The Star Persona
(...) In the last decades, stories about loss of masculinity itself becomes a theme in some films. (...) Interestingly, they all tangentially tap on to the Mammootty persona deeply embedded in public minds to poignant effect. So through time, Mammootty persona has not only embodied and enacted masculine charm, power, desires and fantasies, but also its fears, anxieties and uncertainties. Another makeover domain was visible in the new millennium, when Mammootty played several light and comic roles. (...) The incisive self-criticism he expresses in many of his acclaimed interviews prove his commitment to the art and also his relentless effort to reinvent himself. This is also a unique feature that elevates him from other actors of his generation, who tend to get pigeon-holed into certain stereotypes, industry models or generic patterns. As an actor and a star, Mammootty had always tried to transgress these boundaries and to redefine and remake himself. Which is what has always kept him at the top, for so long and for so many'.

10 agosto 2021

Sanjay Leela Bhansali: 25 anni di carriera

In occasione dei 25 anni di carriera di Sanjay Leela Bhansali, vi segnalo il video ufficiale celebrativo, nonché l'articolo A tour through Sanjay Leela Bhansali's cities of dreams, di Baradwaj Rangan, pubblicato ieri da Film Companion:

'The masochistic unattainability of love by at least one of the vertices of the triangle is something that's always watered this director's imagination. (...) I do not think Bhansali has ever entered the modern era, or even the real world. (...) Even if the places "look" real, they are cities of dreams, cities you won't find in any map of the world because they exist only in Bhansali's imagination. (...) 
It took a while for this Bhansali to bloom. His first two films aren't his. (...) He's trying (...) to get those images from inside his head onto the frame that the audience will see them in, but keeps failing, and failing. (...) These two films had too much generic melodrama, and it's only when we come to Devdas that we finally get inspired melodrama: in this sado-masochistic (...) story, Bhansali finds the pitch on screen to match the pitch he's been hearing inside his head. (...) Devdas is the first real Sanjay Leela Bhansali movie. (...)
It's not just the writing, but also the way he uses colour that singles him out. (...) Bhansali's dream worlds require dream logic. (...) In a Hindi cinema landscape littered with filmmakers who write in English and quote English filmmakers as inspiration, Bhansali is one of the last of the traditionalists. His "madness", if you will, reflects the emotion-filled Indian nature. (...) 
It's not that every film of Bhansali's, post-Devdas, has been successful in its entirety. But he is one of the handful of original, homegrown Indian filmmakers who can be counted on to give us at least 10-20 scenes (even in the lesser films) that sear themselves into memory. (...) His love for artifice and theatricality, his love for Indian music and Indian folk arts and Indian movie-making traditions, (...) his love for beauty and symmetry. But this beauty isn't just empty prettiness. (...) At his best, no one comes close to the mix of the real and the unreal that Bhansali unleashes on the big screen. (...) It's a style. And no one does it better'.

1 agosto 2021

Priyanka Chopra testimonial di Bulgari

L'incredibile notizia è di pochi minuti fa: Priyanka Chopra è la nuova testimonial di Bulgari. Il profilo Twitter del celebre marchio italiano annuncia: 'The Bvlgari family are proud to welcome actor, film producer, and activist @priyankachopra as a Global Ambassador. She debuts wearing a B.zero1 Rock necklace and ring. Welcome Priyanka!'. Dal canto suo, la diva indiana scrive: 'So proud to join the @Bulgariofficial family as a Global Ambassador. Thank you #JCBabin and the entire team for such a warm welcome. Many things drew me to this iconic brand, but what we connected on so organically is our mutual love for India and the beauty it has to offer'.

17 luglio 2021

Il Cinema Ritrovato 2021

La 35esima edizione del festival Il Cinema Ritrovato si svolgerà a Bologna dal 20 al 27 luglio 2021. In cartellone la rassegna Poeti ribelli e spiriti rivoluzionari: il Parallel Cinema indiano. Nella presentazione si legge: 'Che cos’è il Parallel Cinema? Dopo cinquant’anni, rimane ancora una questione aperta. È un movimento, un genere, una rivoluzione, un nuovo linguaggio cinematografico? Spesso utilizzato in modo improprio come sinonimo di cinema sperimentale, non convenzionale o semplicemente in antitesi al cinema mainstream o populista, il Parallel Cinema è un fenomeno estremamente ricco ed esteso, complesso da definire. La sua genesi affonda le radici nel Manifesto del movimento per il nuovo cinema pubblicato nel 1968 dai registi Arun Kaul e Mrinal Sen. L’anno successivo, l’uscita di un trittico di opere innovatrici come Bhuvan Shome di Mrinal Sen, Uski Roti di Mani Kaul e Sara-Aakash di Basu Chatterjee segna l’inizio di una delle congiunture più creative e radicali del cinema indiano. Questi tre film furono prodotti dalla nascente Film Finance Corporation, ente istituito dallo stato per concedere prestiti a bassi interessi alle produzioni, che avrà un ruolo chiave nella definizione e nelle future declinazioni del Parallel Cinema. Il nostro programma guarda ai suoi anni fondativi (1968-1976), caratterizzati da diversi flussi creativi che scorrono in molteplici direzioni, assorbendo l’influenza delle nouvelle vague europee così come l’ideologia di stampo comunista e l’estetica del cinema bengalese'.

15 giugno 2021

Suketu Mehta: Questa terra è la nostra terra

È in vendita nelle librerie italiane Questa terra è la nostra terra. Manifesto di un migrante, di Suketu Mehta, pubblicato da Einaudi. Nella presentazione si legge: 

'Le migrazioni sono una costante della storia umana. E oggi piú che mai, perché le conseguenze del colonialismo, delle guerre, del cambiamento climatico hanno reso la vita impossibile nei loro Paesi d’origine a milioni di persone. Siamo un pianeta in movimento e Suketu Mehta, con la chiarezza e la passione che l’hanno reso celebre, ci racconta perché questa è la cosa migliore che potesse capitarci. (...) Partendo dalla sua esperienza personale - lo scrittore è emigrato ragazzo da Bombay a New York con la sua famiglia -, Mehta fa il giro del mondo per delineare il quadro della situazione in Occidente: dalla frontiera tra Messico e Stati Uniti, alla recinzione che separa il Marocco da Melilla, alle politiche islamofobe di molti governi europei, il sentimento prevalente è la paura. Perché le storie di chi ogni giorno lavora e lotta duramente per conquistare diritti che dovrebbero essere scontati sono offuscate dai discorsi altisonanti pieni di retorica populista. E allora tutti a difendersi, chiudersi, respingere invece di accogliere. È un errore, e Mehta lo racconta in questo vero e proprio manifesto a favore dell’immigrazione: non si può che trarre vantaggio dall’apertura, dall’accoglienza, dallo scambio. Appassionato, intenso, tenero, pieno di storie e personaggi memorabili, Questa terra è la nostra terra è una lucida lettura del presente, e un incoraggiamento a cambiare il futuro'.

Vi segnalo l'intervista concessa dallo scrittore a Nandini Nair, pubblicata da Open il 15 agosto 2019. Suketu Mehta: From America with Love and Anger:

'In 1977, a 14-year-old Suketu Mehta moved to the US with his parents and two sisters. In Bombay, he left behind his closest friends. To them he would write letters, not of the aching loneliness or isolation he felt at the all-boys’ Catholic high school in Queens, New York. He did not tell them that a bully had christened him ‘Mouse’, and would trip him in the hallways. He did not mention the time when his family found hate painted across their car. Instead, he would share with his friends pages from comic books, which were available in the US, and were coveted back in India. Speaking on the phone from New York, he says, “The stories immigrants send back home is, ‘Look, we’ve gone to America, this is the dream.’ But it is actually not. It is a very emotionally fraught kind of storytelling.” As an immigrant, even a teenage Mehta knew that the stories one shares with those one has left behind, are stories of success, anecdotes of joy, to prove that the move to the new land has, indeed, been a successful one. The role of stories, those which we tell ourselves, those we recount to our family, and those which politicians tell us, play a pivotal role in Mehta’s most recent book This Land is Our Land. An Immigrant’s Manifesto. (...) He writes, ‘The first thing that a new migrant sends to his family back home isn’t money; it’s a story.’ It could be about the first snowfall, or the first sight of Brooklyn bridge or the first taste of a hotdog.

But if stories bind, they can also sever. And of late, they’ve been used as tools to create discord and divisions. Mehta writes, ‘Stories have power, much more power than cold numbers. That’s why Trump won the election; that’s why Modi and (...) Orbán (...) and the Philippines’ Rodrigo Duterte won power. A populist is, above all, a gifted storyteller, and the recent elections across the world illustrate the power of populism: a false narrative, a horror story about the other, well told.’ It is these false narratives that Mehta redresses in his book. He says, “The debate around migration is a contest of storytelling.” He believes that all “these populists” - whether it is Trump on television, or Bal Thackeray at Shivaji Park - know how to tell a story, how to build a brand, and they do it adeptly, through lies. The only way those false stories can be fought is “by telling a true story better.” And that is the job of journalists and writers. “Why are all these people demonising writers and journalists,” he asks, “it is because they are truth tellers. (...) I felt I had to write this book now. The US 2020 election will be won or lost on the basis of immigration. It is the single most pressing issue for Americans. (...) I felt it almost like a calling. I did this because I felt angry. This book was born out of rage. Because of the staggering global hypocrisy built around migration.” 

This Land is our Land is an excellent example of crystallised rage. This is not the rage of spit and bluster, that leaves the recipient of it annoyed, but unmoved. Instead it is a rage borne from moral clarity and fostered by the truth. It is a rage that has been harnessed into adamant arguments, and which only the wilfully blind and selectively deaf can choose to ignore. Mehta comes to the issue of migration from personal experience, but through the stories of others, and in-depth research on the topic, he proves that we are all migrants. The fear of immigrants is stoked only by politicians to earn votes, make money, and to vilify the ‘other’. “Trump calls migrants robbers or rapists, I call them ordinary heroes,” Mehta says. (...) In this book, Mehta underscores that the great animating force of migration is that most human and innate of desires - to do better for one’s family, to provide for one’s children, and to toil towards a future that is brighter than the present.

An ‘Immigrant's Manifesto’ is an apt title for the book because it is as much an exploration of migration, as it is a proclamation. This Land is Our Land is a public declaration of the belief and aims of all immigrants. It is a manifesto, which in no uncertain terms declares, ‘I claim the right to the United States, for myself and my children and my uncles and cousins, by manifest destiny. This land is your land, this land is our land, it belongs to you and me. It’s our country now. We will not reassure anybody about their racist fears about our deportment; we’re not letting the bastards take it back. It is our America now.’ Mehta stakes a claim to America, as he believes all immigrants can lay ownership to the richer world, because of the past workings of colonialism and the present machinations of capitalism and climate change. Migrants from poorer parts have a right to settle into richer parts, and that right is essentially restitutionary. (...) For Mehta the restitutionary nature of immigration can be simply explained by - we are here, because you were there. Mehta adds, “The British ran India not as civilising endeavour. But to make England rich.”

While the US can choose to obfuscate and declare that they don’t owe anything to India, since they were a colony themselves, they need to be held accountable for the ruin they are unleashing upon the planet today. While the US military alone is a bigger polluter than 140 countries combined, the “US has walked away from the Paris Accord and will do nothing about climate change,” says Mehta. “Indians are suffering, and will continue to suffer, at enormous rates,” he adds, “because the developed countries, built up their economies, with fossil fuels.” Climate change of today has replaced the colonialism of the last century, as we will continue to see the rich countries get richer, and the poor countries get poorer. Mehta believes that the catastrophic effects of climate change, when entire countries get submerged, will unleash the kind of human migration that history has yet to witness. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, when it comes to movement,” he says, and even over a trans-Atlantic phone line I can hear his assertion in all capitals.

It is little surprise that Mehta’s book has been met by a range of reactions. (...) He notes how one reviewer on Amazon said he should be ‘skinned alive’ and must return to his ‘turd-world country,’ while someone else tweeted, ‘This cockroach needs sent back to whatever shit hole he crawled out of.’ But for Mehta what is interesting and meaningful is the appreciation he has received from people like him. He says, “I have been getting all these letters from Indian Americans, saying that my book has really made them stop apologising, for moving. People who came here in the ’60s, they are professionals, they are expected to be really grateful to America for letting them in. My book points out that this country would fall apart without immigration.” Now is not the time for the Indian American community to merely enjoy its economic success, instead they need to contribute to the public sphere, possibly join politics and “claim our place in the country,” he asserts.

According to Mehta, everyone benefits from migration. For the refugees, it might make the difference between life and death. For the recipient country, it will bring young and enterprising migrants who having left home and embarked on an arduous journey will work hard and honestly. The immigrants will send back money to their homes, and the remittances will benefit the countries that they’ve left behind. As Mehta writes, ‘They will make their new countries richer, in all senses of the word. The immigrant armada that is coming to your shores is actually a rescue fleet.’ Mehta might have written This Land is Our Land from anger, but it is ultimately “an angry book with a happy ending”. And the happy ending is that immigration benefits everybody. Mehta adds, “The end of the book is also a renewal of my faith in America.” He loves America because it is one country made up of all other countries'.

30 maggio 2021

Tesher: Young Shahrukh

Compie un anno il brano Young Shahrukh, scritto e interpretato da Tesher, rapper indo-canadese. Vi segnalo il video prodotto da Tesher (vale la pena, fidatevi), e il video ufficiale realizzato da Sony Music India. Il mio verso preferito? From Bombay to Milan I feel like Shah Rukh Khan, ovvio! Il brano campionato è Bole Chudiyan, di Jatin-Lalit, tratto dalla colonna sonora di Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham.

15 maggio 2021

Thank You: le riprese in Italia

Il 7 maggio 2021 si sono concluse le tre settimane di riprese italiane di Thank You, film in lingua telugu diretto da Vikram K. Kumar e interpretato da Naga Chaitanya e da Raashii Khanna. La trama è in realtà ambientata a New York, e la produzione ha deciso di trasformare Torino e dintorni nella metropoli americana. Nel campus ITCILO sulle rive del Po è stato approntato il quartier generale. I set: campus ITCILO, campus Luigi Einaudi dell’Università degli Studi di Torino, conservatorio Giuseppe Verdi, Parco del Valentino, cinema Fratelli Marx, Villa Frua nel comune di Stresa, stazione Italia 61 della società di trasporti GTT, aeroporto di Cuneo-Levaldigi.





17 aprile 2021

Salman Rushdie on Midnight's Children at 40

Il 3 aprile 2021 The Guardian ha pubblicato un testo di Salman Rushdie nel quale il celebre scrittore commenta i primi 40 anni del suo romanzo I figli della mezzanotte. Salman Rushdie on Midnight's Children at 40: 'India is no longer the country of this novel':

'For a writer in his mid-70s, the continued health of a book published in his mid-30s is, quite simply, a delight. This is why we do what we do: to make works of art that, if we are very lucky, will endure. As a reader, I have always been attracted to capacious, largehearted fictions, books that try to gather up large armfuls of the world. When I started to think about the work that would grow into Midnight’s Children, I looked again at the great Russian novels of the 19th century. (...) And at the great English novels of the 18th and 19th centuries. And at their great French precursor, Gargantua and Pantagruel, which is completely fabulist. I also had in mind the modern counterparts of these masterpieces, The Tin Drum and One Hundred Years of Solitude, The Adventures of Augie March and Catch-22, and the rich, expansive worlds of Iris Murdoch and Doris Lessing. (...) But I was also thinking about another kind of capaciousness, the immense epics of India, the Mahabharata and Ramayana, and the fabulist traditions of the Panchatantra, the Thousand and One Nights and the Kashmiri Sanskrit compendium called Katha-sarit-sagar (Ocean of the Streams of Story). I was thinking of India’s oral narrative traditions, too, which were a form of storytelling in which digression was almost the basic principle; the storyteller could tell, in a sort of whirling cycle, a fictional tale, a mythological tale, a political story and an autobiographical story; he - because it was always a he - could intersperse his multiple narratives with songs and keep large audiences entranced. I loved that multiplicity could be so captivating. (...)

The novel I was planning was a multigenerational family novel, so inevitably I thought of Thomas Mann’s Buddenbrooks and, for all its non-realist elements, I knew that my book needed to be a novel deeply rooted in history, so I read, with great admiration, Elsa Morante’s History: A Novel. And, because it was to be a novel of Bombay, it had to be rooted in the movies as well, movies of the kind now called “Bollywood”, in which calamities such as babies exchanged at birth and given to the wrong mothers were everyday occurrences. As you can see, I wanted to write a novel of vaulting ambition, a high-wire act with no safety net, an all-or-nothing effort: Bollywood or bust, as one might say. A novel in which memory and politics, love and hate would mingle on almost every page. I was an inexperienced, unsuccessful, unknown writer. To write such a book I had to learn how to do so; to learn by writing it. Five years passed before I was ready to show it to anybody. For all its surrealist elements Midnight’s Children is a history novel, looking for an answer to the great question history asks us: what is the relationship between society and the individual, between the macrocosm and the microcosm? To put it another way: do we make history, or does it make (or unmake) us? Are we the masters or victims of our times?

My protagonist, Saleem Sinai, makes an unusual assertion in reply: he believes that everything that happens, happens because of him. That history is his fault. This belief is absurd, of course, and so his insistence on it feels comic at first. Later, as he grows up, and as the gulf between his belief and the reality of his life grows ever wider - as he becomes increasingly victim-like, not a person who acts but one who is acted upon, who does not do but is done to - it begins to be sad, perhaps even tragic. Forty years after he first arrived on the scene - 45 years after he first made his assertion on my typewriter - I feel the urge to defend his apparently insane boast. Perhaps we are all, to use Saleem’s phrase, “handcuffed to history”. And if so, then yes, history is our fault. History is the fluid, mutable, metamorphic consequence of our choices, and so the responsibility for it, even the moral responsibility, is ours. After all: if it’s not ours, then whose is it? There’s nobody else here. It’s just us. If Saleem Sinai made an error, it was that he took on too much responsibility for events. I want to say to him now: we all share that burden. You don’t have to carry all of it.

The question of language was central to the making of Midnight’s Children. (...) Writing in classical English felt wrong, like a misrepresentation of the rich linguistic environment of the book’s setting. (...) In the end I used fewer non-English words than I originally intended. Sentence structure, the flow and rhythm of the language, ended up being more useful, I thought, in my quest to write in an English that wasn’t owned by the English. The flexibility of the English language has allowed it to become naturalised in many different countries, and Indian English is its own thing by now. (...) I set out to write an Indian English novel. (...) India is not cool. India is hot. It’s hot and noisy and odorous and crowded and excessive. How could I represent that on the page? I asked myself. What would a hot, noisy, odorous, crowded, excessive English sound like? How would it read? The novel I wrote was my best effort to answer that question.
The question of crowdedness needed a formal answer as well as a linguistic one. Multitude is the most obvious fact about the subcontinent. Everywhere you go, there’s a throng of humanity. How could a novel embrace the idea of such multitude? My answer was to tell a crowd of stories, deliberately to overcrowd the narrative, so that “my” story, the main thrust of the novel, would need to push its way, so to speak, through a crowd of other stories. There are small, secondary characters and peripheral incidents in the book that could be expanded into longer narratives of their own. This kind of deliberate “wasting” of material was intentional. (...)

When I started writing, the family at the heart of the novel was much more like my family than it is now. However, the characters felt oddly lifeless and inert. So I started making them unlike the people on whom they were modelled, and at once they began to come to life. For example, I did have an aunt who married a Pakistani general, who, in real life, was one of the founders, and the first chief, of the much feared ISI, the Inter-Services Intelligence agency. But as far as I know he was not involved in planning or executing a military coup, with or without the help of pepper pots. So that story was fiction. At least I think it was. Saleem Sinai went to my school. He also lived, in Bombay, in my childhood home, in my old neighbourhood, and is just eight weeks younger than me. His childhood friends are composites of children I knew when I was young. (...) But in spite of these echoes, Saleem and I are unalike. For one thing, our lives took very different directions. Mine led me abroad to England and eventually to America. But Saleem never leaves the subcontinent. His life is contained within, and defined by, the borders of India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. (...)

Forty years is a long time. I have to say that India is no longer the country of this novel. When I wrote Midnight’s Children I had in mind an arc of history moving from the hope - the bloodied hope, but still the hope - of independence to the betrayal of that hope in the so-called Emergency, followed by the birth of a new hope. India today, to someone of my mind, has entered an even darker phase than the Emergency years. The horrifying escalation of assaults on women, the increasingly authoritarian character of the state, the unjustifiable arrests of people who dare to stand against that authoritarianism, the religious fanaticism, the rewriting of history to fit the narrative of those who want to transform India into a Hindu-nationalist, majoritarian state, and the popularity of the regime in spite of it all, or, worse, perhaps because of it all - these things encourage a kind of despair. When I wrote this book I could associate big-nosed Saleem with the elephant-trunked god Ganesh, the patron deity of literature, among other things, and that felt perfectly easy and natural even though Saleem was not a Hindu. All of India belonged to all of us, or so I deeply believed. And still believe, even though the rise of a brutal sectarianism believes otherwise. But I find hope in the determination of India’s women and college students to resist that sectarianism, to reclaim the old, secular India and dismiss the darkness. I wish them well. But right now, in India, it’s midnight again'.

30 marzo 2021

Khiladi: le riprese in Italia

Nei giorni scorsi la troupe del film telugu Khiladi era in Italia per girare alcune sequenze. Khiladi è diretto da Ramesh Varma e interpretato da Ravi Teja e Dimple Hayathi. Dal 15 marzo i set sono stati allestiti a Torino e dintorni (Villa Cimena, Villa Bria, discoteca Le Roi, Dash Kitchen, Milk, piazza Gran Madre di Dio, Lungo Po, Murazzi, Parco del Valentino, Quadrilatero, piazza Cavour, via delle Rosine, piazza d'Armi, Palazzo di Giustizia). Video La Stampa. Il 25 marzo le riprese sono terminate in Liguria, tra Noli e Varigotti, al Porto Turistico di Marina di Loano, e sullo yacht XO OF THE SEAS. Il 24 marzo Ramesh Varma ha scritto nel suo profilo Twitter: 'Khiladi Italy schedule shaping up really well, Ravi Teja killing it with his energy levels in the action sequences. Wrapping up this schedule by month end'. Trailer. (Grazie a Patrizia per la segnalazione).



Dimple Hayathi

What early Indian sci-fi looked like

Vi segnalo l'articolo Videochats on the Moon, immortality pills: what early Indian sci-fi looked like, di Gayle Sequeira e Ashutosh Mohan, pubblicato da Film Companion il 27 marzo 2021:

'More than meets the eye: early films about invisibility
Most of Bollywood's first few sci-fi outings revolved around the limitless potential that invisibility could unlock for a single person, and the unintended consequences that could follow. Nanabhai Bhatt's Mr. X (1957), considered to be the first Indian science-fiction film, follows a lab assistant who accidentally drinks an invisibility potion. Bad news: there's no antidote that will make him reappear. When there's a spate of crimes in the city, he's the obvious suspect and must prove his innocence. In Mr. X in Bombay (1964), the protagonist gets his hands on an invisibility potion and uses it to solve a problem more pressing than world hunger - his lack of a love life. (...) In 1965 film Aadhi Raat Ke Baad (...) director Nanabhai Bhatt (...) attempts to answer one question: how much harder would it be to solve a murder mystery if the main suspect could turn invisible at will? (...) It's a plot similar to Bhatt's earlier vanishing man film Mr. X. These early films adopted a myopic attitude towards invisibility, with the protagonists often using their newfound powers for selfish reasons rather than the greater good. It took till 1971 for invisibility to serve more altruistic purposes. In K. Ramanlal's Elaan. (...) Mr. India (1987), [is] the first mainstream Bollywood sci-fi film. (...) Another film (...) explored the more nefarious consequences of scientific advancement. In Mr. X [1984], written and directed by Khwaja Ahmad Abbas. (...) In Malayalam film Jaithra Yaathra (1987) (...) invisibility is used to create chaos and for comic ends. (...) Invisibility, unlike immortality, appears to excite no moral questions. A person who lives forever can probably cause a lot of harm, but how bad can a brief disappearance be?

A whole new world: sci-fi set in space
Director A. Kasilingam's Kalai Arasi (1963) has aliens from another galaxy visit Earth and Mohan (M.G. Ramachandran) follow them back to their home. They look like us except for their sartorial preferences. They like tight shorts and safari helmets. Their spaceship has a distinct steampunk sensibility - levers and crankshafts everywhere. You even hear the periodic puff of escaping steam that apparently powers its cross-galaxy travel. (...) There is, however, one fundamental difference between us and them: the aliens are lovers of art to a fault. They've come to abduct talented artists from Earth and make them better ones. Their spaceship has a tiny screen that's a precursor to Google Earth. (...) What's surprising, especially since this is the first science-fiction film in Tamil, is how people react to a UFO. Mohan is with his friends when a spaceship flies overhead. He practically yawns an explanation, saying that experts believe that aliens from other galaxies would visit Earth at some point in time. His blasé friends are instantly convinced, feeling as much awe upon seeing a spaceship as an odd-looking cow. (...) Hindi film Chand Par Chadayee (1967) released two years before the first manned mission to the Moon, which is perhaps what emboldened director T.P. Sundaram to take creative liberties with the subject. (...) For a film that includes ridiculous scenes such as (...) parachute-wearing Moon women dancing above the clouds, the film was astonishingly prescient in terms of technological advancements. A high-ranking Moon citizen and the king of Mars videochat, and even communicate through a Google Glass-like device in which a real-time video of the caller appears on the lens of a pair of sunglasses. (...) The same year as Chand Par Chadayee's release, Martians visited Earth in Nisar Ahmad Ansari's Wahan Ke Log. (...)

Caution, side effects: medical science-fiction
Just as the vastness of space can be liberating, so can the invention of certain drugs that give their users powers. In P. Subramaniam's Malayalam classic Karutha Rathrikal (1967), the soft-spoken Santhan (Madhu) invents a drug that changes his appearance and gives him the ability to kill people. He's unable to make an antidote (perhaps, because of impure ingredients) which leads to his own death. An adaptation of R.L. Stevenson's Strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, KR has an ambivalent stance towards the morality of science. We don't actually see much science, except in a comedy track that explains the concept of an antidote. The idea of an antidote becomes extraordinarily important in this subgenre, in which a scientist (typically out of hubris) invents a drug that gives him superpowers. In Naalai Manithan (1989) [tamil] the fate of the world hangs on Dr. Shankar (Jaishankar). After winning the Nobel Prize for inventing an AIDS drug, he creates another one that wakes the dead. Shankar's hubris prevents him from acknowledging the side effects of his immortality pill: violent and anti-social behaviour. Just as in Karutha Rathrikal, a scientist's individual choices shape how science plays out. By taking moral responsibility for his out-of-control inventions, the scientist ends up as the villain in these films. Both Santhan from KR and Shankar from NM die as a result of pushing the limits of human potential. This, however, isn't the case for the Professor (Anant Nag) from Kannada film Hollywood (2002), which claims to be India's first robot film. If the Professor's humanoid robot US-47 goes rogue, it's the robots fault, not his. (...) The Professor simply dismantles the malfunctioning robot. A rogue invention is only a technical problem, not a moral one. The film doesn't ask, like Naalai Manithan does, whether science leads to progress. Why embargo an invention when you could simply dismantle if it's not useful? Not quite human, not quite machine is the vehicle at the center of Ajantrik (1958), considered to be one of the earliest Bengali sci-fi movies. Director Ritwik Ghatak explores the relationship between a small-town driver, Bimal (Kali Banerjee) and his battered taxi by humanizing the vehicle through a combination of visual and sound effects. (...) Is the taxi sentient, or is Bimal projecting his emotions onto it?

Back to the future: films about time travel
In Aditya 369 [1991, telugu], written and directed by Singeetam Srinivasa Rao, Professor Ramdas (Tinnu Anand) (...) invents a time machine. (...) What's interesting is when he [Nandamuri Balakrishna's Krisha Kumar] ends up in an apocalyptic-looking 2504 AD. We see a post-World War 3 Earth, where a radiation from nuclear weapons has made the surface unfit for living. It's practically a desert, and humans live underground in hermetic forts. (...) 'Stomach computers' tell people when to eat. But (...) this isn't interpreted cynically. (...) People in 2504 AD are merely amused that their lives are run by machines.

Science fiction is still an underserved genre in our films. Films like Rahul Sadasivan's Red Rain (2013) [malayalam] explore the instinctive terror we feel for something from beyond Earth, but recent films have continued earlier templates, with a bit more realism. Arati Kadav's Cargo (2019), Tik Tik Tik (2018) [tamil] and Antariksham 9000KMPH (2018) [telugu] are space operas but the science is believable. Fifty years after Karutha Rathrikal, Maayavan (2017) [tamil] explores the question of who we really are if we swap brains with someone else. 24 (2016) [tamil] and Indru Netru Naalai (2015) [tamil] are entertaining time travel films that take us to the past and, hesitantly, to the future of science fiction films'.

29 gennaio 2021

Q & Ray

Vi segnalo l'intervista concessa dal regista Q a Sankhayan Ghosh, pubblicata da Film Companion il 23 gennaio 2021. Q & Ray:

'It's scary to talk to Q - you don't know when you might rub him the wrong way. Besides, is there anything he likes? (...) Or is there anyone who likes his films? Even though 'like' is hardly a word you use when you talk about Q, whose works are designed to make you uncomfortable. (...) This power to offend extends beyond Q's cinema, to his views, one of which is his utter dislike for Satyajit Ray. (...) Now in a twist stranger than meta-fiction, Q is playing Ray. In (...) Abhijaan, a film about the life and work of Soumitra Chatterjee, Ray's favourite leading man, (...) we see Q as Ray, letting his future Apu know that he is too tall to be in Aparajito. He is wearing white pajama-punjabi - something Ray would often wear, and Q never - holding a cigarette and striking that pose as a framed photograph of Tagore hangs in the background. Has there been a more seamless merging of icon and iconoclast? (...) Q (...) lives in Goa, where he's (...) part of the alternative scene. (...) 

Your dislike for Ray is well-known. What's really interesting is that now you are playing Ray, in what must be the first time anybody is playing him on screen.
Well, the first person who told me about the resemblance was Rituparno Ghosh. And it was a very lively chat that we'd had after that, (...) about the resemblance and the general perceptions about image, since we were both image makers. He was also very interested in alternative image making, because, obviously, he is a precursor of all this. So while for instance I never liked Rituparno Ghosh's films, I am sure he didn't like mine. He was very clear at the beginning of the meeting that we are not going to talk about that. And then we proceeded to having a very nice chat.

I would've liked to be a fly on the wall during that chat.
It was a really insane chat because we were (...) hanging out in gay bars in Munich and stuff like that. It was a really cool chat. (...) Like everyone else, I grew up with Satyajit Ray and one of the key things I like about him is his calligraphy. I mean, as a designer I feel he did a lot of work that is far beyond his cinema. That's my perspective. My dislike or my problem is with his films. And he would have the same for mine. Because we are coming from totally different spaces in terms of filmmaking, or making visual narrative. (...) There was an occasion 4-5 years back when someone else had asked me to play Ray in a movie. That movie never got made. But I was in character for a month. And I took that quite seriously. These kind of opportunities are very interesting because you're thinking of image and what it could do. Alternative thoughts, or alternatives. They had some look tests and stuff. Few people who were also on that team got in the production team of the new film as well. And this was something that might have prompted them to think of me. (...)

Were you able to put your dislike aside while playing the character?
Yeah yeah, absolutely. Because then I am an actor (...) not Q the director. When I'm rapping I'm not Q the director. (...) Now I'm Satyajit Ray. An actor has a great advantage that they can hop characters like that. Performers have the best job actually and I'm always trying to, like an imposter, get in and do something - with music, with acting, whenever I can. For instance I've done a fairly major character in a Bejoy Nambiar film, (...) as a villain who was beating up Dulquer Salmaan. Because Bejoy knew I could do some shit like that. But no casting director will cast me, obviously, because they don't know me. Everyone assumes I have a certain kind of character based on a public persona, whatever that might be. (Laughs). And that's constantly being manipulated by me. 

What was your approach to playing Ray? Did you pick up mannerisms and body language and style of smoking and things like that?
Totally. Because it was a period piece, a biopic, I had to. I got myself into that mode. Because otherwise we are extreme polar opposites in terms of how we speak, hold ourselves, and it was a different time. So people used to behave different physically. So that was great fun. I love that process, that I can be someone else.

What are the things you picked up from Ray's persona?
One of the major problems was cigarettes, because I don't smoke cigarettes. So I was continuously smoking and smokers are different people. They hold their hands very differently. When you smoke joints you don't do that. So that and the fact that I would be in those costumes for a long time and trying to be comfortable even in the jangia (underwear). (...)

What's the kind of material you looked into?
I didn't have to, thankfully, watch all his films. I had to watch films made on him. And whatever footage I could get. I surrounded myself with those images. That's the kind of route I took, not the emotional part. The thing was to place the sense of humour, because he had a keen sense of humour. (...)

Is this you trying to be more open? Would you have done it 10 years ago?
Yeah yeah. (...) I don't think the point is that. I am anti his films, and that time, and how that time influences us right now as Bengalis. And is limiting us severely. That's what I dislike. (...) Satyajit Ray (...) is a bourgeoise upper class filmmaker. My politics doesn't allow me to appreciate his films. (...)

Do you not find anything to appreciate in his films?
Films take up a long time. You have to give it 2-3 hours of your life. I would rather watch something made by somebody I like'.