World History of Films

Upon receipt of a very special book on “World History of Film”, my first reaction was – why didn’t I think of it? After endlessly unsettling days of frantic search over news papers, blogs, journals and words of mouth, I finally met the very sizeable - although a little more western than my taste – anthology of films and film norms over the past one century.

It was rather uncanny to have received such a book at such needy times when my gaze constantly moved from one idea to another, often capping my vision. It’s hard not to feel guilty watching a film a bit too late. All the things that matter most in your life should be done as early as possible.

Hence, the book is a rather miraculous serendipity.

Cinephiles come in all sizes, but a serious film-lover can’t always remain a passive lover. S/he needs to graduate to higher sense of purpose that only emanates from pure love. You might end up making a mediocre film, but believe me; a mediocre credit is far better than non-credit.

A particular downside of watching too many films by different filmmakers is what I call ‘fungible filmic ideas’ – you tend to see the world through all those filmmakers, ignoring the most essential tenet of finding your own voice - the second most difficult quest besides the proverbial quest of the meaning of life.

Good cinema develops a positive sense of intuition. During La Samurai, I could predict the fate of ritualistic suicide. I knew it was going to end in a celebratory death of the protagonist, even though it didn’t become obvious until very late in the film. Was it because I had seen too many films of this genre? No, it is one of the most unique films I had seen – a lone killer out to have it on nobody but himself. In fact, it’s one of the most difficult films to classify into a particular genre.

Sometimes surprises look fabricated, almost fake. You can sense that it couldn’t be automatically concluded without doubt. La Samurai was almost abstractly quite and in the words of a famous critic – ‘unbearably perfect’.

Some other times you leave it to the film to fill that void between the surprise and non-surprise. A good film always lives up to the expectation. During The Purple Rose of Cairo, I got surprised but still felt acutely aware of the reality. The film mingled the real and unreal, ever so smoothly that they become inseparable almost indiscernible (I may be over-emphasizing).

You want to wind up with a lasting sense of pleasure after devoting hours, energy, life and emotion into a film. And often a film that doesn’t seem to work on the surface enters into a sublime depth leaving your hollowness illuminated with beauty; such a film leaves you breathless yet doesn’t intoxicate you. One such film is The 400 blows.