वो अपना मीठा सा मुँह लेकर
सामने चली आई
उसके माथे की चमक से जब नजर हटी
चाँद बेदाग़ मालूम हुआ
उसके घुलते नैन,
सोने की चाह में
जागते रहते
उखड़े फूल की खुशबु की तरह
उसकी नाराजगियां
जेहन को पैवस्त करती
उस कड़वे सुख की लकीरें
धुंए के बालों की तरह
खिचती जाती
और रुख की मिट्टी
गीले आसुओं को
पीने तैयार हैं
Monday, February 7, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
The modern film arrivistes
We are coping with a "niagara of visual gabble". It's very hard to zone oneself out of the visual over-information we are living with. We are swamped by the stampede of emotions relayed to us via TV, Internet and Bollywood. Come friday, and we have an quick flick ready to be visually embraced by thousands of movie-goers across the nation. Public consciousness has been subject to some serious visual, aural memorizing. No matter how moving the creative work, it fails to leave enough impression into our consciousness. It has become absolutely imperative for an art product to literally sweep the audience into its realm, otherwise it will fail to leave a mark.
Is this matter of fact which artists, especially filmmakers have to learn to get used to? Is it a capitalistic consumeristic reality of our postmodern era? The world has shrunk and people are presented with varied choices of entertainment. Such abundance impedes our ability to appreciate art, especially film art. I confine more to the film art because it is far more accessible to masses than any other form of art in contemporary societies, developing or developed alike. Television has also become a carrier of movie notions into our mindsets. People rely more on television since movies don't last in theaters much. Uncanny wisdoms have silently seeped into the labyrinth of modern tastes. People watch movies perfunctorily and pass snap judgements using such wisdoms. Every common movie goer can boast of being a movie critic.
Lets shift the attention to filmmaking briefly. Before going there we need to acknowledge the technological advancements into photography in recent times. Camera and photography has become a pervasive hobby. A visit to any of the social networking sites can testify that. People are aggressively pursuing their photographic passions so much that lines have completely blurred between a professional and non-professional photographers. Post processing techniques have made it possible for one to take their hobby to a level of perceived professionalism. Enter, modern cameras with video capabilities. Professional filmmakers admit the power of an iPhone to make reasonably good quality videos. Such capabilities abound, leads to gadget obsessive cultures. One can capture quick footage, edit it superficially, lay their favorite song in the soundtrack and post the film on youtube and voila you're a filmmaker already!
What challenges does it leave to a film practitioner? Although film technique is too vast to be be fully pursued as a hobby, it still leaves the market open for a range of competition between not so evenly matched skills and changes the rule of the game.
Is this matter of fact which artists, especially filmmakers have to learn to get used to? Is it a capitalistic consumeristic reality of our postmodern era? The world has shrunk and people are presented with varied choices of entertainment. Such abundance impedes our ability to appreciate art, especially film art. I confine more to the film art because it is far more accessible to masses than any other form of art in contemporary societies, developing or developed alike. Television has also become a carrier of movie notions into our mindsets. People rely more on television since movies don't last in theaters much. Uncanny wisdoms have silently seeped into the labyrinth of modern tastes. People watch movies perfunctorily and pass snap judgements using such wisdoms. Every common movie goer can boast of being a movie critic.
Lets shift the attention to filmmaking briefly. Before going there we need to acknowledge the technological advancements into photography in recent times. Camera and photography has become a pervasive hobby. A visit to any of the social networking sites can testify that. People are aggressively pursuing their photographic passions so much that lines have completely blurred between a professional and non-professional photographers. Post processing techniques have made it possible for one to take their hobby to a level of perceived professionalism. Enter, modern cameras with video capabilities. Professional filmmakers admit the power of an iPhone to make reasonably good quality videos. Such capabilities abound, leads to gadget obsessive cultures. One can capture quick footage, edit it superficially, lay their favorite song in the soundtrack and post the film on youtube and voila you're a filmmaker already!
What challenges does it leave to a film practitioner? Although film technique is too vast to be be fully pursued as a hobby, it still leaves the market open for a range of competition between not so evenly matched skills and changes the rule of the game.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Notes from a filmmaker's diary
Memories of a film move you, so much that you vibrate with her emotion, within her world. You want to be one with that world. It resonates within you and outside you, thus evoking a sense of longing for that world. How many times have I heard the music of Truffaut’s “Stolen Kisses” and have just pined to see it?
A film also needs some time to grow on you. Depending on the subject and treatment of the filmmaker it may take a finite time to draw you into it. Very, very few films have achieved this from the first scene and first line. One good example is “Pulp Fiction”. There is something (I still don’t know what) in the mood of the film that makes you love her from the first shot. This technique of instant intoxication is present in many Hollywood films, which casts its spell from the opening frame. Very often it is used - although not always inspired by the narrative - to grab the audience’s attention from the first scene. This is also one of the popular techniques of screenwriting practiced in Hollywood.
Film is the science of repetition, of doing that exercise over and over again until you feel satiated and de-satiated. I wrote, re-wrote, read, wrote and re-wrote that script but still that elusive something is missing.
Memory and grief have a strange connection. You are thrown back to past memories in your most weak and fragile times. Somehow that memory saves you from further dilapidation.
Characterize the space and let the actors enter into that space. Many good filmmakers like Bresson will use space to convey an emotion which no actor or music can. It contributes very significantly to the “world of the film”, through some psychological genesis.
A good film has a tendency of finding its audience.
Are true creators really lonely people or they just revel in their own glory? A true artist has no right to shun himself from the rest of the society. He owes them too much to remain divorced.
A film also needs some time to grow on you. Depending on the subject and treatment of the filmmaker it may take a finite time to draw you into it. Very, very few films have achieved this from the first scene and first line. One good example is “Pulp Fiction”. There is something (I still don’t know what) in the mood of the film that makes you love her from the first shot. This technique of instant intoxication is present in many Hollywood films, which casts its spell from the opening frame. Very often it is used - although not always inspired by the narrative - to grab the audience’s attention from the first scene. This is also one of the popular techniques of screenwriting practiced in Hollywood.
Film is the science of repetition, of doing that exercise over and over again until you feel satiated and de-satiated. I wrote, re-wrote, read, wrote and re-wrote that script but still that elusive something is missing.
Memory and grief have a strange connection. You are thrown back to past memories in your most weak and fragile times. Somehow that memory saves you from further dilapidation.
Characterize the space and let the actors enter into that space. Many good filmmakers like Bresson will use space to convey an emotion which no actor or music can. It contributes very significantly to the “world of the film”, through some psychological genesis.
A good film has a tendency of finding its audience.
Are true creators really lonely people or they just revel in their own glory? A true artist has no right to shun himself from the rest of the society. He owes them too much to remain divorced.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Death of a salesman
Tragedy is a voilent force. It is profound. It doesn't put you through emotionally orgasmic fits like thriller or comedy does. It is far more subliminal and potent. Dramatic tragedy is almost celebratory. You cannot subdue your temptation to erupt in applaud and awe.
Truly tragic stories are highly psycho-analylitical, where people end up being what they never wanted to be, but couldn't help it. Tragedy may not have the verbal or situational acrobatics as other forms of theatre. They grow slowly, draw you in and if played out well you never get bored out of them. Even the best comedies suffer from the slack even if faintest. But tragedies have an upward narrative trajectory.
Death of a salesman, by Arthur Miller, is a classic tragedy. Truly modern in fervor yet so classical and universal. The sense of brutal conflict and sheer hopelessness of life can bring an entire family to a breaking point. There is no way out, not even death, for a truly tragic human. The hopes parents pin on their children, the unfounded hatred which children develop for their parents and the utter stalemate out of it. People don't change. They are too powerless to change anything, anything around them. People should never venture out changing the world. You are too humble for that. Human heart is too noble to be tricked into some emotional jitterbug. It may be only faintly influenced but nothing more.
To be Contd.....
Truly tragic stories are highly psycho-analylitical, where people end up being what they never wanted to be, but couldn't help it. Tragedy may not have the verbal or situational acrobatics as other forms of theatre. They grow slowly, draw you in and if played out well you never get bored out of them. Even the best comedies suffer from the slack even if faintest. But tragedies have an upward narrative trajectory.
Death of a salesman, by Arthur Miller, is a classic tragedy. Truly modern in fervor yet so classical and universal. The sense of brutal conflict and sheer hopelessness of life can bring an entire family to a breaking point. There is no way out, not even death, for a truly tragic human. The hopes parents pin on their children, the unfounded hatred which children develop for their parents and the utter stalemate out of it. People don't change. They are too powerless to change anything, anything around them. People should never venture out changing the world. You are too humble for that. Human heart is too noble to be tricked into some emotional jitterbug. It may be only faintly influenced but nothing more.
To be Contd.....
Films: more than just stories
Shocking revelation! I felt today that the art of good reading good may not be relevant even essential to understand visual aesthetics. You may be a truly juvenile reader and yet be a visual genius. On the hindsight, it seems obvious. It's so stupid of me to have such an stilted notion about the film art. I might be talking my head out, but it is genuinely unintelligent for me think that way all along.
I associated all good art to stem from developing an intellect. I mean how could one serve the higher purpose of creativity if one doesn't realize his own power, his intellectual prowess to mock at the ordinariness of people around him.
But this new-found knowledge is vastly devastating. It puts into perspective a lot of unnecessary questions I had about the film art and film language. My beliefs are changing. Reading and writing have their own virtues but filmmaking may not entirely lean on these capabilities or may be even fully dissociated from that. An honest introspection illuminates the cold fact that you may get nowhere in film art if you put all your money on literature. Film is so abundantly influenced by other art forms like visuals, sound, music that one could invest oneself fully in these, forget about literature and yet emerge a potent film force. It's just the way it is.
What is the most prudent question one must answer oneself before throwing oneself into films? Whether you want to be a passive lover or an active one. There is plenty of room for passive lovers even experts. It's quite another thing to be an active one. And if you want to excel in the process by satisfying your artistic thrust, then one must choose the art form closest to ones abilities and work their way into the films riding on that.
Films are a moving force of the society. A film moment, once passed, cannot be experienced the same way ever. So what you are living is one of its own kind of moment. And one historian rightly puts, film is not an art form of 20th century, it is the art form of the century. I should not be accused of stealing somebody else's thunder here because the thought is so universally felt across. It would be like blaming you to breath the same air as Frank Sinatra.
I personally do not believe one could do everything by themselves in a certain amount of time in which a film must complete itself. You will always be evolving continuously. A film must complete in a certain time and always belong there.
I associated all good art to stem from developing an intellect. I mean how could one serve the higher purpose of creativity if one doesn't realize his own power, his intellectual prowess to mock at the ordinariness of people around him.
But this new-found knowledge is vastly devastating. It puts into perspective a lot of unnecessary questions I had about the film art and film language. My beliefs are changing. Reading and writing have their own virtues but filmmaking may not entirely lean on these capabilities or may be even fully dissociated from that. An honest introspection illuminates the cold fact that you may get nowhere in film art if you put all your money on literature. Film is so abundantly influenced by other art forms like visuals, sound, music that one could invest oneself fully in these, forget about literature and yet emerge a potent film force. It's just the way it is.
What is the most prudent question one must answer oneself before throwing oneself into films? Whether you want to be a passive lover or an active one. There is plenty of room for passive lovers even experts. It's quite another thing to be an active one. And if you want to excel in the process by satisfying your artistic thrust, then one must choose the art form closest to ones abilities and work their way into the films riding on that.
Films are a moving force of the society. A film moment, once passed, cannot be experienced the same way ever. So what you are living is one of its own kind of moment. And one historian rightly puts, film is not an art form of 20th century, it is the art form of the century. I should not be accused of stealing somebody else's thunder here because the thought is so universally felt across. It would be like blaming you to breath the same air as Frank Sinatra.
I personally do not believe one could do everything by themselves in a certain amount of time in which a film must complete itself. You will always be evolving continuously. A film must complete in a certain time and always belong there.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Wandering the streets of Boston
A certain divinely beautiful moment presented itself when I looked out the window and found that it had ended raining at last after a relentless two days. The streets looked fresh and inviting. It was as if the nature had wiped everything clean in the wake of God’s unplanned visit that fine evening. Not particularly inspired by the chill outside, I ventured out with no clear agenda but to wander around and find a cozy spot in some solitary corner to pen a few lines or some interesting bit of light falling at an interesting angle on some interesting object to dabble-snap with my camera.
The sky looked blue cutting a sharp contrast to the scores and scores and scores of brick colored facades lining the streets on both sides. The air smelled fresh youth and with every step I was inching close to the Charles River which winds pretty close the hotel I am staying in. You couldn’t wait to see the sight of a River churning animatedly after 2 days of constant rain and although I knew it wouldn’t make much difference to the size of a River which is about to embrace the Atlantic a few miles down the line, the thought still excited me.
The Bridge on the Charles River. Immensity faces you. Immensity of space, of sky, of deep pink sunset, of the sun about the take a dip into the ocean. Air is too heavy with the smell of the River who is equally bubbly as me. I take out my camera, click a few snaps. Looks good. The pavements are washed clean and not a speck of dust rests anywhere. People are already out the door with their bikes, kids, pets or just by themselves. I decide to go off to the promenade which lines the river for a few miles ahead into the Boston city. You could see the entire sky lining from out here. This is where the artificial meets the natural. The violent river thumps into the concrete lining with an ageless rhythm, shimmers of setting sun beam into the glossy and tall sky lining.
Look Ahoy! People are already out into the River in their kayaks. Further ahead, I see small boats sailing their way back into the harbor-front where they will dust off their evening. With a few cans of beer down them in the nearby local bar they will have forgotten the toil of the day already. I wish I could finish my days like that. On a side note, these boats could be a notoriously difficult ride on harsh sunny days and could seriously impair your vision at an early age if you don’t use enough protective gear.
The marigold-lined promenade is now bare except a few passer-by joggers wired with their iPhones. I pass by Boston yacht club where a few elderly couple are relaxing with a book spread on their lap and a fat wine glass sitting beside them. Some small yachts are rocking and dancing to the tune of thumping waves. A distant roar of motorbike engine cuts through the silence. They are all probably heading towards the Boston commons area where they all have a bash at each other every now and then and so they might cheer at the prospect of being first amongst equals with other serious bikers rounding the park. It’s so uncanny that the roar of biker’s engine so reflects the rider’s age. I have seen very very few matured riders roaring their engines to show off their masculinity. To some serious bikers it might almost sound infantile to rev-up unnecessarily.
On a rather personal note, such casual walks by the rivers could sometime get really lonely and you could walk miles after miles with not a thought crossing your mind. I have personally never forced my self into a thought and it’s a special feeling when your mind gets a divine push or cosmic kick out of no where. I guess it was one of those moments.
The sky looked blue cutting a sharp contrast to the scores and scores and scores of brick colored facades lining the streets on both sides. The air smelled fresh youth and with every step I was inching close to the Charles River which winds pretty close the hotel I am staying in. You couldn’t wait to see the sight of a River churning animatedly after 2 days of constant rain and although I knew it wouldn’t make much difference to the size of a River which is about to embrace the Atlantic a few miles down the line, the thought still excited me.
The Bridge on the Charles River. Immensity faces you. Immensity of space, of sky, of deep pink sunset, of the sun about the take a dip into the ocean. Air is too heavy with the smell of the River who is equally bubbly as me. I take out my camera, click a few snaps. Looks good. The pavements are washed clean and not a speck of dust rests anywhere. People are already out the door with their bikes, kids, pets or just by themselves. I decide to go off to the promenade which lines the river for a few miles ahead into the Boston city. You could see the entire sky lining from out here. This is where the artificial meets the natural. The violent river thumps into the concrete lining with an ageless rhythm, shimmers of setting sun beam into the glossy and tall sky lining.
Look Ahoy! People are already out into the River in their kayaks. Further ahead, I see small boats sailing their way back into the harbor-front where they will dust off their evening. With a few cans of beer down them in the nearby local bar they will have forgotten the toil of the day already. I wish I could finish my days like that. On a side note, these boats could be a notoriously difficult ride on harsh sunny days and could seriously impair your vision at an early age if you don’t use enough protective gear.
The marigold-lined promenade is now bare except a few passer-by joggers wired with their iPhones. I pass by Boston yacht club where a few elderly couple are relaxing with a book spread on their lap and a fat wine glass sitting beside them. Some small yachts are rocking and dancing to the tune of thumping waves. A distant roar of motorbike engine cuts through the silence. They are all probably heading towards the Boston commons area where they all have a bash at each other every now and then and so they might cheer at the prospect of being first amongst equals with other serious bikers rounding the park. It’s so uncanny that the roar of biker’s engine so reflects the rider’s age. I have seen very very few matured riders roaring their engines to show off their masculinity. To some serious bikers it might almost sound infantile to rev-up unnecessarily.
On a rather personal note, such casual walks by the rivers could sometime get really lonely and you could walk miles after miles with not a thought crossing your mind. I have personally never forced my self into a thought and it’s a special feeling when your mind gets a divine push or cosmic kick out of no where. I guess it was one of those moments.
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