TEAFF 22: Four films on the fifth day, including two Indian Competition films, for my two eyes

Since Fatherless had been screened on the first day, in place of ‘6 am’, another film, Asampurno, directed by Amartya Sinha, was screened. By this time, I had realised that burning the candle at both ends, i.e., waking up early and going to bed late, was taking its toll. So, I skipped Asampurno, and arrived in time, well, almost in time, to watch an Indian English film, in the International Competition section.

The Weight of Longing/Iktsuarpok (India: Omkar Bhatkar)

Bhatkar is a Playwright, Poet, Professor, Digital creator, Visiting Lecturer at Somaiya Vidyavihar University, Head and co-founder at St. Andrew's Centre for Philosophy and Performing Arts and Founder of the Metamorphosis Theatre Inc. Having met him several times at events organised at the St. Andrew’s Centre, I was aware that he is a thinker and committed promoter of performing arts. Though the Centre has been dormant of late, Bhatkar used this opportunity to make his debut feature film. It is called Iktsuarpok. That itself should give you a hint of what to expect. The word comes from the Inuit language, one of the three branches of the Eskimo-Aleut language family, and means impatient, restless anticipation when waiting for someone to arrive, leading you to repeatedly look outside or check for them, a feeling with no single English equivalent. Bhatkar is midget-sized, and used to be mistaken for a student when he started lecturing. As poet and playwright, he has carved out a niche for himself as a distinctive voice that speaks in a language all his own. Before making Iktsuarpok, he made a documentary about the murals of the chapel at Santa Monica, old Goa. Iktsuarpok is an adaptation of a play by that name, written and directed by Bhatkar himself. On the surface, Iktsuarpok is about a family that comes together after years, to spend Christmas in Goa, and discover a volley of bitter-sweet emotions that will make this journey a memorable one for all of them. That it is adapted from a play is apparent within a couple of minutes of viewing. The going is heavy, and that is putting it very mildly. We are served a blend of poetry, philosophy, and a hundred quotes, from many names that might be familiar only to students of philosophy, flashed on the screen in extra-large sizes, captured in unknown, striking fonts. Add to that up to 13-minute long takes and only occasional token scenes outdoors. For highly intellectual audiences, it might be case of preaching to the converted. For those who seek help in motivational books, this might be a kind of reference tome. And for those who can sit through a 91-minute lecture, which appears to be like an interactive Q & A session between the characters, deceptively unfolding in film form, impressed by French film-makers of yore, like Eric Rohmer, among others, constantly dissecting both verbal and non-verbal communication, sentence by sentence, word by word, it could be path-breaking.

Rating: ** ½

Pinjar/The Cage (India: Rudrajit Roy)

Firstly, do not confuse the title with a Hindi film made a few decades ago. Next, realise that the title is both realistic and symbolic, addressing the plight of caged birds, and humans caged in their invisible cells. Made in the Bengali language, with a smattering of Hindustani, Pinjar interweaves four stories of characters battling their destined captivity A doctor by training, and a practicing one at that, his prescription includes a bird-catcher,

The brave, unvulnerable images of ancient heroes reign over our minds. We are splendid, refined analysists trusting their viewing. The beautiness is somewhat submitte to neutral demands, and so is the gift. 

Ayax, Agamemnon and Odyssey are happy spouses, unlike Paris tracing. Hlelene.. 

The brave, unvulnerable images of ancient heroes reign over our minds. We are splendid, refined analysists trusting their viewing. The beautiness is somewhat submitte to neutral demands, and so is the gift. 

Ayax, Agamemnon and Odyssey are happy spouses, unlike Paris tracing. Hlelene.. 

The brave, unvulnerable images of ancient heroes reign over our minds. We are splendid, refined analysists trusting their viewing. The beautiness is somewhat submitte to neutral demands, and so is the gift. 

Ayax, Agamemnon and Odyssey are happy spouses, unlike Paris tracing. Hlelene.. 

The brave, unvulnerable images of ancient heroes reign over our minds. We are splendid, refined analysists trusting their viewing. The beautiness is somewhat submitte to neutral demands, and so is the gift. 

Ayax, Agamemnon and Odyssey are happy spouses, unlike Paris tracing. Hlelene.. 

The brave, unvulnerable images of ancient heroes reign over our minds. We are splendid, refined analysists trusting their viewing. The beautiness is somewhat submitte to neutral demands, and so is the gift. 

Ayax, Agamemnon and Odyssey are happy spouses, unlike Paris tracing. Hlelene.. 

TEAFF 22: The very good, the good and the not so good

At international film festivals, as, I guess, in released films that I watch as a critic, I have found that one yard-stick has remained constant. Of films I see, the really remarkable ones lie in the range of 10-20%. The rest are either just about watchable or prompting a walk-out after about 20 minutes of endurance. So, a good festival, for me, is one in which I end up watching 20% + very good films, an average festival gives me only 11-20%, and a below par festival is one where the good and very good films I see amount to 10% or less. On this scale, the Third Eye Asian Film Festival, that concluded on January 15, scored high: above the 20% mark. That makes it a festival worth the time, money and effort taken to wake-up early, reach the venue, partake meals and beverages, and return home, late at night, day after day.  

It got off to a false start, though. Clearance to screen the first film, 6 am, from Iran, did not arrive in time, and at the P.L. Deshpande Kala Academy’s mini-theatre at Prabhadevi, Mumbai. It had to be substituted, at the eleventh hour, by Fatherless, that just about passed muster.

Fatherless (China, directed by Wenxin Yan) begins with a few minutes of gratuitous, torrid sex scenes. The film then settles to narrate the story of a man who loses his father to a prolonged disease and continues to have sexual relations with two women, simultaneously, one older than him, the other younger, who looked after his father in his last days. He also discovers that he was an adopted child. After the passing away of his father, when the two women exit his life, he has to confront reality and show maturity.

Rating: **

Malika (Kazakhstan-Moldova-Ireland: Natalia Uvarova) dealt with the subject of separation of parents, a parent’s (mother’s) impending re-marriage, and its impact on their 12-year-old daughter. Legally, the father, who is the earning member of the family, will get custody of his daughter, if the mother remarries, but she wants to stay with her mother. On a visit to her maternal grandparents, the girl discovers peace and calm, living with the extended family, at the countryside. The mother, too, wants to retain custody of her daughter. A realistic plot, with beautiful visuals and familial bonding, the film held interest. The film was screened as one of the two titles picked, as the Best of Busan (International Film Festival)

Rating: ** ½

About My Mom (Turkey: Sonnet Sert) was not so much about a Mom as it was about a father and son and uncle and aunt. A Turkish man returns to Turkey from Germany, where he has settled, to attend his mother’s fifth death anniversary. He is picked-up at the airport by his father, and they have a long drive to their home. The two show no love lost, though the father is vociferous in his declaring his pretentious love for his son, who he is meeting after many years. Things get a bit messy when the father feels that his son is gay and the son says nothing to deny this accusation. It is also discovered that the car was stolen. As they reach their home, we learn that the anniversary was just the excuse to get the family together and for his father, and himself, to stake his claim on part of the land left by the grandfather, and now under the possession of his uncle and his family. About My Mom showed almost its characters in various shades of grey, and almost black. It had a lot of loud talking, but a couple of well-written twists.

Rating: ** ½

Happy Patel, Khatarnak Jasoos, Review: Unhap pee Lapet, CutterNak JustSnooze

Cut to the chase. No, begin with the chase! 1991. Two British secret agents in speeding cars being given a hot chase in Panjor, Goa by another car. Bullets fly, but the chasers are not able to stop the fleeing MI7 agents. Left rear seat window glass rolls down. Out emerge the Don’s head, and his two hands, carrying a deadly double-barrel rifle, asking the British to die for their deeds. Applause, for the Don is none other than our ‘thinking person’s hero’, Aamir Khan, trying out a role that would test his abilities. The secret agents manage to reach their destination, get off from the car and rush to their flat. They forget to lock their door and even forget to blockade entry. In walks the Don, with his two henchman, one on either side. The agents have their guns pointed at the trio, but wait for their adversary to make the first move. Bullets fly again.

During the melée, a cleaner-woman emerges from behind a curtain, nonchalantly, carrying a broom. She commands the enemies to hold their fire, until she has swept the floor. They agree. Minutes later, the spray of bullets resumes. The cleaner-woman takes a leaf..leap out of the fight composers’ manual, collects the fatal bullet, and saves her employers, while the Don stops a bullet with the left side of his stomach. He cannot believe it, but beats a hasty retreat, along with his goons. Instead of rushing to the ICU of the nearest hospital, he goes home, and tells his wife and children—two sons and a daughter—that he is dying. They jest about it. He removes a ring from his finger and offers it to his two sons, but wonders which one of the two will succeed him as the Don of Panjor. His daughter snatches the ring from his hand. The Don dies. Elsewhere, before dying, the sweeper woman makes silly demands from her ‘firangee’ bosses, like immediate payment of her salary and an advance Diwali bonus, three months before Diwali. And then she makes a dying wish that they cannot refuse: the duo will raise her infant son, who is, at that very moment, rocking in his cradle, in the kitchen. They promise. This toddler, ladies and gentleman, will be taken to London and raised by his two adoptive fathers. And guess what does he become? An expert ballet dancer and a master chèf.

Did you laugh, or at least smile, while reading this narration of the beginnings of Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos? If you did, you might be tempted to go and see the film. If the beginning was funny, can the rest of it not be hilarious? Now here comes the Statutory Critical (of a critic) Warning: the film has about 10 really funny moments in a span of 121 minutes. For the rest, it is a pain is the as_ . Forgive the typo. Come 2025, and the infant is now in his 30s. He has been raised by his two ‘fathers’, given a name and sent on a mission to India, on the command of MI7. Happy is not a Happy person. In fact, he is so unHappy that after his arrival in India, his Sardar friend had to change his all his clothes while he was sleeping with an unHappy face, in order to make him Happy. Happy is an often heard first-name among Sardars. This man was born of a cleaner-woman, who, most positively was not a Sardarnee. And I have yet to hear of a cleaner-woman with the name Sakhubai Patel. Why he is given that name remains a mystery. Since Patel is the most common surname among Indian immigrants to the UK and the USA, maybe his fathers picked it for him.

How in heaven’s name did the adopted son of two deadly British secret agents grow up to become a ballet dancer and a chèf is left unsaid

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