THE DRABBEST OSCAR OF ALL TIME!

Man, it was boring! Positively, devastatingly, petrifyingly boring! Every single one of those major Oscars was a repeat of the BAFTA awards (and Golden Globe, to some extent), other than the Best Picture award, and that was an even bigger drab, because everybody knew they were going to do so! No one acted surprised really, no one did a summersault (like Roberto Benigni), no one expressed anger from past sufferings (like Halle Berry), no one cried uncontrollably. The honorary Oscar, as always, was an insult.

The whole award ceremony tasted of frozen floor-mops, to be frank! Shouldn’t we sing “Te Dium” to its amazing capacity at not surprising us?

The presenter this year, Jon Stewart, did share some pretty cheeky jokes (about Diablo Cody’s past, pay check, and her name, among others). But this guy has this Cheshire Cat smile of some thousand watts that he flashed at the audience every time he felt he made a good joke, and that, my friends, was a complete turn off for me. Well, yes, I agree, may be I am biased towards guys who do not laugh at their own jokes. But my point will still remain the same: Oscar is DULL without Billy Crystal! May be they should offer him a permanent job or something, but they should not let him go! Period. The star announcers were even worse, Martin Scorcesse appeared humorless (may be he was bored too), Danzel Washington sounded like an over-excited circus announcer. Helen Mirren kept her cool. Penelope Cruz, as always, sounded as if she was reciting an Alexandrine verse in Esperanto! How can she sound so incomprehensible after spending so many years in Hollywood (and dating hunks)! I still don’t get it. The only saving grace was the younger Coen; Ethan Coen’s first speech consisted of four and half words: “uhh…..thank you for this.”, and the next time there was no improvement at all! May be he was making a terse point, or may be he was dealing with the situation the way the brothers deal in their films: with no baggage, always understated, reserved. Hat’s off to him.

People who have not followed BAFTA and the GOLDEN GLOBE might find it surprising that Marion Cotillard won the Best Actress in a Leading Role Oscar. They should then, by now, know that her acting this year has swept virtually all award ceremonies (Cesar, BAFTA, GOLDEN GLOBE). Her performance as the legendary singer Edith Piaf is a type always favored by the American critics and audience: “authentic” biopic with a lot of make-up (makes the whole thing look more heroic) and tragic ending. It belongs to the tradition of movies like “Patton”, “Laurence of Arabia”, “Monster” etc. In hindsight, no one else could have been allowed to win the small-buttock man this year. Daniel Day-Lewis’ character in There Will Be Blood belongs to what I call “The Great American Acting Tradition”. He shouts, spits, smiles mischievously to a familiar effect of raw animal force, uncontrollable will power that feels like fate. It is sad for such a great actor to depend on such over-emphasized roles to win accolade every time. Hollywood, although never openly, always felt bad about underplaying characters; the greatest of under-actors had had a problematic relationship with Hollywood (remember Marlon Brando? Remember the fact that before “Silence of The Lambs”, Anthony Hopkins’ status in Hollywood was so miserable even after a film like “The Elephant Man” that he almost decided to relocate to London?). Intellectual acting is not something Hollywood adores. Hence the low number of awards won on memorable performances in comedies (I am thinking about “Sideways”). I have enormous respect for someone like Daniel Day-Lewis, and it saddens me to see how great actors are still forced to go through one, small, narrow type.

The Oscar authorities are famed for insulting great men with “honorary” Oscars when they are past their prime, post-prime, and post-post-prime! They awarded Charles Chaplin after they had successfully kicked him out of the country, and managed to not give him a single Oscar ever. They finally gave the honor to both Satyajit Ray and Frederico Fellini when they were about to die. This year is no exception. They gave the award away to 98 year old Robert F. Boyle, a legendary art director and production designer. Can you believe it! At 98 years of age! I mean, what the heck, check out this list of his major works, all of them were made at least 20 to 30 years ago! Here is the list: Alfred Hitchcock’s “Saboteur”, “North by Northwest” [Remember that breath-taking birds-eye shot of the United Nations Building?], “The Birds”, “Marnie”, It Came from Outer Space, Cape Fear, In Cold Blood, Fiddler on the Roof, Portnoy's Complaint, Winter Kills, Mame, W.C. Fields and Me, The Shootist, Private Benjamin, Staying Alive etc. What the hell, why did they not award him in the late eighties or nineties? Does it give them toothache? The old man took it apparently in all good faith, but God knows how he might be feeling about it now.

I am happy for Tilda Swinton (Best Actress in a Supporting Role for “Michael Clayton”) though. She is an exceptional talent, a consistent rebel; she wags an extremely sharp tongue and glitters with visible intelligence. That sort of an actress is becoming rarer by the day. She showed extremely bad dress sense in both BAFTA and the Oscars (in BAFTA, she looked like a psychedelic geisha gone loony!), she called George Clooney a “tremendous bastard” (I am quoting from memory though), and appreciated that slender butt of our UNCLE OSCAR. Hers was certainly the most memorable speech this year for me. I feel bad for Kate Blanchett though. Her performance as Bob Dylan in the film “I’m Not There” was remarkable by any standards. After watching her twice, I think Marion Cotillard sounds on the verge of crying almost always, which will, almost certainly, turn some men on; she has a very sweet French disposition, and she is certainly a very good actress (although, I have a suspicion, limited in scope) in her own way. Xavier Bordem as the Best Actor in a Supporting Role (for “No Country for Old Man”) was again a routine choice, Hollywood loves its psychopaths. It might prove to be a great thing for him, and help him get out of the zone where you only get type-cast dull Latino roles. But again, we must remember that the Oscar did not help Benetio Del Toro that much.

Best Director Oscar for Coen Brothers (“No Country…”) is a justified choice, but the award comes a bit too late; they should have won it for “Fargo”. They have been one of the most original directors in Hollywood for a long time, and no accolade will be enough for the work they have put in throughout the years. It is sad that many throughout the world are just coming to know about them because of an Oscar. They are great even without the golden statue.

I have a confession to make. When I first saw Diablo Cody (Best Original Screenplay for the film “Juno”) at BAFTA, I was more attracted to her amazing bust and her beautiful skin than anything else. It was very male chauvinistic of me. Many of you might recognize her as the author of the famous blog “The Pussy Ranch”. I have not yet seen the film “Juno”, but judging by other critics’ reactions, and going by the storyline and some of the dialogs; it seems to be a very well written film. I am looking forward to watch this movie, and specially watch the work of Ellen Page (Ms Cody called her “superhuman”, Roger Ebert called her “THE actress of her generation”); and I will also wait for future works of Ms Cody. She deserves a big congratulation.

Many of you may have noticed that all the major acting Oscars have gone this year to “non-American” actors. Some might call it an accident, I call it a trend. For years now, actors of other nationalities (specially the British) have given consistent performances in the industry; as a result, in the pool of contemporary bankable actors, you will find a major number of Britons, Spaniards and others. Maybe, just may be it is time for the American acting schools and the industry itself to rethink its lines, and check out where it is going wrong. As far as I am concerned, I feel that there is certain predictability in the acting of most American actors nowadays, especially the white ones. What do you think?

N.B.—In an act of tremendous bad faith, the Oscar authority failed to pay their tribute to the memory of the great German actor Ulrich Mühe, whose memorable acting as a East German interrogator in the film “Lives of Others” [winner of last years Best Foreign Language Film Oscar] is still fresh in many of our memories. They also failed to notice the deaths of Brad Renfro, French mime artist Marcel Marceau, acclaimed Taiwanese director Edward Yang (director of “A Bright Summer Day” and “Yi Yi”). Let us not be so obnoxiously ignorant about anything non-American, and pay our homage to these remarkable men. We will miss Ulrich Mühe sorely.

BAIDURYA CHAKRABARTI

The Darjeeling Limited (2007) by Wes Anderson [Rating:4 & 1/2

Wes Anderson is a rare phenomenon in contemporary Hollywood; he directs, writes screenplays, and gets involved with almost every aspect of film making. In that respect, he is in a rather exclusive league with Quentin Tarantino, and Robert Rodriguez (he "chops, shoots and scores" his movies) etc. Even more importantly, his films tend to deal with certain "personal" problematics of the director: identity, in general. So, at this point, we can call Anderson an "auteur". His latest film, "The Darjeeling Limited"(2007) is a well balanced, exuberantly whimsy, humane without being humanistic, engrossing film. In short, it is a surprisingly excellent film.


The film has a separate prologue, a short film of about 12 minutes called "Hotel Chevalier", starring Jason Schwartzman and Natalie Portman (by the way, anyone in love with Natalie's luxurious hair will be disapponted. Shot right after the movie "V for Vendetta", she sports a US army kind of a hair cut). In the film, Jack Whitman (Schwartzman) is living at "Hotel Chevalier" for some indefinite amount of time. He is surprised by a call from his girl-friend (or ex-girlfriend) (Played by Natalie Portman). She is in town and wants his room number. It is made clear very early that the relation between Jack and his girlfriend is not ideal; he clearly is trying to keep away from her, and yet, it is hard-to-do-so for him.Jack suffers her with a servile fascination, tinged with an inner force of repressed anger. Well, not as cliche as that previous sentence sounds, but something like that. Jack hurries across his suit, tidies everything up, bathes, dresses, makes another warm bath for her, and then waits. He even sets up a background music for her [Peter Sarstedt's "Where do you go to(My Lovely)!!Natalie's character is a mercurial tomboy, chewing a tooth-pick all the time. They talk, get to bed, and eventually have sex. She sports love bites and other bruises on her thighs and arms; they both ask each other whether they have slept with anyone else or not, and, both lie.Soon we perceive that this sex is a farewell act; the last nod before becoming forever estranged. She asks him: "Whatever happens, I don't wanna lose you as a friend"; he replies: "I promise, I will never be your friend, No matter what.Ever.". She whispers:"If we fuck tonight, we will feel like shit tomorrow".He says:"That's OK with me". She says: "I love you.I never hurt you on purpose."; he says "I don't care". And then follows one of the most beautiful slo-mo tracking shots I have seen in a long, long time. Natalie's character stands by the wooden bureau naked, looking like a condescending geisha (not by any coincident, one of "The Darjeeling Limited"s posters feature a Japanese wood-block painting of a geisha. Jack drapes her with a yellow Hotel Chevalier Bathrobe (the symbol will be repeated). The film ends with the couple looking over the Paris landscape from the balcony, to the tune of the song "Where do you go to(My Lovely)?". The whole film exudes a Fellinisque humor and a full-blooded, if not a little amused, embracement of life in its broadest sense.

I have spoiled the movie with this spoiler because there is a chance you will not be able to see this prologue in your theatre. Although it is not essential to see it in order to enjoy the main film, there are repeated allusions to the character of Natalie in the film. But now, let us concentrate on the main film.

In the film, three brothers, Francis(Owen Wilson), Peter(Adrien Brody), and Jack (Schwartzman), who have not been much in contact, have a reunion after one is almost killed in a motorcycle crash(Francis), another is expecting a baby in 15 days(Peter), and they take a journey on a fictional train (called Darjeeling Limited) through Rajasthan (Alas!If only such lovely trains were really there!).

The reunion is convened by Francis, whose head bandages make him look....well, strange, to say the least. Having nearly died (possibly intentionally), he now embraces life and wants to Really Get to Know his younger brothers. They are Peter, expecting a child from a wife he always expected to divorce any day, and Jack , who dials all the way home to eavesdrop on his former girlfriend's(Natalie Portman) answering machine(Jack knows the password). "I want us to become brothers again," Francis vows, "and to become Enlightened."

Francis is presumably obscenely rich, as he has a bald-from-birth assistant, Brandon (Wally Wolodarsky), who carries a printer and a laminating machine around in a different coach, creates detailed itinerary for the brothers and does almost everything for them. Francis is the compulsive type, which is something the younger brothers detest, they had enough of that from their long-lost mother (Angelica Houston) who has abandoned them long ago. Francis wants three of them to "become brothers" again. Francis also has a secret agenda: To meet their mother who is a nun now. They visit Hindu temples and pray in some of the most bizarre ways humanly imaginable.

Now, as you might be thinking now, if these three brothers really got changed by a silly train journey, then this film would have been a truly "THIS MOVIE SUCKS!!" contender. But no, the brothers sink even deeper into their deeply ingrained nature, only they start to accept it a tad better. The movie moves across scene after scene of whimsical humor and fun, with interludes of suddenly sobering experiences. In that way, one can say it does not have a tight plot, but the true charm of this movie in the very fact that it does not run like an arrow, but takes any course its engrossing self-absorption dictates it to take.

Another good thing about this film is the way it uses India as a backdrop. The makers of the film seem to have a good idea about what India is. As a result, India is not something exotic in the film, but a true backdrop with rather complex charms. The INDIAN STEREOTYPES are not seen; the "Sweet-Lime Girl"(Amara Karan, in a very measured performance for a debutant) from the train looks very Indian, but she smokes, talks in a "phirangi" accent, and is absolutely uninhibited about sex. Not very Indian, for some blunt-headed fanatics. But in exchange, she manages to look very believable.

The casting is brilliant. The three principal actors gel and conflict brilliantly. I suppose some will say that the film does not fly to the target. Well, the film does not have a target either. The film itself is the target. It does not have a plot either,in a strict sense.Wes Anderson, somewhat like early Satyajit Ray (by whom, he confesses, he was influenced), is deeply concerned about the characters only, and his camera focuses in to expose the humane vulnerabilities of the characters with a chuckle of understanding. If someone wants to see a routine drama or a screwball comedy, they better avoid this film. Wes Anderson, very clearly, does not believe in any semblance of such formulas.

The film uses music from various Bengali films, mostly from Ray's oeuvre, as background music with considerably success. The music works as companion pieces, sometimes as counterpoint, but never tries to dictate what we are supposed to feel.

All in all, this a very very good film, one of the most refreshing ones in recent years. It deserves a 4&1/2 rating for being such a good movie. But to get a 5,to become a truly great movie, Anderson's self-absorption needs to achieve a new height of sublimity. In a certain sense, Anderson reminds us of an young Woody Allen, exploring his own identity, vulnerabilities a little tentatively. In future, we might see an "Annie Hall" from him.At least, we can always hope.
BAIDURYA CHAKRABARTI