Jigarthanda XX (2023)

 

I haven’t seen the first Jigarthanda, already hailed as cult, like breaking into a wine bottle before it matures. I have only S.J. Surya to look forward to, him being the most original performer in that industry since Vijay Sethupathi, both whom would always bring something extra to the table.

But the leading role is Raghavendra Lawrence’s, him having another go at okayilead roles after stints as dance choreographer. He is much better here than the horrid, putrid Chandramukhi 2. Interesting that he is appearing in a sequels the second time without having been in the ounlike Chandramukhi though, he is fine here, convincing as  a chaotic illiterate tribal gangster in the middle of disputes and investigation by authority over some purported crime.

I have no clue as to why Clint Eastwood is in the middle of it all, the CGI rendering of him looks embarrassing, but if the fanboys can find some symbolism, well, so be it. I know that there’s some sort of tribute to spaghetti western is going on here, but to director Karthik Subburaj’s credit, he managed to create a world of his own.

And then there’s S.J. Suryah delivering uncharacteristically subtle performance with occasional trademark eccentricity showing up. He's supposed to be the sane voice amidst the madness that’s going on, and like the little camera he holds the entire film, somewhat posits him as the narrator.

Otherwise the film can be overlong for us to enjoy the supposed frolicking madness that ensues taking us from streets of Madurai to the luah forest where the characters colkyde with real and CGI elephants. Once the creatures are in – and here’s remembering the late producer Thevarwhois fond of casting animals in his flicks – you know that the messages are coming. There’s direct political satire at work here, as well as other messages on animal rights and tusks smuggling that has authorities dirty hands behind the nefarious activities.

It just gets messy. Balancing the sub plots with what could have been a bit of character-centric storytelling seemed not to be Tamil film directors’ forte, and Karthik Subburaj is not an exception. The performances of the lead duo has something going for it. I fine Santhosh Narayanan's background score a relief from the sonic assaults of Anirudh of recent. Also, there’s some important ambition somewhere in it, but I suppose I missed it.

Killer Of The Flower Moon (2023)

Slow burn. That’s how it felt like.

It was exactly how Martin Scorsese, my favourite Hollywood film director dealt with The Irishman (2019), though being an extension of the world that he’s already explored to an astonishing degree before, it worked.

Watching this one was a laborious affair. Perhaps that it was post lunch in a cold movie theatre which was the culprit considering I slept off during couple of the scenes.

We have to deal with the perpetual frown on Leonardo DiCaprio’s face, with only Robert de Niro giving another fantastic performance, the only bundle of energy in this rather kinetic deficient film.

There was an interesting thing though, the timing. The story about how the natives were murdered to grab their oil rich reservation land, seen to parallel what’s happening in Gaza now. It’s unintentional, of course, considering the number of Jews involved in that movie business. But it was too obvious to ignore.

It's filled with great performance, especially Lily Gladstone who plays Mollie Burkeheart, the Osage tribe woman, the central figure of this story.

This film looks more like Oliver Stone’s territory as he would have heightened the drama with every cinematographic trick in the book to keep the proceeding interesting.

That is specifically what Scorsese himself specialise in, but he opted for old school style instead and we are left to deal with long lumbering shots with boring dialogues.

I never thought I’d not like a Scorsese film, even The Irishman had moments that were pure Scorsese in presentation. Here, it looks like any by the book TV director could have pulled it off.

Very disappointed.

The Exorcist: Believer (2023)

*Spoiler Alert* Not that it matters, there are some stuff best discovered if you watch the film first before reading this.

The review

Like manysequels, or reboots, this should not have happened. The original that came out in 1973 (my birth year, a coincidence, nothing more) was one of the, if not THE most terrifying film I had ever watched. So much so that I immediately got immuned that no other horror films appeals to me.

That film was more disturbing than frightening. Using a young girl and physically transforming her, even acrobatically in some scenes was never before seen in the film world up to that time. And putting a disraught, helpless mother in the middle of it all was more than relatable for anyone. Though the religious types might think otherwise, the devil does only gets cast out here, not destroyed. Makes you question the wisdom of good triumphing over the evil, especially a man of god hadda kick the bucket in the flick.

The director apparently found success with the reboot of the Halloween flicks, and therefore was given the megaphone to revive the interest, perhaps, to another set of franchise. Only, it didn't work. The original was disturbing at all levels. It has puberty and sexual awakening allegory that can only belong to the time when the entire cinema was waking up to an honest depiction of violence and sexuality in the early 70s. It doesn't work now, not especially with the wet blanket called woke movement.

This time, two kids gets possessed and frankly we don't care. They get the same makeup and Batman growl. They do thinks that are not specifically shocking for the 21^st century world that has easy access to smut and anything shocking from all around the globe. It just didn't work.

Even the usual strong presence of religion (Catholicism) is rather muted here, and the priest sent is sent for exorcism is quickly dispatched, rather comically if I may add. Ellen Burstyn, from the original makes an extended appearance, more than a cameo as the film wants to make a connection with the original. Even Linda Blair makes an appearance right at the end. It's supposed to be nostalgic. I didn't care.

There are few jump scares here and there, and as manipulative as they are, the shtick just doesn't work. They should have left the franchise alone. The film didn't work for me, and looking at how other critics are also vomitting green peas, I don't think this time there is going to be another set of sequels. \

Mark Antony (2023)

I went to watch this film only for one reason – SJ Surya. This director turned actor has carved himself a nice name as scene stealer on screen. Though he started off directing the likes of Ajith and Vijay, he stepped in front of the camera to direct himself as a leading man. After few films, he started doing supporting roles which turned out to be a boon – birth of a great character actor.

In this film, he plays the second fiddle to the lead, Vishal, and ended up owning the entire film. The Entire Film. Here, we see overacting at its best, thanks to S.J. Surya's manic energy that brought back the glory days of not only Sivaji Ganesan, but also M.R. Radha, Asogan, Manoharan and so many colourful villains and supporting actors of the early era. S.J. Surya is a force to be reckoned with, there has never been anyone like him for a long time - the last time I saw a character so colorfully negative, and hillariously astounding was Rajini in Netrikann (1981). 

Using time travel as the premise, director Adhik Ravichandran crafted an engaging story that also deals with multi-verse (past and present) where one character can talk to the character from the past using a specially invented telephone (you float when making the call).

Skillfully moving to and fro so as to not to confuse the audience, Adhik brought a gripping and hilarious script live that never had a dull moment, chiefly thanks to S.J. Surya's scorching funny performance.

It was a huge relief for me, having still not recovered from the bitterness of watching another film that zipped to and fro past and present, Chandramukhi 2. P. Vasu should learn from the youngsters instead of making out-of-date presentation.

The film also makes no bones about showing everyone in dark light, there is no hero here. Everyone is after something or pissed of with somebody, or, in Surya's case, double crossing someone. I dread to think anyone else doing his role in this story – perhaps there were other contenders, but S.J. Surya owned this one – or two, as he plays father and son (the last time we had two characters with their own twins/triples was Bale Pandiya, a classic with which I personally like to compare this film, it's that good).

After a long time, I am extremely delighted to see a thoroughly entertaining fare to come out of the Tamil film industry. And in one scene, involving both dad and son S.J. Surya, I had never laughed that hard watching a Tamil film for a long time. It was thigh slapping-ly funny. I really dig this film. In fact, this might even be the first time I could tolerate Vishal, who was totally in S.J Surya's frequency, loud, dumb and self-deprecating. The rest of the cast all were in on the fun romp, and the only turn off was the exceedingly loud music - possibly trying to mimic the heydays of full orchestration, but G.V Prakash's ain't no M.S. Viswanathan. But its a forgivable offence. 

But it's S.J. Surya's show all the way. And I wrote in my What's App status, that S.J Surya is a national treasure and he must be protected at all cost. 

Jawaan (2023)

This is probably the only film of Shah Rukh Khan in leading role I am watching. I don't watch Hindi films, and I am not sure what's the parameters like over there when it comes to onscreen performances. But I suppose SRK has done some heavy lifting here playing dual roles, which you can't tell apart except with what looks like a bit of de-aging involved for the younger character. Heroes of the industry here have, for ages, played older and younger dual roles and I can only think of Sivaji and Kamal pulling it off, performance wise. Rajinikanth is just too much of a bundle of energy to be contained in make-up, though he can keep the characters apart with the amount of kinetic power unleashed.

This is where I gotta do the "speaking of Rajini" bit. SRK does two of the former's gimmicks involving cigar stub - homage? Tribute? Trying to attract the south Indian audience? It also helps that whoever is voicing him in Tamizh sound bit like the late, great Raghuvaran. 

But the two factors that got my bum in the theatre seat are Nayanthara and Vijay Sethupathi. Both didn't disappoint. One, Nayanthara, smitten as I was once, I have also accepted her as a versatile actress, not an award material talent, but certainly way ahead of her peers. Then, there's Vijay Sethupathi who could just be reading of the dictionary and have you entertained. Again, he's not going to headline any nominations awarding performance, but he has more presence than most of the southern Indian actors of his generation combined. He's the type who, like Rajini himself and Sathyaraj, brings something additional to the table.

Director Atlee who used to be Shankar's assistant, is the apple that has not fallen far from the tree, taking with him Shankar's disdain for corrupt authorities, love for the poor and anything else that can be scraped from MGR's cinematic legacy barrel. And off we go again in another pseudo Puratchi Thalaivar crusade with heavy dose of anti-heroism. Heavily sterilised, that is.

It's an entertaining fare with plenty of shootout, now that the industry is gifted with proper props and CGI bypassing the exploding squibs stage for realism. It's amateurish in every possible way, but not bad for an Indian film. 

And, as usual, I have issues with the background score... generic, dull and composer Anirudh (who, nowadays, gets A Musical By credit, baffling...) now steals from Ennio Morricone. That unmistakable theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. The nerve! You wanna steal, take from something obscure bro. Talented, yes. Brilliant? No. Original? Pu-leeeze.

This is the sort of film that gets rave review and will quickly be forgotten. But there's one thing I really appreciate, the gals. They are shown to be kick-ass types, including Nayan who is in full action mode, and believable in fight sequences. The girl deserves her own action flick. Meanwhile Vijay Sethupathi just keeps bulldozing ahead like a monstrous rhino ahead if it's heard against the sea of antelopes. The sonovagun is unstoppable.

Nostalgia Tinted Glasses: The Biased Generational Perceptions.

“You glorify the past

When the future dries up…” U2 – God Part 2 (a song from their Rattle and Hum album).

This thought came to me when I was reading up another bunch of comments (online, of course) saying that our education system is bad as if, in the past, everyone was taught by Socrates and read books by Plato. If I recall well, all the way back to the 80s someone has always been complaining that education was bad at that moment of time. 

The only time anyone remembered fondly of the great education system are my parents’ generation, and of course it is the leaders from their generation that came and revamped the system, and to quote Jim Morrison, the whole shithouse burned in flame.  

Yet, I have long refused to ride on that bandwagon. First, let’s face it, the quality had already started petering out during the time when kids from our generation hit the school, because I have seen my parent generations’ text books – as mentioned -and have been incredibly amazed. In fact, for some times, I had my mother’s, Little Women by Lousia May Alcott – a novel they studied for literature. Likewise, I am sure that my father thinks highly of the education standard of his parents which were directly under the purview of the Brits. So on, so forth. 

Yet (again) with the forever bitch-able system of our generations, we still had newspapers, limited, but many households had those. I recall going visiting relatives and friends of our parents, and finding ourselves not interested in those folks, but my brother and I (Balan, the newspaper maniac he was, and me, who only read the entertainment section) would peruse whichever newspapers were folded neatly on the undertray of the coffee table at those places. 

We had few TV stations which were our window to cultures outside of the country. Likewise, the radio. We had the usual diet of Hollywood and Asian films, TV shows, only not as excessive as now. The plantation we live in do not have easy access to cinemas, so we can only wait for it to hit the TV, usually taking years. Which is why the pirated VHS tapes proliferated and we were still pretty up to date, movie wise. Those were part of our education system.

Now, the trouble is, we always view our past with rose tinted glass, and we tend to overrate anything we import from there in discussions. But I no longer want to do that, especially when it comes to education system.

No, don’t drag me into that exclusive club that rejects education system that is not of their era, despite the fact that, borrowing a point from above, most of them are the parents of the kids directly exposed to the very so-called poor education system, and could do something about it. In fact, it is that very older generation who are in power and are responsible for that goddamned system, and they have the cheek to sneer at the resultant system festered down the youngling’s throat. 

The attitude behind looking down on education system of the younger generation also has its root to the very tradition of condescending reaction to the culture of the young, while glorifying the past. In plain language, we always have had the habit of looking down at the younger generation for ages. Here’s a long list of commentaries about certain generations in the history criticizing the young ‘uns. Take this for instance: “…Modern fashions seem to keep on growing more and more debased … The ordinary spoken language has also steadily coarsened…."

That was from 14th century Japan, mind you.  

How about this from 1771: “The free access which many young people have to romances, novels, and plays has poisoned the mind and corrupted the morals of many a promising youth…”

It has always been a thing, as you get old, you sneer at the youth belonging to others because of the bitterness that you were forced to leave your own. 

It’s already embedded in the DNA. Take this explanation for instance: 

"There is a psychological or mental trick that happens that makes it appear to each generation that the subsequent generations are objectively in decline, even though they're not," says research psychologist John Protzko from the University of California Santa Barbara."And because it's built into the way the mind works, each generation experiences it over and over again."

It also makes sense, as explained here, on how we are viewing our past with the contemporary thoughts, whichever thought process, level of intelligence or knowledge garnered over the years. 

“We are imposing our current self on the past,” John Protzko, a postdoctoral researcher at UC Santa Barbara said in this article. “We’re sort of idealizing kids of the past.”

"It's a memory tic - you take what you presently are and you impose that on your memories," explains Protzko.

That’s the point. The memory of past you have today is not 100 accurate, its heavily filtered by the person you are today, your preferences, your outlook, worldview, and often glossy when presented to others. 

And how valuable of these memories of our past are? How about jackshit? As mentioned by Nathaniel Sharping here

"First, we tend to judge others more harshly in areas where we excel. An ardent reader, then, will be more likely to deride someone else's reading habits," explains Discover's Nathaniel Scharping. But second and more interestingly "our memories of what we were like as children can't always be trusted."

Hard-boiled: A description on the act of consuming a favourite breakfast.

Yes, that’s the three half boiled eggs that I had last week. Not pigeon diarrhea as the legend proclaimed.

This article from The Sun Daily interest me deeply. I could absolutely relate to it. Half boiled egg is not only my favourite breakfast these days, but has since become almost compulsory activity for weekends, like movie watching and toe nail clipping.

As one can note from the feature there, it is about customers complaining about the need to crack the half boil eggs themselves. They are better off if the eggs come from cracked shells as presented at the eateries of choice. Well, they are not alone in this. I am with them, and by Jove, when I say I am with them, I am not actually physically with them, I have never met them.

But we are all one in agreeing the issue at hand. Get it? Hand. That handles those egg which, when handed to you, not only singes your finger but provokes your previously calm self into yelling unprintable words. All the social media stuff you posted tirelessly preaching manners, values and quotes of your favourite Swamiji goes down the drain because you feel they have handed you couple of hot coal instead of eggs.

Now, apart from Nasi Lemak Bungkus, half boiled eggs are fast becoming my favourite breakfast meal. It provides me enough energy to before my biological battery is reduced to a single bar about ten meters after I leave the table. The one I currently like the best is in Rawang, where somehow, they have the right soy sauce it; and – this is the best part - they crack the eggs for you.

Wait, let me rephrase that. They break the eggs for you. Most other outlets, especially Mamak restaurants/stalls, you hafta do it on your own. You struggle with the eggs which are usually hot enough to melt metal step ladders. Hence, I end up using the serviettes on which I place the eggs and crack it using the ceramic spoon. These Kopi Tiam spoons, by the way, are designed to dig up sloppy things like porridges or parts of bread toasts you dunk too long that have drowned themselves in the coffee. They are not for cracking egg shells.

Because, these spoons do not respond well to egg shells, they are shy that way. With force often reserved for hammering concrete nails, one can create cracks on the shells which is deemed damaging enough to be able to rip the egg apart...hopefully into two. It does not appear to be so. Well, it will never appear to be so, each bloody time. It’s not a clean crack you can split with both thumbs. No.

See, I use both hands, carefully placing thumbs nearing each other on the widest possible crack spotted, for the centre to be pulled apart only …. the eggs shells start cracking at places that I had not wished for it to start cracking, with the crack’s hairline extension spreading quickly all over the egg. Happy?

Not yet, because the cracks are held together by stubborn inner membrane layer holding on to the cracks loyally like an insurance agent during the client's dying days. In efforts to finally rip the shells apart, I break more corners and by then the white of the egg and the yolk had already leaked out, mixing onto each other, with bits of those bits of shells in it….

… and then, onto the saucer, or bowl, it goes. Then, you gotta scoop out the remaining stubborn whites and yolks clinging hard to the inner wall of the shell...where you might unintendedly crack more of the shells and they start crumbling again. Meantime, the serviette you used to hold the egg shells looks assaulted and disgraced that you might even want to throw it out on your own, secretly, because it looks like a disposed tissue paper used to cleanse the results of nightly self-persuasion.

That is why I prefer the Rawang outlet. They break it for you and the sauce is delicious as long as you use the right number of squeezes (gently) or you will end up drinking egg flavoured dark salty gruel. Also, they give a tiny spoon, instead of the kopi Tiam ceramic spoon, as you can see from the pix.

Scooping the egg in that tiny spoon, sipping that coffee (not that great, but at least better than most here, and definitely better than the filtered through fresh-from-the-field-footballers-socks coffee in Mamak shops) …. makes the weekend worth waiting for.

JAILER (2023)

 

I have not watched a single film directed by Nelson, so I am saved from comparing this to his earlier films. He is making a star-driven flick and when the star is Rajinikanth, it inevitably comes with shitload of expectations. Nelson knows that, and most importantly Rajini knows that too well – almost all the films (bar one) post 90s, he has been making films for those who whistles, dances, and behave like alcohol-less drunks during the screenings.

And then, there are those like me. I was a Kamal Haasan fan growing up, then became a full fledged Sivaji Ganesan fan and that allowed me to appreciate Rajini better, later. Rajini the actor impressed me more than Rajini the superstar, and I had long wanted to see the performer side of him, because, dammit, at one point during the history of his career, he was directly competing with Kamal Haasan in that  department.

But that’s me. This film will satisfy all parties: Fans of Nelson’s previous flicks – which I have not seen, but am able to see the signature on this – will appreciate some aspect; fans of Rajini; and dudes and gals like me. The first half especially was most satisfying for me, as I got to see Rajini back to his roots, a stage artiste turned onscreen performer under the guidance of K. Balachander. It was all there, every moment, every tic, every movement, the facial expression, the body language – lessons of underplaying a part, is all there. The man has not lost it as I had long feared.

Then, the one power he had not used for long time was brought back. There is only one actor in this industry, for me, who could exude that one thing – menace. As a little boy, I recall being terrified of him in this gem of a film called Moondru Mudichu (1976). That scene where, after letting Kamal’s character drown and making no efforts to save his onscreen buddy, Rajini rows the boat and sings a song in a terrifying M.S.V voice, I cried. I hated him. I feared him. I would never be his fan for a long time. He was menacing in Avargal (1976), in Bhairavi (1977) and later in Thappu Thalanggal (1977), a curious look at the life of a henchman. Hell, even for a song in the glorious masterpiece, Mullum Malarum (1978), you know that nobody is gonna mess with him.

That menace is brought back here. It was not even in Baasha (1993), where he was just angry in those supposedly tensed moments. Baasha’s performance pales in comparison to what we get to see here. A full blown rage, at times under control and at times erupting like a sleeping volcano waking up without notice. He still moves like panther, stalking the prey – hordes of henchmen who looked like they have escaped the 12^th century monastery, you’d know if you have seen that underrated murder mystery, The Name Of The Rose (1986)  starring Sean Connery. These guys come from that school of henchmen which is supplying baddies for Tamil films, all looking perfect in unkempt beard, face like first few seconds post-acid attack (damndest thing, because acid plays a part in this movie). The lead bad guy (Vinayakan) was also made up to look like that, and unfortunately he was no match for the star. It’s same old performance that a more capable villain veteran like Sathyaraj would have chewed and spat had he started his career much later. This performance was passable within the context of the film.

Somewhere between the story of a retired jail warden, played by Rajini, living peaceful wife with his wife, and his cop son’s family, the director co-opted the plot of Thanggapathakkam (1974), and those who had seen that classic knows how the film is going to end. It was no spoiler for us fans. Shocking as it was back in 1974, this time it was expected – thus losing the supposed gravitas. There was even a nod to Alex Pandiyan of the Moondru Mugam (1983) fame when we are given a short flashback to 15 years earlier where Rajini was de-aged (not that technique, but good makeup and lighting) looking terrific as the jailer that can make criminals leak in their pants. Both ways.

There’s violence and blood everywhere. But as it still is, in Tamil films, amateurishly splashed all over the place with little regards for physics and goddamned biology. That is why the film is rated something or other for excessive violence, though that is pretty laughable considering what you see is silly, though what was suggested was far more sinister (acid dunk, yippee, pretty sadistic for a hack director).

The pace was uneven… at times, we are not quite sure which part of the revenge plot are we in. There is a scene taken from ye olde James Bond film, Goldfinger (1964), where a whole bunch of folks had to play possum, likewise reactions of the henchmen who were given crash course of watching old Jackie Chan flicks on the exaggerated spasm when getting shot or beaten up with a small fist.

But amateurism is expected. Once overlooking all those, there’s Rajini lording over like Collosus as he crushed his opponents second half onwards. There is supposed cleverness in his vengeance plot (that  Goldfinger schtick) though it felt drawn out, only the relief being the much welcomed cameos by Jackie Shroff, Mohanlal, and some guy to lighten up the proceeding. This is first time Lal-ettan (as the industry calls Mohanlal) appearing with Rajini… and I always felt Lalettan was more of a Rajini-like performer energetically compared to Kamal and Mammooty who works from inside out. Seeing both together brought smile to my mug. 

Then, the plot lifted from Thanggapathakkam rears its ugly head and sort of dumbs down everything that has passed, including needless lives taken out violently earlier that makes Rajini’s character not that smart after all. When it is dealt with, there was none of that “Twinkle twinkle little star” moment, or for those who had not seen the Sivaji film, that deep, heartbreaking remorseful moment. Not sure why Nelson downplayed it. Speaking of which, there were some humour here and there, where I chuckled but I keep hearing that the film had comedy in it. It must have flew by me, I have no idea it existed, and it definitely didn’t come from the comedian-flavour of the season, Yogi Babu who’s about as hilarious as a funeral director.

Speaking of funeral, they dug up another past sell-by-date actress Thamanna to add sizzle that looked bloody out of place amidst two wig wearing characters which look more at home in an old stag shorts. They couldn't stop getting nostalgic with actress who does talking with dubbed voice...some oral fascination there 

Well, I thoroughly enjoyed Rajini in this film, and definitely will go for a second viewing. Otherwise, this is not what I really wanted from Rajini the Actor. This is fan service number with a bit of stretching of talent involved for him. I want more of that. I want the Rajini that could give Kamal a run for his money, let alone the pretenders who are still vying for his crown. That crown stays were it is, just that its power is still not fully utilised yet.

Barbie (2023)

 

Review. (This was a post in my Facebook page, typed direct there rather than posting it here)

For a story based on kids toy, the story for this film is very adult. Alright, before fantasies are launched, let me be clear. Yes, it's about girls' (and some boys, don't be coy here) most popular toy doll .... And it doesn't take a big stretch to know that we continue to play with dolls when we are adults. Well, some of us anyway especially those who collects merchandises ( I had James Bond and Aston Martin scale models not too long ago).

Why adults may like this? That's because the film goes deep, becomes more of a satiric take on existential crisis some of us have or are driven into when the question about mortality and the meaning of life start bugging us (or, are asked by jerks who sell religions). It's that moment in most of our lives when we really question all that's around us and makes us try to get closer to our creator.

That what exactly happens to Barbie here and it's beautifully told by the filmaker and the scriptwriter who understood how to get the story across to kids and adults alike.

I was looking forward to this films simply because of being a Margot Robbie fan. But as much as she was perfectly cast, I was completely drawn into this world despite being colour blind all... And, being a very, very amateur philosophy enthusiast/student, the films take on existentialism, with a bit of theological undercurrent intrigued me. 

I mean, here I was , both drooling and admiring Robbie's performance (there's a slice of her Harley Quinn somewhere, I know) and then immediately taken into the intricate world of mother daughter relationship and thrown headlong emphatically understanding into the pain of growing up as a woman, the expectations in being perfect and I am sure this also makes a perfect film for mother and daughter outing and bonding.

As usual with films that thrive in concepts, the pace sags somewhere in the middle but picks up anyway. I really enjoyed it and it pretty much matched my expectations. A special mention must be made to the production design...it's immaculate recreation of the Barbie's world is a sight to behold, I suspect it will get a nod during the award season next year. 

Now that we have been seeing the friendly rivalry with Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer, it's intriguing to know that one of Barbie's early designer had also worked with Raytheon, a god-damned defense company (story link in the comment space)...how about that?

#rakeshmovietalk

Oppenheimer (2023)

 

Christopher Nolan makes complex films, with complicated story about conflicted characters. It’s no surprise that he chose to make a film about the Father of Atom Bomb, J. Robert Oppenheimer, controversial figure in history. I wouldn’t say that Nolan is no stranger to controversies, he had mostly been in the safe territory and in fact, have been steadily gaining fans, some fierce defender of his complex, abstract and sometimes confounding works.  Yet, Controversies have already started, especially on whether the character has been lionized, and the use of that verse from Bhagavad Gita.

Yes, that verse: “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of world”.

Offended many Hindus, it did. Well, let me say having brought up in that culture (they call it Sanadhana Dharma, though my birth certificate says I am a Hindu.) I have understood in the early days that Hindus are mostly very “open minded” (yes, the quote marks are very intentional) and have been taking punches, kicks from those belonging other faiths with smile and blood trickling down their lips (like Rajini in Baasha).

But as I grew up older, there’s this whole generation of folks who went on to gleaning and garnering “facts” and pointers from books and other mediums (yes, medium here also refers to some dudes who do a lot of sitting around and spouting philosophies that usually never get challenged by the so-called followers, who would jump to another guru as soon as the offer is a lot more appealing to their self-ish needs).

So, I was surprised that Hindus got their knickers twisted over this. My parents are Hindus, my brothers are Hindus, I know friends who named their pets Hindu names, instead of the usual Johnny or Whiskers and we would least be affected by a filmmaker who made films about a man dressed up as a bat,

I digress. The use of the verse, ticked many off by those whom I believe have digested the Bhagavad Gita in its entirety. I have only read the Tamil version of Mahabaratha, and that moment was probably in Act 4, scene 35.7b, and I missed it. Damn me for being an insufferable fool for having not taken note of that.

But I watch the film as a fan of the medium, for the entertainment value more than the messages, the jibes against non-religion religious folks, and it worked for me. The presentation was immense, the experience derived from it is something that will stay with me a long time.

It is an experience and I watched it in an ordinary theatre, and would be seeing it on IMAX next week, hopefully. It is very talky, yak, yak, yak and Nolan is, I am afraid, not David Mamet or Quentin Tarantino, for that matter, in the dialogue department. It can frustrate you when you can’t penetrate the words exchanged throughout the three hours runtime, and Nolan knows that. This is where the man also remembered the rest of us poor semi-literates.

The music. The background score was there almost all of the time. I have complained about how this device was overused in Tamil films (with exception of those scored by Ilaiyaraja, who knew how to play with silence too). But here, the music helped us to understand the gravity of the situation. I bet Nolan was telling Ludwig Göransson, who also composed Nolan’s Tenet, “Dude, suspense here….more suspense there….intolerable suspense for this scene”. His previous collaborator Hans Zimmer may have been hiding under the bed when Nolan came looking for him for Tenet, if you know what I mean – how much suspense can that poor German born composer take.

Nolan, clearly a contender for best Hitchcock’s “visual participation shtick” heir after de Palma, also got himself a bevy of heavyweight casts and none of them disappoints. Robert Downey Jr finally gets to kick himself out of the comic book world and prove why he had always been in the A-List for a long time (remember Chaplin, yeah, he knows a biopic when he sees one), and Mat Damon gives a welcome presence, as, at least, we get a bit of humour from him.

And Cillian Murphy. What a casting coupe, to use the cliché. He has always been around, usually in the second class carriage in the train of Nolan’s casting, and this time he was pushed forward as the leading man. It’s as if, Nolan had been waiting for this film to happen to finally give Murphy that break. And the actor never wasted a single moment. If you have watched the clips of actual Oppenheimer you can tell that, though Murphy does not look like him at all, but he nailed the stoicism with that glazed eyes, staring over the horizon. He’s almost in every scene and he commands attention. I send a message to a friend saying that this is an Oscar bait film, and especially in the acting department. Murphy, RDJ and the (sigh, this is frustrating) completely unidentifiably Gary Oldman as Harry S. Truman. I have said that before, the latter should be banned from any award list…he’s too much for the competitors, leave them alone willya Gary?

The presentation. The one film that came to my mind for comparative purposes, not that it needed that, was Oliver Stone’s Nixon (1995), the biopic of a much maligned historical figure. It is not so much the character but the way the story was told, jumping from flashbacks to flashbacks, use of colour, grainy images that Stone has known for deploying to keep the audiences at the edge of the seat. Here, flashbacks are told in colour and the contemporary setting in colour. This is not exactly path breaking story telling technique, it has been done before, but Nolan was again being kind to us. With the story jumping from past to a nearer past, then back to present, the switch of colour among others really helps to keep us on the page.

The cinematography has always been Nolan’s biggest strength and he doesn’t fail us here. It glides through from one moment to another, to that explosive section two thirds and yet kept us firmly interested as the following proceeding could have bored the heck out of the attention impaired.

This has to be the movie of the year, as I gauged even before the trailer was released. There’s something about the subject and the director’s credential that told me that this is gonna be huge. And it is. It’s gonna garner lots of notice come awards season next year. The whole Barbieheimer “fight” was not for nothing. The heaviness of one complements the simplicity of the other, and the filmmakers of both films were sporting enough to play along with the “competition” and by the look of it, both films are really reaping lotsa moolah it in… and most importantly, bring more and more folks back to the movie theatres.  

no p.A.I.n no g.A.I.n: AI and penmanship: Part 1

Q: Would I be worried about Artificial Intelligence (AI) as a writer?

A: What is the opposite of artificial intelligence? If you say “politicians”, you are wrong because most of what’s floating on consciousness are artificial as well. My answer would be: Human intelligence of course. While artificial limbs and parts make up for none, would artificial intelligence do the same, considering that in hundreds and  thousands years of existence, homo sapiens still rely on some magnificent force in sky to help them pass their exams, and bless their sandwiches.

Do we need AI? And without bothering about the flow, I’m gonna jump to it: what the fudge will AI do to my job as a writer?

Seriously. The notion that AI would (permitted to?) infiltrate and take over many jobs is both a threat and a joke. Threat, as in, you will become redundant and will soon be kowtowing to robot overlords. You will be waste products, mostly used for amusement of the android or slaves doing work like reaching for the coin dropped down between the grilles of a drain cover. 

Joke, as in, who’s gonna curry favour with the boss? (do, what in a more vulgar language involve lifting of the male reproduction organ pair). Actually that’s not funny…. It’s even “threat”ier than the aforementioned doomsday scenario. The sentinel being will replicate, even mutate with the bosses gene and go predator on our collective asses. 

But that’s me, most of my favourite sci-fi flicks are dystopian in nature and has either Sigourney Weaver or Ron Perlman in it – AI is hardly shown with saintly glow. Think of HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). AI can take over some functions, but writing is not an assembly line product, and it will never be like how machine took over productions of many manufacturing entities No, I actually welcome it. Here’s why:

I have had my ups and downs as a writer over the years -  yet worrying about competing with other writers, or dealing with  heated rivalries had never been the issues I had to be burdened with. At most, it was the insecurities with my own work. I recall now the time when a sub-editor who works second shift, coming in the next evening with a face that seemed to have joy sucked slowly through a straw overnight, told me to be more careful as my writing were full of mistakes.

Couple of months later he was no longer working there, possibly out looking for joy transfusion.

But that struck me. Hit me hard. It always does. Having had no formal education in English outside of the standard English they teach here in primary and high school, till today I have this insecurity about my grasp of the language. In the final exam in school (SPM), I scored higher in Malay than English. And I never even had a Malay girlfriend in school. The tragedy! Well, almost….

Thankfully, over time (quite a long time, actually) I managed to accept that I can go on writing with all those mistakes because everyone does that. Even most seasoned writers make mistakes, or write terribly. Back then, I have corrected my seniors and handed them the proof-read page and they just went on as if the red-inked scribbles were specks of dust on windshield. As I got older, I have my own writing corrected and I never felt as bad as I used to, but damn it. It sure do hit you a bit, especially when the one that corrected you is a young punk. 

But I realise this, of course. What makes writers unique is the voice. Sure, there are all types of writing, but you can still make your voice come through in the most droll academic pieces no matter how sleep inducing it is. 

Which would be lost as AI takes over the entire writing assignments, no matter if its academic, or industries like media and advertising/public relations. Feed the sonovabitch some stuff and see it vomit out copies, speeches, press releases and worryingly, scripts. Sleep inducing looks more prospective now. 

Collateral 

Which is why the type of writing that are most affected happen to be the ones that doesn’t require that “voice”, Namely, where drones of writer churn out mass manufactured copies, like Buzzfeed, where the headlines itself was meant to keep you staring at it for more than ten second: some of these headlines are longer than excuses heard in bedrooms. I mean, look at an actual sample of a headline:

“Kim Kardashian’s 7-Year-Old Son Saint West Said He Often Tells Her That She’s “Nothing” To Him, And People Have Many Thoughts”

That is, if you are curious about the “thoughts”, you click the bait (yes, that’s what these pieces are known as, clickbaits) and fall into the rabbit hole with ad banners and more link tunnels and secret pop-up doors to sealing a deal with the bankruptcy court, or even better, run afoul with the law.  

Sooner or later, the discerning ones are going to boycott all forms of clickbaiting. In fact, when it comes to all things online, look at the websites. The whole damned thing is dying – simply because the contents sucked platypus ass. The ones that are strong and surviving, are e-commerce platforms and ones that actually got bigger are the media sites, where I am sure, AI cannot get hold of in its entirety thanks to….writers.

Creative how?

So, would AI make writers redundant? Some, yes. Copywriting will go the way of the dodos for lesser products and services – they can all be dealt with by even Chatgpts. Creative writing would still be handled by the hands that can. There’s a reason why only Arthur can wield the Excalibur. And authors, their creative calibre. See, I can make it rhyme, try and beat me, AI. 

AI can be the maids, slaves, if I may, to do the cleaning up bit, touching up a grammar there, removing the misspelled trashes, and replacing with fresh fragrant ones. They will be the R2D2s and C3PO combined, intelligent but are subject to our whip lashing. They would still be tools. Maids. But not the type Schwarzenegger sleep with.. 

We use them to be precise about our “voice” in the writings. With dead writing, no matter how creative it can program itself into being,  I am sure many would clamour to hear those human ”voices” in writing, as inn performances based on those brilliantly written scripts that has its own unique colour. Especially scripts, in fact. No AI can do the verbal machine-gunning that David Mamet is known for, nor could create genuine hilarity ala Mel Brooks, which stemmed from his own unique worldview and upbringing.

Features with interviews, unless written in Q&A format, can never have the flair that a writer who throws her character in the mix when fleshing out the page detailing the encounters to the readers, who will see the colour and taste the flavour the author had intended in the piece.

This is where, In fact, I welcome AI. It is gonna separate the real writers from hacks. It will filter the gold nuggets from the muds and sand. The pretenders and the hoaxers will be weeded out. The shells once occupied by hacks will be filled by the AI bots. The ones with real panache, the ones that grind away at night, spurred by increasingly loud growling deadline – they stay!

It all goes back during the moment when automating and mechanisation was taking over the lives at the beginning of last century. A perfect example of that paranoia would be Charles Chaplin’s 1936 masterpiece film, Modern Times. A strong satire on technology taking over our life, and aims at the heart of it all – capitalism too, can be cruel, cold and as inhuman as socialism/communism is seen from the other side of the fence. The heart is missing. We always want that. Digital is cold, analogue is warm – just ask sound engineers.   

Like all tools, AI is starting out young, earnest, innocent. But age corrupts, vile corrupts absolutely. It was a writer who warned about artificial intelligence, if one were to recall 2001: Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke, filmed and released in 1968 by director Stanley Kubrick, in which the central villain was a sentient AI, named HAL. A bloody red light, that’s it.

Now, how will impact journalism. Well, I am confused with my own argument now. I shall tackle this another day. Or get the ChatGPT to write part two, I’m just too lazy. 

2nd part here.