Some times you can slog through months, make the 7kg camera bag your tortoise shell, rot in an edit room for 12 hours a day for weeks on end, produce an almost decent film- and then ruin it all on the screening by simply opening your mouth.
There are films which will be saved if the director does it a service by staying at home. Self's film is definitely one among them.
It was home turf and self walked in confidently with not an iota of preparation apart from the customary nervousness about talking to more than four people at a time.Was in that airy state which reads a bit like "have slogged my ass off to make that little thing on dvd. Now relax, sit back, watch it and give me a few seconds of 'filmmaker' glory"
Of course such an attitude is sure to end in a slipping fall with a decent amount of sound effects. To cut a long story short, self managed to dismantle almost every thing the film stood for through a few badly timed sentences. Through a few twists and turns self drove the film right into the heart of the ghetto from which it was trying to run away from. The ice cold look on the face of the adorable but right wing kid honked it way too loud-boss, you are in the wrong lane.
Hell, if left alone, the film would have tried its best to do that tight rope journey to where it was supposed to go. But what to do if you have the albatross of a 'filmmaker' to bear , that too one who is hell bent on plonking every thing.
While walking back, wished it wasn't home turf.Then, you could just walk away from the mess into the sunset with a "THE END" swagger. There will be no guilt of making any little cute kid a bit more of Hitler's cousin
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
I will meet you somewhere down the road, after each particle in brain is pulled over in some random senseless direction, about some thing very important, which couldn't ever wait.
Some where at a dog eared corner of the organiser amidst a cacaphony of things to do, there is a small note for you also.
One day will leave the din, forget the things to do, plunk the phone in a pool, lose the mobile internet connection and will leave with just the humility of a wanderer. Will stop just eyeing the roads through tinted glass of air conditioned travel coaches and will join the trail of the dust. Will stop treating love like another chore, with a list of friends to be met per fornight and routine calls to mom.Will blink into an oblivion, knowing well that those who matter will still be around.
Will listen to the old monk's wisdom in a strange incomprehensible language, will sit by the river, walk through the mountains,graze the sheep,wear the dancer's anklets and the monk's renunciation. Will live many lifetimes and will learn the insignificance of existence.
Till all that unfolds, please stand near the corner of the din, and let me be a very busy head clerk
Posted by ramble at 10:40 PM
Friday, January 7, 2011
Unending landscape rolling near the window..glow of yellow mustard fields beneath the warm eyes of evening sun... stink from the train's clogged urinal...8 hour delays, bumpy bus rides, oily street food- another place.
You with the red robes and shaved heads and torturous journeys to cross the border- please bring in my cup of nirvana, with a hint of sugar. Talk of peace, moving beyond desires....unclutter the mess of tangled wires within my head.
You the machans with killer shades, multi coloured lungis, blaring stereos and inquisitive questions- please stand by and be my kitsch backdrop.
Let me ruminate, think over tomorrows, strike away a few yesterdays, search into as much soul that is left within and be all ready- for the din, traffic, crazy deadlines, rat race and everything else which is the reason why I should leave by the weekend train.
Posted by ramble at 8:17 AM