This present day, this era of post-modernist, post-existentialism philosophies, tremendous cultural and social confluence, the period of staggering technological and scientific thoughts and processes, our lives, our cumulative stories gravitate towards some kind of unification of ideas, the coalescence of streams towards a greater truth. Maybe seeking to answer interdependence, validity of soul, or of life and death. The age-old adage of summation of parts being not as good as the whole itself assumes concrete structure of its own, for the parts can communicate and interconnect with each other to achieve a purpose in the entirety.
Ship Of Theseus serves as a springboard for such discussions, and remains widely ambivalent in its approach as whether it justified its title. A film attempting to seek discourses and conversations on such philosophical grounds, on a matter that at best can barely etch the topic of discussion in feeble strokes even in its 143 minutes of runtime, firstly has to set its agenda clear and loud and then drive home a point. Having stated this, it remains a frighteningly titanic task to attempt, let alone achieve. So bare sermonizing was excepted throughout. It is there, but not the regular fare.
You might ask, who talks like that these days? But then the folly is ours to bear, that we don't want to tread that path at all. If the auteur presents you a facet that is intellectually stimulating we tend to dismiss it for being not cinematic enough. Firstly, cinema, the immersive experience that it is, is not only scenes but definitely words too. Our visual faculty responds well and is far adaptive than the others but there is no harm in emphasizing on spoken dialogues trying to present the notion itself. Secondly, the subject matter deserves a kind of background matter for the audience to chew upon, as the essence is not some common or easily perceivable idea which is often dealt in mainstream/ alternate artforms but a huge body of thought. Some statements and textbook monologues were in order. Thirdly, I feel the director held the reins enough to balance between acknowledging audience's intelligence to appreciate and stating his ideas in barest minimum words. Let not the film make you feel dumb, 'cause if it did then you are probably trusting your Southern rip-offs a tad too much.
It is rich in its scenes and sounds. The crescendo attaining its peak as the blind photographer gains her eyesight which alienates herself from her art, failing to capture a busy cityscape, and ultimately collapsing back to 'dramatic' blindfold, and the hum and buzz silences out peacefully narrates a perfect scene with sounds only. Music by Naren Chandravarkar provides solace in times where introspection is a necessity and drama is just a bystander. Some good humour also finds place in Charbak's quips, the Marwari pretenses of casualness, and even for most of us, the realistic depiction of courtroom proceedings. The erudite, articulate monk Maitreya's (the fantastic Neeraj Kabi) banters with his protege set in the road, where walls have lend themselves being revolutionary graffiti and urban disenchantment, as the duo delves into religious emancipation being an answer to moksha assumes larger context. This scene, among few others spread across the three stories, are lengthy and rich in dialogues, and without music or artificial sounds jutting in. Nature and surroundings gain importance - the panoramic skyscraper-views, or the rain washed earthliness or gigantic rotatory windmills casting shadows, like the cycle of causality, the soundless scheme of Stockholm or the stifling bylanes and deadends of search in closeted slums, marking futility of search and purpose are pieces of brilliance. As Maitreya undergoes physical agony due to failing health, days rotate into nights, his fabric breaks and blackness descends on his skin and calmness, there are two very poignant images of lush green foliage being caressed by sweeping mellow winds, which dance and change forms, shapes to the tune of greater force. One of the images appear on the onset of his disease, the other when the suffering becomes untenable. Two apparently simplistic captures from nature, but presenting an vision that develops the idea like nothing else.
And then there is the soulful Naham Janami. The three different stories, which ultimately achieve convergence, have varying degrees of cinematic quality, mainly writing, with the second being profound piece of cinema made in modern times, in India. One probably wishes the makers to attain similar graphs with the other two as well, because it might appear the first and the last being prologue and epilogue to the epicenter of the film, even though all are thematically linked and properly constructed.
This is not a discussion about the subject matter of the film - and numerous forums can be formed to dissect the central theme, the paradoxes as presented, the parasitic or symbiotic manifestations of life, the final scene of Plato's cave as the ultimate or beginning of transformation, or even in-your-face issues like animal testing, illegal organ trade or even the futility of materialistic purview as against holistic attitude towards society and greater good. Because, as Anand Gandhi and his team wanted, the film just creates ripples to bring forth a wider wave in these matters of wider significance. Not answer them, not simplify them, but merely to raise them. This is a trip worth taking, on high sails.
Ship Of Theseus serves as a springboard for such discussions, and remains widely ambivalent in its approach as whether it justified its title. A film attempting to seek discourses and conversations on such philosophical grounds, on a matter that at best can barely etch the topic of discussion in feeble strokes even in its 143 minutes of runtime, firstly has to set its agenda clear and loud and then drive home a point. Having stated this, it remains a frighteningly titanic task to attempt, let alone achieve. So bare sermonizing was excepted throughout. It is there, but not the regular fare.
You might ask, who talks like that these days? But then the folly is ours to bear, that we don't want to tread that path at all. If the auteur presents you a facet that is intellectually stimulating we tend to dismiss it for being not cinematic enough. Firstly, cinema, the immersive experience that it is, is not only scenes but definitely words too. Our visual faculty responds well and is far adaptive than the others but there is no harm in emphasizing on spoken dialogues trying to present the notion itself. Secondly, the subject matter deserves a kind of background matter for the audience to chew upon, as the essence is not some common or easily perceivable idea which is often dealt in mainstream/ alternate artforms but a huge body of thought. Some statements and textbook monologues were in order. Thirdly, I feel the director held the reins enough to balance between acknowledging audience's intelligence to appreciate and stating his ideas in barest minimum words. Let not the film make you feel dumb, 'cause if it did then you are probably trusting your Southern rip-offs a tad too much.
It is rich in its scenes and sounds. The crescendo attaining its peak as the blind photographer gains her eyesight which alienates herself from her art, failing to capture a busy cityscape, and ultimately collapsing back to 'dramatic' blindfold, and the hum and buzz silences out peacefully narrates a perfect scene with sounds only. Music by Naren Chandravarkar provides solace in times where introspection is a necessity and drama is just a bystander. Some good humour also finds place in Charbak's quips, the Marwari pretenses of casualness, and even for most of us, the realistic depiction of courtroom proceedings. The erudite, articulate monk Maitreya's (the fantastic Neeraj Kabi) banters with his protege set in the road, where walls have lend themselves being revolutionary graffiti and urban disenchantment, as the duo delves into religious emancipation being an answer to moksha assumes larger context. This scene, among few others spread across the three stories, are lengthy and rich in dialogues, and without music or artificial sounds jutting in. Nature and surroundings gain importance - the panoramic skyscraper-views, or the rain washed earthliness or gigantic rotatory windmills casting shadows, like the cycle of causality, the soundless scheme of Stockholm or the stifling bylanes and deadends of search in closeted slums, marking futility of search and purpose are pieces of brilliance. As Maitreya undergoes physical agony due to failing health, days rotate into nights, his fabric breaks and blackness descends on his skin and calmness, there are two very poignant images of lush green foliage being caressed by sweeping mellow winds, which dance and change forms, shapes to the tune of greater force. One of the images appear on the onset of his disease, the other when the suffering becomes untenable. Two apparently simplistic captures from nature, but presenting an vision that develops the idea like nothing else.
And then there is the soulful Naham Janami. The three different stories, which ultimately achieve convergence, have varying degrees of cinematic quality, mainly writing, with the second being profound piece of cinema made in modern times, in India. One probably wishes the makers to attain similar graphs with the other two as well, because it might appear the first and the last being prologue and epilogue to the epicenter of the film, even though all are thematically linked and properly constructed.
This is not a discussion about the subject matter of the film - and numerous forums can be formed to dissect the central theme, the paradoxes as presented, the parasitic or symbiotic manifestations of life, the final scene of Plato's cave as the ultimate or beginning of transformation, or even in-your-face issues like animal testing, illegal organ trade or even the futility of materialistic purview as against holistic attitude towards society and greater good. Because, as Anand Gandhi and his team wanted, the film just creates ripples to bring forth a wider wave in these matters of wider significance. Not answer them, not simplify them, but merely to raise them. This is a trip worth taking, on high sails.
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