MIAAC: Bose, the Forgotten Hero

I have already reviewed several Holocaust films this year, and there are quite a few more slated to open in time for awards season. With several reminders of National Socialist horror still fresh in the movie-going consciousness, it is a bit disconcerting to see a WWII film in which the Nazis are not the villains per se, but such is the case in Shyam Benegal’s Bose: the Forgotten Hero, which screened as part of the MIAAC Film Festival.

Forgotten opens with arguably the pivotal scene of Subhas Chandra “Netaji” Bose’s life: his parting of ways with Mahatma Gandhi. Bose wanted to take up arms against the British, while Gandhi remained committed to non-violence. As a result, Bose resigned the presidency of the Indian National Congress, and set out looking assistance fighting the British under the assumption that the enemy of his enemy was his friend. This led him to seek the aid of Soviet Russian, Imperial Japan, Fascist Italy, and Hitler’s Third Reich.

It is perfectly understandable that Bose had little love for the British Raj. However, many are troubled that he advocated military action against Britain at a time when the Union Jack was all that stood between a racist ideology and world domination. Eventually, with Japan’s backing, he assembled the Indian National Army (INA), which along with their Japanese patrons, engaged the British in the Burma Campaign.

Although Forgotten seems pretty forthright in addressing Bose’s relationship with the Fascists and National Socialists, this BBC report (consider the source) suggests their collaboration was even greater than originally thought. While we do see Bose express some reservations about Hitler’s racial policies, as portrayed in Benegal’s film, the revolutionary is still perfectly willing to accept his military aid. However, having intermarried with a white Austrian, Bose eventually found prudent to leave Berlin for Japan.

Bose led quite the interesting life. Though highly problematic, it is undeniably cinematic. Benegal keeps the action movingly along nicely, so its three and a half hour running time does not feel so excessive. A big, sprawling historical saga with excellent production values, Forgotten even produced a hit song. It is a great festival selection, because it is difficult to envision a film of Forgotten’s length and political incorrectness receiving much art-house distribution from the studio’s boutique divisions. It was in fact, one of the closing films of the MIAAC Film Festival, when it screened Sunday at the Asia Society.

MIAAC: Bound, Unbound

The existence of religious tension in India will not exactly come as headline news. It probably will not come as a surprise either that its voices of moderation and tolerance often come from musicians. Such is the case in Shabnam Virmani’s documentary Bound, Unbound: Journeys with Ram & Kabir, which screened at this year’s MIAAC Film Festival.

Virmani begins her filmmaking journey in Ayodhya, the legendary birthplace of the Hindu God Ram (Rama), which would become particularly emblematic of religious strife. In the Sixteenth Century, a Hindu temple was demolished on Ram’s Fort Hill, by the Mughals to erect the Babri Mosque, widely celebrated for its ornate architecture. In 1992 throngs of Hindu nationalists returned the favor, demolishing the Mosque for the sake of Ram’s honor. Virmani interviews unrepentant street vendors hawking videos of the destruction, who clearly leave her discouraged. Can she find contemporary manifestations of Ram, besides such intolerance porn?

As it turns out, yes, thanks to musicians interpreting the work of Fifteenth Century poet Kabir. Thought to have been raised by a Muslim family, but taught by a Hindu master, the exact details of Kabir’s life are shrouded in mystery. Inspired by Ram, his own work seemed to draw from both traditions, leading many to think he deliberately conflated differences between the two. As a result, Virmani finds both Indian Hindus and Pakistani Sufi Muslims who take inspiration from his words.

When watching Unbound, prepare yourself for some serious harmonium. A close relative of the accordion, the hand-pumped keyboard is perfectly suited for the drone-like, ecstatic music of Kabir’s followers. Intended to induce a trancelike state, their groove really is hypnotic. The MIAAC also screened an entertaining documentary about one of Bollywood’s greatest composers, but the music of Unbound totally overshadows it.

Traveling in a Northwestern direction, Virmani introduces the audience to Prahlad Tipaniya of the Ujjain province (West Central India) and Mukhtiar Ali from Bikaner, Rajasthan (Northwest India). Their music is certainly compelling, but the most dramatic sounds probably come from Sufi Qawwal performer Fariduddin (Fareed) Ayaz and his ensemble. Hugely charismatic, Ayaz’s personality and his humanist philosophy dominates the final third of the film.

Part of Virmani’s four film Kabir documentary project, Unbound combines ecstatic music with a truly humanistic spirit. Even if its message of tolerance proves chimeric, the transcendent appeal of the music remains. It was perfect programming choice for this year’s MIAAC Film Festival.

MIAAC: Frontier Gandhi & David Amram

David Amram is a difficult musician to classify, frequently blurring the distinctions between jazz, classical, and world music. He has also composed scores for several memorable films including John Frankenheimer’s Manchurian Candidate, Elia Kazan’s Splendor in the Grass, and Robert Frank’s Pull My Daisy, featuring the “narration” of Jack Kerouac. Given his past collaboration with Kerouac and experimentation with world music, it is not surprising Amram had a strong affinity for T.C. McLuhan’s new documentary The Frontier Gandhi: Badshah Khan, a Torch for Peace, which had its American debut at the MIAAC Film Festival last night, followed by a special concert performance by Amram himself.

McLuhan’s documentary reverently tells the story of Ghaffar “Badshah” Khan, Mahatma Gandhi’s Islamic contemporary and close colleague in their campaign for Indian independence. Khan’s early advocacy of non-violence is presented as a remarkable development, since he was a devout Muslim Pashtun from what was then Northwest India, a region long associated with war and strife—think of the Khyber Pass. As Frontier explains, both men developed similar non-violent ideologies separately, but joined forces to become the Odd Couple of the Indian independence movement. One was short and Hindu, the other was tall and Muslim.

As a native of the North-West Frontier Province, independence did not exactly work out the way Khan had hoped, eventually finding himself a resident of Pakistan following the national referendum of 1947. Frontier is strongest when addressing Khan’s post-independence years in the wilderness, when he was all but forgotten in India and unwelcome in Pakistan, spending most of his time in Afghanistan. Unfortunately though, Frontier never truly gives a sense of who Khan was on a human level, ultimately becoming an exercise in hagiography.

Great effort clearly went into the making of Frontier, including interviews with Afghan President Hamid Karzai (who also happens to be Pashtun) and then Pakistani President Pervez Musharraf. Amram’s music is quite tasteful and appropriate throughout. Featuring the great Badal Roy on tabla, it incorporates his world and classical chops, but jazz is not an appreciable part of the compositional mix. However, his concert afterward would be a different story.

Amram developed a special program integrating music from around the globe, with an unusual quartet of Avram Pengas on either guitar or Greek bouzuki, his son Adam on congas, and daughter-in-law Teresa Colamonaco on tambourine (an instrument Amram spiritedly defended at one point), with the leader on just about everything else. He started on flute with a raga dedicated to Roy, before shifting to piano for a slow blues. Amram had a plethora of exotic instruments spread across the stage for pieces dedicated to various forms of traditional music, including the shanai and dumbek representing Egypt, the Lakota flute for a piece originally composed for the Philadelphia orchestra, and a surprisingly bluesy number featuring the bouzuki and traditional Chinese woodwind. However, the highlight of his set was a rendition of a jazz waltz he composed for a production of Arthur Miller’s After the Fall, which he started at the piano, but concluded playing two penny whistles simultaneously, Rahsaan Kirk-style.

Amram performed a great set, clearly inspired by McLuhan’s preceding film. As for the documentary itself, Frontier is at times informative, but its over-awed tone will limit its appeal to those who already share the filmmakers’ veneration of Khan. It screens again this afternoon at the Tribeca Cinemas.

MIAAC: A Throw of the Dice

In the 1920’s German director Franz Osten and Indian actor-producer Himansu Rai collaborated on three of the most artistically ambitious Indian films of the silent era. Despite their prominence in the Indian film industry during the 1920’s and 1930’s, the events of 1939 would derail both men’s careers, with Rai dying of nervous exhaustion and the British authorities interning Osten for being a German national with an inconvenient membership in the National Socialist Party. Thanks to the restoration efforts of the British Film Institute, audiences now have an opportunity to rediscover their third great silent collaboration, A Throw of Dice (1929, trailer here), which can be seen as it was intended, on a big screen, during the MIAAC Film Festival.

The restored Dice is now particularly accessible for contemporary audiences thanks to the newly commissioned soundtrack composed by Nitin Sawhney. Employing the London Symphony Orchestra for western oriented classical music, as well as flute and table players for traditional Indian flavor, Sawhney’s themes and orchestrations have a lushness that nicely compliments the visuals of this epic romance. Though not a radical departure from the music of Dice’s era, there is a certain modern sensibility in his music, which helps viewers relate to the film. For some reason, contemporary soundtracks are remarkably effective at breaking down emotional resistance to silent films. While restoration preserves the great silent films from decay, an effective new score can also save them from obscurity.

Taking its title from an incident in the Mahabharata, Dice is driven by universal motivations, namely love and greed, telling the story of two young rival kings and the common woman they both love. Ostensibly friends, King Sohan (played by the producer Rai) attempts to assassinate King Ranjit in a staged hunting accident. However, a local healer foils his plan, when he and his daughter Sunita nurse Ranjit back to health. While both princes fall in love with Sunita, she rejects the lavish gifts of the deceitful Sohan, eventually losing her heart to her honest but irresponsible patient.

Despite her father’s opposition, Sunita agrees to run off with Ranjit. They are happy together for seven days, until the mechanizations of Sohan’s evil schemes start to take effect. Framed for the murder of Sunita’s father, Ranjit finds himself enslaved to Sohan after losing his kingdom in a rigged dice game. Dice is quite the morality tale, identifying the vice of gambling as the source of all the spectacular misfortunes which befall Ranjit and Sunita.

Employing huge set pieces and extensive location shots, Dice is epic in scope. Beautifully restored by the BFI, Osten’s glorious black and white visuals look great on the big screen, sometimes redeeming a story that leans a bit on contrivances. However, the acting in Dice is a particularly pleasant surprise, seeming far subtler than the wild-eyed exaggerations commonly associated with silent cinema. With the able support of Sawhney’s elegant music, it makes for a fascinating viewing experience. (How often do you see any silent films on the big screen, let alone an Indian-German co-production?) Dice screens again today at the Tribeca Cinemas as part of the MIAAC and an American tour of the film is in development, which would feature the Symphony Orchestra of India performing soundtrack live in concert.

MIAAC: Shootout at Lokhandwala

During its brief existence, the Mumbai Anti Terrorist Squad (ATS) cut crime by an estimated seventy percent. Just over a month after it was disbanded, Mumbai (then Bombay) was rocked by the March 12, 1993 bombings. The historical record seems to argue persuasively on behalf of the ATS’s efficacy. However, the ATS was undone by its reputation for extreme measures, particularly for firing off nearly two thousand rounds of ammunition during a very public stand-off at a Lokhandwala apartment complex. (1,755 to be exact.) Apoorva Lakhia dramatized that controversial incident as best he could (given several key players are eternally unavailable for comment) in Shootout at Lokhandwala: Based on True Rumors (trailer .wmv), which screened last night at the Mahindra Indo-American Arts Council Film Festival (MIAAC).

Lokhandwala starts by showing the audience scores of shell cases being swept up off the blood splattered pavement. The audience will indeed watch as nearly every one of those 1,755 rounds is fired at the complex, but first we see the formation of the ATS, as told to the skeptical former-Justice Dhingra by its founder, Assistant Commissioner Aftab Ahmed (A.A.) Khan and his two top lieutenants.

In American pop culture terms, ATS is CTU and A.A. Khan is a somewhat older Jack Bauer. Initially, the ATS enjoys glowing media coverage, taking along an ambition television reporter to cover a successful strike against a terrorist outpost. Live by the media sword, die by the media sword. As played by Sanjay Dutt, Khan is a larger than life figure, tailor made for the media. He can get away with telling the reporter no policemen will die during their mission, because he is there. Rather than an expression of hubris, he makes it true. According to Lakhia during last night’s Q&A, a bit of business showing Khan contemptuously tossing away a bullet-proof vest is actually based on existing television footage of the Lokhandwala encounter. Oh yes, game on.

Lakhia directs action sequences like Michael Bay amped-up on amphetamines, making liberal use of dramatic freeze frames, jump cuts, and even the dreaded shaky cam. There are also three musical numbers, because that’s the way it has to be in Bollywood. For the record, A.A. Khan does not dance. Those duties fall on the Maya-Bhua gang, when not engaged in extortion and murder. The combination of Bollywood music and hard-boiled violent action sequences makes for quite the cinematic experience.

Dutt is fantastic as Khan, capturing both the intensity and peculiar charisma of the driven officer. The only drawback to Lokhandwala is the rather pedestrian Maya-Bhua villains, who are no match for his screen presence. Ultimately, Ex-Justice Dhingra proves to be his best foil, played with zest by the celebrated Indian actor Amitabh Bachchan, who consistently steals the show during his razor sharp cross-examination scenes.

The real Khan appears in Lokhandwala as the police commissioner who green-lights ATS operations. It would be interesting to know what he thought of Dutt, who at the time of filming, was embroiled in a series of legal battles stemming from his associations with the 1993 bombers. Presumably, Khan enjoyed the ending at least. As a high-octane, over-the-top action film, Lokhandwala is thoroughly enjoyable. I frequently laughed out loud (in a good way) at the film’s sheer relentless spectacle. It is highly recommended to those who prefer their action fast and furious, without any touchy-feeliness. It screens again tomorrow at the Tribeca Cinemas, as the MIAAC continues throughout the weekend.