182. Indian director Anand Gandhi's debut film “Ship of Theseus” (2012): A remarkable thought-provoking, non-commercial film from India

The ship wherein Theseus and the youth of Athens returned from Crete had 30 oars, and was preserved by the Athenians, for they took away the old planks as they decayed, putting in new and stronger timber in their places, in so much that this ship became a standing example among the philosophers, for the logical question of things that grow; one side holding that the ship remained the same, and the other contending that it was not the same.

-- Plutarch (Greek historian, 45-120 A.D.)

Ship of Theseus is an unusual and a philosophical film from India. It deals with an interesting philosophical subject that Plato and Socrates debated, philosopher John Locke postulated replacing the ship with a torn sock, and Jules Verne used in his story Dr Ox’s Experiment.

It is unusual for several reasons.

First, much of the film Ship of Theseus is in English and, that too, in good spoken English, and represents visuals of mostly emerging urban India.  

Second, it is not a big budget film (made with less than the equivalent of US$ 0.19 million as per IMDB, a fraction of what it takes to make a commercial Indian film in Bollywood) and yet has good technical quality--quality that earned it international awards. The sound design  is credited to a talented Hungarian duo who did sound design of British director Peter Strickland’s Katalin Varga (2009) and two of the Hungarian director Bela Tarr’s films The Turin Horse (2011) and Werckmeister Harmonies (2000). 

Third, one segment of the movie has as an actress Aida El-Kashef, an Egyptian filmmaker, who filmed the famous Tahrir Square protests in her country. Her performance in Ship of Theseus won her the Best Actress award at the Dubai International Film Festival, and the Best Supporting Actress Award at the 61^st Indian National Film Awards.  

Fourth, the film, which does not have any commercial trappings, was released briefly in major theatres in India and subsequently won the country’s top national award, the Golden Lotus, in 2014 for the best feature film of the year. The film also picked up awards for the Best Film at the Transylvania film festival. A dream achievement indeed for a debut filmmaker from India! 

And finally, Ship of Theseus is a rare work of cinema that highlights ancient Jainism as a religion that sprouted in India and continues to be a way of life of millions, even to this day.

Plutarch’s conundrum is placed before the viewer by director Anand Gandhi, and his two co-scriptwriters Khusboo Ranka and Pankaj Kumar, by presenting three disconnected modern tales on human organ replacement to extend the concept of aging parts of the fabled ship of Theseus being replaced with new parts until all its original parts are replaced . Each of the three segments of the film Ship of Theseus approaches the effects of the physical replacement with different perspectives. 

The blind photographer (Aida El-Kashef) capturing urban India
on camera aided by sounds 

In the first  segment, an almost blind photographer (Aida El-Kashef) clicks away with her camera, using intuition, touch and sounds to come up interesting photographs that are eventuially exhibited as art. On regaining her sight, the photographer reviews her blind work. The concept of “good creative“ art, once applauded, is reassessed by its creator, post her critical organ transplant.

Barefoot Jain monks meditating on the sea front captured against the backdrop
of a recently constructed  bridge in Mumbai 

In the second  segment of the film, a well-educated, well-read Jain monk Maitreya (played by theatre actor Neeraj Kabi) spearheads a legal war against the torture of animals for the benefits of medical research of the pharmaceutical industry. The very same medical world points out that Maitreya’s liver has cirrhosis and needs to be treated with drugs or even replaced. As with most Jain monks, for whom the concept of “Santhara” or fasting to death is an option, Maitreya has to choose between what his religion, which he has practised over decades promotes, and an option of modern medication combined with organ transplants. (The concept of “Santhara” has been in the news in recent days as an Indian court ruled it to be similar to abetment of suicide, provoking Jains to point out that it conflicted with their fundamental freedom guaranteed by the Indian Constitution.) The option before Maitreya is not a Hobson’s choice. However, Maitreya’s  final decision in the film makes one rethink about all our own moral stands, not just his. What director Gandhi’s film asks is if a critical organ transplant can change the views of a well-read, ethical person as well.

Wrecked and junked cars are a metaphoric backdrop for a converstion on
the illegal human organ trade 

The third segment of the film Ship of Theseus deals with the growing problem in India where the poor and the uneducated are robbed of their organs without their knowledge by a growing organ transplant villains who sell their spoils to unsuspecting rich clients worldwide who need the organ to survive. In this segment, Gandhi’s film questions the ethics and morality among the world of organ recipients, the organ robbers and the amazing evolutionary changes in the views of morality of those who were actually robbed of their critical organs. A young bright stockbroker Navin (Sohum Shah) stumbles on the larger story of unethical human organ transplants and tries to help a poor labourer, who was robbed of an organ unwittingly. But the outcome of his efforts is even more thought provoking.

Young Anand Gandhi brings all the three protagonists of his film Ship of Theseus together reprising what the famous Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowski had done at end of Three Colours Red (his final part of the trilogy, made in 1993-4) by bringing the critical characters of Three Colours Blue, Three Colours White and Three Colours Red briefly by a seeming cosmic coincidence. Kieslowski showed the characters as lucky survivors of a boat tragedy, but Gandhi shows his varied characters as lucky survivors of the organ transplant medical operations in India. In Kieslowski‘s three celebrated films, a key character always cried at the end. In young Gandhi’s film, no one sheds tears as the characters from the three segments watch a film together on caves and the exploration of the unknown, a visual metaphor of the film in itself.

Anand Gandhi and Aida El-Kashef have won accolades at international film festivals for their respective contributions to Ship of Theseus. Equally creditable is the contribution of cinematographer and co-scriptwriter Pankaj Kumar, whose talents are quite evident. Several handheld photographic sequences of the film such as the sequences  involving extremely narrow and winding approaches to the labourer’s living quarters and the exterior shots of the peripatetic monks against modern windmills and electric pylons taken from another high vantage point, ask questions of the viewer the effect on the rapid changes in Indian society on past beliefs and social views that also relate to the same primary Ship of Theseus conundrum. Pankaj Kumar won awards for his contribution as a cinematographer for Ship of Theseus at the Transylvania film festival, the Tokyo International Film festival, and at the Mumbai International Film Festival. The talented Pankaj Kumar has subsequently moved on to commercial mainstream Bollywood cinema working on films such as Haider and Talwar. Ship of Theseus also brought to the limelight a fascinating stage actor Neeraj Kabi, who plays the Jain monk in the middle segment of the film. Kabi, according to reports lost 17 kg in weight, over 5 months, to enact the starving monk. Actors such as Kabi are rare to come by and he was spectacular in his role. 

The movie Ship of Theseus not merely raised the quality of contemporary Indian cinema but proved that good cinema can be made with low budgets, if truly talented people made the film. Most importantly, it is a rare film made in India that forces the viewer to think about philosophy rather than provide escapist entertainment. Such films do not just win international awards but provide quality entertainment for the discerning viewer. Evidently, it was not considered as an Indian entry for the Oscars because the film is in English, which eliminated it from being considered in the foreign film category. Young Anand Gandhi needs to be congratulated for roping in the rich talent from diverse fields to make his remarkable debut film with a limited budget.

P.S. Indian cinema has seen some young filmmakers accomplishing interesting works with limited budgets in recent years. Sudevan’s CR. No. 89 (2013) is one such film made in Malayalam language reviewed earlier on this blog. Another is Praveen Morchale’s Barefoot to Goa (2015) in Hindi, also reviewed earlier on this blog.

130. Korean filmmaker Chang-dong Lee’s “Shi” (Poetry) (2010): Learning to look at apples anew

Good Korean cinema often involves very little verbal talk. The visuals often do the talking, which is not common for movies made in most parts of the world.  Chang-dong Lee’s Poetry is one such example where body language is more eloquent than the spoken word—unusual indeed for a film ironically called Poetry, a literary form that survives on words.

Early in the film, the viewer gets the feel that the tale has much to do with dementia. As the film progresses, the film shifts to examining tenuous human relationships.  Later in the film, the subject shifts gears again to focus on lack of communication between sexes and generations.  Strangely the film suggests that clumsy attempts by dilettantes at poetry writing could serve as a fulcrum to launch proactive communication between two individuals who would otherwise have remained insulated in their own shells.

A  Korean teacher of poetry induces his motley group of adult students to write poetry by asking them to draw inspiration by looking at apples anew. One can look at any object, he says, like an apple endlessly until you awaken the poetic sensibilities in yourself. So what, an impatient viewer of cinema could comment.

The film Poetry begins and ends with shots of flowing waters of a river taken from a tall bridge. Just as different perspectives of an apple could lead to inspired poetry, so too do the flowing waters allow Chang-dong Lee to develop a sensitive tale on relationships over time, until you realize the director has nudged the viewer to appreciate social values, responsibilities and relationships that make life worth living, putting aside social evils and lack of communication between family members that pervades our modern lifestyles. Poetry deals with emotions; Chang-dong Lee’s Poetry deals with individuals who seem to be devoid of emotions and somewhere towards the end of the film, the viewer glimpses emotions, subtle and yet so evocative. Just as the visual of the flowing water from the bridge might appear the same, the message of the visual becomes all the more powerful, with the viewer having learnt of the events that the movie has unfolded.

Poetry, the film, is not just about poetry. It is a film about human relationships. Poetry is a quilt of relationships—grandmother and grandson, Korean men and Korean women, Korean schoolboy camaraderie, the strange absence of a mother and a father for a growing boy, the dying urge of a semi-paralyzed old man to pop Viagra pills to have sex, and the lack of remorse of young Korean schoolboys to accept the consequence of their evil actions.

Poetry, the film, is equally a delicate study of the differences in the attitude of the sexes in Korea, in Asia, and, in an extension, the world. It is an unusual and sensitive look at male dominated societies by a male director. A girl is gang raped (the event is thankfully never shown in the film) but the director Chang-dong Lee allows the viewer to perceive detailed emotions of many individuals in the aftermath. The perpetrators of the crime are not repentant.  The male parents of the perpetrators of the crime merely want wish away the incident with the help of their joint money power. It is only an elderly grandmother who attempts to reach out to comfort the oppressed family.  Here is an unusual tale of a woman mourning the death of one who is not of her own family but of another unknown family, while men equally affected by the same death only wish the event away and cry away from accepting responsibility. In many ways, this film is like a formidable chess game between men and women. The young boy who does not flinch when the mother places the photograph of a schoolmate he had raped and is now dead as a consequence of that action, is also a young boy being brought up by a single grandmother. He does not have a father or a grandfather. The absence of the mother and the unusual reactions of the grandmother could insinuate to the viewer that he himself was born following similar circumstances befalling his mother—this remains a mystery in the film.

 

There are many films that deal with suicide that are dark and sad. Here is a rare film where suicide ultimately leads to redemption of many and this is so effectively conveyed by the fallen apricot the grandmother picks up during her journey to meet up with the mother of a girl who had committed suicide only to realize the importance of the seed in the full cycle of life.

The performance of the grandmother played by Jong –hie Yun is remarkable. I learnt that this actress made this film after a long hiatus from her craft.  The awards the film has earned for her worldwide acknowledge the importance of subtlety in the business of thespians that cinema can capture more effectively than theatre, at least in most cases.

Finally, the film is a 2 hour 20 minute film but the real punch of the film comes in the last twenty minutes and the sock on your jaw is a delicate one that can fell you, thanks to its potent screenplay.  The film deals with a 60-year-old suffering from the onset of dementia but the film seems to suggest lead character is deliberately trying to forget a dark chapter of her life as well relating to her absent daughter, which the script so cleverly insinuates but never elaborates. The film presents an optimistic end for a film that began with a suicide—it allows for a woman suffering from dementia to take a proactive step to improve the life of others,while she still has her wits about her. What a wonderful and uplifting tale that does not easily appear as one!

The film is remarkable because the screenplay, written by the director himself, packs so much detail and ends with an astonishing open air badminton practice, which is so delicately crafted that no viewer is likely to forget it. Hardly a word is spoken in the long scene and, yet, it is so evocative. By a coincidence, this important sequence occurs at nightfall, while the opening and the end sequences of the movie suggests early morning.  That’s subtle poetry in itself. It is, therefore, not surprising that the award Poetry won at the Cannes Film Festival was for the Best Screenplay. Here is a movie where the spoken word is so sparingly used and yet the visuals and the few words used in the movie spin true poetry.


P.S. Other films relating to dementia discussed earlier on in this blog include Naomi Kawase's The Mourning Forest and Sarah Polley's Away from Her.

114. Thai director Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s “Loong Boonmee raleuk chat” (Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives) (2010): Layers of freewheeling thoughts that include philosophy, nature, politics, and life’s contradictions, crossing borders of time, life and death, illusion and reality

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives is no ordinary movie. It contains a mix of age old wisdom and modern politics, the latter hidden cleverly to avoid the wrath of the Thai censors. It presents Buddhist concepts where the religion exhorts the believer to choose non-violence and abstain from killing living things. In another dimension, the movie is also an ode to nature and the Asian belief in cyclical reincarnation of souls in different life forms over time. In yet another dimension, it is also a film that often connects and refers to a region in Thailand called Nabua that had seen violent rule by Thai armed forces for three decades in the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties. It is most of all, a modern film that recalls the grammar of a Terrence Mallick film with long segments of silence where the only sounds that punctuate deadpan but ponderous statements are those of insects and birds.


And when statements are spoken in Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, they invite you to reflect on its meaning. The lead character Uncle Boonmee is a former farmer, a former soldier, a raconteur, a widower, a father, a brother and an uncle, who knows that he is dying from a kidney disease and that his days are numbered. Lying on a bed in rural Thailand, the old man Boonmee talks of killing larvae pests on a tamarind tree, and shortly afterwards there is a conversation on conserving the life of bees while collecting and consuming the honey. There is a contradiction in attitudes here, to kill living things or no to kill. It is this duality in life the film explores at various stages of the movie. Mallick in his film The Thin Red Line (1998) asked a somewhat related  rhetoric question to the viewer: “What’s this war in the heart of nature?” Both films are examples of mature cinema that has transcended conventional box office demands and invites the viewer to a new level of cinematic experience.

An early segment of Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives presents an intriguing shot of a Thai buffalo tied with a rope. The buffalo breaks free by brute strength and wanders into a forest and we see the animal lost in the forest without any clue to what it should do next. But the viewer also sees the faints shapes of simian “ghosts” in the forest watching the entry of the buffalo. The sequence can be best understood, if we recall the opening quote of this Thai film: "Facing the jungle, the hills and vales, my past lives as an animal and other beings rise up before me." The life of Boonmee and the buffalo are interlinked: in cinema and in time as a key to open the chest of enigmatic visuals that follow.

Mallick in his The Thin Red Line had included a similar opening sequence of an alligator that is capable of devouring human beings sliding into water majestically in a forest only to be shown, towards the end of that film, dead and strung up by soldiers as their food. Both sequences in the two related films might confuse many in the audience but both directors are talking about nature and the larger equation of nature with us, human beings. It is this somewhat similar duality or contradiction in life that the Thai director presents in the epilogue of Uncle Boonmee Who Can  Recall His Past Lives in which a Buddhist monk who has vowed to give up all comforts for his religion yearns to have a shower and goes to a karaoke bar, while his close family are glued to a TV channel showing inane activities of the Thai army.

I do not know how much of the wisdom of the Thai film can be attributed to the Thai director Apichatpong Weerasethakul and how much to the senior Buddhist monk Phra Sripariyattiwetti's 1983 book, “A Man Who Can Recall Past Lives, Uncle Boonmee” on which the movie is loosely based. But one thing is certain: the film is not just about philosophy and religion but one equally on contemporary Thai politics. First, Uncle Boonmee believes that his present kidney failure has much to do with “karma”: the wages of sin, as it were, of killing too many Communists as a Thai soldier and parallel to his actions of killing pests on his farm with pesticides, as a prequel in his present life. Yet his sister and nephew re-assure him that he did all that for “the sake of his country.” Later in the film there is a comment that underscores the political message: “When the authorities found past people they shone a light at them. That light projected images of them onto a screen… When those images appeared, the past people disappeared.”

An aging, wrinkled princess finds her youthful image in a water reflection, and this brings tears to her eyes. It should because the young princess had once spurned true love from her palanquin bearer. Then a remarkable dialogue follows between the aging princess and a talking catfish. The catfish has Boonmee’s voice and is perhaps an avatar of the princess’ true lover, the palanquin bearer. The princess says of her young image: "I know that reflection is an illusion"; the catfish/Boonmee responds, "I know that you're the same person I loved"; and the princess answers, "That's an illusion too."

The film is a “ghost” film as well just as two other major films made in 2010 can be classified loosely as “ghost” films—Manoel de Oliveira’s The Strange Case of Anjelica and Alejandro Innaritu’s Biutiful. In all these three films from three different countries, the three film directors discuss interaction of the dying with ghosts (and the way immigrants are perceived by local populations). And the ghost appears to Boonmee when he has neared his time of departure from his current state. All the three movies employ the “ghosts” not to scare the viewer but to lift subject of the story to an unusual higher level while discussing family, politics, society and philosophy.

As in Biutiful, the importance of family is underscored. The very word “Uncle” is suggestive of this. The dying Boonmee is nursed with love by his sister and nephew. His dead wife appears as a ghost to thank her sister-in-law and nephew. Later in the film the dead wife appears more real and the viewer sees the husband hugging his ghost wife as she reassures her living husband that he has nothing to fear in death. In death and in life the family links are not broken. The father Boonmee yearns for his missing son’s company and a simian “ghost” with deep red eyes appears. The son has been missing for 13 years and had evidently taken to Communist ideology (are the red eyes a link or is the missing link the statement of mating with monkey ghosts?). The film provides reassurance for the dying because of the permanence of love exuding both from the dead and living. A poignant remark from a ghost (his wife) to the living Boonmee is “ghosts don't associate with places, they associate with people. We'll find each other.” The entire film indirectly deals with the struggle for freedom to move and migrate from the buffalo seeking freedom from its rope, to Boonmee wondering if he would ever be able to find his dead wife after death, to the Laotian workers who migrate to Thailand for a better life and yet do not find the respect they deserve, of a princess on a journey, the urban Thai seeking answers in the rural Thailand's forests and caves.

The interesting Thai film is structured in at least five segments that do not appear connected but if one cares to reflect on the film, its segments have a whole larger than the sum of its parts. The first segment deals with the buffalo, the kidney care in a makeshift hospital, and a road drive. The second deals with ghosts interacting with Boonmee and family. The third segment deals with conversation at the tamarind farm. The fourth deals with a princess and a talking catfish that transports you into the past. (It is possible, if we go by voice association, that Boonmee is the catfish in a previous life rather than the princess.) The fifth segment deals with a "magical" cave in the forest and death of Boonmee, somewhat reminiscent of Tarkovsky’s Stalker’s tunnel sequence. The sixth segment is an epilogue devoted to activity of a Buddhist monk who seeks material comforts of a shower and a Karaoke bar.

The following statement of the director Apichatpong Weerasethakul made in his “Cinema Scope” interview is revealing: “More than my other films, Uncle Boonmee is very much about cinema, that’s also why it’s personal. If you care to look, each reel of the film has a different style—acting style, lighting style, or cinematic references—but most of them reflect movies. I think that when you make a film about recollection and death, you have to consider that cinema is also dying—at least this kind of old cinema that nobody makes anymore.” It is perhaps this reason why I found Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives a lot more satisfying and meaningful than his earlier more celebrated works Syndromes and a Century and Blissfully Yours. Not having read the book on “Uncle Boonmee,” I do not know what percentage of the kudos need to go to the writer of the book and what percentage to the director of the film. All I can say is that I loved to watch Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives while I do not rate two of his afore-mentioned works that high. What I found so meaningful about the film is what the director himself stated in an interview to Bangkok Post: “Uncle Boonmee is a film about transformation, about objects and people that transform or hybridise. You can explain with scientific belief that nothing exists, nothing is really solid and everything is just a moving particle.”



While watching the credits I was surprised and encouraged to find Hollywood actor Danny Glover was an associate producer of this Thai film. I am convinced that understanding this film would require multiple viewings—but one thing I am convinced it is truly an intelligent and rewarding film experience that approaches the cinematic level of Tarkovsky’s and Mallick’s cinema. I am delighted that the Cannes jury recognized its merits and rewarded it with the Gold Palm prize in 2010, just as I am not surprised that another international jury--that of the International Film Festival of India held in Goa in the same year did not find it deserving of any award. At the Oscars too it did not make the final shortlist of five nominees for the best foreign film. Subsequently, this movie went on to win the best Asian film at the Asian Film Festival, 2011. One man's meat is truly another man’s poison.


P.S. The films Biutiful, The Strange Case of Anjelica and The Thin Red Line have been reviewed earlier on this blog.