Bollywood Baatein: Waiting for an Oscar

Bhutan’s entry in the Best International Film category, Lunana, could make it to the final shortlist of 5 nominees for the Oscar this year. Though it was finally beaten by Japanese film ‘Drive My Car’ at the awards, ‘Luana’s’ simplicity and elegance are exemplary. Its love for its country is so genuine although I didn’t see anyone running across the frames with a flag.

And though I don’t understand a word of the Dzongkha language I hardly consulted the subtitles to get the point. This is the way cinema was always meant to be. The least important component in cinema should be the spoken word.

One reason why Indian films always get snubbed at the Oscars is their verbosity. Indian filmmakers are petrified of silences. They make the characters speak constantly to ensure the audience doesn’t lose interest.

There is no yakking in ‘Lunana: A Yak In The Classroom’. The yak in the title is the buffalo-like animal that sits quietly, sagely in the classroom as Ugyen (Sherab Dorji, a natural) the new teacher from the city, we can call him the neo-avatar of Sidney Poitier in To Sir With Love, comes to terms with teaching a bunch of woozily unspoilt uncorrupted little children in village in Bhutan who have never seen a car, don’t have paper to write on and are without a blackboard in the classroom.

There is an unplumbed volume of emotions in the storytelling, the kind that doesn’t plead for attention. It gets it by right.

Should a civilisation untarnished by the ravages of the digital age be welcomed? What about industrial progress, what about moving on? Ugyen wants to migrate to Australia (like a lot of Bhutanese do). Once there, his isolation is shown to be absolute: the feeling of rare precious belonging that Ugyen discovered up in the mountains of Lunana is much missed in the alien land as he strums an old familiar Western tune in an uncaring bar.

He stops. He plays a traditional Bhutanese song. Like Manoj Kumar singing ‘Hai preet jahan ki reet sadaa’ in Purab Aur Paschim. Though not quite. For us to believe that Ugyen should have stayed in the wilderness of Lunana is such a facile view of life’s journey. Sometimes we have to break hearts to make dreams come true. It is heart-breaking to see Ugyen turn his back on little pert Pem Zam in Lunana, to wave a sad goodbye to the entire village.

I haven’t stopped wondering about what will happen to Pem Zam. That’s what movies should do to you. They should take something away from you for keeps as you take something away too. Lunana A Yak In The Classroom does that.

Kadaisi Vivasayi

Here is the film that should represent us at the Oscars next year. In telling the story of an aged impoverished farmer whose only concern in life is his little plot of land which he tills till kingdom-come, writer-director K. Manikandan has assumed a tone of narration and a texture of framing which are as basic simple and unadorned as the protagonist himself.

80-plus Mayandi (played by a real farmer Nalandi) leads an absolutely austere life. There are no adornments of any kind around him. His life is his plot of land which he nurtures like a child.

The tribal village where the film is shot makes use of the local population to enhance the sense of documentary rather than a drama, until Mayandi is summoned to the local police station for killing and burying a peacock in his land.

Through the police and court proceedings Mayandi has only one thing to say: “May I go back to my land?”

The presiding judge, a kindly young woman (Raichal Rabecca Philip) soon senses she in the presence of heightened innocence that comes naturally only to those who are eternally wedded to Nature.

What I found a little disconcerting is the uninterrupted sweetness and kindness that Mayandi generates in those around him. All the villagers including old women, young wastrels and potbellied cops have a secret crush on Mayandi. Soon the female judge too joins the admiration club, personally supervising Mayandi’s release, expressing a filial concern about his health.

Towards the end she flings all professionalism aside and joins the villagers in their ritual celebrations. By the time we arrive at this point in the sparse story the mood is so artless and so filled with a sense of reclaimed heritage that it is no longer an issue whether the mood of realism is buried under heaps of fantasy. But so what?

(This was first published in National Herald on Sunday)