Saca!

Caught this ad on the telly for Saca face cream for men. It does a male version of the deplorable 'Fair and Lovely' con. On the one hand, I am a great fan of gender reversal, if only for the sake of deriving perverse pleasure from the spectacle. Yet, sometimes it just gets too much.

 

We have a young boy with the modern equivalent of boot polish on his face. He has just landed a date with an internet friend and has to be there in 15 minutes. Now this in the aftermath of the Adnan Patrawala case! Although, you have to admire that they did not specify the gender of the internet friend--is our media getting that savvy, or is this just a case of assuming that everyone knows they mean a 'girl' friend?

 

Anywho, the ad then lists the advantage of this new face cream that cleans your face and prepares you for any eventuality in 15 minutes. And hey presto, the boot polish vanishes and our young friend can duly impress the person he's going to meet.

 

I have never quite understood some of the moral standpoints in our ads. Not that I want to be any morality police or suchlike, but come on, isn't there something wrong with propagating the view that people who aren't fair skinned, who don't have body odour and whose teeth aren't whiter than white are social misfits? All right, I'll perhaps concede on the body odour front, but only just. That too because a Virar local is not a pleasant experience when you are squished next to a decidedly smelly character. But even then I wouldn't go so far as to call that person a misfit.

 

And as if the Saca ad hadn't done enough already, they go on to have a theme song that yells out 'Saca' in a way that seems to actually call its potential victims suckers. Well, it is a con job, and the buyers are 'Suckers', but do they know it?

 

Another such charmer is the 'Zatak Gold' ad, which seems to call the hero a tadpole. I mean, hear it carefully, it seems to repeat the line, 'It's a Tadpole, a tadpole, a taaad pole.' Well, one look at the male model, and one has to haplessly concur.

 

I suppose these are what they call lifestyle affirmation ads. A way of telling the consumer, 'Yep, it's that simple. All you have to do is buy xyz product, and your life will be like what we're portraying. And come on, admit it, you secretly crave to be exactly like this 'cool' person, don't you?'

 

This whole lifestyle thing sucks though. If I hear one more life, lifestyle, change your life, have a life, get a life kinda ad, it will be too soon. It seems to me like there's been a collective epiphany and somehow everyone seems to have 'got it' that the point of life is life itself. So we have an army of headscratchers detailing it to you; they underline it, highlight it, and contort words and images, all in a desperate rush to be the first ones to tell the same thing to you in a unique way.

 

Makes you kinda miss Lalita ji, doesn't it? She was patronising too, but at least honestly so.

Movies on a weekend

The spouse was travelling a coupl'a weeks back, so The Professor got to binge on movies!

 

Started off with 'Lonely Hearts', a movie about a con played by Jared Leto who uses his wiles on post WWII widows to fleece them off their money. The trouble starts when he tries to con the character played by Salma Hayek; she sees right through him and joins him in the con. The manic nature of their relationship results in a spate of murders across the American landscape. These are being investigated by John Travolta and James Gandolfini, two New York cops. It is based on true events, and as such renders a chilling account. The movie holds your attention, and since one is always lenient on Travolta, one will refrain from commenting on his performance. The main gripe I had with the movie was that, for two New York coppers, the pair was dressed to the teeth. Salma Hayek is surprisingly unconvincing. The scene stealer was undoubtedly Jared Leto, who flips between Casanova, concerned partner, reluctant accomplice and psycho killer with consummate ease. A bit of trivia: The film's director is the real-life grandson of the character played by John Travolta!

 

Watched the above on DVD, after which I headed off to a multiplex to catch all the movies I've missed. Couldn't find Aag running anywhere, it seems to have literally disappeared. Which is quite a shame really, I think the movie could have reached cult status simply by virtue of being so bad that one just had to see it.

 

Got suckered into watching Rogue Assassin; nothing else that was interesting was running at the time I reached the theatre. Disappointing movie; with Jet Li and Jason Statham together, one expected the action to override everything else. But the movie failed on that front too. Statham came off as passive in comparison to his Transporter gigs and Jet Li didn't live up to the hype created in the movie about the hallowed 'Rogue Assassin'. Finally the viewer is left with plot--and that is a bad thing to be left counting on in an action flick. Needless to say, that fails too. The final twist was, well, stupid. Watch this movie for Devon Aoki speaking Japanese.

 

After that I saw the new Harry Potter film, that too on Imax 3d. Finally. I am not a Potter fan, and I haven't read even one of the books. Watching the movies is my small way of giving into the Potter mania; that too with an air of 'wonder what the fuss is all about?', or so I convince myself. I must admit that the last movie (Prisoner of Ashkaban, right?) was shot really well. This led me to believe that the movies might actually redeem the books; which in my view—not having read them and all—seem like a mix between The Lord of the Rings and Enid Blyton's high school books. The Philosopher's Stone has a very 'McArthur's America' feel to it, what with the whole Ministry of Magic and all that. I thought Gandalf, sorry Dumbledore dies in this movie; perhaps the next one then. The last twenty minutes or so was in 3d; it's such fun, I tell you. Pity the technology hasn't developed well enough to be better incorporated into films over longer periods. Verdict; change the bloody actors, the kids aren't kids anymore.

 

Finally I saw Starlight, another fantasy story. This one is based on a novel by Neil Gaiman. I am not saying that the movie was exceptional, but it was good enough to convince me that the novel must be spectacular. It is about a wall that separates the real world from that of fairy tales. Our young protagonist Tristan braves past the barrier to recover a fallen star for his sweetheart. It is a sort of 'coming of age' story where Tristan learns the true nature of love etc. Of course the movie is peppered with witches, princes battling for ascendance, magic, geek to hero transformations, father son bonding, mother son reuniting, a star, no seriously, a real life star and Robert DeNiro. As the unsavoury captain of a ship of rowdy mariners, Robert Deniro seems to fit the role perfectly. Ah, but there's a twist, he is actually a closet-cross dresser. DeNiro is fabulous. He gets a wee bit of salon-chique flair to the character which is really funny. I think this movie has been poorly received; which is quite a pity as it is a nice family film. Much better than Harry

Potter, at any rate.

 

The next day I watched 'As you like it' starring Kevin Kline, Alfred Molina and Bryce Dallas Howard. It is a straightforward rendering of Shakespeare's play in a Japanese setting. Of course, the play is intended to be on the virtues of country life; hence most of the action is in the woods. With her red hair, pixie nose and wide smile, Bryce Dallas Howard reminded me, too often I might add, of Julia Roberts. Kevin Kline and Alfred Molina play their parts beautifully. Brian Blessed is also quite good as the Duke. As an adaptation, however, I'm not sure how well it pans out. 'As you like it' is one of those plays which even the scholars haven't decided on whether it's one of Shakespeare's best or worst. Although the title, 'As YOU like it,' is said to be the bard's way of shrugging his shoulders and giving the people what they want.

 

Shakespeare is one of those things that seemingly cannot be judged till one has intimate knowledge of them. Yet, it is important to remember that he wrote for the masses. Thus anybody can benefit from a solid stage rendition. But it is so difficult to see Shakespeare in a classic sense. Every play of Shakespeare that I've seen has been rendered with an element of experimentation. The excuse given is that the new generation has lost its appetite for the classics. I think this is a very erroneous view. Yes, it is true that theatre enthusiasts are a minority, but those who do go and watch plays want to be given a little bit of everything. It must count for something that I have sought out the plays of Shakespeare and have only ever managed to see 'experimental' versions. Admittedly my day job plonks me in an atmosphere and setting that makes viewing any play difficult, but fee fi fo fum.

 

Caught an oldie on the telly after that. 'Company Business' starring Gene Hackman. A very interesting spy movie, shot in a light, humorous vein. It is about an American spy who has to accompany an incarcerated Russian spy to Germany for a swap with an American Hero. Along the way, the two develop an easy friendship—what with both having been there, done that. They eventually collaborate to give their respective petty governments a collective middle finger. Fun, a bit abrupt, but fun.

 

Whew!

Bushwhacked!

And so it happens again; Monsieur Le Bush puts his big ole foot into his bouche. This time he kills off the entire Mandela clan. Speaking of the Iraq conflict and subsequent occupation, he says:

“Someone asked me; where is Mandela? Well, Mandela is dead, Saddam Hussein killed all the Mandelas.”

This is just so freakin funny! Haven’t got around to the whole embed video jazz, but I’m sure you should find it on You Tube easily enough. Aie yai yai! This guy had me giggling in my sleep and the spouse was not amused.

What I could hardly wait for, however, was the official explanation. And if you think Bush’s creativity is confined to his bushisms, then you are sadly misunderestimating him. The explanation is a stroke of genius; to the point where you actually wonder if we speak of an idiot or a genius.

The story goes thus; Monsieur Le Bush was speaking of Iraq and its problems and was lamenting on the fact that there are no homegrown unifiers in Iraq; no Iraqi equivalent of Nelson Mandela. And when La bouche du Bush was waxing eloquent on this intricate philosophical labyrinth, which incidentally justifies cattle prodding democracy from without (genius, pure genius), someone asked him, but what of Mandela? Here the questioner, who Bush assumes the whole world knows is on the same wavelength, means ‘Homegrown Iraqi Unifiers (HIUs)’. To which Le Bush replied that Mandela was dead; that Saddam Hussien killed all the Mandelas, aka HIUs.

Okay, let’s assume dead serious posture. Context is everything, we know that. And taken in the context of the explanation, Bush actually comes across as thought provoking, which is simply unacceptable. Bush cannot be a philosopher. I mean, there is some tradition here; Socrates, Aristotle, Plato.... But Bush? Please, not Bush!

And when speaking in a certain specific context, it is incumbent on the speaker to clarify the context and the analogy in advance; to avoid associations of the person spoken of in the past tense having to issue public notices that the person in question is very much alive and contemplating kicking Bush’s personage in a strategic location.

Still can’t stop giggling though. Well, what to do? Chutyaism abounds!

A dream finale in the offing…

A world cup final featuring India and Pakistan; what more could the multitudes ask for? The ghosts of the ODI world cup are exonerated. (Can’t wait for the match fixing brigade to claim responsibility for this though)

Of course, this is T20 cricket and it is therefore important to recognize that these are still early days. And all it takes to bring things into perspective is to simply imagine any other final but this one. Would there be as much interest? Of course not, this is the answer to everyone’s prayers; cricketers, fans, advertisers, organisers. The only one’s complaining are the hapless spouses; and even they grudgingly admit that T20 is more acceptable to them than ODIs and (yikesbygawd) Test Matches.

The euphoria, however, is justified to an extent. As a team, these guys are doing extremely well and they deserve every accolade. Most importantly, they are providing a glimpse into Indian cricket without the Trimurti. And just the fact that there is a glimmer of hope is enough.

There are tougher tasks ahead, and not just the final. The very cocksure nature and devil may care attitude that is lauded today in the tizzy euphoria of victory will be summarily trampled upon in the depths of defeat. And this is why being the India captain is considered one of the toughest jobs in world cricket.

Yet, as beginnings go, this one is auspicious. And so; may the Gods of cricket shine on this merry bunch for a long time to come.

Remembering ‘Love in the time of Cholera’

Well, little needs to be said on Gabriel Garcia Marquez in way of introduction and perhaps even lesser on the book. But, as is the nature of the blogger, the two paisa addition is mandatory.

I didn’t like this book. Yes, yes, I know, it’s a classic and all that, but I didn’t like it. I thoroughly enjoyed the writing and the language--however hard one might try, it is difficult to find a blemish in the writing itself. It is of such a wonderful, lilting nature that one is drawn into it as if by some medieval spell. And that is why the story jars. Perhaps I do not possess the sensibility to appreciate the nuances of what Marquez has achieved, or in my instance, tried to achieve. In view of the overwhelming evidence of the book’s magnificence, I am compelled to consider that mine is a minority; a contrarian’s view, and therefore perhaps slightly pretentious.

But be as it may, I could not get myself to like the book. Let me try and explain why.

While the book starts off brilliantly and immediately puts the reader on the side of Florentino Ariza, it doesn’t hold you to him till the end. Marquez intends Ariza to be the sympathetic character and then, by virtue of drawing the reader into feeling such sympathy, tries to perform a coup of sorts by compelling the reader to feel for a decidedly deplorable person. Which is all very fine, of course, and well done sir. And it works, till the last of Ariza’s 600+ affairs. By this time Ariza is very very old, and the object of his ministrations is very very young. Parallels have been drawn to ‘Lolita’ of course, but in ‘Love in the time of Cholera’, this interlude is off hand, almost in passing. As if it was just another conquest, which it actually is, in fact.

Indeed, by treating it thus, Marquez manages to convey a chilling horror that, to me at least, was unpalatable. There was a scene, vividly described in an offhand manner, of Ariza’s beguiling ways. In this we learn how vile the term ‘Like taking candy from a child’ can be. I just couldn’t digest it. After that, the entire book fell apart for me. And it never recovered. I rushed past the rest of the book in a daze, even more dismayed when the lovers finally meet--and by finally, I mean FINALLY, after the better part of a century--because the climax is injected with the knowledge that the child, now in her late teens, has committed suicide.

Needless to say, Marquez intended this and there is a deeper thread here that I have somehow missed. But, I can’t help it. This is one of those cases where you look at how everyone just raves about the book and think to yourself, what am I missing?

Now, let me clarify that the whole book isn’t about Ariza. We are also told of Fermina Daza, Ariza’s love interest. She is the focus and the heart of the book. We also learn of her husband Juvenal Urbino. After a childhood fling with Ariza--a very intense episode that defines the book, really--she ends up marrying Urbino on her father’s insistence. There are, however, no tearful goodbyes and the like here. In fact, the scene where Fermina rejects Ariza is the best part of the book as far as I’m concerned. If ever there was a sucker punch in the stomach delivered beautifully, it is the scene as told to us by a master storyteller. In that one moment, where Fermina is disenchanted with Ariza and defines the rest of Ariza’s pathetic life, we learn why Marquez is a genius. His handling of the intense and juxtaposing it on the banal and wrapping the whole thing up in an orchestra of language is indeed a marvel.

This brilliance of language is the hallmark of Marquez’s writing and the main reason why he is, er, a Nobel Laurete in literature. One has to wonder how much more beautiful the language must be in Spanish, the original language of the book. (I often wonder the same thing about Asterix…that was in French, though.)

And I still didn’t like the book.

The best parts of the book were in the first quarter. The brilliant scene of Urbino’s funeral and how Ariza conveys his feelings for Daza after an eternity. The flashback to the childhood romance or Ariza and Daza and how they overcame all sorts of obstacles in an obstinate, obsessive need for each other. And how that love vanishes in an instant when Fermina fails to see, after a brief parting, what she saw in Daza in the first place.

The beauty is unquestioned. And the way Marquez sets up both, the ending and the beginning, within the first section of the book is delicious. The past catching up to the present and then edging into the future together with the reader, well, that’s the part that didn’t work for me.

Perhaps that is the greatness, that I can love the writing but not the book. I don’t know. Perhaps ‘One hundred years of Solitude’ will have me loving both. I’ve just started it and I’ll be sure to keep y’all posted. Or perhaps the movie version due out soon, directed by Mike Nichols (Four weddings and a funeral) and starring people I don’t know (except John Leguziamo as Daza’s father) will offer an interpretation whereby I will get the point by a visual, spoon-fed medium. But as they say in the literary world, never judge a book by its movie.

Sigh! do paisa khatam.

Ram Setu

The ASI--Archaeological Survey of India, in its report to the Supreme Court, declares that there is no scientific evidence to support the theory that the Ram Setu was man made or, in fact, that any of the characters of the Ramayana ever existed.

Perfectly logical argument, of course. But that’s the whole point of any faith of religion. It isn’t based on science, unfortunately. You can argue science till the cows come home, and nobody will counter you--in fact there is no counter. Science is compelling, irrefutable almost, except by vague spiritual argument.

And yet religion exists. In fact it thrives. No matter what is said for science, the fact still remains that a huge majority of the world, including scientists, do believe in some form of spiritual ideal. That’s simply the way it is.

The ASI report finds itself on uncharted territory. It is perhaps the first instance of a government actually refuting the very concept of religion. Because what it is effectively saying is that there is no evidence of God, so let us not concern ourselves with such archaic sentimentality. Again, there is merit for this argument, and perhaps we may yet live to see a future in which religion and spirituality aren’t major bones of contention. But in the context of the world as it exists today, such a move is naïve at best.

It admittedly doesn’t take much for fundamentalists and right wing politicos to wave the righteous banner and protest about any odd issue without allowing for any sensible dialogue. That, unfortunately, is the nature of our peculiar political scenario. And, as in the past, the intellectuals will debate, the protestors will rage, pillage, burn and generally create a nuisance, while the majority will stay at home and hope for a quick resolution.

It all rests with the Supreme Court. Going by past evidence, they rarely disappoint. The only way forward, though, is the way of compromise. The military and economic reasons are compelling, so the canal must go ahead. There has been talk of an alternate location which allows for a compromise, so I presume that the Supreme Court will instruct the government accordingly.

Yet, The Professor is in a quandary. This is one of those things where the right decision is frustratingly elusive. I cannot decide which side I lean on. And after much deliberation, I have to give in to my instinctive first reaction; do not destroy the Ram Setu.

Perhaps it is the romantic in me that wants to preserve the myth surrounding the bridge. The stories learnt as a child, the images seen over the years in various forms. There is much about the world, the universe, that still remains largely unexplained. The cynic and the realist often shake hands with science and dispel all such notions. But these are hard to kill off entirely. After all, it has historically been the prevailing, accepted scientific theories that dispelled new science; and who knows what future science will teach us. And really, this whole ‘everything must relent to the march of progress’ slogan is getting tiresome.

Progress is a concept; a flawed one at that. It only allows for one profile of itself to be photographed. The economic side, behind which lurks the side of human convenience and human greed, the tribe of human competition and the need for survival; not survival from the elements or from other species, but survival from each other. That is the essence of competition. And since there is no viable alternative to capitalism, it has to be allowed to prevail. But we need to take a long hard look before each leap.

The canal has been under consideration and deliberation since the mid 1800s. If man has been unable to decide for almost 150 years, there must be some significance to it.

Taunty-Taunty

The official twenty twenty world cup kicked off yesterday with the hosts S. Africa taking on West Indies.

Firstly, The Professor isn’t all that gung-ho about TTC (Twenty Twenty Cricket) to begin with. I haven’t even bothered to get myself acquainted with the ‘rules proper’. How difficult can they be? A few tweaks here and there and voila, a new format is born. Add to that cheerleaders, baseball style dugouts and you have something that constitutes an excellent excuse for people to congregate, wave banners, get drunk and have a jolly old time. Nothing wrong with that either, and pass me that beer please.

What I find hilarious, though, is the sudden volte face done by the so called ‘expert commentators’ and the like. The Professor remembers a time not so long ago when TTC was being thrown about as one of those ‘those’, you know ‘those that we refer to as those’ things. No expert worth his ex wanted to be associated with it. Suddenly, though, everyone seems to have jumped onto the bandwagon and even the most reluctant are found doing their bit to build up the hype.

Hype itself isn’t such a bad thing, except that it generally creates the other ex--expectations. Which in turn may lead to four years of alternate therapy, aka the ICC Cricket World Cup 2007.

The only thing, from a purely cricketing point of view, and I’m sure that others may have ranted about it elsewhere, is the loss of the nuances and dynamics of the longer version. Now, now, before you start the analogies with the whole ‘that’s exactly what they said about ODIs’ and suchlike, consider the entire argument.

As it is, ODIs are being reduced to batting festivals; the advent of TTC merely exacerbates that problem. While bludgeoning may be the preferred ideal of batsmanship for some, spare a thought for the others who still like to watch a contest, and those who, God forbid, cannot stand anything other than test cricket.

My argument, thus, is not with the format of the game. Sure, if there is a way to bottle up the joys of cricket into a nice Hindi feature film length format, I’m all for it. Its just that I doubt TTC will do so. All it allows for is mindless swinging of the bat--to ridiculous extents. A batsman of the class of Chris Gayle, even allowing for his murderous batting style, falling all over himself in an attempt to bludgeon a delivery down the legside is not a pretty sight. Can’t wait to see how Dhoni, with his jab like swishes and a serenity of expression that belies the effort he puts into them does in this tournament.

Again, this is not to say that I won’t watch it; hell, I might even enjoy it. But with this kind of mind numbing power packed into each batting swipe, my sympathies lie with the laundry that washes all the teams’ dirty linen.

Oh yeah, and the title--in case you haven’t guessed--is to do with the scantily clad cheerleaders, dancers, whatever. Was hilarious to hear David Lloyd responding to a particularly violent gyration directed at a perilously close camera. “My Goodness,” he said. I concur.