Spider-Man: Across the Father-Verse

As time flows in this dimension, you will hear glowing reviews of the new Spiderman animated movie in the next few weeks. And they'll largely be correct. The animation is the best i have seen this side of Arcane. The voice acting is on point, especially from Hailee Steinfeld as Gwen Stacy, and a funky Daniel Kaluuya as the irrepressible Spider-Punk. The many threads of the multiverse are woven with enough competency to feel like a silken spiderweb that moves the plot along rather than a frustrating slog through Shelob's lair. While i do think the pace of the action is sometimes too chaotic, and you wish the colorful frames took a breath and enjoyed their own beauty once in a while, these are but minor quibbles in what is essentially a high grade entry into the world of animation. This one is definitely going into the animation hall of fame.

You will hear all these superlatives and more, and they will be well deserved. However there is a singular thread in this masterful web of storytelling that i wanted to pull on here. It is the soft loving focus on fatherhood, a beautiful background theme that runs throughout the most important parts of this movie, and is easy to miss in the smorgasbord of color and confusion. 

 At it's heart, Spiderman: Across the Spider-Verse is a film about family. The many unfulfilled expectations from our most valued relationships. The disappointments and heart breaks. And yet the hope that all the negotiations are tied to something deeper....unrelenting love. The expansive love of a parent for their child, and the utter desperate silent need of a child for their parent's attention, guidance, nurture and understanding.

While Miles Morales struggles to balance his life as a student, and a vigilante, he may find the attention of his parents overbearing, but there's no mistaking the hugely important role they're playing in his life. He may take it for granted, but as a viewer, you immediately recognize the freefall he would be in without their grounding influence. An influence that is sorely lacking in Gwen Stacey's life, who's single father has so dedicated his life to work, that he doesn't see that his daughter is drifting further away from him. And drifting towards danger, and dangerous influence. Her fear of returning home to a father she hasn't reconciled with, keeps her on paths that are inherently unstable and unfulfilling, no matter how hard she tries to find a replacement family.

Once you see this pattern emerge, of fatherhood and it's singular importance, it's hard to not see it peppered all across the spiderverse. Peter Parker, who is now the father of a toddler endowed with abilities similar to his, has been entrusted by MJ to look after the precocious kid. Clearly he would be the better equipped of the two to handle a baby with superpowers, and better yet teach it to control them, but it's still a strange sight to see him carry the baby around through potentially life threatening missions. Until you notice how seriously he takes it. The baby is not a gimmick. It's part of the thread. He wonders if he'll do a good job with the baby. He takes the jabs about his mentoring ability to heart. He holds back, is way more conservative in his actions, avoiding unnecessary risks. It's all there. A father looking after his kid.

On the other end of the spectrum is the ever brooding and slightly menacing Miguel O Hara, who seems to have lost his kid in a tragic turn of events. You see in his eyes and hardened mirthless face, the depths of despair from the loss of a child, and the unyielding, bordering on psychopathic belief that such tragedies can be avoided in the future, if we just accept the predestined path of the SpiderMen and Women. 

And speaking of eyes, at the very end, in a brilliant bit of direction, you get to stare into the eyes of a youth that has lost their father. The dead, pitiless, vengeful eyes of a child that has been left without a father in a world that is not kind to such innocence. And the contrast......the contrast in those eyes will haunt you and leave you wanting a quick resolution.

Unfortunately this movie is not about quick resolutions. It's about the things that take the most time to mend. About relationships. And sometimes one has to cross the multiverse, to look into the eyes of an alternate reality, to truly heal what was broken. To get back what was stolen. 

In my view, hidden in plain sight, this movie is a silent ode to fatherhood.  

Bheed

BHEED. CROWDS. There's a poignant statement made right in the beginning of the movie on what differentiates a society from crowds of people. It is the threads that bind. Social norms. Expectations. Shared experiences. Common struggles and common celebrations. Take all that away, and all you're left with are swirling masses.

But as the movie progresses, a new question begins to emerge. These threads that bind, are they also ropes that tie our hands, hold us back, and sometimes turn into nooses? Is a hierarchical social structure all it's cracked up to be? Is classism in society inevitable? Is religious orthodoxy worth the danger of religious bias? Do social norms thwart love? Can these masses, tied together now by social media, be trusted to sort truth from false? Will the power structures put in place by civil society protect all of civil society in a crisis, or just the privileged few?

These are some of the burning questions that emerge in this very contained story called Bheed. It's a microcosm of Indian society, where these various threads of casteism, classism, power, media, religion, law enforcement, love and destiny weave themselves into a complicated yet rich tapestry that demands viewing.

The backdrop of the movie is set in rural Covid India, where tens of thousands of poor city workers are migrating back to their villages to seek safety and succor, only to find that the entire country and it's infrastructure has been locked down and the key thrown away. Left to fend for themselves, in the midst of a strange national affliction, their fear and helpless is only exacerbated by law enforcement that is trying to follow orders that feel counter to humanitarian impulses. It's a time of utter confusion, as many will remember from that time, and is well captured. The black and white palette lends itself nicely to the stark tone of the movie, and is well supported by looming cinematography and a background score that increases the sense of dread and panic as the situation for all concerned parties continues to deteriorate.

The narration comes at you from many different perspectives. There's the internal dialogue in journalism, captured well between three voices. Then there's the various faces of law enforcement, harsh and unyielding, sometimes corrupt but also reflective and questioning, sometimes unsure of itself. The confusion and inherent distrust of the migrant workers is captured beautifully as well, with veteran actors like Pankaj Kapoor and Veerendra Saxena making you wonder why we haven't seen these thespians more often. They're sorely missed. 

The only minor quibble i have with the movie is that the lead actor, Rajkumar Rao, sometimes struggles to handle the requirements of the role. Every actor in this movie carries two responsibilities. To stay true to the character they inhabit, and also serve as a narrative device for larger themes. Watch Pankaj Kapoor effortlessly move from helplessness and anger over his family's hunger, to the larger thematic failure of his life's journey, and back to current helplessness within a single scene. It's a masterclass in acting. Rao's transitions however, from an ambitious cop dealing with an unusual crisis and opportunity, to his internalized hopelessness due to his social station, can sometimes be jarring. It's a pity, given how he's usually on top of his game.

There's nothing new in Bheed. After the credits start rolling, you will feel you've been looking at an old black and white photograph from a long time ago. It feels familiar, yet distant. Disconcerting, but not surprising. In an age where we have convinced ourselves that the story of India is a brightly colored kaleidoscope centered around bustling metropolitan cities, this photograph is a grim reminder of the past that still lives on for the vast majority as a present to contend with. It bears taking another look. 

The Winter Soldier

"I thought the punishment usually came after the crime."
"We can't afford to wait that long."

"Who's We?"

Great question isn't it? Who IS We? Who decided that pre-emptive strikes would overturn due process? When did this happen? Who is a threat, and to whom?

These are the questions Captain America, and it's titular hero, throw around with increasing disbelief. In hindsight, how could he not. A walking anachronism from an era where millions died gruesome deaths to defeat the forces of authoritarianism, the Captain feels disconnected from the current state of social apathy towards freedom. If Steven Rogers is the embodiment of old American values, his juxtaposition with the mutilated military-industrial-complex draws a sharp and uncomfortable contrast for the viewers. How has this evil survived, even grown, while the rest of us bury our concerns deep like human ostriches? If this was Star Wars, Yoda would probably say, "The dark side clouds everything. To see the future, difficult it is". 

We live in a world where the volume, variety and velocity of user data being generated is so large that we've had to coin a new word for it - Big Data. From marketeers to intelligence analysts, everyone is trying to predict future behavior. Without giving too much away, this forms an important theme around which the entire Marvel Universe turns on it's head. While i was watching the events unfold, i was reminded of the underrated Minority Report. PreCrime and PreventivePunishment. Of course instead of precognitive beings, we now have data and predictive engines. When all is said and done, do we truly trust absolute power to decide between patriotism and terrorism? The future of drones and government tagged terrorists isn't as far off as somnolent citizens might believe, and the Winter Soldier makes that point eloquently, and urgently.  

Since this is a Captain America venture, the movie itself doesn't get bogged down in a downward spiral of cynical nihilism. The Captain and his physics-defying shield smash through walls and windows and villains in a frenetic fashion.  Which is not to say that his path is clear, or even safe. There is a foreboding sense of peril every time the Winter Soldier manifests like a familiar apparition. The fighting is kinetic and meticulously choreographed. Blink, and you'll miss Natasha Romanov shoot a window first, before crashing through it trying to escape a grenade. This is a fun, intelligent action movie that will stay with you for a while, if you let it. The dialogues carry timely meaning, if you impart them the value they deserve. 

Most people will come out of the experience thrilled and optimistic about the future of the quintessential American hero, and in some way, about America itself. If a fight for the soul of the nation needs to be fought, then so be it. Heroes shall win. I myself came out wondering. There was a mandatory superhero exposition towards the end, where Capn America tells his fellow Americans that the price of freedom is high. And he is willing to pay it, even if he's the only one. But he's willing to bet he's not.

I wonder about that. I'd be willing to bet he is. 

Watch Milkha Run

A cursory look over Milkha's life produces copious material for a rollicking celluloid production. Surprising it took Bollywood so long to catch on. Based on Milkha Singh's biography, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag chronicles the life and times of a legendary athelete, whose life and times seem so typically Indian through the eyes of ROM(the director), that it makes you wonder just how much we take our history and identity for granted.

Lets see here:

1. See ur family get murdered in front of your eyes, like Batman - check

2. Run away on your own and nearly become a criminal, like Batman - check

3. Use your determination to turn from underdog to unlikely hero, like Batman - check

4. Dogged by trauma from childhood, like Batman - check

5. Sacrifice love for duty, like Batman - check

In short, Milkha's story is made for the big screen. And i really liked it. Yes, it was 3 songs too long, but i've never seen slomo put to such good use in an Indian fillum. I like biopics, and i think this one ranks among the top few in Indian cinema. If it suffers, its only because the 'song and dance' routine makes it feel like fictional formula, which its anything but. I think this is where ROM falters. But his reverence for the man and his past shows, and is infectious enough.

And let us enthusiastically welcome Farhaan Akhtar into a small coterie of actors, made up of the likes of Saif Ali Khan and Abhay Deol. Actors who display such fierce commitment and talent, that it rockets them into rarefied air, where their voice sounds really funny. This is a breakout role for the man, and he swallows Milkha's identity whole, both physically and mentally. From his beady eyed grin to his peculiar gait, everything screams a flying Sikh. I dont know how close Akhtar's art was able to imitate Milkha's life, but if i had to imagine a rustic flying Sikh, who ironically is quite terrified of flying, Akhtar's potrayal would be it.

For the last two decades, every 9 years or so, cine goers have had to put aside their rom-coms, cancel their dates with million dollar explosions, avoid the summer superheroes that promise to save the day, and clear the calendar for a very special occasion. A walk with Jesse and Celine.

Whats so special about this walk, the uninitiated might ask. I dont know. Whats special about a long walk with old friends you havent seen in a while?

We still remember our first walk together, a magical night among the lamp lit streets of historic Vienna. The free abandon of youth, the electric silences, the pressing conversations, a race against time. It was a beautiful ephemeral night, sadly to end. We met again, as they met again, 9 years later, this time in sunny Paris. Along the banks of the Seine, we exchanged glances and regrets. A faint promise of what could have been, and in the end, a hope of what would be. It was a good day for a walk in Paris.

It has been 9 years since. And its time to check up on Celine and Jesse. We had busied ourselves, sometimes fondly remembering our romantic friends, and then getting back to the rigors of life. As we catch up with the fiery couple on the rested islands of Greece, we find that they have been busy too. They are now a family. With everything that entails. As we saunter across rocky trails, it begins to dawn that there is trouble in paradise. Not the kind of trouble that would accompany the almost fictional moorings of their unusual story. But of the kind we ourselves know intimately. Suddenly, the walk isnt what it used to be. Suddenly, you dont want to know how they're doing anymore. The more they talk, the more you want them to stop. You know where they're headed. You've been there before. Almost everybody who claims to love has.

In the real world, love has a tendency to mutate, and clearly it has done so here. They are having trouble recognizing it, amid all the "bull****". Our friends are not the fallible, yet fictional, characters of intrigue any more. They are fallible and real, like you or me. And it is with a sinking feeling, like a car heading towards a cliff, that you watch them accelerate with a sickening familiarity. You want to warn them, but they cannot hear you over the din. You're not even sure what you would say. They are at the edge of the cliff, ready to keel over, when the magical thing happens. The magical thing of love in the real world. Someone gives an inch, someone takes that inch and pulls them back, and the love that was lost and mutated is found again, breathes again, and saves them both.

Phew. They know what to do. And thanks to the walk, for a while, now we do too.

Take Shelter

Something wicked, this way comes

The ancient Greeks would love Curtis LaRouche. He is the quintessential great man with the one tragic flaw. Unfortunately for Curtis, he inhabits a contemporary mid-western American town, where his paranoia and misgivings are not a tragedy but a potential prophecy/lunacy.

Curtis is an ideal protagonist. He is a loving husband and a compassionate father. A good friend and a smart worker, an upright pillar of the community. And yet, something sinister is stirring under the idyllic of the american dream. Or at least Curtis believes so. Bedevilled by dreams and hallucinations of impending doom that he cant shake off, Curtis is driven towards building a storm shelter for his family. He is using his very limited resources towards an enterprise that nobody, including his wife, thinks makes any sense.

Its difficult to surmise whether the film works as a metaphor, or is simply a study on human reactions to stressful situations. But the dread of the unknown works very well, as a statement of our times. Curtis feels a cataclysm coming, one that nobody is prepared for. He feels it in his bones. Showers of oil inhabit his dreams. He stands transfixed by the dance of starling murmurations. Thunderclaps and lightning are always lurking in his increasingly fragile mind.

Is his state of mind a muddy reflection of our own in these very trying times? I think so. The world has become unpredictable. Natural and financial catastrophes have blindsided us so often that most of us feel unprepared for whats to come, no matter our station. Like Curtis, we too have begun to question the nature of our alliances. We may not feel compelled to address it, but the film gives voice to an ineluctable sense of doom that pervades the air these days. As Curtis spends his time cleaning and mending the storm shelter, one wonders if the JFK generation felt a similar chill of uncertainty during the Cuban Missle Crisis? Will we survive the way they did? Or was the shelter locked down only to be opened again, this time for good?

Michael Shannon churns out another tortured performance as Curtis. The movie is often slow, but his natural brilliance along with the beautiful and very talented Jessica Chastain(Tree of Life) keep you riveted nonetheless. Something about Chastain's earthy eyes can lift even the darkest gloom. And we thank her for it.

Curtis thinks a storm is coming, the likes of which we have never seen. His friends and family think he's gone off the bend. They're probably right. But if they're not, one thing is certain. No one is prepared.

The Tree of Life

What is our faith based on, when the roar of a waterfall can drown our prayers for help? What do our questions matter, when entire galaxies are being created and crushed on an incomprehensible scale all around us? What is the value to our pain, the depth of our loss, the tragedy of our mistakes, when our lives are but a cosmic blink. Mallick wonders about these, much like his characters, who speak more through silence and reflection than through dialogue. A son has died, a brother has been lost, and human questions rise like smoke in whispers, trying hard to be heard, searching for sense through the cold magnificence of nature. The mother who wants to fly with grace and love, finds herself bound to the ground heavy with grief. The father who respects nature as much as he fears it, only occasional sorrow breaking the stony facade to reveal a sliver of grace. The brother, who mourns the early loss of innocence, and carries it through his life, meanders a lonesome landscape looking for the same answers to the meaning of life and death as we all do.

What is profound about Mallick's evocative labor of love is how he tries to put the miseries and triumphs of the human experience in context to our place in the Universe, without making them seem insignificant. You are awed by the spectacle of the birth and evolution of cosmos, and our solar neighborhood, even the little rock we call home. And yet, it doesnt eviscerate the dull pain you experience for the family. You ask the same questions, in the same hushed tones, with the quiet frustrating knowledge that no answers are forthcoming.

'The Tree of Life' is not flawless by a long shot. The vagueness of art is more suited to music than to movies, given to seemingly irrelevant stretches. But that is also what makes it an experience of note unlike any other. It seemed like a worded rendition of Koyaanisqatsi. Some will love it, others will walk out on it, both will not completely comprehend it. That in itself is worth the price of admission.