Distant Voices, Still Lives [1988]

 British filmmaker Terence Davies’ feature-length debut, Distant Voices, Still Lives, continuously switched between bitter, mournful memories and gregarious displays of life in the here and now, and between private and public spaces. These intersecting aspects, along with Davies’ decision to replace linear recounting with a heavily impressionistic approach, instilled this heavily autobiographical film with formal rigour and poetic realism that were curiously at odds with its mythologizing of war-time and post-war working-class Britain and splashes of melodrama. Incidentally, this was two shorts rolled into one considering that its two interconnected halves “Distant Voices” and “Still Lives” were filmed two years apart and made with different crews, albeit with the same set of actors. It’s foregrounded on a Liverpudlian family – a stoic mother (Freda Dowie), two daughters (Angela Walsh and Lorraine Ashbourne) and son (Dean Williams) – that lived under the scarring shadows of an abusive and violent patriarch (Pete Postlethwaite), and continues to bear that trauma even after his death, which formed a pivotal juncture for them and divided their lives into a before and an after. Their oppressive interiority within their dreary, cramped home was frequently alternated with moments spent with friends and family in taverns and public houses, drinking beer and breaking into popular songs of that time. The communal power of music, in fact, formed a key theme. The cinematography, with its washed-out and desaturated colours, exquisitely evoked a lost time and space that exists through the subjective prism of memories, while the long, gently panning shots captured the calm and the chaos. The mannered acting and lack of any redeeming qualities of the brutish father, fleeting displays of gentleness notwithstanding, marginally dampened this deeply personal work.

Director: Terence Davies

Genre: Drama/Family Drama/Musical/Coming-of-Age

Language: English

Country: UK

Monterey Pop [1968]

 The three-day Monterey Festival in 1967 was a watershed moment in the context of both popular music – in elevating the stature of pop and rock-and-roll as artforms and providing an enormous fillip for all future music festivals – and the 1960s counterculture movement that embodied the ideas of love, peace, communal living and non-conformism. D.A. Pennebaker, who’d pioneered the “rockumentary” with his seminal ‘direct cinema’ work Dont Look Back, established the enduring template for all future concert films – from the filming and editing styles to the look and atmosphere – with Monterey Pop, his exhilarating documentary on this phenomenal event co-organized by Lou Adler and the Mamas & the Papas front-man John Phillips, among others. It was only appropriate, therefore, that it began with infectious visuals of people streaming in, in their delightfully sunny attires and carefree demeanours, to the sounds of ‘San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair)’, the unofficial anthem for that age written by Phillips. Seamlessly alternating between rousing performers and enthralled audience as a distinctive formal choice, it covered 12 out of the 30+ artists who took stage, using 5 portable sync cameras operated by fellow documentarians Richard Leacock and Albert Maysles. The film’s most iconoclastic and indelible moments included The Who’s Pete Townshend smashing his guitar after ‘My Generation’, only for Jimi Hendrix, after an exceptionally risqué act, putting his on fire; stirring vocals by Janis Joplin and Otis Redding; and elucidation of the show’s international spirit through electrifying South African trumpeter Hugh Masekela, and the virtuoso Indian duo of sitarist Ravi Shankar and tabla player Alla Rakha Khan to whom the final 15 minutes – a whopping 19% of the runtime – were devoted.

Director: D.A. Pennebaker

Genre: Documentary/Musical/Concert Film

Language: English

Country: US

Dont Look Back [1967]

 D.A. Pennebaker’s trailblazing film Dont Look Back (the missing apostrophe was a conscious choice) – a landmark in ‘direct cinema’ and the first feature-length documentary on Bob Dylan – provided an intimate peek into the opaque, magnetic and mercurial persona of the iconoclastic poet, prophet and troubadour. Playfully operating at the intersection of music reportage, diary film, rockumentary and even a biographical essay in its intimate, unfiltered, behind-the-scenes portraiture, it had Pennbaker following Dylan – shot in grainy, gorgeous B/W using a customized, portable 16mm camera that he’d co-developed with compatriot Richard Leacock – through his 1965 England tour. The docu began with a legendary music video – one that was conceived by Dylan himself – featuring the songwriter presenting a series of cue cards bearing words and phrases from his song ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’, while that plays in the background, and with poet Allen Ginsberg and folk singer Bob Neuwirth seen interacting in the industrial backdrop. While, over the course of the work, we get to see Dylan performing at different concerts, it’s primarily set inside hotel rooms and cars, at corridors and backstages, and with friends, reporters and strangers. What emerged, through these candid observations of moments and interactions, was a kaleidoscopic impression of an individual alternatively funny, gregarious, inspired, reflective, prickly, aloof and enigmatic. The film’s most memorable segments included his impromptu jams with Joan Baez, Donovan and Alan Price, taunting a Time’s correspondent, and bemused reactions upon being labelled an anarchist. Incidentally, though he was on the cusp of superstardom when it was made, by the time it eventually released two years later he’d released two seminal albums, had a motorcycle accident, switched to electric, married and become an unprecedented phenomenon.

Director: D.A. Pennebaker

Genre: Documentary/Musical/Diary Film

Language: English

Country: US

Sinners [2025]

  Ryan Coogler delivered sensorial overload with Sinners, a genre-defying exercise that was seductive, tempestuous, rip-roaring, political, bloody and bad ass. It’s that rare vampire movie that captivated three diverse viewer groups, viz. those searching for rollicking entertainment, those craving for grindhouse sensibilities, and those looking for subtexts and preoccupations which transcend genre thrills. Set in the 1930s, identical twins Smoke and Stack – the names serving as a tribute to the great Howlin’ Wolf, and played with thumping swag by Michael B. Jordon – return to Mississippi Delta, having earned money and notoriety with the Chicago Mob, to start a juke joint for blues music catering to the local Black community. There’re, however, two violent deterrents; it’s the Jim Crow era, with the Black populace largely poor and ghettoized cotton plantation workers trapped under oppressive laws, KKK’s atrocities and religious fervour; furthermore, there’s lurking in the shadows a diabolical primeval force – bearing rich sociopolitical metaphors – led by the feral Irish-immigrant vampire Remmick (Jack O’Connell). The film reached its ecstatic crescendo at the mid-way mark, with this standout section bearing the intoxicating vitality of Lovers Rock. It’s the joint’s opening night, and the packed crowd is brought to its feet – while both past lineage and future descendants of African-American music bleed into this electrifying sequence shot in glorious single-track – as blues prodigy Sammy (musician Miles Caton in an impressive movie debut) and local harmonica-legend Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) jam on “I Lied to You”. That and the uninhibitedly sultry “Pale, Pale Moon” were the two most pulsating compositions in the superb earthy soundtrack co-scored by Ludwig Göransson. The segment’s smouldering atmosphere was followed by a sinister mood build-up and a grisly carnage.

Director: Ryan Coogler

Genre: Horror/Musical/Period Film

Language: English

Country: US

Prénom Carmen (First Name: Carmen) [1983]

 Prénom Carmen – which completed a remarkable trilogy with Every Man for Himself and Passion, in that they all featured disillusioned filmmakers in existential limbo, and the crumbling of “small movies” under overbearing financial considerations – wasn’t just a magisterial work that established the 1980s as one of the richest decades for Godard, it also places among his most aesthetically dazzling films with its fragmentary storytelling, shallow-focus visuals and rapturously beautiful use of music. It was most fascinating in how it provided an interplay between classicism and modernist deconstructions, narrative and form, solemn and absurdist, composure and chaos, melancholy and sardonic humour, personal and political. The film played out along three interconnected narrative strands that frequently overlapped but were also noteworthy for their departures. The central strand – which was a radical reimagining of Georges Bizet’s opera Carmen, by Anne-Marie Miéville – covered the passionate, tumultuous and ultimately self-destructive affair between the ravishingly beautiful Carmen (played with sultry allure by 20-year-old neophyte Maruschka Detmers), who’s part of an underground post-Maoist revolutionary cell, and a naïve security guard (Jacques Bonnaffé) who gets entangled with her during a bank robbery and falls obsessively in love with her. In parallel we see a neurotic, hilariously deadpan, aphorism-spouting, lecherous, washed-up filmmaker (played with satiric, self-deprecating aplomb by Godard himself) who’s refusing to leave the sanitorium that he’s cooped up in; and a string quartet, whose absorbing Beethoven rehearsals provided stirring emotional parallels to the actions. The heady mix of doomed lovers, militant politics and operatic violence aimed at capitalist structures stirred my memories of Le Petit Soldat and La Chinoise, while interjections of “live” music recording with narrative elements made me draw parallels with One Plus One.

Director: Jean-Luc Godard

Genre: Drama/Political Drama/Romantic Drama/Crime Drama/Musical/Showbiz Satire

Language: French

Country: France

Tár [2022]

 The meticulous precision and magisterial aplomb with which Todd Field composed, constructed and crafted Tár – the punctiliously calibrated and orchestrated narrative progression that built towards dramatic crescendos, separated by controlled contrapuntal stretches, and laced with stunning exactitude, rigorous formalism and subtle tonal shifts – mirrored the self-assured brilliance and performative flair of the “maestro” who occupied its dark and compelling core. It began with its complex anti-heroine Lydia Tár (Cate Blanchett) at the apogee of her prowess – she’s a globally renowned conductor at the Berlin Philharmonic with a jaw-dropping curriculum vitae; her rockstar popularity and luxurious, globe-trotting lifestyle complement her artistic genius and intellectual heft; and she’s on the verge of scaling her final peak – and then proceeded to chronicle her stunning unravelling brought upon by allegations of misconduct and abuse of power, precipitated by the suicide of a former student at the exclusive foundation for aspiring female conductors that she’s co-founded, and exacerbated by damning videos made viral on social media. The film’s central discourse revolved around ‘cancel culture’, difficulty of separating art from the artist and hubris; Tár, however, is neither a monster nor a martyr – rather, a deeply flawed person – and a gay woman who’s heroically succeeded in a bastion of patriarchy, thus subverting any easy analyses. The masterclass that she holds at the prestigious Juilliard School – shot almost entirely in breathtaking single take – was a masterclass in acting and camerawork too. Blanchett’s ferocious, spellbinding performance – marked by an extraordinary verisimilitude and edgy undercurrents that she brought in – found commendable support from Nina Hoss as her wife and concertmaster, Noémie Merlant as her assistant and protégé, and Sophie Kauer as a Russian prodigy who catches her fancy.

Director: Todd Field

Genre: Drama/Psychological Drama/Musical

Language: English

Country: USA

Pierrot le Fou [1965]

 The anarchist, non-conformist, prankster, satirist, cynic, romantic and mad genius residing within Godard were all on dazzling display in Pierrot Le Fou – his exuberant, impudent, goofy and crazy gem. He took the template of outlaw lovers – or, in his words, the “the last romantic couple” – on crime spree, and deliriously punched into that pop-art aesthetics, wacky humour, comic-book violence, idiosyncratic genre subversion, sardonic class commentary, hilarious satire on consumerism, lacerating indictment on militarism, and a whole lot of manic fun, thus making this a dizzying mosaic packed with political, cultural, cinematic and literary references. That his marriage to Anna Karina was falling apart, added a poignant touch to their fifth and penultimate collaboration. Ferdinand (Jean-Paul Belmondo) – a media exec leading an unfulfilled bourgeois existence filled with ennui, domesticity and shallow social circles, and married to a well-off wife (Graziella Galvani) who’s consumed by vacuous consumerism – takes off on a whim with Marianne (Karina), his ex-girlfriend and member of an underground racket on the run from OAS gangsters. They steal cars, commit murders, swindle, and engage in subterfuge as they ride drive Paris to Côte d’Azur in search of escape and idyll. Along the way they encounter dwarf criminals, perform a couple of infectious musical sequences, make buffoons of American GI’s through a parodic agitprop street theatre on the Vietnam War, etc. Belmondo as the deadpan and philosophical Ferdinand, and Karina as the enchanting and impulsive Marianne, made for an unforgettable pair in this zany work flamboyantly photographed by Coutard. American filmmaker Samuel Fuller, in an ironic cameo, mentions “cinema is like a battleground”… Godard emphatically espoused that maxim here, and made it his raison d'être over his radical career.

Note: My earlier review of the film can be found here.

Director: Jean-Luc Godard

Genre: Drama/Black Comedy/Satire/Road Movie/Musical/Avant-Garde

Language: French

Country: France

Summer of Soul [2021]

 American musician and writer Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson’s Summer of Soul is a rousing and immersive celebration of black pride, music and culture, vividly interlaced with politics, history and the quintessential zeitgeist of 1969. Music promoter Tony Lawrence – “a hustler, in the best sense” – arranged the Harlem Cultural Festival – a free concert, featuring a stunning assemblage of black artists – at Mount Morris Park in Harlem, New York, over 6 weekends in the summer of ’69. The event, which covered an extraordinary range of genres – blues, jazz, soul, gospel, pop, rock, ballads – was attended by nearly 300,000 people, and with security by the Black Panther Party, was never televised as all attention was on Woodstock, held just a few kilometres away and which became the symbol of counterculture movement at the time; as a result, the priceless tapes containing 40+ hours of footage remained lost for 50 years. Questlove, while bringing this thrilling piece of history to life, also ensured that its context, impact and memories were eloquently captured too. Thus, he foregrounded this mosaic of exhilarating performances – by Stevie Wonder, B.B. King, Nina Simone, Max Roach & Abbey Lincoln, The 5^th Dimension, Mahalia Jackson et al, buoyed by an ecstatic crowd in glorious afros and colourful dresses – against the era’s volatile backdrop – assassination of Martin Luther King, Harlem riots, poverty and hostile racism – while also getting a few of the festival’s attendees to reminisce from so many years back. Two moments especially stood out – Simone’s electric rendition of her politically defiant song “Young, Gifted and Black”, and attendees brushing aside the Apollo 11 moon landing – which too happened while this was underway – vis-à-vis the importance and relevance of this festival.

 

 

 

 

 

Director: Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson

Genre: Documentary/Music Video/Political History

Language: English

Country: US

Annette [2021]

Coming nearly a decade after his previous feature – the manic, befuddling, flamboyantly experimental and absolutely fabulous avant-garde gem Holy Motors – Annette was perhaps a culmination of Leos Carax’s love affair with musical rhapsodies. While they made for memorable sequences in his earlier films, he decided to make a full-fledged musical, or a rock opera if you will, along the lines of an effusive “Classic Hollywood” romantic paean, meets the world of Jacques Demy where even spoken dialogues were sung, meets a twisted fairy tale that was his own. The resulting work – borne out of his collaboration with Ron and Russell Mael of Sparks, who wrote the story and also composed the songs – was, on one hand, maximalist and unapologetically grandiose, while also, on the other, maudlin, superficial and oftentimes uninvolving but for a few bold bursts. Suffice it to say, therefore, that despite infusion of a dark world-view, brooding atmosphere, commentaries on toxic masculinity and consumerist exploitation, and moments of striking sexuality and violence rarely associated with this genre, it was otherwise too simplistic, straightforward and psychologically shallow to create much of an impact. The tale revolved around the tragic relationship between a provocative stand-up comedian (Adam Driver) and famous opera singer (Marion Cotillard) – two people who couldn’t be more different – and the truly weird eponymous kid that they give birth to. An ingenious opening sequence, featuring the song ‘So May We Start’ shot in a glorious single-take, set the ball rolling, but balance songs, for most parts, weren’t as engaging as I’d hoped for. Further, while Driver brought in a raw, destructive energy to the role, it was unfortunate that an actress as talented as Cotillard remained under-utilized.

 

 

 
 

 

 

Director: Leos Carax

Genre: Musical/Romance/Showbiz Satire

Language: English

Country: France

Sang-e-Meel Se Mulaqat [1989]

 Ustad Bismillah Khan was to Shehnai what Ravi Shankar (or Vilayat Khan) was to Sitar, Alla Rakha was to Tabla, and Ali Akbar Khan (or Amjad Ali Khan) was to Sarod – viz. not just an exponent of Hindustani Classical music, but also someone who was synonymous with the instrument he played. But, despite his unparalleled mastery of Shehnai – the notes of which, as Tagore so unforgettably wrote in Kabuliwallah, sound as if one’s heart is weeping – his existence wasn’t limited to this prowess alone. Goutam Ghose, in his poetic and mellifluous documentary Sang-e-Meel Se Mulaqat, provided a rare peek into the life, thoughts, love and experiences that shaped this extraordinary artist. His passion and excellence, of course, were at the very forefront of this deliberately paced work, and which was further amplified by a number of absorbing “live” performances – both solo and with his troupe. And, what made it further interesting were the depiction of his all-consuming love for classical music; anecdotes recounted by him that brought forth his immersion into and journey with this form; his ascetic life; his incredible bond with the city of Benaras which he called home; his penchant for singing – which he expressed quite a few times – and his love for “Thumri” which, unfortunately, is viewed rather pejoratively by many; his ever-smiling and jovial disposition; and, in perhaps the most fascinating display of the maestro, his syncretic, broad-minded and secular mindset, while still being deeply rooted in his faith and culture. All these facets were captured through leisurely conversations, and were regularly interspersed with beautifully shot vistas of the teeming ghats, ancient mansions, winding lanes and the unmistakable atmosphere of Khan Sahab’s beloved city.

 

 

 

 

 

Director: Goutam Ghose

Genre: Documentary/Musical/Biopic

Language: Urdu/Hindi

Country: India