Subversive scribblings

I’m not a fan of theatre as such, let alone experimental theatre. But I do have an undisciplined interest in art – be it performative, written or the so-called fine-arts. Particularly so because I believe in the expressive and political nature of art; not as a wilful act of resistance, but as, Oscar Wilde would have it, a nuanced system of expressions that teases out complexities, and leaves the reader thinking, questioning and critical. So, when I read about a Chinese theatre group, Grass Stage Theatre, performing a “subversive theatre” production called Unsettling Stones (directed by Zhao Chuan) at Bombay’s National Gallery of Modern Art, my curiosity was piqued. In the light of China’s political culture of suppressing dissent, subversion, or free speech in the broadest sense, what I find worrisome – and here I’m echoing philosopher and cultural critic, Slavoj Zizek’s concerns - is the fact that we're looking to them for development paradigms (something I have satirically referred to in the essay, Shanghai-ed). Coming back to China, Zizek argues that in the west, traditionally, the rise of capitalism coincided with the demand for democracy; a system which was mutually beneficial for both. True, grave issues have plagued this alliance – colonialism for one; global capitalist hegemony, another – but with China, what we’re seeing is the existence of capitalism without the conditions of, or the need for, democracy.

When it comes to art, specifically, this phenomenon is compounded. Liu Xiaobo, the “dissident” writer, and human rights activist is currently incarcerated. Mr Mo Yan(literally: “don’t speak”), on the other hand, happens to be a party member,and widely respected across the country. His is the image of art that China wants to project. The political appropriation of art (be in for suppression or activism) is always a danger to the integrity and very operational matrix of a dynamic system of thought. The fact that Grass Stage Theatre is coming to India to perform, is itself a critique of the state and culture industry-appropriated art forms – not just in China, but, I believe, everywhere.

Needless to say, watching Unsettling Stones was an enlightening experience. As an art form – and that too, in a foreign language – it was evocative, lucid, and it pushed the mind to think, to feel; to transcend the negative space between the stage and the seats. I’m still struggling with ideas as I write this review: which theme to focus on? should I rely on description? or should I focus merely on reflections? But the fact that I am thinking and grappling with these ideas, I think, says a lot about the nature and the depth of the performance. For the sake of semblance of coherence, however, I shall divide my review into two broad sections: first, the physicality and aesthetics of the performance; and second, the philosophical and reflexive elements I read in the performance.

Aesthetically speaking, Unsettling Stones adhered to minimalism as a performative style. The stage was stark; the actors wore no elaborate costumes; the lighting, subdued and sharp; there was no music or a background score. On the other hand, the diegetic noise of their footsteps, their breathing, of the irreverent songs over the radio – were elements that came together to form a discontinuous narrative, punctuated by emotive dialogues and pauses pregnant with tension and unpredictability.

The bodies of the actors were as much props as they were instruments of expression. As they stripped under the gaze of the authority – here, the gaze of the audience; their bodies were subjected to the discourse of surveillance, masquerading as safety. The stark nakedness, the subservience, the docility – bodies policed, forever subject of the panopticon, quite literally in the Foucauldian sense.

Even as they paced across the stage, seemingly erratic and random, it resembled our everyday pace; as we settle into routinized behaviour of the office, or the commute; they grooved to the rhythms played on the headphones, oblivious to the others; breaking into dances, or bouts of masturbatory pleasures, or retreating into a shell filled with simple ones:  endlessly repetitive, uncritical, un-reflexive – relishing the products of the culture industries.

As the performance progressed from one segment to the other, the actors’ relationship with the stage changed: from “acting” they went on to creating. Arranging props became a part of the performance; elaborate patterns drawn on the floor with chalk-dust, an act of creation, destroyed in the very next moment – the very act of destruction (or, deconstruction?) becoming a liberating process. Their emphatic grunts, as they hurled stones into the emptiness, resounding in the darkness of the stage; then they lay, face down, enemies of the state. Subversion trampled. Dissent crushed. Status quo, preserved. Is this how it all ends?

Although the performance was in Mandarin, it articulated what it set out to, loud and clear – to challenge the status quo; to partake in dissent. There were no romantic overtures. This was no revolution. There would be no change. An Orwellian pessimism was ingrained in the script – which is why the language didn’t matter. It spoke volumes, be it in its moments of silence, or in the loud joyfulness brought about by the culture industries, which sought to gratify and stupefy. Unsettling Stones is a philosophically rich performance; I’ve already mentioned Foucault's panopticon and Adorno’s culture industry, elements pertinent to the inquiry in the social sciences. It uses stark elements, a language of metaphors, to paint a vivid picture – both polemical and pessimistic. Of these, the “stone”, I believe was the most powerful. In the last two years, we’ve seen people’s outrage transform into action; stones becoming the weapons of the disenfranchised, of the marginalised. But do they really bring about change? Or are they doomed to resound in the empty darkness, as it did on stage? Can it be an instrument of freedom? Or is it just another weapon of the weak? Another brick in the wall?

At the heart of it lies a question we all continue to grapple with, a question about the fundamental nature of freedom: can there be freedom – of expression? of voicing dissent? of formulating a discourse of resistance? One answer points towards the fact that this very performance is one, and that there still might be hope. But structures aren’t always oppressive. They could be Orwellian. Or, they could also be Huxleyan: providing us with an endless source of self-gratification and pleasure; replacing criticality with complacency, and then with comfort and desire. And this is not just China we're talking about; in India, we're heading towards a similar fate, maybe.  Perhaps not as bad, or perhaps, worse. But we're heading there. Not totalitarianism. But a crass form of governance marked by corruption, decadence and ever in paranoia over the preservation of power. That said, I think it’s important to observe that as strong and rigid and iron-caged as structures can be, there is always space for dissent and subversion; they are, if I may say so, structural; or perhaps, inevitable. Structures are defined by their temporariness. They don’t last forever. In a way, Unsettling Stones left us with yet another question – a question that I don’t think I can articulate, but one which would ask us the possibility, nature and direction of change. Is there a chance, as The Who put it, for us to not be fooled again?

In Defense of the Dark Knight

I saw this review of The Dark Knight Rises, retweeted by Amitav Ghosh and Rahul Bose - both Bengali intellectuals, and undoubtedly, left-leaning. I, too, am Bengali, and left-leaning. At least I like to think so; based on my gravitation towards the Frankfurt School's culture industry thesis, and most of Noam Chomsky's works.

With this review, however, I tend to disagree. Vehemently, so. Because, I suspect, my instincts as a comic book geek overpower my left-leaning stance.

 First of all, I liked The Dark Knight Rises. Sure, its predecessor - The Dark Knight (2008) - was an edgier movie, with a stunning performance by Heath Ledger as the Joker. But, as far as trilogies go, Nolan did a spectacular job in bidding the Dark Knight legend an explosive and more than memorable farewell.

My interest in Batman is more and beyond than just the movies; I am a comic book geek, after all. And the thing is, for people who are not aware of the themes in the comic book, much like the author of that review (as I suspect), it is very easy to make generalized assumptions about the nature of Batman's war against crime.

Let me elucidate this a bit more: 

One: "Bruce Wayne can splurge on the kit and cars to set himself up as a crime-fighting Christ substitute, plus power and glitter enough to hide his hobby. He's always been a curious idol: within aspiration because he's flesh and blood; beyond it because he's the lucky recipient of inherited wealth."

What she fails to interrogate is that Bruce (played by Christian Bale) is as much a victim of the (capitalist) state's disinclination to address issues that underscore its own importance and interests. Bruce's parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne, were shot dead in an alley when he was eight. One of the stronger and more prominent themes in Batman Begins (2005) was his struggle to comprehend this tragedy. He blamed Joe Chill - a homeless vagrant who accidentally came to possess a gun - for the murders. But then realized that it wasn't Chill's fault; it's the fault of the system, which made Chill as much a victim as Bruce. This isn't my sole reading of Begins; authors like Frank Miller, in The Dark Knight Returns (the text on which Rises was based) have addressed this issue as well. And the gun metaphor, I believe, is more relevant in light of the Aurora shooting. I think it's as tragic as it is ironic, that a Batman premiere - Bruce is averse to the idea of firearms - should see such an event. Which goes to show that the Batman mythos is not just fanciful fiction, based on one man's representation of social reality; but is a far more complex, nuanced and textured critique of social reality.

Two: “The Occupy Gotham movement, as organised by gargly terrorist Bane, is populated by anarchists without a cause, whose actions are fuelled by a lust for destruction, not as a corrective to an unjust world.”

Okay, she's just reading too much into this now. Bane (Tom Hardy), as the movie clearly establishes, does not set out to "liberate" Gotham from the shackles of crass capitalism; he's a part of an international terrorist organization called The League of Shadows (Assassins, in the comics). He seeks to destroy Gotham; as Ra's Al Ghul (played by Liam Neeson) intended in Begins. Plain and simple. So, yes, while these characters are self-made, they represent just that: fiction. Sure, Nolan plays on the "We are the 99%" theme - and Selina Kyle's (played by Anne Hathaway) dilemma in this scenario, I believe, presents the complex theme beautifully.

Bane's motive is precisely to destroy Gotham. He wouldn't have armed a nuclear device with a decaying core otherwise. Because that would've been rather stupid, no?

Three:  “But The Dark Knight Rises is a quite audaciously capitalist vision, radically conservative, radically vigilante, that advances a serious, stirring proposal that the wish-fulfilment of the wealthy is to be championed if they say they want to do good.”

What I fail to understand is: how can one argue against someone who sees a textured reality in such black-and-white terms? Nevertheless, I shall try my best to defend Batman.

Yes, Bruce Wayne had a billion dollars in his trust fund. Yes, he travelled the world, learnt exotic martial arts. Yes, he came back to Gotham and used his resources to fight the scum of Gotham. But, he was a philanthropist, too, remember.

His father nearly bankrupted Wayne Enterprises combating the Depression (as Alfred tells Bruce in Begins). Others (in the comics, as well as outside) have made a different critique: that Bruce's antics as a caped vigilante attract psychopaths - such as Bane in the Knightfall story arc - to Gotham. Batman's fight against crime, therefore, is not as unproblematic as the author seems to think.

Bruce, in many ways, is disillusioned about his own wealth and social location. The rigid boundary that separates the wealthy from the proles, an idea which the author seems to not only sell, but also believe in, is not really that rigid. Their worlds have clashed, and violently so; Bruce saw it happen, the night his parents were murdered. And that’s why Bruce, as a Wayne and a part of Gotham, has poured in money to several of Gotham's orphanages, charities and his continuous and undying association with Dr. Leslie Thompkins in story arcs, like Batman: The Animated Series attests to the fact that he is not just another billionaire playboy. The filthy-rich and corrupt of Gotham are as much in his crosshair as are the super-villains (a theme explored in the works of Jeph Loeb and Frank Miller, such as The Long Halloween and Batman: Year One, respectively). Even in Rises, Roland Daggett - the corrupt businessman in Wayne Corp. - is as much an antagonist as Bane. And someone Bruce, as it happens, detests.

Batman, in my opinion, transcends the superhero-ness of many of his peers. One argument is that he does not possess superpowers. True. But I believe so mostly because he's constantly had to make choices; choices which make him unpopular; which continue to push the boundary between good and bad; between hero and vigilante.

While, at the end of the day, Batman is fiction - and there's no denying that - it is a form of artistic expression. And it does express and builds on a lot of social realities. However, unlike most other superhero canons (except for Alan Moore's Watchmen and V For Vendetta) Batman serves to critically examine these very social realities. On a more ancillary note: wasn't Bane's conception a veiled critique of Mitt Romney? The Guardian's review is an opinion. I understand that. But it's an opinion based on a partial understanding of a phenomenon. And, for that reason, it is flawed.

Shanghai-ed

I had a lot of expectations from Shanghai. Mostly because, in its initial days of production, I thought it was a political thriller involving the Chinese secret service and a plot to nuke India. But apparently, Agent Vinod and Ek Tha Tiger are dealing with the spooks angle. Shanghai, on the other hand, is better than I expected it to be. And its subject matter is much closer to home than the ISI or the Chinese secret service. 

Many critics have called the movie a metaphor. For me, the movie was a metaphor and beyond. Set in an Indian periurban village/town, presumably in north or central India, Shanghai tells the story of an aspiration that the Indian state envisages for its cities; an aspiration which pits decades of faulty governance, lack of infrastructure and a volatile Indian public psyche against the clean, geometric facade of civilization, and corporate governance. 

I won't go much into the plot right now, mostly because I wish to keep this review spoiler free, and partly because I intend to go beyond that. 

In many ways, Shanghai is about contrasts; more so, contradictions. Bharatnagar - the ground zero of the genesis, so to say is where Dr. Ali Ahmadi (a kurta-jhola-beard sporting Leftist) protests against the capitalist state turning the area into a SEZ. His detractors want him out. Not because of the ideological differences; because in India, politics is not about ideology anymore. It's a numbers game, as we see the ruling coalition trying to keep its aspirations alive for this Shanghai - to the extent of murdering the doctor. 

The principal characters Krishnan (Abhay Deol in his finest performance so far), Shalini (Kalki, who is more confused than anything) and Joginder (Emran Hashmi, a fine actor) are caught up in their own agendas; trying to find something to anchor themselves in the turbulent political climes of Bharatnagar. Yet, I would not call any of them protagonists; they're characters, each organically placed in their roles, which makes the film's progression more eased and natural without being caught up to explain their agendas. However what really contributes to the organic nature of the film is the fact that the supporting cast does a brilliant job; from the wily mandarin Kaul, to the Chief Minister and her coalition partner - his cronies, the cops, the unwitting murderers, and the plethora of angry political hooligans....it's a myriad picture, both violent and vibrant, and certainly something from which you cannot turn away. 

Cinematically, for me, the winning factor was the cinematography by Nikos Andritsakis. And frankly, for someone who managed to execute a movie like Love, Sex aur Dhoka, I would've expected nothing short of brilliance from Banerjee. There was a constant nervousness in the camera movements, a sense of unpredictability as it captured both the loud morcha scenes, and the quiet, narrow, yet palpable curfewed streets of Bharatnagar. I spoke of contradictions earlier, and it's notable that the cinematography contributes to the visual telling of these contradictions; the government offices, with glass doors, polished conference tables, and the municipal schools, non-functional toilets.

The score, I felt was apt for a movie as intense as Shanghai, and it is what really contributed to the intensity of the film. The most striking feature, however, was Banerjee's use of silence to fill in the gaps - which I believe is the first of its kind I've ever come across in Hindi cinema. My only complaint was Vishal-Shekhar's music which, despite sounding great in the promos on TV, did not have room in the film, and thus, resulted in a slightly jarring effect; the songs consumed more time than what was required. 

Coming back to metaphors, I think Shanghai does more than just talk about the Indian state's aspiration to compete with the world by converting its cities into Shanghais. It is a commentary on the inherent contradictions within the Indian state; contradictions between the welfare role of the state and its capitalistic nature. It is about more than just corruption in the system and the abuse of state power; the corruption runs far deeper, and into the Indian psyches itself. It is a commentary on very nature of Indian politics. Elsewhere, I've mentioned that political parties today are no longer connected to an ideology - be it the right-wing BJP, or the so-called liberal Congress or the Left, or any of India's regional parties - the politics of India in the 21st century is that of anti-ideology; about synthesizing a form by positioning itself against an ideology; increased westernization, neo-liberal policy, and so forth.

What makes Shanghai the film it is, is the fact that Banerjee manages to capture these fine nuances on screen, in its profoundness and yes, you guessed it, contradictions. For some reason, I think of Shanghai as a "muted" (or, as friend of mine put it aptly: understated) film, mostly because of its noted and brilliant use of silence, as I said before, and also because you feel a sense of futility, of being inured to its portrayal of corruption and state sponsored violence. The Delhi HC was right it calling it a accurate description of the state of affairs in India; look the Jaitapur, or Raigad - districts earmarked to become the sites where India would usher in modernity and seal its place in the global economic order.

Shanghai is a warning bell for some alarmists, a time where the Indian state would sell the very people who elect governments to raze areas like Bharatnagar and make them into technological and information hubs, clean buildings, planned streets, and most of all, a populace which is the product of India’s neo-liberal values, who are at best passive consumers and at worse, a stupefied, silenced people. It is also something that would intrigue cynics, because it holds no bars in giving an honest account of the country—that we cannot do without corruption, that we cannot build a township, a sea-link, a sky-walk without our governments and bureaucrats having mud (and often, blood) on their hands. It talks about a genesis, of a violent kind, when our cities become the hallmarks of the modern global world order, in a crass Nehruvian manner of speaking.

This is the India of the 21^st century; an amalgamation of contradictions. God, I love this country. And, it seems, the makers of Shanghai do so too. Shanghai is a rare gem of a movie. Many won't like it, because it raises uncomfortable questions. Many like to see the glass as half full. But optimism doesn’t change the fact that the water in it is dirty. 

So long, and Bharat mata ki jai.