india

The Pool

by James McNally on April 5, 2009

in Theatrical Release

The Pool

The Pool (Director: Chris Smith): Documentary film­maker Chris Smith (American Movie, The Yes Men) makes his return to nar­rative storytelling with this modest film set in Goa, an area of India known for its beach resorts. Venkatesh is a young “room boy” working for a hotel who spies a seem­ingly vacant hol­iday house with a shim­mering swim­ming pool. He becomes obsessed with finding out who lives in the house and is determ­ined to work his way into their lives so he can swim in the pool. His life is hard; he and his young friend Jhangir work sev­eral jobs, including a gig where they re-sell plastic bags at the market to make some extra cash. They’ve come here from their vil­lage to make a living, and neither can read or write, having long given up hope of ever attending school. It’s touching to see their friend­ship, con­sid­ering that Venkatesh is 18 and Jhangir only 10. The younger boy is more like a little brother, although he’s easily as street­wise as Venkatesh.

One day Venkatesh notices a man sit­ting in a chair by the pool, and over the next few days, from his vantage point in a nearby tree, he real­izes there’s also a beau­tiful young woman living there. When he sees the man tending his garden and scolding the girl for not helping him, he springs into action. Although he can’t read, he buys a book on gardening and has a co-worker at the hotel read it to him. With his new-found know­ledge of plants, he fol­lows the man to a local garden centre and offers his help bringing sup­plies back to his home. Although the man doesn’t talk much, Venkatesh gradu­ally insinu­ates him­self into steady work in the garden of the house. He’s intrigued by the fact that no one ever seems to go into the pool, and by the ten­sion between the man and (as it turns out) his daughter.

He and Jhangir also follow the daughter, Ayesha, as she takes a daily walk to the park to read her book, and soon they are bringing her lunch and inviting her on adven­tures. Although she seems lazy and spoiled when we first meet her, we soon realize that Ayesha is just bored, and is also car­rying the scorn of her father for some unex­plained misdeed.

Soon Venkatesh has charmed both father and daughter and the mys­tery of the pool is revealed, leading to an incred­ibly moving and sur­prising conclusion.

Smith’s doc­u­mentary back­ground serves him well. Nothing feels staged here, and he coaxes incred­ibly nat­ural per­form­ances from his mostly non­pro­fes­sional cast (who get to use their real names). Scenes are gen­er­ally short and com­mu­nicate just enough inform­a­tion to keep the story moving for­ward. Though the cam­er­a­work is a bit shaky, it added a sense of reality to the film, as if we were almost spying on the action. Incredibly, though the film was shot in Hindi, in addi­tion to it not being under­stood by the dir­ector, it wasn’t the first lan­guage of the two main child actors. Nor could they speak English, or read. So the chal­lenges facing the pro­duc­tion seemed incred­ibly tough, though I think anyone would agree that the end result was worth it.

I haven’t seen Slumdog Millionaire yet, but I’m cer­tain that this small film has more heart and more reality than the Oscar-winner. And though in a per­fect world the suc­cess of Danny Boyle’s film would benefit The Pool, I worry that this gem of a story will be over­looked. Don’t let it happen.

Official site of the film

The Pool opened on Friday April 3rd at the Cumberland theatre in Toronto.

9/10(9/10)

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Though the full lineup won’t be announced until tomorrow, a little bird has let me know that Joshua Weinstein’s doc­u­mentary Flying on One Engine will premiere at SXSW. This one looks unmissable.

Dr. Sharadkumar Dicksheet is a wheelchair-bound larynx-less sur­geon who nev­er­the­less travels often to India to per­form dozens of free sur­geries on severely deformed chil­dren. Though he appears frail, not sur­pris­ingly since his heart func­tions at only 18% of its capa­city, the mara­thon sur­gery ses­sions seem to give him energy. Did I men­tion that he’s been nom­in­ated for the Nobel Peace Prize eight times? Weinstein’s film prom­ises to share much more of this very spe­cial man’s life with us.

Here’s an inter­view with the dir­ector that gives us a hint of what’s in store.

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OT: Our Town (USA, 2002, Scott Hamilton Kennedy, dir­ector): What hap­pens when Dominguez High School in Compton, California decides to put on a school play for the first time in twenty years? This doc­u­mentary reveals all. This is an exper­i­ence so genuine and thrilling, so full of real char­ac­ters and real drama, that you’d think it would be a dra­matic fea­ture (ie. a made-up story). Despite less than per­fect video and sound quality, this impeccably-edited doc­u­mentary pulls us into the lives of a group of tal­ented, cre­ative high school stu­dents in a place mostly known for “gangsta rap.” 9/10

A Peck On The Cheek (India, 2002, Mani Ratnam, dir­ector): This is the first Indian film I’ve seen in the Tamil lan­guage, and while it does share some sim­il­ar­ities with other Indian films (won­derful music and cho­reo­graphy, sweeping storyline), the dir­ector attempts more than just to enter­tain. The film tells the story of Amudha, a pre­co­cious nine-year old whose par­ents reveal to her that she was adopted, thus begin­ning an odyssey that takes them all from India to war-torn Sri Lanka. Gorgeous visuals mix with hor­ri­fying scenes of viol­ence expressly to make a point, though it is a simplistic one. Amudha is played by P.S. Keerthana, and she is one of the few child actors I’ve seen who can be pre­co­cious and yet not annoying. Her charm and beauty held the film together. 9/10

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Movie Night

by James McNally on September 1, 2002

in DVD

Brooke is away until tomorrow, so tonight I invited Brent (my ex-roommate and best man) over to sample my latest culinary tri­umph, Apple and Caraway Stuffed Chicken Breasts (I changed the recipe to leave out the cur­rants). Don’t worry. I’ve made this for Brooke twice already. We ate dinner watching The Man Who Came To Dinner (1942), accom­panied by half a bottle of Château La Baronne. Things sure have changed since my bach­elor days!

The movie was fine, but marred I think by some odd casting. Bette Davis is great, but playing opposite her was some rube named Richard Travis, who was abso­lutely wooden and boring. It’s no wonder he was lim­ited to B-movies for the rest of his career. And Jimmy Durante? Well, it’s a good thing his screen time was lim­ited to about 15 minutes, as that’s about all I could take. I love screw­ball com­edies, but there are many finer examples than this. From this era alone, you could take His Girl Friday (1940), or The Philadelphia Story (1940), or any of Preston Sturges’ films (The Lady Eve (1941), The Palm Beach Story (1942), Sullivan’s Travels (1942)). It’s true that they don’t make films like this any­more, and The Man Who Came To Dinner would be a great film if released today. It’s just not that great when com­pared to some of the other greats of its time.

By way of con­trast, this morning I watched a recent Bollywood block­buster, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1998). Unbelievably corny, and filled with impossible plot twists; nev­er­the­less, I was com­pletely absorbed. The chem­istry between the two leads was very real, and the emo­tions were genuine. Well before the pre­dict­ably happy ending, I was reaching for the Kleenex.

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Bollywood Shuffle

by James McNally on July 9, 2002

in DVD

I’ve become inter­ested in the Hindi film industry (often referred to as “Bollywood”) over the past few months. I’ll admit that what got me inter­ested were the song from a film called Gumnaam (1965) which was used in Ghost World (2001) and some of the music from Moulin Rouge! (2001). I bought a film called Sholay (1975) from a site called IndiaWeekly and was pleased to note that most Bollywood DVDs are not only long (three hours is average), but also ridicu­lously cheap, at least from this vendor. I think the disc was US$6.99.

Well, today I decided to try to track down some Indian DVDs here in Toronto. I found a bunch of Indian gro­cery stores around Bloor and Lansdowne and pro­ceeded to look for some titles I’m inter­ested in: Company (2002), Satya (1998), Amar Akbar Anthony (1977), and Jewel Thief (1967). Though these are all avail­able online, I thought I’d try for a little instant grat­i­fic­a­tion. Well, it was like pulling teeth. All Indian gro­cery stores seem to rent discs, but trying to buy one is an ordeal. They sell them, but don’t have them on dis­play. Instead, they’d ask, “Which ones are you looking for?” and then search for them. I tried four dif­ferent stores, and none of them had any of the discs I was searching for. And when I asked how much they usu­ally sell for, I was told $25–35. Hello, IndiaWeekly? Clickety Click!

Oh, and last night? Well, last night we felt brain­less and rented Shallow Hal (2001), the latest from the Farrelly brothers. It was actu­ally pretty sen­ti­mental and “feel-good.” Unfortunately, it wasn’t very funny. And when it tried to be funny, it used either the self-deprecating humour of a man with spina bifida (which wasn’t funny), or relied on the old tried-and-true fat jokes, which in addi­tion to run­ning counter to the film’s “mes­sage,” also weren’t funny. It did manage a few moments of charm, but overall, I think the Farrellys are get­ting soft.

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