This is with reference to an article titled ‘Faith of millions cannot be doubted’ by Bhadra Sinha published on the Hindustan Times website (02 May 2008).
It is incredible that a mind as astute as senior advocate KK Venugopal's can confuse the difference between fact and faith. If we have to accept the existence of the Ram Setu just because 800 million people believe in it, then we shouldn't condemn the early church for condemning Galileo as a heretic. If we’re willing to let the faith of millions to represent fact, then we’re condoning the attitude of ‘Might is Right’.
The article goes on to state, “...just like it is a matter of faith that Christ was crucified in Golgotha Hills in Jerusalem and needs no verification, a similar belief and religious faith of 800 million Hindus are attached to ‘Rama Setu’.” For Mr Venugopal’s information, the life and death of Jesus Christ isn’t a matter of faith. To insist that the Crucifixion is only a matter of faith is akin to saying that Hannibal’s crossing of the Alps, Alexander’s forays into India and the entire Egyptian civilization are matters of faith.
Christ’s death has been well documented by the Romans (whose accounts have been shown to be historically accurate). Funnily enough we don’t seem to question the authenticity of accounts by Roman historians in other areas. Nobody denies the veracity of Nero’s excesses or the gladiatorial contests. However, whenever it’s a question of Christ’s life and death, everybody seems to doubt the Roman Empire’s ability to record history accurately.
The world lapped up Dan Brown’s ‘The Da Vinci Code’ with great enthusiasm. Here was ‘conclusive proof’ that the man who once claimed to be God was actually human after all. Strangely enough nobody seemed to understand that accepting this book entailed accepting the existence of Christ as well. However, the world had a great Jesus-bashing time and continues to do so. Whether or not it gets its own arguments in a twist is hardly an issue at all.
So I guess the world (and Mr KK Venugopal) needs to get its facts right. Rather, the world needs to make up its mind as to whether it wants to deny the very existence of Christ, or whether it wants to deny his deity. Both claims cannot exist simultaneously. Till the time consensus is reached, let’s not mock our own intelligence with such ignorant arguments. And let’s stop using Christianity as a punching bag for all matters spiritual.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The experiment that went horribly right.
They say bands go soft with age. Maybe all the sex, drugs and alcohol does something to their brains. Maybe it makes them wiser (or is it woozier?). Or is it just reality turning up at their doorstep unannounced one day and scaring them into maturity? Nevertheless, Why do bands mellow? seems to be a question that plagues fans every time a band or artiste releases an album more than 5 years after they debut. (An exception to the rule, of course, is Madonna who is a different kettle of kitsch. But we haven’t gathered here to discuss the Material Girl.)
Bringing the debate to the fore are four gentlemen whose brilliance has slotted them beside U2 and Radiohead not just as the best thing to come out of the UK since, well U2 and Radiohead, but for possessing the uncanny ability to express what we’ve always wanted to say but neither found the right words nor the tunes. (Haven’t you always wanted to write something that began with I wrote a song for you and it was called ‘Yellow’? Come on, you have, haven’t you?) With their latest ‘experiment’ Viva La Vida (seemingly indulgently subtitled ‘or Death and All His Friends’), Messrs. Martin, Buckland, Berryman & Champion seem to have rediscovered the mystique that drew all of us to them circa above-mentioned Yellow. Albeit without the does-it-have-to-be-so-loud piano. The added bonus is that Mr Martin’s falsetto appears less frequently than before. It’s as if he teases you into wanting it, and then when you can’t take it anymore gives you a generous earful.
Allegedly, the band’s reason for Viva La Vida is that they’d become too predictable for their own good and wanted to see if they could resurrect themselves from the mire of their own success. They have. It’s as if every member, having attained his own personal nirvana, has been reincarnated sans demons, monsters, baggage and cliches. The tracks are so unlike the Coldplay we have of late begun to despair of. The lyrics provoke the mind without patting themselves on the back for having done so.
Then there’s the liberal sprinkling of strings. Like reins in the foaming mouths of each song that drives the album, the strings lead every single track with such skilful deliberation that none of them strays from the objective of earning the band a new sense of respect in the eyes of fans and skeptics alike. And like Clocks the title track seems to possess the ability to grant the listener a sense of weightlessness, supreme confidence and faith in humanity. Ironic then, that such feelings should be evoked from a song about death.
One might argue that it is producer Brian Eno who has breathed new life into the foursome. But that can easily be countered by the former’s recent divorce from the hottie-at-forty Ms Shania Twain. Whatever the source of inspiration, Coldplay certainly has outdone themselves. With Viva La Vida they’ve taken us to a place we always wanted to go. A place that’s not on the map but in our heads. Ladies and Gentlemen, please raise your glasses thank you.
Bringing the debate to the fore are four gentlemen whose brilliance has slotted them beside U2 and Radiohead not just as the best thing to come out of the UK since, well U2 and Radiohead, but for possessing the uncanny ability to express what we’ve always wanted to say but neither found the right words nor the tunes. (Haven’t you always wanted to write something that began with I wrote a song for you and it was called ‘Yellow’? Come on, you have, haven’t you?) With their latest ‘experiment’ Viva La Vida (seemingly indulgently subtitled ‘or Death and All His Friends’), Messrs. Martin, Buckland, Berryman & Champion seem to have rediscovered the mystique that drew all of us to them circa above-mentioned Yellow. Albeit without the does-it-have-to-be-so-loud piano. The added bonus is that Mr Martin’s falsetto appears less frequently than before. It’s as if he teases you into wanting it, and then when you can’t take it anymore gives you a generous earful.
Allegedly, the band’s reason for Viva La Vida is that they’d become too predictable for their own good and wanted to see if they could resurrect themselves from the mire of their own success. They have. It’s as if every member, having attained his own personal nirvana, has been reincarnated sans demons, monsters, baggage and cliches. The tracks are so unlike the Coldplay we have of late begun to despair of. The lyrics provoke the mind without patting themselves on the back for having done so.
Then there’s the liberal sprinkling of strings. Like reins in the foaming mouths of each song that drives the album, the strings lead every single track with such skilful deliberation that none of them strays from the objective of earning the band a new sense of respect in the eyes of fans and skeptics alike. And like Clocks the title track seems to possess the ability to grant the listener a sense of weightlessness, supreme confidence and faith in humanity. Ironic then, that such feelings should be evoked from a song about death.
One might argue that it is producer Brian Eno who has breathed new life into the foursome. But that can easily be countered by the former’s recent divorce from the hottie-at-forty Ms Shania Twain. Whatever the source of inspiration, Coldplay certainly has outdone themselves. With Viva La Vida they’ve taken us to a place we always wanted to go. A place that’s not on the map but in our heads. Ladies and Gentlemen, please raise your glasses thank you.
Monday, June 2, 2008
He Was A Has-been.
Probably best known for playing second-lead to Kevin Costner (Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves) and John Travolta (Broken Arrow), and eminently forgettable in the beguilingly important role of ‘Easily fooled security guard’ (Austin Powers: International man of mystery), Mr Christian Slater has had numerous second-chances to claim his place alongside Hollywood’s elite. Fate however has consistently Britney-ed him. (The fact that Britney’s rise was actually Mr Slater’s and that she stole it from him is a theory that begs consideration but must be kept aside, albeit temporarily, for further investigation).
Other lesser stars (and I believe, even lesser-accomplished actors) have managed to get the tills ringing (Colin Farrell included) but not Mr Slater. His has been a most baleful lot. Until now.
He returns to the screen, cast against his image of erstwhile-one-of-100-most-sexiest-American-men, as a balding employee in a corporate mammoth. A statistic bullied by hipper, hornier and more hirsute colleagues, Bob Maconel is your quintessential everyman. He considers himself an intellectual, he just wants to be left alone, and when he is, he fancies himself as shag-material for the office tramp. Only difference is he has a talking goldfish. Aha!
Now you see where we’re going? Now you see that it wasn’t desperation that prompted Mr Slater to accept the role? Now you see that it wasn’t ineptitude but unadulterated brilliance on the casting director’s part to cast Mr Slater? Do ya? Huh?
Anyway, He Was A Quiet Man is written and directed by Mr Frank A. Cappello who also wrote the regrettable Constantine. With He Was A Quiet Man, he deals with the more surreal aspects of reality. Like nursing a beautiful quadriplegic and making love to her just to reaffirm her sense of self. Thankfully, it is Ms Elisha Cuthbert who plays the role of said quadriplegic.
As the sleaze of office politics unfolds after the shootout that confines Ms Cuthbert to her wheelchair, Bob Maconel begins to wrestle with issues about his lady love and their highly unlikely future together. What’s interesting to watch is Mr Slater in a role that’s so unlike him and how he goes about doing it absolute justice. (It’s like Arnie playing Hamlet. And doing a bang-up job of it. Well, sorta.)
He Was A Quiet Man is unlikely to be Mr Slater’s comeback. However it sure as hell is an affirmation of his pedigree as an actor. And it does make for interesting viewing. Only jigger-up is the twist at the end. It’s an oft-employed tool which means you’re left with the feeling that you could definitely come up with a better ending but you’re not quite sure what it is.
Overall rating: High 6, really low 7 (like 7.00000000001.00000001)
Plot: Above 6.5 for sure (and then drops to about 5.5 at the end)
Acting: Go Christian! Go Christian!
Watch it again? Only if Ms Cuthbert asks me to. Very nicely.
Other lesser stars (and I believe, even lesser-accomplished actors) have managed to get the tills ringing (Colin Farrell included) but not Mr Slater. His has been a most baleful lot. Until now.
He returns to the screen, cast against his image of erstwhile-one-of-100-most-sexiest-American-men, as a balding employee in a corporate mammoth. A statistic bullied by hipper, hornier and more hirsute colleagues, Bob Maconel is your quintessential everyman. He considers himself an intellectual, he just wants to be left alone, and when he is, he fancies himself as shag-material for the office tramp. Only difference is he has a talking goldfish. Aha!
Now you see where we’re going? Now you see that it wasn’t desperation that prompted Mr Slater to accept the role? Now you see that it wasn’t ineptitude but unadulterated brilliance on the casting director’s part to cast Mr Slater? Do ya? Huh?
Anyway, He Was A Quiet Man is written and directed by Mr Frank A. Cappello who also wrote the regrettable Constantine. With He Was A Quiet Man, he deals with the more surreal aspects of reality. Like nursing a beautiful quadriplegic and making love to her just to reaffirm her sense of self. Thankfully, it is Ms Elisha Cuthbert who plays the role of said quadriplegic.
As the sleaze of office politics unfolds after the shootout that confines Ms Cuthbert to her wheelchair, Bob Maconel begins to wrestle with issues about his lady love and their highly unlikely future together. What’s interesting to watch is Mr Slater in a role that’s so unlike him and how he goes about doing it absolute justice. (It’s like Arnie playing Hamlet. And doing a bang-up job of it. Well, sorta.)
He Was A Quiet Man is unlikely to be Mr Slater’s comeback. However it sure as hell is an affirmation of his pedigree as an actor. And it does make for interesting viewing. Only jigger-up is the twist at the end. It’s an oft-employed tool which means you’re left with the feeling that you could definitely come up with a better ending but you’re not quite sure what it is.
Overall rating: High 6, really low 7 (like 7.00000000001.00000001)
Plot: Above 6.5 for sure (and then drops to about 5.5 at the end)
Acting: Go Christian! Go Christian!
Watch it again? Only if Ms Cuthbert asks me to. Very nicely.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
The train that ran out of steam.
When someone makes a movie out of a book that someone else wrote, you can’t help but wonder why. Is it financial considerations? Is it the chance to work with big stars? Perhaps it is an opportunity to reinterpret a seminal piece of work and thereby attempt to garner a share of the spotlight that would have otherwise not presented itself. We do not have the luxury of ascertaining Mr James Mangold’s (Walk The Line) motives for directing Elmore Leonard’s short story, 3:10 To Yuma, but we must admit he’s done a decent job of it.
Mind you I haven’t read Mr Leonard’s fifteen pager, but having seen the movie, I am certain I will. Not for the plot (obviously), but for the enviable degree of restraint with which Mr Leonard has crafted his characters. Take for instance Dan Evans (Christian Bale) a very bankrupt rancher/ father/ husband. With one son sick, the other one disillusioned (with his father, that is), a wife who admirably hangs on to her marriage for dear life, Dan Evans seems in possession of all the right motives for what the author wants him to do. Which is risk life and limb (his left leg was already damaged in the war) to escort Ben Wade (Russell Crowe), outlaw-at-large, to a train (the 3:10 to Yuma, silly) that will take him to prison. Simple enough, but somehow, I didn’t buy it. The story, not the movie.
I liked the movie: Russell Crowe was convincing as the psychopathic, sharp-as-hell-shooting, barmaid-seducing, camaraderie-and-hero-worship-inspiring Ben Wade; Christian Bale, like aforementioned co-star, shone too, looking like he had everything and nothing to lose (and made adequate amends for his portrayal of Gotham City’s favourite son); Ben Foster was sufficiently bad-ass as Ben Wade’s lieutenant, Charlie Prince; the others, to their credit, kept out of the way by sticking to their roles. What else? The colours. Loved the way in which the colours of the wild west were so noticeably muted, allowing for a gorgeous palette rarely seen in westerns. Loved the music, which undeniably lifted the actors’ performances. Loved the costumes (you could almost smell the dust and horse shit off them). Yup, there was plenty to love.
And yet, there remained that sneaky, Gollum-like feeling that I’d been done in by IMDB and its 8.0 rating. Even though the movie was pretty decent (and not just in parts), I couldn’t help but feel that the story left me blue-balled. I mean every character in 3:10 just lacked a decent motive. Why doesn’t Dan Evans just take his reward of 200 USD and walk off? Why doesn’t he take Ben Wade’s thousand-dollar bribe? Why doesn’t Ben Wade escape when he has the chance? Why does he get caught in the first place?
Too many whys. Unanswered. I just do not buy that there’s-a-hero-inside-everybody crap. I find it hard to accept a story in which everything happens ‘by accident’. A series of incidents that happen because. However, that’s exactly what life is. A series of incidents that happen because. So maybe I should direct my ire (or is it adulation?) towards Mr Leonard instead. For showing us life for what it is, replete with ‘accidental purposes’. That’s life, oh yes sir! And if you don’t like it, that’s just too bad. Sigh.
Overall rating: Definitely not above 6.5
Plot: A grudging 6.0
Acting: Purty dern good!
Watch it again? Errr… aaaah…ummmmaybe…not
Mind you I haven’t read Mr Leonard’s fifteen pager, but having seen the movie, I am certain I will. Not for the plot (obviously), but for the enviable degree of restraint with which Mr Leonard has crafted his characters. Take for instance Dan Evans (Christian Bale) a very bankrupt rancher/ father/ husband. With one son sick, the other one disillusioned (with his father, that is), a wife who admirably hangs on to her marriage for dear life, Dan Evans seems in possession of all the right motives for what the author wants him to do. Which is risk life and limb (his left leg was already damaged in the war) to escort Ben Wade (Russell Crowe), outlaw-at-large, to a train (the 3:10 to Yuma, silly) that will take him to prison. Simple enough, but somehow, I didn’t buy it. The story, not the movie.
I liked the movie: Russell Crowe was convincing as the psychopathic, sharp-as-hell-shooting, barmaid-seducing, camaraderie-and-hero-worship-inspiring Ben Wade; Christian Bale, like aforementioned co-star, shone too, looking like he had everything and nothing to lose (and made adequate amends for his portrayal of Gotham City’s favourite son); Ben Foster was sufficiently bad-ass as Ben Wade’s lieutenant, Charlie Prince; the others, to their credit, kept out of the way by sticking to their roles. What else? The colours. Loved the way in which the colours of the wild west were so noticeably muted, allowing for a gorgeous palette rarely seen in westerns. Loved the music, which undeniably lifted the actors’ performances. Loved the costumes (you could almost smell the dust and horse shit off them). Yup, there was plenty to love.
And yet, there remained that sneaky, Gollum-like feeling that I’d been done in by IMDB and its 8.0 rating. Even though the movie was pretty decent (and not just in parts), I couldn’t help but feel that the story left me blue-balled. I mean every character in 3:10 just lacked a decent motive. Why doesn’t Dan Evans just take his reward of 200 USD and walk off? Why doesn’t he take Ben Wade’s thousand-dollar bribe? Why doesn’t Ben Wade escape when he has the chance? Why does he get caught in the first place?
Too many whys. Unanswered. I just do not buy that there’s-a-hero-inside-everybody crap. I find it hard to accept a story in which everything happens ‘by accident’. A series of incidents that happen because. However, that’s exactly what life is. A series of incidents that happen because. So maybe I should direct my ire (or is it adulation?) towards Mr Leonard instead. For showing us life for what it is, replete with ‘accidental purposes’. That’s life, oh yes sir! And if you don’t like it, that’s just too bad. Sigh.
Overall rating: Definitely not above 6.5
Plot: A grudging 6.0
Acting: Purty dern good!
Watch it again? Errr… aaaah…ummmmaybe…not
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