A collage from a movie critic’s scrapbook

November 24, 2014 10:42 pm | Updated 10:42 pm IST

DISPATCHES FROM THE WALL CORNER: Baradwaj Rangan; Tranquebar Press, 61, Silverline Building, II Floor, Alapakkam Main Road, Maduravoyal, Chennai-600095. Rs. 699.

DISPATCHES FROM THE WALL CORNER: Baradwaj Rangan; Tranquebar Press, 61, Silverline Building, II Floor, Alapakkam Main Road, Maduravoyal, Chennai-600095. Rs. 699.

The cover of Baradwaj Rangan’s second book, Dispatches from the Wall Corner , is in a way portentous of the mental pictures that you will be left nostalgically savouring after reading the book. It has Amitabh Bachchan, Rajinikanth, Kamal Haasan and Deepika Padukone sharing equal space in a collage just under the title. The pictures are all in black and white, apt and indicative of the ‘journey through Indian cinema’ that Rangan’s opinions take you on.

The book is an anthology of the national award-winning journalist’s writings of the last decade, scrupulously collected and compiled across various categories — actors, Hindi cinema, directors, music, Tamil cinema, and the segment he’s probably most famous for, reviews. The title, you realise as you’re reading his introduction, is a nod to his preference for watching films from the wall corner of theatres (is there a better place?).

First things first, reviews. After all, he won the National Film Award for being the Best Film Critic in 2005. At the outset, he makes it abundantly clear that the reviews in the book are not facts. While it may seem like a fairly plain statement to make, you catch yourself going back to it during the infrequent times that you disagree with his points. Whether you agree with the reviews or not, there’s little doubt that they are a whole lot of fun to read. He is the reviewer equivalent of that school teacher you loved, the one who taught you without ever making the art of instruction seem onerous. A line in his review of Taare Zameen Par (2007), for example, reads, “Aamir Khan’s eyes well up with tears. It’s no wonder that he (Aamir Khan) asks for a glass of water; you’re not surprised considering his constant loss of fluids.” The line, written as an extension of the problematisation of Aamir Khan, the actor, in the film, is an example of how the scholarliness of his film analysis is often made easily digestible by entertaining writing.

He describes Tamil director Mysskin’s films as containing “equal parts silence and equal parts score”. Dispatches from the Wall Corner , similarly, is equal parts Hindi and equal parts Tamil. Being a Tamil film enthusiast, the Tamil writing was of particular interest to me; just like how you’d invest more interest into an anecdote about your friend than one about a neighbour you don’t interact with often.

An anthology by its nature can both be a bad thing and a good thing, depending on the reader. While some may find it difficult to move on afresh to the next piece of unconnected writing despite the all-encompassing umbrella of commercial cinema that towers over its contents, I found this innate disconnect to be a respite from the monotony one is bound to feel when reading non-fiction. While even the masterful and gloriously entertaining Christopher Hitchens’ books (God is not Great, for instance) become a bit tedious towards the middle, an anthology such as Rangan’s allows you breathers and even lets you pick and choose between its contents, if that’s your style. The only problem is one of insufficiency sometimes. The piece titled ‘Love Letter to a Love Story’, for instance, suggests the possibility of unresolved sexual tension between Kamal Haasan and Sridevi in Moondram Pirai (1982), and brings to our attention possible evidence of this. Just as you are invested in the film and its intriguing analysis by Rangan, it’s over, and it’s time for a new piece, a new film, a new angle.

You remember then that the anthology is, after all, his writing for media organisations, and length in media comes at a premium. While you don’t begrudge him this lack of length, you can’t but move on to the next piece, kicking and screaming and wishing for more content in the previous piece that you so enjoyed reading; almost like a child who cries and screams her way to the new school, even though she won’t take long to settle down there at all. And you do too.

The book is also full of factlets. In between all the analysis and carefully worded insightful observations lie a world of celebrity-related trivia that can lighten up the most mundane of conversations. After all, we live in a world where personal anecdotes are often less valued than those about celebrities. Director Selvaraghavan suffered from retinoblastoma, a cancer of the retina. Lyricist Thamarai is a Harry Potter fan and an LTTE sympathiser. Actress Sarika hates wearing makeup.

Director K. Balachander wishes that the world had let him direct more comedies. Director Bala, unhappy with a bad review, refused an interview. You get the idea. As you flip the last page of the book, it is understandable if you take a deep breath, just as you would when a roller-coaster comes to a halt.

The swift journey through Indian cinema that Rangan has taken you on is over, and your understanding of actors from Dev Anand to Kangna Ranaut and films from Sholay to Onaayum Aattukkuttiyum is that much richer.

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