Rahman didn't do JaiHo! Rediculus article $ Pavan Kumar $ wrote: > http://www.counterp unch.org/ yearsley04102009 .html > The Musical Patriot > My Journey to the Heart of Rahman > By DAVID YEARSLEY > After I dedicated a column to the manifold errors of the soundtrack to > Slumdog Millionaire by Oscar laureate A. R. Rahman the emails poured in from > the sub-continent. Many admitted that they were glad to hear the Musical > Patriot abuse a feel-good film about Indian poverty and denigrate its > implausible music of redemption. Others thought my commentary ill-informed > and cruel, and suggested that I would have rather have seen all the main > characters killed off or mutilated to the tune of depressing laments. > By coincidence I took in a screening of The Battle of Algiers a few days > after the column appeared back in March, and witnessed again the harrowing > torture scene that begins the film and to which Slumdog’stepid interrogation > opener pays unwitting homage. The original score of The Battle of Algiers is > the work of the incomparable Ennio Morricone, but the director Gillo > Pontecorvo involved himself directly in choosing other music to follow > important themes of the conflict. What we hear after the grim extraction of > information by French interrogators from the small, aged Algerian is the > opening chorus of Bach’s Matthew Passion, whose throbbing bass line and > gnashing chromaticism tells us that we are in for brutal epic. It’s not just > that Bach is a better composer than Rahman; few would contest that. Rather, > Pontecorvo and Morricone understood that there is nothing in such cases there > is nothing more difficult than truth, a necessary precondition for > reconciliation. > What I argued in my prosecutorial brief against Slumdog was that a soundtrack > that avoids any real confrontation with its difficult subject matter, indeed > numbs the viewer to the implications of the images on screen, and should not > be trusted. The two-fisted Oscar for Rahman only confirmed my suspicions. The > award is a dual barometer of manipulation and mediocrity. > Along the many good-humored, funny, and gloriously vituperative emails I > received, I had the good fortune to be corrected on one matter by Nandhu > Sundaram, chief copy editor of the Times of London, who informed me that “a > brilliant piece of criticism on A R Rahman’s music was marred by a slight > factual error.” How gently did my correspondent point out a gaff that was > hardly “slight.” Turns out, as Mr. Sundaram, and many others from India and > elsewhere let me know, that Rahman did not, as I had claimed, write the music > and lyrics for the closing song, “Jai Ho”—heard for the film’s concluding > song sequence, the last gasp nod to Bollywood staged with the final credits. > “Jai Ho” won Oscar for best song. The words were in fact written by Gulzar, > who, as an email from Sajay Janardhana Kurup instructed me, is “A Famous > Indian Lyrisct who accepted a Muslim Pen name though being a Hindu.” > I stand corrected many times over! Gulzar it is your lyrics that are crap! > Rather than continue to simmer in my scorn for Slumdog I have now embarked > on a study of Rahman’s work under the long-distance tutelage of Professor > Nilanjana Bhattacharjya of Colorado College. She’s an expert on Bollywood > music, and has this to say about Slumdog: > “I can't begin to explain how tired I am of hearing about this film and what > I think is some of A.R. Rahman's weakest work, so I am grateful (schadenfroh, > more accurately) to see critiques of the film that are not based in its > depiction of poor people in India, and Indian people's supposed inability to > deal with seeing its dirty laundry. (It's hard to avoid unless you're blind, > and that view overlooks a long history of extremely popular films in which > significantly disadvantaged people get treated horrifically, fight against > the system, and claw their way through to come out ahead despite their never > being asked to be on an inane game show.” > Professor Bhattacharjya has an illuminating article in the most recent issue > of the journal Asian Music on song sequences in popular Hindi Film; though > her focus in this essay is movies of the Indian diaspora, it has much to say > about Western attitudes about this vast corpus. A crucial part of Asian music > cultural, the song sequence (banished to the closing credits in Slumdog) > often seems to those new to this cinematic experience like irrelevant > intrusions into the narrative. These long, and at their best, sumptuously > choreographed and orchestrated sequences suspend the temporal progression of > events, reveling instead in spectacle and sentiment. In this respect > Bollywood is not unlike opera seria of the 18th-century, where the narrative > flow is continually interrupted by lengthy arias that explore the emotional > state of their characters rather than push the plot forward. Because these > song sequences, as in the case of opera’s arias, last so long, the > films, like the operas, tend themselves to be epic events: three hours and > intermission is a common enough format in both genres. These attitude towards > the song sequence bears some reflection. > Hollywood and its obedient consumers seem to think that car chases and the > demolition of people and buildings do not constitute detours from the > “story,” but in general these sequences are hardly less stagey in their the > usurpation of the cinematic moment are than Indian dance numbers or European > opera arias. The scream of sirens is Hollywood’s coloratura, the squeal of > brakes its cadenza, the explosion its thundering timpani. Indeed, after > watching enough Bollywood, one returns more reluctantly than ever to > Hollywood’s formulaic action sequences and finds them surprisingly stagnant, > a cultural form of entertainment far more artificial—and expensive—than the > tableaux vivant of Indian film. For all its frenzy, Hollywood action usually > ends up going nowhere. Bollywood can destroy things, too, but it seems to > invest its creative energy most vigorously in song and dance, rather than > high-speed shoot-‘em-and-blow-‘em-ups. > I’ve begun my encounter with Rahman’s massive and quickly-expanding oeuvre > with his sprawling score to Lagaan, which was nominated for best foreign film > by that same Academy back in 2001. The movie rather archly stages the > colonial encounter with the British on a dusty improvised cricket ground in > 19th-century India. On that field a rag tag group of villagers quickly learn > the colonial regime’s game, even while taking time off to sing and dance, and > then miraculously defeating the local regiment. The victory gains villagers a > three-year reprieve from the crushing grain tax (Lagaan) imposed on them by > the redcoats. > I’ll admit that deflecting the violence and repression of colonialism onto > the cricket pitch seemed to me a bit like having the Sioux take on the 7th > Cavalry in game of baseball to decide who gets the Black Hills. The > Untouchable taken grudgingly onto the Lagaan team and who’s a preternatural > spinbowler with a mean “googly” would be something like the discovery that > Sitting Bull turns out to have mastered the bunt thanks to all those years > counting coup, setting the stage for the decisive suicide squeeze play that > turns out to be Custer’s Little Bighorn. Anyway, I hope that the premise of > Lagaan was at least partly inflected with irony, especially given the > ultimate ascendance of Indian and Pakistani cricket in terms of market share > and sporting talent, as Tariq Ali shows in a wonderful article on the sport > in a recent issue of the London Review of Books, > Still, the parched and varied landscape of rural Indian of Lagaan, and the > peasants clad in stylish and pristine homespun, provides the ideal backdrop > and cast for the sweep of Rahman’s melody and his mastery for pacing musical > effects over a long sequences. Slumdog showed Rahman can deftly wield his > musical airbrush, but his talent demands a grand scale so his ideas can > gather momentum and the sonic feast they serve up can be savored. > Next I watched Taal (1999), a film that follows an innocent mountain girl’s > discovery by a slimy producer (played by Anil Kapoor, the game show host from > Slumdog) and her transformation into a musical superstar. Here again Rahman > is at the top of his multi-faceted game of creating atmosphere with his > intense, arching melodies and billowing harmonies and special musical > effects. Aside from its colorful score and diverse song sequences that range > from rural ritual to urban techno flash, the film also boasts one of the most > carefully staged Coca Cola product placement contrivances in the history of > world cinema. At a lavish reception, the cosmopolitan hero, more doughy than > dashing, stops a drinks attendant and slakes his thirst from a Coke bottle, > then sends it on to the mountain girl clumped with her sisters on the far > side of the party gathering. Needless to say, she can’t help but grab the > bottle from her sister, and touch her lips to the sweet > glass where his had just been. > Subtly erotic flourishes of music—all shimmering bangles and echoing female > vocalizations punctuated by intermittent claps and bursts of disco > energy—follow the progress of the bottle from one set of lips to another. > Making big brown eyes at our hero, she doesn’t drink, but strolls out of > frame, the bottle pressed to her breast. Rahman now goes for the Romantic > surge, and the hero follows her as she fondles the bottle lovingly. He > waits, we wait, for the corporately sponsored kiss, but the mountain girl > suddenly pours the bottle into a nearby potted geranium, as Rahman’s music > wilts along with the hero’s ardor. It seems clear that Rahman’s got a sense > of humor, one strangled by Slumdog’s pawing sentimentality. > The real first kiss in Taal comes in the next scene against the backdrop of > the Himalayan foothills, but we all know that sweet syrup still clings to > lovers’ lips. At this consummation of a sort, Rahman deploys his global > mastery of cinematic affect: his Love Story piano, Bacharach strings, and > transcendental, textless chorus bed the fully-clothed couple down on the soft > and verdant grass above steep bluffs. Much of Rahman’s greatness seems to lie > in the fact that he, too, has no shame: even with all the studio contrivances > and effects, he really knows how to let himself go. > Now queued up on my Rahman docket is Dil Se from 1998 which, Professor > Bhattacharjya tells me, will deal with terrorism, ethnic conflict and other > urgent issues. I can’t wait to see the dance numbers. If Rossini can do > justice to the freedom fighter William Tell, I don’t doubt that the Mozart of > Madras can offer untold insights into the horrors of globalization and ethnic > conflict, or at least overcome the implausible with his music’s alternation > of bittersweet strains and world-beating rhythmic drive. At this rate, it > will take me dozens of lifetime’s to work through Rahman’s oeuvre, and by the > time I catch up he’ll have already moved on to his next film, seated in his > opulent studio among his synthesizers wrapped in the swirling sonorities that > have already conquered the world. > David Yearsley teaches at Cornell University. A long-time contributor to the > Anderson Valley Advertiser, he is author of Bach and the Meanings of > Counterpoint His latest CD, “All Your Cares Beguile: Songs and Sonatas from > Baroque London”, has just been released by Musica Omnia. He can be reached at > d...@cornell. edu >
