Home to Alter Egos | Movie Buff | Existentialist | Surrealist | Bibliophile | Writer and Editor at High on Films
Vishal Bhardwaj's delicate attempt to capture the fleeting nature of innocence may not have aged well, but is still syrupy enough to give a fever rush of charm and wonder. The Blue Umbrella is soaked in Himachal culture, picturesque nature and led by an eccentric Pankaj Kapur who steals the scenes effortlessly.
However, this still feels like an usual case where excessive runtime exceeds the simple purpose of the story and its straightforward morale compass. The Blue Umbrella would have worked better as a short film rather than being of feature length.
Neeraj Ghaywan has distilled a plethora of emotions ranging from forbidden love, feminism, unfulfilled longings, to the sheer rage at the caste divide prevalent in our society, and poured it in his art with deft subtlety. He mesmerizes with such an unearthly aura in "Geeli Pucchi" that the remaining short stories pale in front of its magnanimous scope and fragile naivety.
As for others, "Majnu" was lame as heck, an impish, worn out leaf out of the success story of…
"She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I hate to look into those eyes
And see an ounce of pain."
Such warmth. Such affection. And such splendid uniqueness. It's as if our eternal sun has engulfed the artificiality of society and all that remains is bright light of healing. It's as if we have reshaped our language back to its primal senses, shunning away the euphemisms so that our feelings are no longer merely…
"She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks, she was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always - Lolita. Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin. My soul."
I remember reading Lolita when I was nineteen. Against summer morning breezes while inhaling sweet grass scents, I was amazed at the sheer madness of love. It…