ENTROPY - Design of Decadence: October 2003

Friday, October 31, 2003

Three Colours.

‘Blue’ is about Julie who survives a car accident that claims her husband and daughter. The accident couldn’t be more unfortunate, because her husband, a renowned music-composer was working on the biggest symphony of his career. The accident breaks Julie, who sells all her property and tries to retreat to a less familiar; thus less painful world. But the memories of her husband and his music keep haunting her as she learns more and more about her husband’s secret life, which she didn’t even know existed. Finally, she completes her husband’s unfinished symphony, and we realize that she was the real composer all along.

‘White’ is about Karol, an award winning Polish hairdresser whose French wife Dominique divorces him because he cannot consummate their marriage, although he has given her pleasure before. The thought of not being able to have him anymore is unbearable to her, and she leaves him with nothing. His troubles are far from over; his passport and money get stolen in Paris, and he is unable to even go back to Poland. Help comes in the form of a fellow Pole, in whose suitcase Karol hides to get back home. The suitcase, however, gets stolen, and Karol gets mercilessly beaten up. Somehow, he makes his way back home, and rebuilds his life. (The film just suddenly takes off here, to another level.) Karol now hatches a master plan for revenge. And just for the way he executes his master plan and fucks his ex-wife up (besides managing to eventually literally fuck her too), is what makes this film is a must see for every woman. (So that she refrains from doing what Dominique did.) Not to mention, man. (So he knows what to do should his spouse do a ‘Dominique’ on him.)

‘Red’ is about Valentine, a young model in France. When her car runs over a dog, she meets a mysterious old man who seems to know her every feeling, her every thought, even her future. Valentine is disgusted at some of the things he does, but an indescribable feeling draws her to him. Their relationship does not involve love, sex or even friendship. It’s a strange meeting of minds where he seems to know everything about her, and she knows nothing about him except for the fact that he is a retired judge. Just before she leaves by yacht for a fashion show in England, he tells her that he dreamt of her as a happy 50 year old woman, waking up next to someone she loves. And the yacht meets with an accident, with only seven survivors out of the 1435 passengers.

I watched this trilogy one film a day over the past three days. All three directed by French director Krzysztof Kieslowski. All three intricately crafted to be character driven. Based on the colours of the French flag, the films depict France as it was in the early ‘90s. And here’s the best part, each film has elements of the other two. References from the other two. Characters and their lives overlapping from the other two. All three films have open endings that are complete in their place, yet leave you thinking. And the brilliance reaches another level altogether with the climax of ‘Red’; the final film in the trilogy; which completes all three films, yet being true to the style of the trilogy, leaves its own ending open to you to think about.

If you haven’t seen this trilogy, rent the DVDs, or ask around for people who own the DVDs, or if you want to make a great investment, buy the DVDs. If you’re really keen but unable to do any of this, and if you live in Bombay, drop me an email and I might let you borrow my DVDs.

Cinema can’t get much better than this.

posted by n.g. at 22:28 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Sunday, October 26, 2003

In Brief.

After a meeting at an office that happens to be in the same building as my very first workplace, I went up to my old office to have a look around. My word, things have changed. The women now are MUCH cuter, the space per cubicle is much lesser, and the agency has changed three names in as many years. I only recognize a few faces now, but then, three years is a lifetime in advertising. The few people who I DID recognize have changed too. Some of them have got married – this one bum who used to live in a small little hovel downtown and spent weekends drinking his liver off has now moved into an apartment uptown, and spends every weekend glued to his wife. Some of them have grown in stature – the current CEO was VP at my time. While Client Servicing Directors and Account executives would wait their turn outside his office, him and me would play snooker on his laptop. I learnt a lot from him during those gaming sessions. He hasn’t got a fancy MBA from a fancy American university. He hasn’t even got a Post Grad. All he has, is common sense. Which he shared with me during those sessions. And believe you me, it has helped. Brushed up my snooker too.

Pulling all-nighters at the office, not going home for days on end – it was fun. Because, my creative group was fun. My Group Heads were wicked - the best brains in the business. One of them just got married, and there was a DJ at his wedding spinning everything from Moby to Leftfield to Paul Oakenfold to Prodigy. Which is the kind of music that would be playing on our work-stations when we were together as a team. It was fun to drink warm rum in the wee hours of the morning when nothing was coming to mind. It was fun to smoke a joint and then suddenly be summoned for an impromptu client presentation, and actually sell the ad. It was heartbreaking to come back empty handed from an awards show. And euphoric every time one’s creative group picked up awards. And of course, there’s nothing quite like the rush one feels when, after slogging long and hard on a script, one sees the commercial on air.

Except for the occasional clutter breaker, I never really noticed press ads or commercials before I actually wrote them. Those three years taught me bad communication from good communication and made me a cynical bastard. And yes, I know ‘good’ creative is subjective.

So based on MY definition of ‘good’ creative, here’s my pick for best continuing ad campaign this year. Each of the following are 20 second spots.

- A little kid gets ready to get his picture taken. Just as the photographer is about the click, his dog jumps into the picture.
- Camera trollies across some desks in a classroom. Stops at this little kid busy with his books. And sitting at his heels, is his dog.
- This little kid runs up to a tree where his kite is stuck. Even as he’s looking up dejectedly at his kite, his dog arrives on the scene and looks up too.

And this one is my favourite.

We see this little dog scampering up and down, under a tree. Up and down he goes, again and again. Camera pulls out – we see the little kid on a swing.

Follow up commercials to the ‘Hutch’ cellular service theme commercial. ‘Wherever you go, our network follows’.

posted by n.g. at 23:22 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Friday, October 17, 2003

Expressions.

An old man sitting on a bench near the beach with his little grandson. Super on screen - Confide.

A bunch of giggly teenage girls in a restaurant speaking in whispers - Conspire.

A little child standing at the refrigerator, his mouth stained with chocolate, looking up at his mum - Confess.

A bunch of Indian Supporters leaving a cricket stadium - Celebrate.

A couple sitting on seperate edges of a sofa. The guy gets an SMS and he smiles - Make up.

A woman speaking in sign language - Speak up.

A staggering number of kids holding up candles (its a beautiful shot, in dark with just the candles for lighting) - Speak out.

A rioting mob - Say No.

A man knelt at someone's grave - Say nothing.

A little girl saying her prayers before sleeping - Be heard.

And my personal favourite -
A blind child reading something. As his fingers move over the text, he smiles, grins and eventually bursts out laughing. Super is a simple smiley. :)

In my humble opinion, this year's best campaign. A commercial campaign for Airtel Cellular Service. Every commercial, shot in black and white with no shooshaa and keeping it as simple as one can. Every commercial moving you ... whether its a smile or that sudden lump in your throat or a grin or a laugh or whatever. Every commercial ending with 'Airtel. Express yourself.'

Brilliant.

posted by n.g. at 22:01 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Sunday, October 12, 2003

V are like this only.

In my first Year of Degree College, I auditioned to be on a Channel V game show. And by some quirk of fate, actually got to be on it. I don’t remember the name anymore, but it was a dating game. Where three guys vie for the girl and that sorta thing. And when this dude mentioned it today, it all came back to me. I was fat at the time. Real Big. I remember doing weird shit like lifting my shirt and wiggling my denim draped butt at the girl from behind a wall, and singing a song to her. The song was ‘I can love you like that’ by All 4 One. It was one of my favourites at the time. And despite that display of butt and the serenading, I didn’t get the girl. She chose another guy coz he could play guitar better than me. Singer Shaan, who was the compere for the show, gave me the ultimate compliment when he introduced me to the girl. Said he, “Of all of them, this guy would’ve always kept you happy.” I guess ‘always’ is too long a timeline for a game show.

I remember being nervous as hell during the shoot. Remember being more interested in the camera they were using to shoot it rather than the girl. Remember being a bit sad when she chose the other guy, and I remember S, my best friend sitting in the audience, screaming so loudly when I was introduced to the girl, that the compere went “Dude, you’ve developed a fan following”. Little things. Great fun. And then when it was S’s turn to vie for some guy, she sang so miserably that all of us laughed our heads off. And I remember at the end of the show, S’s mother went up to the shoot floor and danced.

Wow. Even as I type this, lots of memories come back. The day after the episode aired, I’d just walked into class late after my morning cutting chai as usual, and this real cute girl did a double take on me and said “I saw you on TV yesterday. You were great.” Damn, I thought. People actually watch that shitty show. S and me got complimented, stared at, smiled at, excitedly pointed at, shyly looked at all week. Honestly, I quite enjoyed all the extra attention I received from all the niceeeeee women in college. Tip to short lived stardom – Get yourself on a crappy TV Game show.

Its funny how I’d forgotten all about this. Today, I was reminded about this incident by the most unlikely person. And he actually praised me for having done that. Ha.

Oh and another thing I remember. Draping my arm around Laila Rouass’ lovely waist and looking into her eyes and getting lost for words right in the beginning of the show after she escorted me onto the shoot floor. Maybe that’s why I didn’t get the girl. I’d have preferred Laila ANYDAY. Hell Yeah.

I’ve uploaded some pictures. Click on ‘Pictures’ in the ‘Useful Information’ section. There’s none of my butt though.

posted by n.g. at 23:11 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

Foot Fetishes.

Touching people’s feet is an integral part of Indian culture. And the deal is, unmarried girls mustn’t touch people’s feet – not even their parents’. Married girls however, have got to touch even their brother-in-law’s and sister-in-law’s feet. Guys, whether married or unmarried or gay or whatever, have to touch all elderly folks’ feet. It’s like, tradition. My take on it is that it actually is a show of respect. You respect a person, you touch his or her feet and seek their blessings. So when people raise eyebrows and ask me in whispers why I say “Hi” or “Whatup” to my gazillion aunts and uncles, I just shrug and say I don’t think them feet-touching worthy. I don’t have too much regard for most of them anyway. Then there are people who I love to death – like my aunt Sangeeta in Delhi who I’d rather give a big hug whenever we meet or part. Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh. Yashu, tell your mum I MISS HER! ESPECIALLY WHEN I DRINK TEA EVERY MORNING FROM A STEEL GLASS!!

Anyway back to feet touching. I was a pretty obedient kid and would touch everybody’s feet. Only when I grew up and grew a brain did I see through the farce of it all. The last person whose feet I touched was my ex boss. And not without reason. If not for him, I’d still be sitting in a cube in some advertising agency, writing print ads that no one reads and commercials that no one watches because there’s not enough media budgets to back them. The man taught me practically everything I know about film. He’s my teacher, my guide, my guru. So yeah, whenever I meet him I try and get to those feet. Its kind of difficult though, coz whenever we meet he’s either screaming his head off at some poor assistant director because he or she screwed up, or in the middle of a frantic production, or painstakingly sketching storyboards at his office.

Call me old fashioned or whatever, but I believe being blessed by someone you respect is the closest you can get to being blessed by God himself. That touch of the person’s hand on your head in a silent blessing … is powerful.

However, this simple meaningful tradition has been bastardized and is being forced down everyone’s throats … er … fingers. I hear things like “You MUST touch so-and-so’s feet or they’ll be offended.” And I laugh. Too bad man. They aught to come down from their self placed pedestal. I ain’t touching no fucko’s feet and getting my hands dirty. So a couple of nights ago when a friend told me (over some lovely stir-fry wok, may I add) that she refused to touch her bro and sis-in-law’s feet and completely offended them and her ma-in-law, I felt like thumping her on the back. I resisted though; the poor girl’s trimmed down since college and would probably disintegrate if I did that. My point is, I’m glad she stood up against this downright manipulation of a pure tradition. Fuck that. Enough of being submissive. You respect someone, you touch their feet. You don’t, you smile and say “Yo” or “Hi” or “Whatup” or “How’s it hanging” or whatever depending on the context. Coz if you go out and touch EVERYBODY’S feet, there’s not much of a difference between the people you respect and the people you don’t innit?

posted by n.g. at 23:12 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Saturday, October 04, 2003

Telling Stories.

Amidst the clutter of music videos that are peppered with scantily dressed women dancing to some cheap arse remix of an old Hindi film track, the following video was a breath of fresh air. It’s a really old one; I first saw it even before I went to Singapore.

A photographer (male, late 20s) walks into his studio one morning, and starts up for the day. His studio wall is adorned with pictures of couples, with just one empty space right in the middle. Almost immediately, his first subject enters. A simple, girl-next-door. However, she needs to wait for her boyfriend - the picture has to be taken with him. The photographer smiles and asks her to sit on the sofa on the studio floor.

Soon, a couple comes in. A teenage couple, both bubbling with (probably) first love. The photographer takes their pictures as the girl looks on, smiling at the couple and glancing at her watch. There’s no sign of her boyfriend. The teenyboppers leave, and almost immediately, an old couple (in their 60s) enter. Visibly still madly in love. The photographer takes their pictures – completely different in style from those of the teenage couple. This old couple is dignified, polished and their picture is that of the perfect lady and gentleman. The girl on the sofa is all smiles at the couple, and the photographer looks at her. She’s got a beautiful smile.

Next, a sporty couple enter. Tennis outfits and tennis rackets and all. Their pictures are like those of a mixed doubles duo. The girl looks at them and laughs, and the very next minute feels sorry for herself. She tries calling her boyfriend, but can’t get through.

A few more couples come and go, but the girl keeps waiting. And while waiting for her boyfriend, she falls asleep on the sofa. The photographer looks at his watch, its time to pack up for the day. He sees her asleep, and goes to wake her up. But, as he goes near her, he stops. Coz he sees her cheeks stained with tears. Just then, she wakes up. A bit embarrassed. Shrugs her shoulders and motions to him that she’ll be going now. The photographer asks her to wait for a second. He asks her to go sit on one of the two chairs that have been set up for the couples. She does, albeit a bit curiously. The photographer sets up his camera on a tripod, and even as she’s looking down at herself miserably, quietly goes and sits next to her. She looks up at him, surprised, and he grins. She smiles her beautiful smile and they both turn to look at the camera, just in time as it clicks. And this picture fills the empty space on the wall.

posted by n.g. at 18:45 (0) Peg(s) of Whisky

Name: n. g.

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