CITY LIGHTS(1931)
Charles Chaplin’s Tramp is to cinema what the very medium represents: the ability to be self-effacing in overwhelming situations and to generate infinite empathy through simplest gestures.
In City Lights, the blessed writer, director and musician uses his eternally child-like physicality and an innate sense of wonder at the world around him to save two individuals from polar opposites of the socio-economic spectrum. One is a suicidal millionaire who then instantly warms up to the humble man with a bowler hat, cane and spring in his step. The other is a visually impaired young woman who sells flowers and is barely able to make ends meet. The man dotes on his saviour by night when he is hungover and discards his ‘friend’ by the light of day as he gets sober, as if he lives with selective amnesia while the girl is grateful and comes to deeply forge a bond with the man she cannot see but whose hands and words generate kindness manifold.
The fact that they both exist in pre- World War 2 America makes it clear that human propensities hardly transform. The Tramp is still persona non-grata within a society where lacquered halls, lavish dances and artifice prevail.
CITY LIGHTS is cinema that astutely holds a mirror up to society’s fixed norms, making us laugh at the points which are indeed amusing but often highlight the futility of extravagance, alcoholism and the arrogance that money brings with it, so much so that one can make and dispense with flesh and blood mortals as he deems fit.
The poignancy of the girl’s situation also earns its merit. There is always hope enshrined with her arc.
The choreography of the sequences, whether it involves a sculpture, water, a slippery dance floor or a boxing match, is invested with flair and innovation, timeless feats that cinephiles must savour.
As for that ending where one good samaritan suffers owing to his appearance and misunderstandings while a benefactor of his selflessness finds the light in her eyes to see the world around, it is beautiful. Both these voyagers finally recognise who they are when face to face. It is a moment frozen in the annals of time and memory.
THE KID(1921)
Empathy extended towards an abandoned child is further proof of the Tramp’s sincere charms.
In The Kid, Chaplin shows a world of poverty without any concessions to a larger than life model. The squalor of the slums, of slovenly, cramped interiors, torn raiments, little food to come by and performing menial tasks for survival all serve this tale where a young child’s upbringing is nevertheless a cause of joy and personal triumph for the have-not.
Here too, Chaplin is acutely aware about how appearances and backgrounds create a preliminary of suspicion and ill-treatment among others. As if human empathy is the reserve of the well-off alone.
The scene of separation between father and child still retains its appeal to make us shed tears. The Tramp hardly despairs. He knows his sheer will-power and zeal to challenge authority will yield results. It does here memorably, unforgettably.
****
DOGHI(1995)
Sunil Sukhthankar and Sumitra Bhave’s DOGHI/BOTH took me back to that time in 2010 when reading Kamala Markandya’s novel TWO SISTERS, about the trials and tribulations of Prema and Saroja through adolescence and young adulthood, made such an impact. The mother’s personality was inadvertently rooted with her daughters in that instance.
Renuka Daftardar, Sonali Kulkarni, Uttara Baokar have similar emotional stakes up against them in this realistic portrayal of rural life where joys are temporary and never exist in a continuum for the near present or foreseeable future. Half of these folks’ ideas about life are thwarted by unruly stigmas, the bitterness of human behaviour which is inured to centuries of what came before and has since dictated their myopic outlooks. Where real empathy is always crushed under boulders of shame and the premise of daughters being somebody else’s ultimate burden to bear.
Within this skewed scenario, a fairly predictable plot tracing happiness and festivities, an accident overlapping with changing fortunes for the oldest daughter and her family and the shadows cast by a harsh decision and economic hardships become internalised and heart-rending.
Every woman and man who came before these two inseparable siblings has a part to play in the tragedy of severing their enduring ties. The nationwide curse of adhering to respect and blind faith in parents no matter what, sanctioned by a controlling patriarchy, churns here with a moral burden that is suffocating.
Ultimately, the younger sibling illuminates the path with her undying love for her sister, now unfairly ostracised by the mother who pushed her towards the big city herself. She comes forth with a resolve to break the chain of tradition without which they will continue to live as scapegoats.
DOGHI is brilliantly structured, with its subtle performances and realism informing us of an order where the young suffer as they are at the mercy of their older guardians whom they look up to. The latter end up destroying their innocence. But with a sister like the one here, every relationship’s burden can be overcome. A real kinship lifts us out of the dreary present if not from its scars. That is more than enough to sanction change. It is what makes this work so powerful. It takes cognisance of the pain of ostracisation.
***
An Awadh Boy's Panorama : tracing words on these filigreed, discerning fingertips. 