Sunday, May 25, 2008

END OF CINEMA

Oh yes, I have decided to break my silence (or not), but blame it on Madonna going tic-toc tic-toc, and JT wearing a scarf in 2008! Also, I am on a pseudo vacation with twenty four access to internet, so I can bother to puke out a personal post. How we hate those. Still. Here goes.

Yes, for the uninitiated and uninterested we repeat, we now officially go to film school and yes we love Godard and co. and if you are wondering Godard who! you may shut your Firefox window and if you are wondering Firefox what! then you must asphyxiate yourself and spare me the effort. And yes we may love to present you with an essay on jump cuts in Breathless, but we won’t because we are not qualified to and we won’t even pretend we understand any of it, because not a single day has gone by when I have not emerged from a screening and said to myself, “How in the world did they even think like that let alone shoot! How… just how!”

And then I wish I can fall to my knees and cry out or jump out of my seat and just stand staring at the screen till tears squeeze out of my eyes for they gave me films.

But of course we do spend our time indulging in other interesting activities too, (no… not sex since the male hotness quotient on campus is limited to a few and those few are not in the mood to cheat on their girls for now. Sigh.) such as sleeping till five in the evening, banging your head against library catalogue (who makes search case-sensitive anyway!) begging for cigarettes, eating poha and vada-paav (yes we are poor), shooting your short film which turns out to be a disaster (its always the director's fault, I get it now!), feeding the dogs, rolling illegal herbs, not using your ATM when broke for the card also broke -- in two pieces, and being dead depressed all the time.

Now, this depression is different from what the Red Bull guzzling Chomsky quoting Tashan watching regular consumers of our decadent urban upper-middle class suffer from. I don’t even know what it is. It’s more like a PMS induced mood-swing, comes and goes, comes and goes, comes and goes, comes and sometimes stays, which is when the illegal herb rolling happens. Probably because we are in a bubble now, and all we worry about is our sick little existence within the campus, our scripts that have to be written, the team that will never materialise, the funds that we won’t have (which reminds me, this is an impassioned plea for funding of my diploma films, please do invest in an aspiring film maker, you won’t be saving the world, but, oh well go save the Burmese, I won’t beg, ok I will but after a few months) and above everything else, the very meaning of your existence and the impudence with which you presume that you can make films when you are nothing but a misplaced idea of an artist who was never meant to be here in the first place.

And time for a daru party. So that is what we do, either drink rum with water or catch the next Volvo to Bombay for a weekend of limited luxury and revelry (I don’t know any Bombay bloggers. Hmm... puzzling). And now I am bored of blogging. And so are you. BYE!