Revisiting Lear

It’s been a while since I saw a film that made me think after the show was over. The Last Lear did not only that, but it also left me at a lack of a convictional response when asked if the film was good? Good or bad is way too judgmental a reaction. I’d say the film makes you think and that’s the best part of a Rituporno movie.
Amitabh, I thought, excelled playing Sam, the eccentric retired stage actor, and the moments of screen excellence were at the elocutionary deliveries from Shakespeare, in flawless accent, emotion and screen presence. Makes you think what this man could have done if he were born of the age of the stage and not celluloid. The baritone, the stature, the energy, kind of made me recollect only one other man – Bengali stage actor Rudraprasad. Interestingly again, Mr Bachchan’s other most noticeable performance also came as the teacher in Black, a role which again tended towards the theatrical.
Arjun Rampal was convincing as the obsessive and somewhat narcissistic film-director Siddharth, though I think being somber is the only emotion that comes naturally to him. Per chance, or per director’s choice, that’s exactly what he needed to be in Lear – the man of fewer words and more thoughts.
Preity Zinta lacked lustre, especially being in the frame with Shefali Chhaya, who clearly had superior emoting, range and presence. Kind of makes you wonder again why a Rituporno would go for Preity if not for the promotion power of a commercial actor. In his kind of filmmaking, which is less about storytelling than its how (craft over narrative), the shortcomings of an actor get caught out. Made her convincing only in the shoots of the film, where she’s admittedly the model-turned-actress who can’t act!
Chhaya playing the unsanctioned woman in Sam’s life exudes the passion with which she loves the man, mingled with her knowledge of his childlike innocence and remoteness from the practical world. In her admittance, “He isn’t that passionate otherwise (as a lover) but on stage…” shows her overwhelming love for the stage actor who had swept her off her feet.
Jishu Sengupta is mature in his brief appearances and Prosenjit is alright (that’s a compliment, given his over-the-top acting in commercial Bengali cinema).
The one thing that sitting here in Hyderabad made we wonder, however, was the use of Bengali dialogues, interspersed throughout. They came without subtitles, and while not following them wouldn’t take away from the story, I’m sure it’s give a sense of not following, causing a distraction. And anyway, Lear isn’t all about following the drift of the story. Somewhat exclusivist of the director, I felt, for I’m not ready to believe it’s an unintentional flaw on the production’s part.
As Sam tells Siddharth, “I will be good, but your camera will make me look bad,” the audience is made to think. He elaborates that the camera doesn’t allow the hands to be seen when the face is showing, and doesn’t allow one to make out facial expressions in a long shot where the whole body is seen. “And who’s to decide what’s to be seen?” he asks of the director in a thought-provoking moment (even though its one of theatre’s oldest arguments). At the same time, the genius of the director makes Sam anticipate his tragic accident at the end, where he convinces the director that a stuntman cannot replace him in the death scene, for he will never have the same expression.
The seamless flitting from present (of Jishu’s stream of consciousness) to flashback and returning to the present of another conversation (Preity and Shefali) leaves the conversations and thought processes implied and could have been carried off so beautifully only by a mature director.
The script and screenplay are strong, and the use of background noises of the street and other things show off the attention to detail.
The plot has a touch of absurdity when the whole crew allows the veteran almost-blind actor to jump off the cliff without protesting, but then again, as I said earlier, it’s about the how and not so much the what, so we’ll take it.