The other day some guys were taunting about some good old stereotypical (and predictable in this age) movie...about the plain old jokes weaved inside in it, about the commonplace quips and vulnerable characters segmented inside. They made no mistake in delineating each of the facial expressions with their filthy foul language, while jeering at each of the seemingly predictable screenplays, as if the director should better be shoven bald for his deeds.
Their popping eyes would turn suicidal at each of the emotional histrionics, with extreme jolt of sniggering whenever the sweet lady lead would weep with the background doleful sitar tuned tight...or when the little boy would go swirling around in his new dress as her father sung a cloyingly sweet prose...or when the street labourers, in a display of jingoism, would do a carol of anthem as the mushy rythm reaches inpirational heights.
That's the good old time portrayed in our films. Some say "Those who miss 1969 weren't actually there..." but that's half true...actually it should be. "Those who mock at 1969 were also weren't there..." What I mean to say is that old wine doesn't taste the same always as eveyone says. People like things fresh and plump, and it's reflected in the Art, in our Cinemas. Each generation brings with it some flavors anew, some fangles that should set them apart and make them feel superior to the previous one.
And so the bottomline is that every piece of Art (Cinemas, Literature etc) should be adjudged in the era it evolved, when it came fresh and unwilted. And so sometimes you can't appreciate the old golden hindi smashit now because the taste is different, the old fads have faded, the culture has a new layer. Better if you watch some old "good" thing, then rewind back and step out of the train and reflect upon the culture it tries to sketch rather than sneering at it by collating it with your present shallow world around you.
Their popping eyes would turn suicidal at each of the emotional histrionics, with extreme jolt of sniggering whenever the sweet lady lead would weep with the background doleful sitar tuned tight...or when the little boy would go swirling around in his new dress as her father sung a cloyingly sweet prose...or when the street labourers, in a display of jingoism, would do a carol of anthem as the mushy rythm reaches inpirational heights.
That's the good old time portrayed in our films. Some say "Those who miss 1969 weren't actually there..." but that's half true...actually it should be. "Those who mock at 1969 were also weren't there..." What I mean to say is that old wine doesn't taste the same always as eveyone says. People like things fresh and plump, and it's reflected in the Art, in our Cinemas. Each generation brings with it some flavors anew, some fangles that should set them apart and make them feel superior to the previous one.
And so the bottomline is that every piece of Art (Cinemas, Literature etc) should be adjudged in the era it evolved, when it came fresh and unwilted. And so sometimes you can't appreciate the old golden hindi smashit now because the taste is different, the old fads have faded, the culture has a new layer. Better if you watch some old "good" thing, then rewind back and step out of the train and reflect upon the culture it tries to sketch rather than sneering at it by collating it with your present shallow world around you.
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