Revisiting Ju Dou (1990) and its allegory for China

In this blog post, I revisit the Academy Award-nominated 1990 Chinese film Ju Dou (Directors: Zhang Yimou and Yang Fengliang), reigniting the discussion around the much-explored national allegory that this film provides for the China of the past, present and future.

Ju Dou is a film about gender roles and generational conflict, but these themes are intensified by a hard-hitting national allegory that starts in the Confucian era but stands valid even in today’s communist China. The titular Ju Dou (Gong Li) is the newly ‘purchased’ wife of the old, impotent and abusive Yang Jinshan (Li Wei) who has already “tortured” two previous wives to death. Tianqing (Li Baotian), is Jinshan’s adoptive nephew, who helps him at the Yang family’s dye mill. United in oppression, a forbidden and tragic romance brews between Ju Dou and Tianqing, resulting in a son Tianbai whom Tianqing cannot claim to be his own out of fear of the society. A teenaged Tianbai, leading his life in confusion, suspicion and contempt of his mother’s relationship with Tianbai, ultimately kills them both – Tianqing directly, and Ju Dou indirectly.

Themes of patriarchy in Ju Dou

The synopsis itself makes it clear that Ju Dou carries a significant social commentary as themes of gendered domestic violence, female slavery, commodification of women and exploitative patriarchy are dominant in the film. Jinshan’s dialogues with Ju Dou build his character of a patriarchal, authoritative abuser: “When I buy an animal, I treat it as I wish. And you are no better than an animal”; or “Obey me. Give me a son and I will be your slave”; or “I didn’t buy a freeloader”. Other dialogues such as “I will shower you with gifts if it is a boy” (Jinshan to the healer who confirms Ju Dou’s pregnancy); or “People gossip about widows” further show societal views about women in rural China in the 1920s – a Confucian China before the Cultural Revolution. However, present-day communism as well as Confucianism are depicted in many ways in the film.

A shared depiction of Confucianism and communism

In its coloured visuals, Ju Dou allegorically depicts communism, and in its story, it depicts both Confucianism and communism. Red- and yellow-coloured fabrics dominate many of the scenes in Ju Dou. In fact, they are the only constant in the otherwise happening, tumultuous decade of the protagonists’ lives. The Chinese flag, one should be reminded, features a field of communist red (a symbol of the Chinese Communist Revolution) adorned with five golden stars that represent the unity of the country’s people. It does not appear to be a coincidence that the colours of the Chinese flag were present throughout the film (though other colours such as blue and pink also make an appearance). In the opening credits itself, the title ‘Ju Dou’ appears in bright and dangerous red, followed by narrative text in yellow. Interestingly, one of the first shots we see of the dye mill shows the wooden setup for hanging and drying dyed fabrics but without any clothes on it. We see Tianqing hoist a white fabric up on the wooden setup within the first 8 min of the film, just before someone comes with a rush order for dyed fabrics for a Master Liu – “He wants two in bright red, and five in golden yellow”. Ju Dou who is frequently dressed in yellow, lies dressed in red shades on a red-coloured bedsheet the first time the audience sees Jinshan abuse her. Moreover, both Jinshan and Tianqing die by drowning in a pool of red dye. Ju Dou is set in the 1920s, and the current Chinese flag was adopted only in 1949, but the film was created in 1990. This timeline further suggests the filmmakers’ concealed intention of depicting a national allegory in Ju Dou, one that was significant with respect to not only the Confucian era, but the present-day communist era too.

Many critics have found Ju Dou to be a film that underpins Confucian patriarchy by silently and passive-aggressively criticising those who defy its principles – showing the tragic ending that two people met when they defied the Confucian rules of generational hierarchy and patriarchy. Confucius’ views towards women were derogatory, but in the Chinese patriarchal system, it is not only the male gender that determines who would be the dominant one, but a combination of male gender and old age. This is clear in how the elders of the village exert power and authority over everyone else – younger men, women, children. In this patriarchal system, they have the authority to name a new-born (“The ancestors knew best. You cannot outwit them.”) and to decide a woman’s fate for her (“Ju Dou will not remarry. The widow will remain faithful”, says a village elder after Jinshan dies). The film aptly depicts this form of Confucian patriarchy in Jinshan’s treatment of not only Ju Dou but also Tianqing. While what Ju Dou suffers through is undoubtedly horrific, the film suggests another scary life story for Tianqing, Jinshan’s adoptive nephew who was orphaned as a child and ‘helped’ by, who is also being exploited, albeit differently, by the same victimizer. Tianqing is overloaded with work but his uncle refuses to hire another helper because “that would add to [his] expenses”. Another example is how Jinshan cares more for his horse than his adopted nephew. He asks Tianqing if he fed the horse enough because the animal looked skinny. Later, when Ju Dou finds herself alone with Tianqing in the dye mill (ironically because Jinshan has gone out to seek treatment for his horse), she points out how skinny Tianqing was and feeds him. The exploitative nature of Jinshan’s patriarchal views is seen even in the way he treats outsiders. In the beginning of the film, the help hired to do Tianqing’s work when he was away exclaims: “For all that work, your uncle paid me only 2 dollars. The miser!”.

However, Tianqing, while a victim of this patriarchy, is at the same time a perpetrator too. In whatever power he has as a male member of the society who is not a ‘wise’ elder, Tianqing exerts his Confucian patriarchal views upon Ju Dou. He commodifies her by gawking at her while she bathed, he slaps her when she says that Jinshan deserved to die, he is not ready to run away from the patriarchy because of the fear of being killed by the villagers if they knew the truth about his relationship with his ‘aunt’ and Tianbai. Throughout the film, even though Tianqing is scared and disapproving of Jinshan’s behaviour, he has a certain respect for his uncle, seemingly born out of obligation, fear and the generational gap. He does not want to kill him, but often thinks of doing it. Some film scholars have gone so far as to point out the fact that the fact that the incapacitated ‘old’ man Jinshan dominates over the younger Tianqing and Ju Dou is also representative of communist China where old men rule.

The similarities between Confucianism and communism

Communism and Confucianism in China are like siblings that have a considerable age gap but share the same philosophy towards life (read ‘Patriarchy’, in this case). While communism as a philosophy takes gender equality and women’s issues seriously, that did not entirely turn out to be the case in the case of the Communist Party of China (CPC). The patriarchal system continued, with only a male heading the family, the oppressive gender relations in this social structure remained too. In fact, under the rule of the CPC, a renewed emphasis was put on sexual morality and monogamy to protect and preserve social order in an increasingly destabilizing society. Therefore, while the story is set in the pre-communist era China where women were uninhibitedly oppressed, it can be argued that the allegory of a suffocating nation (Ju Dou) imprisoned by traditions (Jinshan and the village elders) guided by political motives (power, toxic masculinity, patriarchy) extends way beyond the pre-communist era into post-Mao and present-day China.

In his essay on Communism and Political Culture Theory, Gabriel A. Almond (1983) identifies that in a communist state, “ideological conformity is rewarded; deviation is heavily penalized” (Almond, G.A., 1983. Communism and political culture theory. Comparative Politics, 15(2), pp.127-138.). Then, the fact that this film is based in a pre-communist China becomes irrelevant. If this film were to be based in present-day communist China, would the situation of its characters truly be different at all? Almond seems to argue that it would not. Ju Dou and Tianqing are fearful of being persecuted and prosecuted for their non-conforming sexual relations – Ju Dou for infidelity towards her (abusive) husband and child-bearing out of wedlock, and Tianqing for spoiling the sanctity of the relationship between an aunt and a nephew, of being ungrateful towards his uncle Jinshan who took him off the streets and raised him, howsoever complex their relationship may have been. The destabilizing, volatile nature of this relationship between Ju Dou and Tianqing threatens the family unit and thus the modern society and economy – something that goes entirely against the communist thought. 

This relationship precipitates dangerously for the protagonists of Ju Dou.The naming of the illegitimate son mothered by Ju Dou puts him (Tianbai) in the same generation as Tianqing, making them brothers in the eyes of the society. After a teenaged Tianbai overhears gossips about sexual relations between his mother and his ‘brother’ Tianqing, his anger knows no bounds. He comes back to the dye mill – itself a metaphor for the Chinese society – and ends up kicking his biological father out of anger, asserting dominance over him in the true sense of patriarchy in feudal Confucian and also communist China. He is, by tradition, the ‘man of the family’ since his assumed father Jinshan is no more. Tianbai is a prediction for the future – the now present – the anger, restlessness, volatility in the youth, derived from the failures and fears of the previous generation. The national allegory in Ju Dou, then, predicts a doomed future for the Chinese people even in a communist China. A generation of prude, orthodox, unreasonable, stubborn elders making the lives of the next generation difficult by curtailing their freedom, and those difficulties are inherited by and precipitated in the generation that comes next.

Allegories beyond Confucian and communist patriarchy

Besides the patriarchal norms of Chinese communism, other national allegories for China also find place in the film. For instance, a muted reference to the so-called one-child policy of China, which began in 1979 and continued until 2015, can be noted. Ju Dou fears that she might be pregnant with Tianqing’s child at a time when it would be impossible to convince the villagers that she was impregnated by the incapacitated Jinshan. To solve this problem, she goes to a traditional ‘clinic’ seeking an abortion in case she was pregnant. Here, she is advised to use methods like chili powder application or even cyanide. These painful methods render her infertile, ironically not unlike her impotent husband. In a sense, she is forced to become infertile after having had her first and only child with Tianqing.

Surveillance is another communist, allegorical idea used throughout the film. The peepholes, nooks, crannies, crevices that blemish the Yang family’s dye mill allow everyone to keep an eye on, spy, eavesdrop, voyeuristically gaze at other people in the mill. Ju Dou lives in constant fear in her own home, constantly being surveyed by those around her – fear of her husband when he is home, fear of the neighbours when he is not around. From a different perspective, however, it could be envisioned that the stolen glances and peeping-tommery in Ju Dou was a result of censorship – another idea commonly seen in communist China to the present day. Ju Dou and Tianqing were ‘censored’ by the society to look at each other in the ways they wanted to, which is why they had to hide and steal glances at each other without openly talking among themselves. When they do talk for the first time, outside of the dye mill with no Jinshan in sight, it is clear that Ju Dou does not want to admit that she was beaten by her violent, abusive husband. At the same time, even though Tianqing knows perfectly well what his uncle has been doing to Ju Dou (and what he did to his previous two wives), he still asks Ju Dou how she got the bruises on her face and arms. Such is their fear of speaking against Jinshan’s autocratic, exploitative ways in a heavily censored society.

When they do muster the courage to come out of Jinshan’s bondage (figuratively and literally), their own son – supposed to be their society-sanctioned protector, their saviour – spells out their doom. Tianbai saves his mother and his biological father from the suffocative cavern, only to actively kill Tianqing and lead to the immolation of Ju Dou. The depiction of this aspect of Ju Dou’s storyline seems to have found its roots in theTiananmen Square Massacre of 1989 – a protesting and defiant yet unarmed crowd of Chinese citizens fighting for freedom and democracy massacred by the army that is (typically) sanctioned by the state to protect its citizens. The People’s Liberation Army, born in 1945, though younger than the long, glorious history of China, managed to kill its spirit on June 4, 1989, much like Tianbai is responsible for the deaths of his biological parents.

In another way, however, it could be said that Ju Dou and Tianqing did not do enough to escape their repressed lives with Jinshan, and in the village in general, sooner. Throughout the timeline of the film’s world, Ju Dou and Tianqing are waiting for the world to change, for their situation to change – they become passive bystanders living suffocatingly instead of actively trying to change the society. They keep daydreaming about what would happen if Jinshan found about their illicit relations – when Ju Dou asks: “aren’t you afraid he will kill you with an axe?” to which Tianqing says: “it is hard to say who will kill whom”, only to later go back on his statement saying that “He’s my uncle after all”. Their rebellion, though inspired by the ideals of love and freedom, came a little too late and resulted in a tragic end. In a similar way, suggesting that the protesting students at the Tiananmen Square did not adequately voice their opinions beyond the dictionary meanings of democracy and freedom, M. Anne Brown (2010) quotes Bergere (1992) in her essay on the Tiananmen incident: “the young demonstrators were unable to give [the words democracy and freedom] any meaning other than their own immolation” (Brown, M.A., 2010. China–the Tiananmen Square massacre of 1989. In Human rights and the borders of suffering. Manchester University Press, p.113.). Bergere’s use of the word immolation, though largely figurative, becomes quite literal for Ju Dou at the end of the film, when, after failing to escape the oppressive regime of a patriarchal society, she burns down the Yang family dye mill and immolates herself in the process.

One-line summary

It is undeniable that the scaffolding of Ju Dou is provided by gender roles and generational conflict, but the film’s soul is populated by the evolving concept of China – the old China of Confucian beliefs, the new China imbued with communist thought.

What did you think of this post? Please leave your comments below. Also, please check out my YouTube channel if you are an art and craft enthusiast!

Edward Lucie-Smith’s poem ‘Silence’ is a multi-layered masterpiece

I recently had the good fortune of reading the poem Silence by the British poet Edward Lucie-Smith. It held my attention for quite a few days, which is why I thought I should write something about it. For starters, this poem was published in a poetry anthology that was edited by Lucie-Smith himself. The anthology is titled ‘British Poetry since 1945’, first published in 1970 by Penguin Books. Before I begin to dissect Lucie-Smith’s poem, a brief history of the poet’s life is relevant here.

Edward Lucie-Smith’ life deeds can best be summarized in what he said in one of his interviews: “I simply do what I do, and don’t identify exclusively with any one department of it.” Indeed, Edward Lucie-Smith is a man of many talents, as the National Portrait Gallery of the UK emphatically emphasises. Born in Jamaica in 1933, he moved to the UK at age 13. As an adult, he pursued his many interests and talents, as an advertising company employee for almost 10 years, then a freelance author, an art historian, collector and critic, and a photographer. To date, he remains one of the most prolific art critics in the world and is still actively working in the field.

It appears from Lucie-Smith’s interviews that he does not hold back – he calls a spade a spade and gives his honest opinion of the world. His poem Silence, reproduced below, is an example of this trait too:

Silence: one would willingly

Consume it, eat it like bread.

There is never enough. Now,

When we are silent, metal

Still rings upon shuddering

Metal; a door slams; a child

Cries; other lives surround us.

But remember, there is no

Silence within; the belly

Sighs, grumbles, and what is that

Loud knocking, that summoning?

A drum beats, a drum beats. Hear

Your own noisy machine, which

Is moving towards silence.

At the onset, let me say that the poem evokes a strongly morose and melancholic feeling. Lucie-Smith has written this piece of poetry as a description of life and death, the utter lack of control we have over both of them, and the inevitability of the end. He philosophically uses the concepts of sound and silence to describe these ideas. This is something that the poet has often expressed straightforwardly even outside the domain of poetry. In fact, the sentiments that Lucie-Smith portrays in this poem match his thoughts about contemporary art and artists too. He shared in a 2017 interview with Francis Bacon Collection that contemporary artists like to:

“[B]uild elaborate sandcastles and put nice little paper flags on the towers and clap their hands, having finished the job, and say, “Oh, it’s all sorted.” But the castle they’ve built is right on the edge of the beach and soon enough, a big wave comes along and washes it all away. Then … a new generation of the self-righteous comes along and starts construction all over again.”

This quote describes Lucie-Smith’s thoughts about not only the ephemerality of our actions, our happiness and life in general, but also the periodicity of life – each ending is replaced by a beginning. These ideas are also depicted in the poem. To better elaborate my thoughts on the matter, I decided to divide the poem into four different sections to separately analyse their possible meanings and connotations.

Section 1:

Silence: one would willingly

Consume it, eat it like bread.

There is never enough.

The mood of the poet here can be defined by the word ‘thirst’ – a thirst for silence, an idea which according to Lucie-Smith is as crucial in one’s life as ‘eating bread’, but which is “never enough”. We all seek silence, but never find it to be sufficient. Note Lucie-Smith’s use of parallelism when he uses similar phrases “consume it” and “eat it” one after the other.

Section 2:

Now,

When we are silent, metal

Still rings upon shuddering

Metal; a door slams; a child

Cries; other lives surround us.

Literally, this section of the poem shares an irrefutable truth – that even if we do not speak, or “are silent”, the world carries on – there will be other sounds from other sources, whether material or human, that will fill the silence that we create. However, there seems to be a deeper meaning here too. “When we are silent”, which could mean ‘when we die’, the lives of people around us go on, filled with their mundane, regular noise – metal striking metal (such as hammer on a nail), which is perhaps a reference to driving a nail through the coffin; “a door slams” which is equivalent to a coffin door being shut on the dead; “a child cries” is symbolic of the aggrieved loved ones shedding tears upon the passing away of their beloved; “other lives surround us”, means that many people attend the funeral and gather around the coffin.

Section 3:

But remember, there is no

Silence within; the belly

Sighs, grumbles, and what is that

Loud knocking, that summoning?

A drum beats, a drum beats.

The poet now discusses another fundamental truth about silence – when we do not make sounds with our mouths, there are still sounds that emanate from our bodies, such as the sound one hears from the belly, the rumbles and growls, or as the poet puts this, the “sighs” and “grumbles”. The “drum” that Lucie-Smith is referring to here is the human heart. The “loud knocking”, “summoning” is the beating of the heart (or the “drum”), which is another sound that the body makes involuntarily. Like the periodic, repetitive beating of the heart, the poet also uses repetition, albeit as a rhetorical device, in this line – “a drum beats, a drum beats”.

On a deeper and sadly darker level, and consistent with section 2, the sounds of the belly could also refer to the sounds that a body makes for a short time after the person has passed away. The “loud knocking” and “summoning”, equivalent to beating drums is a reference to a funeral. The phrase “a drum beats” conjures up the image of a funeral march with drums being beaten, an imagery that is reminiscent of what poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote in his 1838 poem A Psalm of Life:

“Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.”

Section 4:

Hear

Your own noisy machine, which

Is moving towards silence.

In the end, Lucie-Smith is calling the readers to realize that even as the human body – the “noisy machine” – makes these sounds to signal a sign of some semblance of life, it is constantly moving towards its inevitable end – or “silence” as the poet puts it. Note Lucie-Smith’s use of antithesis as he writes “Your own noisy machine, which/ Is moving towards silence”, putting the opposing ideas of ‘noise’ and ‘silence’ in the same sentence.

In reality, the poet appears to posit, silence is only a dream, a non-existent entity that all of us desire throughout our lives, but only find at the end of it.

The poem has several layers and Lucie-Smith’s personal philosophy in life gives us permission to interpret it in our own different ways. I would like to quote a few words by Edward Lucie-Smith about the importance of allowing interpreters of art to have a freedom of interpretation and the need for people to understand that no one interpretation can be called right when it comes to art:

“[Art critics are] not entitled to…insist that what they say is always and invariably right. The way we look at art shifts in response to the context we see it in. Our response to a particular work is also governed by both social and technological shifts.” I think this statement can be extended to poetry as well.

Therefore, in the end, my interpretation of the poem operates at two levels, as I have also alluded to earlier. The superficial layer is about the human psyche and body – the psychological and physical experiences of the body, the sounds that pervade our lives without us even noticing them. At another level, the poem is about life and death – a philosophical commentary on how we spend our hustle-bustle-filled lives rushing to achieve things, without halting to enjoy a moment of silence; about how we can be silent on the outside, but we cannot make others around us silent, we cannot keep our body from making its involuntary sounds; and in the end, life is all about death – about that final “summoning” that brings the human body to its inevitable end – silence.

What did you think of this blog? Do you have any other interpretations of the poem to share? Please leave your comments below. Also, if you are interested in art and craft, do watch my videos on YouTube.

The Rebirth of Life

(I wrote this story more than 10 years ago for a college competition that I ended up winning. As a biology and mathematics enthusiast who had just joined the bioengineering program in an amazing institution, I found this story fueling my inner scientist until the moment I finished my PhD a year ago. Today, it is nourishing the writer in me. I think it is time to present this story to the world in its pristine form.)

‘The equation of your body in the general state does not permit us to increase your height, Piyush,’ said Aseem, clearly incensed. ‘And I have not spent three years, two months and one week making this device only to alter your height’, he added, pointing at the coffin-like metallic device, twice the size of a human body in all aspects.

‘Okay fine; as if I need to get any taller,’ replied Piyush in a falsely exasperated voice. ‘What does ‘in the general state’ mean, though? Makes me feel as if I am a complex theory of Physics,’ he added, his hatred for Physics and its seemingly dull laws quite conspicuous on his face.

‘The spatial equation of the human body, obtained when the body is totally vertical and still and the coordinate axes are such that the origin lies at the mid-point of the upper surface of pancreas, the z-axis is the vertical axis, x-axis is the horizontal axis parallel to the body and y-axis is the horizontal axis perpendicular to the body, is called the equation of the human body in the general state,’ said Aseem in a pointedly soporific drone, adjusting his ‘float-in-air’ frame-less spectacles.

‘Glad that you stopped before I began drooling in my sleep,’ said Piyush, grinning. ‘What have you made this coffin for, then?’ he asked seriously.

‘Well, the least it is meant to do is to make people invisible,’ replied Aseem in a matter-of-fact tone. Piyush rolled his eyes.

‘Invisible? That is the least, is it? How can you make people invisible with this?’

Aseem did not reply immediately. He started arranging the books strewn across his table on the glass shelves in his room (which had rendered the room much less roomy). Piyush allowed him his time. He had had nasty experiences when he had disturbed a pensive Aseem. So, he got up and walked to the window. The thick curtains folded upwards immediately, and the glass-window opened up quickly, allowing the last sunshine of the day to bathe the room. No one inside that room would imagine that a picturesque valley lay waiting for them outside the window. Piyush looked at the wonderful surroundings, utterly intrigued, but stopped at the sight of a complex network of glass tubes and spheres located far away. He thought for a moment. It was then that he realised, as he looked down, that he was seeing the valley through a large wall of glass and, as he now observed more closely, that a very large expanse of the ground was taken up by what looked like a magnificent glass-walled room. He moved his neck upwards to find the end of the glass walls. It seemed that the glass-walled room had a magnificent glass roof too. He had never seen this part of the C-AMBIENCE, although, being Aseem’s brother, he had been into his room many-a-time. He looked back questioningly inside the room to find Aseem sitting on the chair and eyeing the coffin-like machine sombrely.

‘The most I have assumed it to be able to do is…is to bring back each animal species which no longer exists on this planet’, Aseem said suddenly with a heavy sigh and what was unmistakably a shiver. Piyush forgot the glass-walled room. There was such an inscrutable expression on Piyush’s face that it could not be fathomed whether he was more impressed, or more terrified by Aseem’s new idea.

‘How can you do that? You don’t mean…do you mean that you can bring back… dinosaurs and mammoths and all those creatures… with this coffin of yours?’

‘Yep,’ Aseem said after a moment’s pause, ‘a very magnified version of the Urey-Miller apparatus is needed for this.’

‘The Urey-Miller apparatus?’

‘The one you just saw through the window.’

Piyush had always known that his brother would do something great in life, but never had he been so intrigued by an idea of his. While Piyush himself was a creative guy devoted to arts and literature, Aseem had the knack for thinking and implementing complex things which no one else normally tried to do. The Center for Advanced Mathematics and Biological Sciences, which was often called the C-AMBIENCE, was the only Laboratory in the world which had successfully brought together two very different sciences – Mathematics and Biology – and united them like two long lost brothers. Aseem was the youngest person who had been offered a place at the C-AMBIENCE, three years ago, when he had submitted a paper on the gene-number and how it could be used to determine the equation of the human body if the body were considered to be a curve in three-dimensional space. In the past three years, Aseem had given the C-AMBIENCE a new thought. Before Aseem had joined the C-AMBIENCE, scientists there were at the verge of devising an advanced version of the Urey-Miller experiment.

‘The Urey-Miller experiment, considered to be the greatest experiment on the origin of life on the earth, was conducted in the year 1952 by Urey and Miller.’ Aseem said, in the tone of a dedicated teacher. ‘It simulated the atmospheric conditions on the primitive earth in a glass apparatus and it was found that inorganic molecules like water, ammonia, methane and hydrogen yielded organic molecules like amino acids, used to construct proteins in the cells, and sugars and some essential components of nucleic acids.

‘That…was the actual experiment. But Richard and Anirudh, two of my colleagues here considered the possibility of recreating the entire process of evolution of life through this. They believed that continuing the experiment for a few months under strict experimental conditions might give rise to organisms that were the first prokaryotes on earth and if the experiment were continued for hundreds and thousands of years, we might see those organisms which have become extinct millions of years ago- that is we might actually witness the entire process of evolution, we might bring about…the rebirth of life.’

‘That sounds great, with the only limitation that you would have to undergo several rebirths yourself to witness this rebirth of life,’ Piyush said teasingly.

‘That limitation is overcome by the use of KLL91, a catalyst compound which we have hitherto designed only on the computer, because it will be the strongest mode of a massacre if leaked. So, we will be developing it inside the apparatus during the experiment. Then there are also three complex proteins which we would use. These are present in all the members of the animal kingdom and their formation by the natural evolution process would take thousands of years.’

There was a minute’s pause in which Aseem gulped down two glasses of water, while Piyush looked thoughtful for the first time that evening. ‘Will this not affect the species that are formed in the beginning? I mean, the proteins that were supposed to be formed years after the evolution of the first species have been formed before, so will this not affect the process and lead to better species than the actual ones?’, said Piyush, looking outside the window.

‘Yes, that is the first element of risk,’ replied Aseem, mildly surprised by Piyush’s thoughtfulness.

‘Why does it pose a risk? We would be able to see new creatures, maybe…but how much time will it take exactly, and how will you control this process?’

‘So many questions at once! You are becoming scientific Piyush. Well…It poses a risk, a lethal risk, because we cannot yet predict the changes the creatures at any stage of evolution will undergo because of the early availability of these proteins.

‘The time this process will take depends on the amount of KLL91 used. This poses the worst possible risk. If the concentration of this catalyst exceeds 68.72 grams per liter, the game is over because our glass apparatus would develop leakage beyond that concentration and if a single molecule of this compound comes in contact with any part of your skin, you die…and a painless death for that.

‘The process will be controlled by the software used in this device, this coffin’, ended Aseem, a smile sprawling slightly across his face, ‘If I get the equation of the body of the extinct organism I wish to recreate, I will feed this information to the software in this device.’

‘What would that do?’

‘The software actually stops the machine when the body of the entered equation is obtained. It also allows you to modify the size of the organism proportionally by changing the coefficients of the terms containing x, y and z raised to fractional exponents by a multiple of the genomic ratio…Wait a moment.’

A call on Aseem’s phone disturbed the Q&A session. ‘Richard’s call. The apparatus is complete, after all these months of hard work. We must inspect it today. You can come with me if you like’, Aseem said after having attended the call.

‘Of course! Let’s go’, Piyush said interestedly.

They reached the ground floor of the C-AMBIENCE and found it packed with a throng of people, most of whom were assembled near the screen which was showing the Urey-Miller apparatus set up outside.

‘You guys really love glass’, Piyush said, reminded of the glass-walled room as they walked through the magnificent glass doors of the C-AMBIENCE building. They found Anirudh and Richard waiting for them outside. ‘Hi, Piyush. You coming with us?’ said Richard, shaking hands with Piyush, who nodded excitedly. ‘I had never thought I would get this close to my dream project’, said Aseem. ‘Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?’ said Anirudh, ‘Eric said that the equations that both of you have been developing for the Seismosaurus body are ready, but he is not sure about the n/m genomic ratio.’

‘I have worked that out. The n/m is .267. I have verified it against the palaeontological data.’

They had now reached the rear side of the C-AMBIENCE, the one which Piyush had seen from the window. The glass-walled room would have given anyone this close to it the megalophobic feeling of the glass falling over him. They walked over to where the glass tubes and spherical structures were arranged.

‘Hi, Eric. I have checked out the n/m from palaeontologic data. And if we want a one-meter version of the fifty-one-meter-tall dinosaur, the coefficients of all the terms involving x have to be 0.812’, Aseem said to a blonde long-haired man who was doing something on the computer interface attached to the glass apparatus.

‘That’s great, Aseem’, said Eric cheerfully, still working on the computer, ‘and I have set the KLL91 pressure on this software. Only after it begins to form, and the supply of ammonia and methane begins, we will pass the electric current, what do you say?’

‘Yeah, I think it’s better of the two ways.’

‘Have you decided upon a name for this experiment yet, Aseem?’, asked Anirudh, ‘I know you always like that’.

‘No, actually I could not think of a name that would form a good acronym.’

‘How about the ROLE…the Rebirth of Life Experiment?’ said Piyush after a minute.

‘That is an awesome name, Piyush’, said Richard.

‘Yeah. Really great. People would ask us- “What was your role in the ROLE?”’ said Eric, grinning.

‘That is done, then. So, if all is done, should we conduct the experiment the day after tomorrow? After we have re-evaluated a few data so that nothing can go wrong in the experiment?’ asked Aseem. Everyone agreed.

On the day of the experiment, only the six members of the ROLE crew were allowed at the site, although Piyush was permitted in. With a sanguine note, Eric and Aseem started the experiment. He entered the n/m, the KLL91 pressure so as to keep the concentration less than 68.72 grams per liter, the gas concentrations, the modified equation of the Seismosaurus and other data. A loud rumbling noise began as soon as electric current was passed through the gases in the apparatus. Piyush was gazing at the center of the apparatus dreamily while they waited for half an hour and kept observing the computer screen to monitor changes.

‘Aseem, ASEEM! the n/m value has entered an increasing loop.’ Eric cried in a loud voice.

‘What is going on? We will get a much larger sized creature then.’ shouted Richard

‘This is impossible. How could we go wrong with the software?’ Aseem said, panicking. After a minute of checking on the computer, he shouted amid the rumbling noise, ‘We have lost control of the system…The n/m is increasing of its own accord. The size of the Seismosaurus will reach larger than even its actual size then…’

‘We must inform the C-AMBIENCE. The experiment has turned out a fiasco.’ said Anirudh

‘We don’t have much time to us,’ screamed out Richard.

Suddenly, a pin-drop silence abounded. The rumbling had stopped. ‘Aseem…the software has found the equation…We…We will have the Seismosaurus in a minute,’ said Eric quietly.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Aseem shouted through a sore throat, ‘RUN!!’

‘RUN!’ shouted Eric and Richard together. Piyush was still eyeing the centre of the glass-walled room, totally intrigued. He might have just woken up from a slumber.

‘PIYUSH…’ the loudest shout thus far came from Aseem, ‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING? COME WITH ME!’

Startled by the shout, Piyush absorbed the tense aura around in a moment and started running behind the others. Aseem had no time to think about where they had gone wrong, and really, there was no need. The Rebirth of Life Experiment was definitely going to render them all dead. He was still waiting for the worst…

And it came soon…An ear-splitting crash behind them recited the result of the biggest and the most dangerous experiment on earth…

As Aseem, Piyush and others turned around, they only had time to capture the glimpse of no less than four 100-meter-tall creatures that they had probably only imagined in their dreams. They were too large for the glass-walled room. Large chunks of glass fell upon them like heavy quills.

But that was not the worst. In an instant, each one of the people around began to drop on the ground, as if the threads of various puppets were cut off at the same time. The leaked KLL91 had done its job in an instant. There could not have been a worse sight. And then, as if it were needed, a tremor like an earthquake of the utmost magnitude, rocked the C-AMBIENCE. At the drop of a hat, the ambience of the C-AMBIENCE was death. Thousands of bodies, of the staff that worked at the C-AMBIENCE, papered the ground, making it a violent red graffiti. This was going to be the end of human life on earth, because there was no stopping the spread of the leaked KLL91 and its contaminated resources.

Something had gone drastically wrong. They had ignored the fact that no experiment in the world could be absolutely perfect, and that no experiment in the world could have been more devastating than this one. They had not heeded that tampering with the flow of time will only reduce your life-time…They had not realized that the universe was good as it was, with its mysteries veiled…

Life had ended for the humans in this slot of time, but nevertheless, Life had taken Birth again…

What did you think of this story? Please leave your feedback below. If you are an art and craft enthusiast, please do find the time to visit my YouTube channel as well! Thank you!

Bringing fictional small towns to life on TV: what we can learn from Parks and Recreation and Schitt’s Creek

I am an avid comedy fan, especially of critically acclaimed and classic (or soon-to-be-classic) comedy TV shows like Parks and Recreation, The Office (US version), 30 Rock and Schitt’s Creek. One of the things that draw me to these shows is the importance afforded to the towns or cities in which they are set. Parks and Recreation and Schitt’s Creek are both set in fictional towns, while The Office and 30 Rock are both set in real-life towns/cities. Specifically, Parks and Recreation is set in the fictional town of Pawnee in the US state of Indiana, and Schitt’s Creek is set in the eponymous fictional town. Meanwhile, The Office is set in Scranton, a real town in the US state of Pennsylvania. Similarly, the plots of 30 Rock primarily take place within the true building 30 Rockefeller Plaza (also known as 30 Rock) in New York City, USA. While recording and presenting existing and known cities/towns may be relatively straightforward (at least seemingly to a naïve viewer like myself), making a fictional small town believable and relatable on television appears to be a difficult task to me. In this blog, I want to explore what (I think) it takes to make fictional small towns in TV shows click with the audience. My focus will be on the different ways in which the fictional towns of Pawnee and Schitt’s Creek have been brought to life on TV.

Off the bat, let me summarize my thoughts before I delve deeper into the topic. I have found that both the shows have employed four major ways to establish the distinct identities of the small towns in which they are based. Firstly, I believe that the use of background sounds that are typical of a small town, as well as the lack of sounds that are typical of a big city both play a very important role in making the audience believe that the fictive world to which they are being transported is indeed a small town. Secondly, the creation of and constant references to a variety of places – such as motels, diners, inns, bars, town/city halls, parks, surrounding fictious cities/towns, etc. – grounds these towns to reality. Thirdly, the constant references to characters who own and represent the above-mentioned places or establishments; or are authority figures in a local town/city government (such as mayors or councilpersons) also make these small towns real and believable. Finally, both shows contain several references to the events that have taken place in the towns’ respective histories, which is equivalent to providing a background story to a character to make it more real.

Let me begin with the background soundscapes used in the two shows. The sounds used as interludes or transitions between scenes play an important role in giving Pawnee and Schitt’s Creek a small town vibe. In the first episode of the first season of Schitt’s Creek, as the show’s protagonist Rose family is forced to move from a big city to the town called Schitt’s Creek, the town’s soundscape is introduced with buzzing of insects and chirping of birds. Interestingly, chirping of birds is also the first sound the audience hears in the soundscape of Pawnee in Parks and Recreation (season 1, episode 1), along with the distant chatter of kids playing. As these pilot episodes progress in both the shows, we start capturing other sounds in the towns’ milieu, such as the sound of crickets or cars driving by, even if only a few (whereas Schitt’s Creek has at most one car driving past in scenes where a road is around, Pawnee has relatively more, which further helps establish the difference in the size/population/scale of the two towns). In later episodes, we begin to hear interspersed sounds of dogs barking at a distance (Parks and Recreation, season 1, episodes 2, 3), or a soft wind blowing across the landscape (season 1, episode 4). The showrunners have also prolifically used the absence of any background noise/sound to signify the scale and size of the town’s local government. For instance, in Parks and Recreation, we never hear the hustle-bustle of a big city’s city hall or local government office building. In all indoor shots, background sound is minimal to none (such as in season 1, episode 3). This is also the case in Schitt’s Creek.

After the vibes created by the background soundscapes of the two shows, it takes only a couple of episodes for the audience to establish that many dialogues have been crafted to establish Pawnee and Schitt’s Creek as small towns. Some dialogues highlight the use of fictional town places as recurring characters in the two shows; others the use of characters of authority in the town; and still others, the use of historical references to give a deep backstory to the towns. For example, in Parks and Recreation (season 1, episode 3), we are introduced to the town’s local newspaper The Pawnee Journal, which the show’s central character Leslie Knope calls the town’s The Washington Post. A local tabloid called Pawnee Sun is also a part of several episodes in the series. A local news channel called Pawnee Today is frequently seen in the series. The town’s local government is further brought to life by regular mentions of the mayor, councilmen, (season 2, episode 12). Local establishments such as JJ’s Diner, Pawnee Video Dome, local radio network, local news reporter Shauna Malwae-Tweep, and TV reporters Joan Callamezzo and Perd Hapley make frequent appearances throughout the 7 seasons of the show, which gives it credibility, consistency and tangibility. The show also puts the fictional town of Pawnee in plausible, real life situations. For example, in season 2 episode 15, a character named Ann Perkins states that “Pawnee is the fourth most obese city in America”, after a local candy company Sweetums (also a regular feature in the series) is found to be lying about the nutritional value of their candy bars. All these tactics make Pawnee realistic, believable and relatable.

Similarly, Schitt’s Creek has several dialogues, characters and places that make its setting credible. Alexis, a central character, rhetorically calls the town “charming”, “quaint” and “out of a storybook” (season 1, episode 1), which summarizes how the Rose family eventually begins to perceive the small town and ultimately how the audience perceives it too. The Schitt’s Creek Motel is almost like a character in itself, as the Rose family is forced to live in it after a business misfortune. Dialogues about the motel, such as “Unfortunately, due to a lack of everything, we don’t do room service”, make the town’s size and condition quite clear to the audience. In the second episode itself, it is made very clear that the town has only one plumber, only one real estate agent, and the motel attendant knows them all personally. Over the course of the series, the over-friendly town mayor, Roland Schitt, and his family become close friends with the Rose family, as do the other people on the town council. Furthermore, locations like Café Tropical, Bob’s Garage, and in later seasons, Rose Apothecary are permanent fixtures in the show’s plotlines.

Together, these tactics allow the showrunners to bring the shows’ small town locales to life. What the audience is left with, as a result, is an utter urge to teleport into one of these fictional worlds where simplicity rules, emotions thrive and social relationships flourish. The hope is that just like scripted ‘outsiders’ (in the form of the Rose family in Schitt’s Creek and Ben Wyatt and Chris Traeger in Parks and Recreation) were open-heartedly accepted by these small towns, we – the audience – will too be able to find acceptance in these extraordinary places when we seek it.

Did you like this article? Please leave your feedback below. If you have some specific topics you would like me to write about in the future, share them in the comments too. Lastly, if you are interested in arts and crafts, do visit my YouTube channel. Thank you!

The Trial of the Chicago 7 has a minimalist background score that intensifies in just the right scenes

The 2020 film The Trial of the Chicago 7 (director: Aaron Sorkin), available on Netflix, is making headlines and sweeping nominations and awards galore, most recently receiving a nod from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in as many as six categories. None of these categories, however, recognizes the brilliant scoring provided by music composer Daniel Pemberton. The impact of Pemberton’s unconventional and minimalist yet powerful background score is what I am interested in talking about in this blog.

The Trial of the Chicago 7 does not completely subscribe to the Classical Hollywood approach to film scoring. This is clear from the film’s scattered use of background score (most courtroom scenes do not have a background score while all protest-related scenes do); the heightened audibility of electronic music (at the cost of visual imagery and continuity) wherever it is used; and the fact that the film’s background score has not been used to tie the narrative together.

The movie uses a variety of background scoring methods, including the use of electronic music, orchestral music as well as diegetic sounds as part of the score. Orchestral music, for example, can be heard at 39’ 37’’, when the judge decides to dismiss a jury member that was expected to be in the favour of the defendants. Diegetic music emanating from an ongoing live performance is heard in the scene at 47’ 30’’, when peaceful protesters are attending a concert in a Chicago park. Meanwhile, electronic music is heard during all protest/riot-related scenes. For the sake of my discussion, I am considering one such scene – the around 5-minutes-long scene from 57’ 30’’ to 1 hour 2’ 19’’.

This is arguably one of the most important scenes in the film, showing one of the violent encounters that protesters had with Chicago police officers. Visually, the scene takes the audience back and forth between three venues and time points – the site of the protest and violence (1968); the courtroom where the trial of the Chicago 7 is taking place (1969); and an auditorium/hall where character Abbie Hoffman is addressing his supporters and recounting the events that took place during the protest (unknown time point). The shots from these three venues and time points are interspersed with real life black-and-white footage from 1968 when the riots actually took place in Chicago. Throughout the scene, electronic music in the form of rock / hard rock / heavy metal music is used, with drums playing a vital role.

The sound of drums in the sonic language of the scene has been ironically juxtaposed against its corresponding visual imagery – as the policemen wield their riot clubs to ‘beat’ the protesters to silence them, the background score intensifies with an increased frequency of drumsticks ‘beating’ the drums to create music. In a way, this also takes “invisibility” away from the score – even though musical instruments are not seen in this scene, the riot clubs suggest the presence of such instruments. Additionally, at this point, the music has transformed from soft rock into a heavy metal / hard rock genre, which Sorkin and Pemberton have effectively used to evoke the emotions of anger and passion (thus turning the score into a signifier of emotion).

The score in this scene also combines diegetic sounds with rock music. As the protesters rhythmically shout the slogan “Free Tom Hayden”, Sorkin/Pemberton merge this diegetic chant with the intensifying hard rock music of the background score to create new music – almost transforming it into a word-filled song. Thus, instead of using music to fill silences like in the Classical Hollywood approach, Sorkin/Pemberton have used it as an added layer of sounds in scenes that are already very noisy, making the audience more aware of the fact that they are watching a film. As a result, this music is no longer inaudible; it is too profound to not be listened to consciously, unlike Classic Hollywood background score.

On the other hand, like Classic Hollywood score, the music in this scene certainly unifies the various shots, spaces and times represented. However, it is still unable to conceal the scene’s visual discontinuity. This visual discontinuity is brought about by the presence of crowds of different kinds in different shots stitched together in the scene – the crowd of protesters is rowdy, loud and largely irresponsive; the crowd in the courtroom is silent and focused; and the crowd in Hoffman’s address is determined, responsive but neither rowdy nor loud. The music does not change significantly based on the characteristics of these three types of crowd in the scene. Rather, it seems to be directing the audience’s attention to the dynamics of the protesting crowd alone.

The use of rock music in this scene has historical significance too. Rock music came to be used in Hollywood cinema in the 1950s, after the phase of Classical Hollywood cinema ended. In fact, Hollywood films made since the mid-1950s have often employed rock music as background for stories that depicted the tumultuous and uncertain lives of youth in the 50s, 60s and 70s. Moreover, rock music has also been used as travelling music, often finding place in scenes that depicted the chaotic journeys undertaken by the films’ (anti-)heroes. Interestingly, both of these observations apply to The Trial of the Chicago 7, to different degrees. Firstly, the film is indeed based on the lives of young, rebellious voices from the 1960s. Secondly, as per the film, the Chicago 7 were misrepresented as anti-heroes by the government. This makes Pemberton’s use of rock music in various protest scenes in the film in sync with the filmmakers / composers of that era.

Overall, rock music in the background score in this scene, and the film in general, is acting as the music of revolution, imparting a certain restlessness to the events highlighted by it. In fact, as I mentioned earlier, it has been used throughout the film in scenes of the protests or preparation for the protests. Usually, these are either montages or other scenes with many quick cuts that take the audience across space and time while discussing the same event. Meanwhile, the rest of the film, which is mostly composed of the courtroom scenes, largely lacks a background score, except for a few scenes where light orchestral or diegetic music has been used. This makes the loud music of the protest scenes rather discontinuous with the rest of the score. At the same time, this disjointedness of the background score helps draw more audience attention to the protest scenes, which form the core of the story.

What did you think of this article? Please share your comments below. Also, if you are interested in arts and crafts, do check out my YouTube channel.

How the soundscape of colonialism changed through the centuries

The soundscape in the age of colonialism was defined by new sounds heard by colonisers and natives for the first time, the voice and noise of dissent and protest, propaganda broadcasts over the radio, revolutionary speeches, patriotic music, and sloganeering, among others. Sound became a source and expression of rebellion, the announcement of a cultural coup against colonial invaders, a collusion among the natives, or even the expression of sympathetic attitudes towards, and support for, colonialism.  Thus, the systematic use of sound to establish, endure, adapt to, or upstage colonial rule through the centuries and across the geography of the world is a notable premise to explore. In this blog post, I want to delve into how the sound of the colonial era, produced in various forms and emanated from distinct media, provides an important background in which to understand colonialism, the motives of the colonists and the sentiments of the colonised.

Sound holds special importance in our understanding and exploration of colonialism, as both the colonisers and the colonised were exposed to new sounds in the form of new languages, new objects, new music, new noise – a new soundscape altogether. When a British ship got stranded in Bermuda on a trip to Virginia – the site of the first British colony in America – divided travellers were united by the sound of a bell which was used to gather them for communal worship and to ensure that everyone was accounted for. The sound of bells became a harbinger of order, familiarity and trust for the stranded travellers. At the same time, colonial explorers who reached Australian wilderness during their expeditions found that the old calmness of the sound of bell was quickly replaced by a feeling of vulnerability, stress and unfamiliarity. Despite the varying emotions evoked by the sound of a bell amid colonial invaders, colonisers still used all kinds of distinct sounds – or noises – including bells, trumpets or horns, to warn, control and discipline the natives. These colonisers also brought with them guns, the loud sounds of which were new in the soundscapes experienced by most natives. The sudden, loud noise of gunshots created an aura of fear, uncertainty and subjugation that further helped the cause of the colonisers simply with the aid of a sound. On rare occasion though, such as in the case of Australian Aboriginals, the natives were simply amused by the sound of gunshots. In such cases, since language barriers and xenophobic tendencies disallowed mingling, colonisers decided to ‘arm’ themselves with other sounds, such as a simple, loud cry like a “hurra” or the sounds of instruments like gongs and bugles, to keep the natives distanced from themselves. Colonial expeditions to Australia revealed an entirely new soundscape for the colonisers, not only because of the different human language spoken when they did encounter the natives, but also because of the unique natural aural combinations, such as the sounds of animals new to the colonisers, like emu, jackass, white cockatoo etc. These sounds became increasingly important for the colonisers as they were often faced with bouts of silence in the Australian landscape, which they found to be miserable and morose. Elsewhere, over time, certain sounds started being associated with colonial authority but also happiness and curiosity. For example, different types of horns were sounded in the streets as various classes of mail were distributed under colonial authority. These horns, as they echoed through the streets, came to be seen as heralds of joy as well as uncertainty.

If noise was defining new experiences that became an integral part of the history of colonialism, changes in music were also providing a deeper meaning to the way colonisers and natives led their lives in the colonial era. For example, music was integral to the colonial experience in America. In the seventeenth century, psalm-singing became a means adopted by British colonisers in America to convert Native Americans to Christianity and to make them follow a Christian lifestyle. The natives were required to give up their own traditions, songs, music and dancing, giving new cultural contexts and connotations to the adopted sounds, most commonly related to Christianity. In fact, until the late eighteenth century, music in America was considered to be a religious or sacred enterprise, which even led to many colonial era theatrical productions, which showcased ‘secular’ music, being repressed through legislative means. This was also the time when music came to be understood as not only an artform of the ‘heart’, but also something that warranted scientific exploration. This prominent change was achieved in a large part by the choral composer William Billings. Billings played an important role in the development of American music as the language of revolution and propaganda. By promoting individuality of sound, of musical expression, Billings challenged the rules of composition set as authority by the British colonisers, and in doing so, he also challenged the British authority. Music, and more importantly, putting revolutionary message to music, became a popular way to rebel against the colonial rule. John Dickinson, a revered figure in American revolutionary movement, is credited with the creation of “The Liberty Song” in 1768, a first of its kind patriotic song in America that summoned the ideas of unity, liberty and political uprising. Other songs such as Joseph Warren’s “Song on Liberty” (1774), Thomas Paine’s “Liberty Tree” (1775) and Benjamin Franklin’s “The King’s Own Regulars and Their Triumph over the Irregulars” (1775) similarly became symbols of patriotism and heralders of freedom in colonial America.

In the second wave of European colonisation, music held a different meaning for colonisers. For example, when the British colonised India in the nineteenth century, Western classical and military band music represented high-class cultural forms that the colonisers used to replicate the aura of their home back in Britain. Among both the colonisers and the natives, these were regarded as exclusive, elitist and primarily Europe-centric musical forms. In colonial India of the early twentieth century however, jazz music born in the US became infused through performers both British and Anglo-Indian. Jazz soon became the vehicle on which global music was spread throughout India, particularly in large cities like Delhi, Bombay, Calcutta and Madras. While the spread of jazz did move the Western music scene in colonial India away from Euro-centrism, many venues where jazz music was played were still exclusive to the British and those elite Indian guests who gave the colonisers a financial or political advantage. Thus, the sound of jazz music became prone to racial exclusion politics and propaganda in colonial India.

This association of the cultural form of music with colonialism continued even as the colonial era was nearing its end. The end of the ‘old form’ of colonialism, however, was soon replaced with another form. Indeed, in a very modern sense, colonialism has also been seen as meaning the application of nonmilitary establishment of authority over other countries by using cultural exchange and trade. This modern colonialism was vividly seen as the ending years of ‘old-form’ colonialism were marked by unique changes in the global soundscape, especially in the way independent nations like the US and the USSR responded to the end of colonialism. The role of jazz music is an important example of these changes. In the 1960s, jazz music started to become a symbol of African American resistance against racial injustice and oppression in the US. It became a means of propagating ‘cultural nationalism’, ostensibly inspired by and in solidarity with the resistance movements by African countries against colonialism at the same time. Ironically and almost concurrently, in this Cold War era, the US government even commissioned international tours of American artists, including jazz musicians. These tours were used to further America’s cultural propaganda in a bid to counter similar measures taken by Soviet authorities to spread communism in new-born nations and those resisting colonial powers to gain national identities. 

Of course, live performances by musical artists were not the only means of connecting the colonial rulers with their diasporic representatives leading their colonies across the oceans or spreading political propagandas. Indeed, a discussion of sound in the context of colonialism will be incomplete without an analysis of the role of public radio broadcasting – a method that took form in the 1920s – in the lives of the colonisers and the natives. Like live music, radio broadcasts of ceremonies, news and other custom programmes also served both cultural and political purposes. The radio voice can be both a means of arousing desire and one of establishing authority among the audiences. This is perhaps why the radio became such a lucrative medium for colonial rulers. The British Broadcasting Corporation, founded in 1927, started using short wave transmission to communicate with the British colonies as part of what was established as the ‘Empire Service’. The Empire Service sought to become an anchor to homeland for the members of the British diaspora leading and managing the colonies around the world. However, the service was primarily directed at propagating colonial propaganda in the colonies, seeking sympathy and support for the British rule. A thorough analysis and discussion revealed to the British colonial authorities that projecting British culture onto the minds of listeners could have a major impact on the audiences in the colonies. It could build among the natives both a loyalty towards and a connection with the British Empire.

The majority of the Empire Service’s radio transmissions were broadcast from the seat of the empire – London, Britain. These broadcasts were comprised primarily of news and discussions highlighting imperial achievements, ceremonies, and monarchical rituals. For some non-British colonisers, the radio served a different purpose philosophically. An example is Algeria, which was colonised by the French in the early nineteenth century. Even though the radio still became a nostalgic link between the French colonisers in Algeria and their home country, for the natives, it worked to reaffirm their status as ‘the colonised’. Thus, ultimately, the radio voice became prominent for the colonists because it gave their voice all the more authority – it neither called for a response from its audience, not could it ever be responded to in a direct manner, it only dictated what was known or expected without giving the audience any control over the situation (other than, of course, turning the radio off). In other words, radio voice was (and is) ‘acousmetric’ in nature, as the direct source of this voice is not seen by the audience, giving it the sense of being an otherworldly, Godly voice. This quality of radio transmissions is perhaps what made the role of BBC’s radio transmissions to the British colonies paramount in the times of the second World War. Indeed, wartime radio broadcasts were used to convey Britain’s position on the war and gain support of the locals.

The impact of such propaganda radio broadcasts on the natives is, however, disputable. Even George Orwell, a significant literary authority who came to be associated with the BBC broadcasts to India during 1941-43, discovered that his broadcasts to India had no influence and amounted to nothing but ‘wasted’ time. When Orwell took upon the responsibility of being the voice of British broadcasts to colonial India in 1941, he was tasked with the development of daily 45-minute-long English language programmes for the region. In this period, Orwell’s war commentaries were translated into Indian languages including Hindi/Urdu, Tamil, Bengali etc., and broadcast for the locals. Orwell’s broadcast programmes also intended to enable a cultural transaction with colonial India, particularly in the fields of literature, sociology and philosophy. This was aimed at engendering a solidarity between the East and the West. Unfortunately, the impact of Orwell’s radio programmes, and any radio broadcasts from Britain in general, was found to not have been profound. Surveys conducted by a BBC intelligence officer at the time revealed that only about 121,000 Indians (of a population of 300 million) had radios and the number that listened to British broadcasts was even smaller. Since the local audience was largely hostile towards all British sentiments, a few thousand radio listeners were the most the BBC had anticipated to tune in in India.

Nevertheless, the problem of the natives not being in possession of radio sets was resolved by the frequent use of another means of listening – the loudspeaker. The loudspeaker became a mode of ‘communal listening’ in the colonial era. For example, in Georgetown, British New Guinea, the King’s Silver Jubilee Celebrations in 1935 were relayed to many school children who had gathered to participate in the ceremony. Similarly, in parts of Malta and Sri Lanka, both colonised by the British, colonial officials installed loudspeakers in gathering areas to publicly relay the BBC broadcast of the 1937 coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth I. Some colonists, however, were concerned that communal listening could promote the natives to ‘plot’ and mobilise against them. In a way, communal listening accentuated the acousmetric nature of radio and opened the colonial world to a range of possibilities of engagement between the colonisers and the colonised.

Thus, sound, in its many shapes and forms, formed an important part of the colonial experience for both the colonisers and the natives. While it held the power to transport colonisers to their homeland and to intimidate the natives, it also empowered the natives with a new means of consolidating and spreading the word of resistance against colonial powers. In doing so, sound became an integral, evolving vehicle that always accompanied colonialism, from its birth to its death.

What did you think of this post? Please share your comments below and follow me for more interesting articles. If you are an art enthusiast, do check out my YouTube channel too!

Why Graham Greene’s ‘The Destructors’ is linguistically and philosophically ambiguous

I recently had the opportunity to read Graham Greene’s short story The Destructors (1954) (If you haven’t read it yet, you might want to read it here – https://www.shortstoryproject.com/story/the-destructors/ – before going through the rest of this post). I was intrigued by the story’s highly ambiguous tone (both linguistically and philosophically) and soon discovered that I am not the only one who thinks so. In this post, I wanted to share my thoughts on what makes The Destructors so ambiguous.

The story begins on a note that may be considered amusing: adolescent children – one of them only nine years old – acting like the mafia, meticulously planning their next fraud, heist, riot or the like. The beginning may even seem cute in this way, but as the story progresses, the reader realises that these children mean business. The ambiguity in the criminality of the acts in the story arises primarily because Greene uses adolescents, and not adults, to commit the destruction of Old Misery’s house, which makes the story funny at times and morbidly dark at other times. Up until the gang starts destroying the house in a manner planned like professionals, Greene maintains a comedic tone in the story. The funniness largely comes from Greene’s use of words or sentences that one typically associates with adult perpetrators of punishable crimes, to describe the thoughts, actions and conversations of adolescents. This is particularly seen in his use of phrases and sentences like “the latest recruit” (for Trevor, the newest member of the Wormsley Common car-park gang) (p.1); “You can’t vote now. You know the rules” (says Blackie to Trevor who arrived late to a gang hustle) (p.3); or “The gang had gathered round: It was as though an impromptu court were about to form and to try some case of deviation” (when the gang began questioning Trevor’s intentions in visiting Old Misery’s house) (p.3). Similarly, the reason behind Blackie’s decision to agree to the destruction (which he was earlier reluctant to do) under Trevor’s leadership is expressed funnily. Blackie’s decision was born out of “pure, simple, and altruistic ambition of fame for the gang” as he thought that the fact that “nothing like it had ever been done before” would make their gang famous all over London (p.6). He revelled in the thought that “there would be headlines in the papers” and that “even the grown-up gangs who ran the betting at the all-in wrestling and the barrow-boys” would respect the deeds of this gang of adolescents (p.6). Meanwhile, Mike, the youngest member of the gang, had been given ‘permission’ by the new leader Trevor to arrive late to the destruction ‘event’ after attending his church prayers, which makes for another humorous reference in the story.  

Greene further adds humour by making the only two adult characters in the story – Old Misery and the lorry driver – act and appear like children. Greene weirdly fulfils the prediction in Old Misery’s horoscope from the day before (“Danger of serious crash”) right before Trevor harshly pushes him in his own loo (making his head ‘crash’ into “the opposite wall”) and locks the door (p.13). Meanwhile, the lorry driver, also an adult, acts like a wonder-struck child who finds the demolition of a house – falling like a house of cards – funny enough to laugh in the face of the person who lived in it. In all these instances, it is the mismatched dialogue – adolescents speaking and acting like adults and adults being child-like, ignorant and oblivious of emotions – which gives the story a funny tone.

Yet, despite the ‘funny’ façade of The Destructors, the seriousness and concerning nature of what these adolescents are doing is undeniable. The funniness vanishes as soon as one dismisses Greene’s swapping of age-appropriate behaviour and dialogue between adolescents and adults. If one were to imagine the story if the adolescent characters were shown to be a decade or two older, the horrors and criminality of the plot will more conspicuously take the forefront. Even without imagining this change in age, the acts depicted are of course criminal. The grimness of the situation is worsened because it seems as thoughGreene’s characters age swiftly during the course of the short story, graduating from “pinching free rides” from “unwary conductors” to breaking in and destroying an old man’s house. Not only does Trevor carry out a coup and steal the leadership and power from Blackie, but he also foments a massive act of vandalism through who have now become his ‘minions’. The dark nature of the story also manifests through the evil that can be sensed in Trevor’s words “I’d like to see Old Misery’s face when we are through” (p.9), or through the realisation that the destruction of the house would be utterly senseless to an observer – there was no clear motive, it was not planned because of some personal hatred for Old Misery because “there’d be no fun if [Trevor] hated him” (p.9). Of course, the sincere dangerousness of the words that Trevor says to Old Misery as the latter is locked in the outhouse loo, cannot be dismissed either: “we won’t hurt you, not if you stay quiet” (p.14).

The funniness in The Destructors is also lost because Greene describes Trevor’s personality and history with utmost seriousness, which gives the character and his actions a context and thus makes the existence of such a character in real life credible. Trevor is a reticent young boy who is mocked by peers and who is obsessed with destroying a piece of architecture that survived the Blitz ostensibly because his father had “come down in the world” after losing a job as an architect. Trevor’s state of mind may generate empathy among many a reader. Even sociologically, Greene’s depiction of adolescence in The Destructors is rather true to reality – certainly true to statistics that show that adolescence, particularly in ages twelve to fourteen, is when a person’s propensity for crime shows a sudden increase.

Greene’s reference to Wren (Christopher Wren, the architect of St. Paul’s Church in England), when Trevor informs the gang that it was Wren who had built Old Misery’s house over 200 years ago, is another point in the story where an ambiguity in the story’s intentions arises and the seriousness of its premise is established in retrospect. Historical records on Wren’s childhood and adolescence reveal similarities between the Wren and Greene’s character Trevor. Wren was born in 1632 in a family comprising of spiritual leaders and proponents of Catholicism, a practice which was almost considered treason at the time. Unfortunately, Wren’s family suffered a ‘fall from grace’ during his adolescence (the mid-1640s), with his father accused of heresy and put on trial, and his uncle jailed for ‘promoting’ idolatry and superstition. Trevor, the destructor, then was living an adolescence blemished with misfortunes similar to those of Wren, the architect and inventor, except Wren used the time of his family’s tribulations to invent and build scientific instruments, while Trevor joined a gang of adolescent vandals and ‘designed’ the destruction of a house that Wren had built centuries earlier. The house, though decrepit, had survived the Blitz, but by destroying it inside out, the story’s protagonist (or perhaps the antagonist) wished to do what the Blitz bombings had missed. He wanted to mimic the aftermath of a bomb dropping in a war by engaging kids just like him to do the deed.

Then again, destruction itself is an ambiguous concept philosophically, as Greene makes abundantly clear in the story. Even though Greene was a devout Catholic, he wrote that “destruction after all is a form of creation” (p.8). The destruction of Old Misery’s house, for Greene, is then an act of creation. Thus, the ambiguity in the tone of The Destructors also arises because of this apparent uncertainty in Greene’s own beliefs – was he Catholic enough to not mock the idea of the apocalyptic end of the world, or was he being serious by denouncing a strongly Catholic idea in his story?

Ultimately, Greene’s depiction of Old Misery’s predicament is indeed funny, as the tired and rheumatic tenant of the house could do nothing but eat pastry, sitting on the outhouse toilet, while a gang of kids destroyed the very skeleton of his house next door. However, while the incredulity of adolescents acting like adults and vice versa infuses humour into the story, the final premise of a fragile old man locked up, unable to protect his house from senseless demolition by a bunch of adolescents misguided by an also adolescent leader who considers destruction to be creation is highly serious and problematic.

NOTE: Follow this space if you would like to read more about literature, films and art. If you are interested in art, I also regularly post videos on my YouTube channel (www.youtube.com/c/KraftykotArt). Subscribe to my channel if you like the content and spread the word!

The Globalization of Bollywood

Bollywood and other branches of Indian cinema have become truly global, serving audiences all over the world. As a devout consumer of Indian films, I was mulling over the reasons why they have gained such a vast audience worldwide. A profound reason for the increase in the appetite for Indian cinema has been the constant increase in globalization in different domains of life, and more recently, the commencement of the digital era of films and TV. I have tried to summarize the different aspects of these two factors below.

Globalization of Indian films

Indian films are now screened in a large number of countries including the USA, the UK, Australia, Canada, China, Pakistan, UAE and others. One obvious reason for this increase in global viewership for Indian cinema is the rise in the number of Indian immigrants in these countries, whether for jobs, business or education. In fact, according to the Population Division of the United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs (DESA) (September 2019), Indians constitute the world’s largest diaspora with over 17.5 million people.

Globalization of cinematic themes

As Indian films have started to cater to a large audience outside India, the themes that drive Indian cinema have also changed. One class of themes has catered to NRIs by portrayal of strong Indian traditions and morals through characters living in India. The other class focuses more on the unique experiences of NRIs, such as the culture shock, identity conflict, linguistic ambiguity, nostalgia, racism and a sense of duty towards the homeland.  

Globalization of production locations

Sangam, directed by Raj Kapoor in 1964, became the first Bollywood film to be shot outside India. Its foreign production locations included Switzerland and other European countries. Ever since Sangam,several Bollywood films have provided the Indian audience a look into beautiful scenic locations as well as the lives of people in foreign countries. Thus, Indian cinema has become global not only in its circulation, but also in its production. Moreover, the Indian film industry no longer uses scenic and picturesque foreign locations such as Switzerland only to shoot videos for songs in their musicals. It also no longer resorts to using foreign locations only for them to masquerade as ‘better’ and ‘prettier’ versions of Indian towns and cities. It has graduated to using foreign locales as a tool to make the storylines more captivating, even going so far as to turning these production locations into equivalents of indispensable characters or protagonists in the movies. Some critically and/or commercially successful Bollywood films from the past two decades have been shot in locations as far-ranging as Poland (Kick, 2014), Bulgaria (Shivaay, 2016), Spain (Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, 2011), France (Queen, 2014; Tamasha, 2015),Netherlands (Queen, 2014), UAE (Airlift, 2016),USA (English Vinglish, 2012),Afghanistan (Kabul Express, 2006),South Korea (Gangster, 2006) and Australia (Dil Chahta Hai, 2001). These films follow their characters’ storylines as these characters navigate new countries and locations.

Globalization with respect to the cast and crew members

In this context as well, the Indian film industry has become vastly global. For instance, some Bollywood movies have hired Hollywood makeup artists such as Greg Cannom (Kapoor and Sons, 2016; Fan, 2016) and Stephen Dupuis (Paa, 2009), while others have employed stunt directors from Hollywood and other international film fraternities such as Greg Powell (Prem Ratan Dhan Payo, 2015; Holiday, 2014), Cyril Raffaelli (Naam Shabana, 2017; Baby, 2015) and others. Bollywood and the Indian audience have also been welcoming to actors belonging to the Indian and other South Asian diaspora settled in various countries, as well as the diaspora of other countries settled in India. Actors including Jacqueline Fernandez (Sri Lanka), Sunny Leone (Canada), Nora Fatehi (Canada), Nargis Fakhri (USA) and Kalki Koechlin (second generation member of the French diaspora in India) have all acted and been appreciated in various Bollywood films. In fact, foreign actors with no Indian or South Asian roots have also been among the lead cast of various Indian films. These include Bárbara Mori (Kites, 2010) from Mexico; Amy Jackson (Ekk Deewana Tha, 2012)from the UK and Giselli Monteiro (Love Aaj Kal, 2009) from Brazil. Such international actors have also helped in the globalization of Indian cinema.

Indian actors going global

Some mainstream Bollywood actors have either temporarily or permanently translocated to international industries. For example, Priyanka Chopra, Anupam Kher and Deepika Padukone have been parts of several films and/or TV shows in the US. These eminent actors have played a major role in iterating and clarifying to the world that Bollywood, and in extension, Indian cinema, is not merely a genre, but a formidable industry to reckon with. Through their various promotional interviews for their respective movies and/or TV shows, they have answered several questions about Bollywood (and Indian cinema in general), and the several stigmas and prejudices associated with it.

The advent of OTT platforms

As the world continues to swiftly harmonize with the digital age, new means of enjoying a full-fledged theatrical experience right at your home have emerged. With the advent of numerous over-the-top (OTT) platforms such as Netflix and Amazon Prime Video, Indian cinema has received even more exposure to a global audience with a taste for Indian culture and sensibility. A host of Indian movies – from the Hindi film industry or Bollywood, as well as the various prolific regional film industries – are available for audiences across the world to watch, appreciate and criticize.

Review channels on YouTube

While some may think them to be frivolous, YouTube and the social media have also become indispensable means of marketing and data collection. Various non-Indian YouTube channels focusing on reviewing world cinema have also made Indian cinema their staple topic of discussion and review, mainly owing to the Indian audience seeking their opinion on Indian cinema.

Celebrated actors/media personalities from the Indian diaspora

The Indian diaspora has also contributed to the awareness of Indian culture and cinema in the world. Globally known second generation members of the Indian diaspora are sharing their experiences with finding, understanding, accepting and appreciating their Indian as well as religious identities. Some popular actors and media personalities of the second generation of the Indian diaspora who have brought India, Indian cinema and Indianness to the front line include Mindy Kaling (USA), Aziz Ansari (USA), Hasan Minhaj (USA) and Lilly Singh (Canada).

Can you think of other reasons that contribute to the ever-expanding breadth of Indian cinema’s outreach? Please leave your comments below. Also check put my YouTube channel for my artwork if you are interested!

How art and architecture integrate politics and religion

The use of monumental art and architecture to combine politics and religion has been a historical phenomenon transcending eras, cultures and geographical locations. People often used places of worship to beseech the Gods for prosperity, wealth and victory in war. Moreover, invaders and conquerors always devastated the major temples in an empire to establish their might. This naturally brings together politics and religion in unprecedented ways through architecture and monumental art. The following paragraphs describe three examples from different eras and cultures to evidence the importance of art and architecture in combining politics and religion.

Religion and politics have been integrated through different ages in the Mayan civilization (fourth century BCE to the thirteenth century CE, present day Central America). Rulers in the Mayan civilization were not only political entities, but also commanders of religion. The Mayans built numerous temples in Maya centres to honour the past political rulers as well as the Gods. Moreover, the use of these temples was not limited to religious activities, but also extended to conducting political events. Specific architectural forms called Triadics are also believed to have been built for both religious and political reasons.

Similarly, sandstone pillars commissioned by emperor Asoka of the Mauryan Empire (third century BCE, present day South Asia) served as monumental art pieces that expounded the religion Buddhism and also carried court orders for the general public. The edicts inscribed on these pillars contain moral and religious tenets as well as the roles of government officials and declaration of political happenings in the empire, such as release of prisoners.

In the Roman Empire, Constantine’s era (early fourth century CE, present day Western Europe) saw the construction of many Constantinian churches in the form of basilicas to give a distinctive look to the places where the newly popularized and enforced religion of Christianity was to be practiced. From an architectural perspective, basilicas had previously been included in palaces for political gatherings by the Roman Lords, including law courts. The new religious function of the basilicas was perhaps derived from their earlier purpose, as Gregory Armstrong posits in his 1974 paper on this topic (Constantine’s churches: symbol and structure’, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, vol. 33, no. 1, 1974, p. 5) – “gatherings, but with the Lord being Jesus Christ and the subjects being those who practiced Christianity in these Constantinian churches”. This integrates both politics and religion through a single architectural form.

These examples shed light on different dimensions of the social functions of art and architecture. It is clear that the prime function of political and/or religious architecture has been to allow for a congregation of several devotees to show reverence to the political leader or a religious deity. Art and architecture also helped foster inter-personal bonds and solidarity. Moreover, they were also a means of mass communication, often used to disseminate doctrines on religion and politics. Interestingly, communication was not limited to large social gatherings inside architectures such as temples or churches. We see that in the monumental Asokan pillars, inscriptions of edicts were the means of mass communication. Both religious and political views of Asoka were immortalized in these monuments. This tells us how art and architecture performed (and still perform) a variety of social functions through their role in integrating politics and religion.

Do you have any other examples to illustrate the role of art and architecture in integrating religion and politics? If so, feel free to share them in the comments section. Also check out my YouTube channel for my art-related content!  

Inspiration comes from wild places!

Every once in a while, I like to dabble in the fine arts. And while my art is certainly embellished with flaws, I still like to share it whenever I finish a new project to my satisfaction. Recently, I have even started uploading descriptive videos of my artwork on YouTube. The point of this short blog post is to just think about how inspiration can come from simply anywhere. Here’s what inspired some of my recent art projects.

During my PhD, I was going through a hard time, like most other graduate students. Some of my friends who were also in a similar situation found refuge in drinking, playing sports or cooking. I found mine in art. I had made an artwork back when I was in high school (see photograph below), another time when I was using art as a refuge. Almost 7 years later, that artwork inspired me to make another one. I kind of incorporated that work in this new piece (see video above).

Another of my artworks, as you can see in the video below, was inspired by a scene I saw in a Bollywood film called Chennai Express.

In this film, I really liked this one shot of a waterfall with a train going over a bridge in front of it – gorgeous! I wanted to recreate that picture in 3D using clay and oil paints. I started with that thought, but soon realized that it would be tough to recreate that with the material I had at hand at the time. So, I started looking for other waterfall pictures, and found the Multnomah Falls in Oregon, US to be absolutely mesmerizing. The result was what you see in the video above.

Sometimes, inspiration and frugality are closely linked. This is what gave birth to another one of my projects (see video above), and had a small part to play in some of the previous works too. Many, if not all, of my recent artworks have drinking straws as a building material in them. The straws, of which I had bought 1000 from Amazon, were supposed to be for an experiment in lab. So, they were a precise diameter and length. However, when they were delivered, I realized that the diameter I saw online when placing the order was the straw’s outer diameter and not the inner diameter as I had hoped. I could not use these straws for my experiment. Now what does one do with 1000 thin drinking straws, especially when one doesn’t really drink sodas or juices? Enter art!

Do you have crazy inspiration stories behind your artworks? Feel free to share some in the comments below. If you have links to your art, leave them below too. I would love to follow your work!