room101
blackandwhite cinema is of another world. it's classic. poignant. spooky.
back when doordarshan reigned supreme, old obscure hindi films would find their way to the late night slots, along with steamy french movies and subtitled, depressing kannada ones. one such hindi film was about a princess who wouldn't smile. the king tried everything - jesters, clowns, animals with tricks. and yet she sat there, wrapped in monochrome gloom.
at this point in the proceedings, as the line of laugh-makers were working their way to the royal mehfil, a cold finger ran down the spine.
the scene went something like this, with no variations at all: business in the royal court, presumably comic. the assembled citizenry, including king, queen and punkah-boy, laugh in hearty staccato fashion. synchronised turn of necks to look at gloomy princess. upon seeing gloom still in place, dejected, yet synchronised, hanging of heads.
this went on for a goodly bit, till i turned off the tv in terror. me, whom boredom had disciplined to sit through any color of tripe, through all languages of incomprehension. i turned off the tv and read a book.
in color it might not have been so creepy, but in b&w it slayed. sometimes, on sleepless, empty afternoons, i can see that courtroom and its people laughing without any trace of mirth, in traditional ha-ha-ha motif, in desperation, in SYNC.
if the year was orwell's 1984, and i was caught drawing a mustache on big brother's handsome and noble visage, they would haul me into room 101 and play this scene endlessly. in the meanwhile, i would feel the tiny nails of large, flesh-colored, translucent lizards bellying their way toward my inner thigh. and a jar of honey would be poured down the back of my shirt, to inch slowly s-t-i-c-k-i-l-y into my armpits and lick deep into the folds of my waist.
back when doordarshan reigned supreme, old obscure hindi films would find their way to the late night slots, along with steamy french movies and subtitled, depressing kannada ones. one such hindi film was about a princess who wouldn't smile. the king tried everything - jesters, clowns, animals with tricks. and yet she sat there, wrapped in monochrome gloom.
at this point in the proceedings, as the line of laugh-makers were working their way to the royal mehfil, a cold finger ran down the spine.
the scene went something like this, with no variations at all: business in the royal court, presumably comic. the assembled citizenry, including king, queen and punkah-boy, laugh in hearty staccato fashion. synchronised turn of necks to look at gloomy princess. upon seeing gloom still in place, dejected, yet synchronised, hanging of heads.
this went on for a goodly bit, till i turned off the tv in terror. me, whom boredom had disciplined to sit through any color of tripe, through all languages of incomprehension. i turned off the tv and read a book.
in color it might not have been so creepy, but in b&w it slayed. sometimes, on sleepless, empty afternoons, i can see that courtroom and its people laughing without any trace of mirth, in traditional ha-ha-ha motif, in desperation, in SYNC.
if the year was orwell's 1984, and i was caught drawing a mustache on big brother's handsome and noble visage, they would haul me into room 101 and play this scene endlessly. in the meanwhile, i would feel the tiny nails of large, flesh-colored, translucent lizards bellying their way toward my inner thigh. and a jar of honey would be poured down the back of my shirt, to inch slowly s-t-i-c-k-i-l-y into my armpits and lick deep into the folds of my waist.
posted by Deepa at 1:14 AM
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