Fill the Reckless: Chris Nolan

                                    On Chris Nolan and why he shakes me off my stupor.

                                     

So every time a film ends with a jump cut to black, every time I revel a trifle solemnly and every goddamn cell is shaken off its recessionary stupor; it is indisputably a Nolan stir-me-up. I think I recognize the touch now. Is it the beginning, the end, am I sozzled or what? That's that! Christopher Johnathan James Nolan. The fog which has lasted well 5 years, had vanished last Friday, and the sky is bright. Distant Bruce Wayne, absolutely charming, bows in acceptance: "By your leave!"

But what about Nolan? That, he is one of the cleverest plotter-the creator-the magician-the non- conformist, has been established with very little side split-ends. So, what of him? That he gives you a world, some impetuous and determined characters, psychological thrillers, employs an interesting storytelling technique; and before you know it, you are involved. Oh, boy! You are, you're subconsciously engaged in little spurts of his narrative. It is the job of an illusionist well done and credits to him.

But of course, there is a pattern. Nolan's storytelling is superbly distinct and non-linear; apportioned in acts. Most of them begin where they end, and wherefore to this end the characters move thereon is determined. So when Cutter in The Prestige (2006) speaks of the three acts or parts in every great magic trick, he seemingly echoes Nolan: The Pledge, The turn and The Prestige. Metaphorically, for me, the Batman trilogy is a perfect divvy of these acts and ends marvellously with this: “The Prestige”- The Dark Knight Rises.   

Interestingly, the protagonists in most of Nolan's films display single-mindedness, are extremely passionate about their respective goals, have some psychological disorder or obsession and are basically forked out in some parallel reality or the semblance of it. Remember Marion Cotillard and Leonardo in Inception, Guy Pearce in Memento, Al Pacino in Insomnia, Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale in The Prestige, Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight. Nolan explores the tension of these central characters in the external subjective reality of the world they live in and the internal objective reality they believe in or occasionally slip into. This is precisely what makes his voice exciting: the exploration of the known (obvious) and the true (unknown) world. So his main man will always have several contradictions, extreme psychological splits and an affinity to this parallel reality. And hey, you get a movie where one plus one doesn't always equal two (It could be four if all twos, as you deduce in logical reasoning, equal to four). Yeah, yeah. Something like that.

A bit of a personal bias would not be disconcerting then. The man is well read, sophisticated, speaks impeccably, has a thing for fantasy and phantasm, holds a degree in English literature, is a Bond freak and generally with it. And Batman and Inception and Magician and the Joker and....Nikola Tesla and.... No, wait, superlatively brilliant! My proclivity to announce-a-fine-man when I see one stands vindicated. Christopher Nolan has the valet's unerring eye for a thoroughbred (well, so do I for fine men), and his characters-colleagues are manifestly that. The other day I read about his red and green colour blindness and thought of the film noir. In a way, this medical deficiency has evoked a kind of cinema that doesn't signify red (symbolic of a pause-stop) or green (symbolic of a go-run YES) but one that keeps you on-the-edge, ready to crouch, to leap.

And the music, yes the music! You see, his films usually have a lyrical quality, a single piece being used effectively throughout to build up the tempo. The song, beat, rhythm starts with a faint note and builds up slowly till the scene is one with the sound; reflective of the mood. Remember the 'Inception' score? Hans Zimmer brought the 1960 French song to create a mood of nostalgia, gloom and sadness which reflects the latent turmoil of Dom Cobb played by Leonardo DiCaprio. 

If I go on a few lines more about Nolan, I'd go incoherent and begin to stutter in some unintelligible script. Fastest way to learn Chinese!

So, here we are. A distant Christian Bale, absolutely charming, bowed in acceptance: "By your leave!"  I gushed delightedly: "Non, je ne regrette rien." (No, I have no regrets.)

(Christopher Nolan and how he makes me stand still: in admiration, with delight!) 

I do the math: Apocalyptically.

                                               I DO THE MATH:  APOCALYPTICALLY
                                                                             

The Other day I thought of Nibiru colliding with the earth before Christmas.
I thought of earth spinning out of its orbit; empty spaces passing through each other.
I thought of the hottest summer on record; my city collapsing and dissolving into the milky way.
Of decadence of human relationships; of complete loss of all meaningful communication.
Of vagaries of human nature and annihilation of truth; of apathy, anarchy and frugal emotions.
Of lackadaisical fathers who run whore-houses of interrobang, of mothers running amuck in their abortive frenzy?!

The Other day I thought of Achilles in antiquity, rising in the island of Achillea;
My love of him unrequited: his heel invulnerable now, and Iliad no longer sung.
I thought of Carnations no longer pinkish-purple or white, red and yellow; and
Of Orchids never making it blue.

I thought of children going to war; Men from Mars riding Hungarian Horntails,
Of Vienna as the capital city of Sauron and evils of Morgoth; my visit arrested.
Of an emerald cut Solitaire or a marquise that never shall pride my finger;
Of Apples and Berries and a cult of amateur queries;
Of tube-wells and springs of petrol and diesel, and water being sold Rs 500 per litre;
Of Hashmis creating jobs for the plumber and Brad Pitts available at every nook and corner.

Devoured I sat mulling over the doomsday, when suddenly a finger ran over my forehead;
I turned to find a Knight from my tale.

" Where have you been?" I chuckled as he quite turned pale.

" Here by you, lady. Haven't you been really silly?", he held my hand.

" Oh, I could imagine them blowing up Macedonia, shaving seconds off each hour.
I could see a black hole swallow us up, people failing to emote. I could see Mayan Calendar work its days up."

" Think not of potential disaster, my lady. It's fatal and bunk and of no valid theory. Of all I Know, you are not to prophesize nor conjure up the astronomy to fantasize." said he with an alarming finality.

" The other day I thou... .....". He pulled me closer and held me tight and with such a conviction looked into my eyes.
" After all, its just the other day."

" How could you be so sure? "

" I head the department of Astronomy in Harvard and I know of Andromeda galaxy as they knew of twin towers."

Well then.
 
( Post Maureen sponsored Sunday article on Mayan Calandar. )
Shruti

Note: I shall give you the premise. It is based on what we now call cosmophobia and the doomsday prophesied in the Mayan calandar. This, of course, is a fuzzy logic and a silly concept. The writer suffers from this fear of impending doomsday and goes incoherent. All that she would miss (say a solitaire or a visit to Vienna etc ) after a black hole will swallow up the earth, is spoken of in frenzy. 
It's free verse and fear is depicted in incoherence of thought and speech.

Oh, Napolean Bona'parte!

Oh, Napolean Bonaparte ( said a friend in jest) was born apart;
Trained in artillery art, never did he wince to trim the lards,
Staged a coup d'état, and proclaimed his crown in farthest European yards.

I wonder what his mother said, while he droned Napoleonic war:
across the border- and as they say- pretty pretty far.                                                                
We'll talk about that in the end, but let us now discuss his reign.

In his praxis of hegemony, he did many a cross-country;
Spared no Boss in Europe, singing word for word of " Born to Run".
And therein lies the twist in tale, for he chose the Russians for more fun.

" Power's my mistress.", roar'd the military king;  and there you sense

   his arsenic poisoning.
The Battle of waterloo had him confined, in some island of British regime.

" Napolean, Napolean!, you bag o'nuts! what need to trudge 'em several yards?";
( Remember wh't his mama said, when all his droning crossed the bars!)
" Don't grind your bones, just play your part. Didn't I tell you, lad, you were born apart?