A lot has been written about Chaitanya Tamhane's recent creation The Disciple. The reviews are generally glowing, with significant emphasis given on the careful, nuanced and authentic approach taken by Tamhane towards Hindustani classical music; and the hardships endured by those who pursue it seriously. Credit where it's due; the last time any Indian director successfully incorporated Hindustani classical music in an unadulterated form in cinema, it was in the Apu Trilogy, directed by Satyajit Ray who took it a notch higher in Jalsaghar. This is not a comparison in any way. Tamhane has done remarkably well to maintain the sanctity of this form of music, as the story demands it.
My take on the film however is influenced by me being both a film maker as well as a rasika of cinema and Hindustani classical music.
1. Sharad's character arc: One of the first thoughts that struck me after watching the film and remained in my mind for days was- the film seemed to have taken a rather inert, fly on the wall approach to the story of the protagonist, Sharad. Throughout the film, I never once felt a connect with Sharad, his struggles and frustrations despite the story being about him trying to carve his path into the lonely and arduous journey of Hindustani classical music. I never found myself rooting for him, which is rather strange. As a viewer you want your protagonist to succeed, regardless of the outcome of the film.
Sharad was increasingly hard on himself and it was shown beautifully in short slo-mo sequences of him riding his bike around the empty streets of Mumbai, listening to Maai droning about the ascetic-like lifestyle one may need to adopt in order to do full justice to this music. Maybe Tamhane wanted the audience to feel Sharad's frustration. He does everything expected of an ideal disciple- look after his Guru, spend time practicing Ragas, he cannot seem to grasp and develop to his satisfaction; and even abstaining from choosing a well paying job, or starting a family. The sadhana undertaken by Sharad must involve a serious amount of physical, mental and emotional stress and anxiety. However, that felt severely lacking in his approach as he seemed to give up each time he sat down to do his riyaaz or learn from his Guru. This very character trait leads to a major problem at the end when Sharad reaches a breaking point during his concert. While developing the alaap, he snaps, gets up and leaves the auditorium implying he has had enough. But this is where I question his sincerity and intent. Did he really take every word uttered by Maai to heart and put pressure on himself? Or was he simply not good enough. There's little evidence in the film to suggest the latter.
2. Guru Shishya Parampara and The Joys of Classical Music Guru Shishya Parampara has been perceived by many as an extremely serious, strict and almost opaque relationship where there's extremely little room for mistakes. While it isn't inaccurate, the relationship between a disciple and the Guru transcends the routine of rigorous riyaaz, massaging (pun intended) their ego and following their advice to the T.
The film does well to show the said aspects of Guru Shishya Parampara with remarkable authenticity but it leaves the seasoned musicians and the odd rasikas looking for more. In the real world, there are moments when the Guru says something truly profound about connecting with a particular raga, or expresses a fragment of affection and encouragement which may mean the world to the disciple. The Guru may also offer advice other than just music, share anecdotes of their gurus, rebuke the disciple in jest; or even ask for advice or assistance in rare cases.
In the film, it is consistently implied that learning Hindustani classical music takes a lot out of you. But it didn't have to be so gloomy all the time. I would have also liked to see Sharad finding moments of joy while pursuing the art form. There are instances where the disciple may (re)discover or realise an aspect of a raga he is practicing that may lead to a eureka moment. The time spent tuning the tanpura and humming the base notes of a particular raga itself may result in a surreal experience. Riyaaz doesn't necessarily have to involve sitting hours trying to perfect a set of notes. It could also include listening to the tapes of various maestros. It's common for the disciple to have questions regarding those recordings which the guru may answer then or later.
In The Disciple, these aspects appear to be lacking and here's why. By his own admission, Tamhane wasn't as familiar to the finer nuances of HCM as some of us are. I understand his intention of telling a story in a particular fashion; but one needs to understand, experience and appreciate the elusive yet potent sensation of romanticism in this form of music in order to bring out a more balanced perspective while staying true to the story intended to be told. And that only comes from years of carefully listening to HCM and internalising over a period of time. This is not a critique on Tamhane at all, however, I do feel with the stellar support he had from Pt. Arun Dravid, Aneesh Pradhan and others, he could have considered going that extra mile by seeking their guidance a bit more to avoid a fly on the wall approach to this aspect in the film.
3. The Camera Remains a Spectator, Until it Moves If the film's trailer was anything to go by, I was excited the most about the film's cinematography. Far too often have I been disappointed at the bright, ultra clean, low contrast vanilla aesthetic adopted by Indian film makers. Whether it's a conscious choice to constantly produce such uninspiring images from the world's best cameras and lenses or simply, incompetence and ignorance (the former being more alarming and disappointing); The Disciple does remarkably well to steer clear of such visual grammar.
Tamhane's fondness for static and wide shots isn't a secret for those who have seen Court. However, this grammar doesn't always work in a film that deals with the tumultuous journey of an artiste. I often found the inadequacy of reaction shots in a number of scenes very unfulfilling - especially the ones involving Sharad, his co- disciples and their Guru. There are times when the camera feels too distant, providing yet again, a fly on the wall perspective that draws me away from the story.
Some of the memorable shots are the ones from the concerts and baithaks where Sharad's guru played by Pt. Arun Dravid renders his music with the authority of a master. Each time the camera moves towards Sharad, be it in a concert or a baithak, it gradually isolates him. The only noticeable difference is the gradual transformation in his expression as months and years go by; and he struggles to achieve the excellence he is striving for.
The slow motion shots of him riding his bike at night provide a sense of temporary escape for both Sharad and the viewers. Also on a technical aspect, achieving those shots was no mean feat- as shooting slow motion requires a significantly higher amount of light, which would not have been easy to organise on the roads of Mumbai.
Having read cinematographer Michal Sobocinski's interview about his work on the film, I have a lot of admiration for what he has managed to do. I also understand the ideological conflicts between him and Tamhane, coming from two different schools of thought. Wherever the camera moves, the scene comes alive but when the camera remains static and distant, there's a lot left to be desired to the point where Sobocinski seems underutilised.
It would be interesting to note that Tamhane had the opportunity to shadow Alfonso Cuaron during the filming of Roma, which also consisted of several long takes. While he may have been influenced from what he observed on the set of Roma, the treatment of long takes is far more rewarding when the camera is mobile. And I really wish he had given Sobocinski a little more room to play, after all, the mark of a strong director is to trust his cinematographer.
An Admirable Attempt The Disciple is undoubtedly an admirable and brave attempt to tell the story of an artiste's struggles. As mentioned previously, the film's depiction of Hindustani Classical music is unsullied by the commercially motivated ignoramuses of Bollywood- which brings enormous relief for those who love and revere the artform.
Casting often makes or breaks a film; and Tamhane's decision to cast non actors but real musicians is a testament to that. The performances of every pivotal character ensures authenticity of character as well the music. The choice of ragas isn't bad by any stretch and neither is sound.
The film also comments subtly, but surely on the circus that is the Indian singing reality shows. The pinpointed accuracy with which a parallel mini narrative of that one successful contestant is woven around Sharad's life hits home the point the money matters, even if it unfortunately comes at the cost of one's artistic integrity. Interestingly, The Disciple itself is bears testimony to the exact opposite of the aforementioned argument.
All these elements combine together to create a film that is honest, believable and breaks away from the shackles of average Indian cinema. But this is Chaitanya Tamhane, the award winning director of Court. Considering his prowess and the severe dearth of strong directors in India, we must expect more from him; as it was famously said, Tansen paida karne ke liye Kansen zaruri hai.
My take on the film however is influenced by me being both a film maker as well as a rasika of cinema and Hindustani classical music.
1. Sharad's character arc: One of the first thoughts that struck me after watching the film and remained in my mind for days was- the film seemed to have taken a rather inert, fly on the wall approach to the story of the protagonist, Sharad. Throughout the film, I never once felt a connect with Sharad, his struggles and frustrations despite the story being about him trying to carve his path into the lonely and arduous journey of Hindustani classical music. I never found myself rooting for him, which is rather strange. As a viewer you want your protagonist to succeed, regardless of the outcome of the film.
Sharad was increasingly hard on himself and it was shown beautifully in short slo-mo sequences of him riding his bike around the empty streets of Mumbai, listening to Maai droning about the ascetic-like lifestyle one may need to adopt in order to do full justice to this music. Maybe Tamhane wanted the audience to feel Sharad's frustration. He does everything expected of an ideal disciple- look after his Guru, spend time practicing Ragas, he cannot seem to grasp and develop to his satisfaction; and even abstaining from choosing a well paying job, or starting a family. The sadhana undertaken by Sharad must involve a serious amount of physical, mental and emotional stress and anxiety. However, that felt severely lacking in his approach as he seemed to give up each time he sat down to do his riyaaz or learn from his Guru. This very character trait leads to a major problem at the end when Sharad reaches a breaking point during his concert. While developing the alaap, he snaps, gets up and leaves the auditorium implying he has had enough. But this is where I question his sincerity and intent. Did he really take every word uttered by Maai to heart and put pressure on himself? Or was he simply not good enough. There's little evidence in the film to suggest the latter.
2. Guru Shishya Parampara and The Joys of Classical Music Guru Shishya Parampara has been perceived by many as an extremely serious, strict and almost opaque relationship where there's extremely little room for mistakes. While it isn't inaccurate, the relationship between a disciple and the Guru transcends the routine of rigorous riyaaz, massaging (pun intended) their ego and following their advice to the T.
The film does well to show the said aspects of Guru Shishya Parampara with remarkable authenticity but it leaves the seasoned musicians and the odd rasikas looking for more. In the real world, there are moments when the Guru says something truly profound about connecting with a particular raga, or expresses a fragment of affection and encouragement which may mean the world to the disciple. The Guru may also offer advice other than just music, share anecdotes of their gurus, rebuke the disciple in jest; or even ask for advice or assistance in rare cases.
In the film, it is consistently implied that learning Hindustani classical music takes a lot out of you. But it didn't have to be so gloomy all the time. I would have also liked to see Sharad finding moments of joy while pursuing the art form. There are instances where the disciple may (re)discover or realise an aspect of a raga he is practicing that may lead to a eureka moment. The time spent tuning the tanpura and humming the base notes of a particular raga itself may result in a surreal experience. Riyaaz doesn't necessarily have to involve sitting hours trying to perfect a set of notes. It could also include listening to the tapes of various maestros. It's common for the disciple to have questions regarding those recordings which the guru may answer then or later.
In The Disciple, these aspects appear to be lacking and here's why. By his own admission, Tamhane wasn't as familiar to the finer nuances of HCM as some of us are. I understand his intention of telling a story in a particular fashion; but one needs to understand, experience and appreciate the elusive yet potent sensation of romanticism in this form of music in order to bring out a more balanced perspective while staying true to the story intended to be told. And that only comes from years of carefully listening to HCM and internalising over a period of time. This is not a critique on Tamhane at all, however, I do feel with the stellar support he had from Pt. Arun Dravid, Aneesh Pradhan and others, he could have considered going that extra mile by seeking their guidance a bit more to avoid a fly on the wall approach to this aspect in the film.
3. The Camera Remains a Spectator, Until it Moves If the film's trailer was anything to go by, I was excited the most about the film's cinematography. Far too often have I been disappointed at the bright, ultra clean, low contrast vanilla aesthetic adopted by Indian film makers. Whether it's a conscious choice to constantly produce such uninspiring images from the world's best cameras and lenses or simply, incompetence and ignorance (the former being more alarming and disappointing); The Disciple does remarkably well to steer clear of such visual grammar.
Tamhane's fondness for static and wide shots isn't a secret for those who have seen Court. However, this grammar doesn't always work in a film that deals with the tumultuous journey of an artiste. I often found the inadequacy of reaction shots in a number of scenes very unfulfilling - especially the ones involving Sharad, his co- disciples and their Guru. There are times when the camera feels too distant, providing yet again, a fly on the wall perspective that draws me away from the story.
Some of the memorable shots are the ones from the concerts and baithaks where Sharad's guru played by Pt. Arun Dravid renders his music with the authority of a master. Each time the camera moves towards Sharad, be it in a concert or a baithak, it gradually isolates him. The only noticeable difference is the gradual transformation in his expression as months and years go by; and he struggles to achieve the excellence he is striving for.
The slow motion shots of him riding his bike at night provide a sense of temporary escape for both Sharad and the viewers. Also on a technical aspect, achieving those shots was no mean feat- as shooting slow motion requires a significantly higher amount of light, which would not have been easy to organise on the roads of Mumbai.
Having read cinematographer Michal Sobocinski's interview about his work on the film, I have a lot of admiration for what he has managed to do. I also understand the ideological conflicts between him and Tamhane, coming from two different schools of thought. Wherever the camera moves, the scene comes alive but when the camera remains static and distant, there's a lot left to be desired to the point where Sobocinski seems underutilised.
It would be interesting to note that Tamhane had the opportunity to shadow Alfonso Cuaron during the filming of Roma, which also consisted of several long takes. While he may have been influenced from what he observed on the set of Roma, the treatment of long takes is far more rewarding when the camera is mobile. And I really wish he had given Sobocinski a little more room to play, after all, the mark of a strong director is to trust his cinematographer.
An Admirable Attempt The Disciple is undoubtedly an admirable and brave attempt to tell the story of an artiste's struggles. As mentioned previously, the film's depiction of Hindustani Classical music is unsullied by the commercially motivated ignoramuses of Bollywood- which brings enormous relief for those who love and revere the artform.
Casting often makes or breaks a film; and Tamhane's decision to cast non actors but real musicians is a testament to that. The performances of every pivotal character ensures authenticity of character as well the music. The choice of ragas isn't bad by any stretch and neither is sound.
The film also comments subtly, but surely on the circus that is the Indian singing reality shows. The pinpointed accuracy with which a parallel mini narrative of that one successful contestant is woven around Sharad's life hits home the point the money matters, even if it unfortunately comes at the cost of one's artistic integrity. Interestingly, The Disciple itself is bears testimony to the exact opposite of the aforementioned argument.
All these elements combine together to create a film that is honest, believable and breaks away from the shackles of average Indian cinema. But this is Chaitanya Tamhane, the award winning director of Court. Considering his prowess and the severe dearth of strong directors in India, we must expect more from him; as it was famously said, Tansen paida karne ke liye Kansen zaruri hai.