Movie: Ship of Theseus
Director: Anand Gandhi
Cast: Aida Elkashef, Neeraj Kabi, Sohum Shah, Amba Sanyal, Faraz Khan, Vinay Shukla and Sameer Khurana
What elements make a film masterpiece? How do you define a masterpiece? This question can be very tricky. You can argue about it till you are short of breath. But it would be in vain—if the person to whom you intend to convey your experience and interpretation does not have the reservoir of experiences which you have accumulated through direct chidings and soothing whispers of unpredictable life, or inspired reading of a writer with whom you connect deeply or though a kindred spirit who positively influenced you to cope with unfaithful moments of happiness and sorrow. I am not sure whether Ship of Theseus is a masterpiece. But I am sure of one thing: it personally affects me.
It raises some important questions for me—it challenges the verbosity in our expressions, confronts us with the triviality of arguments that are nothing short of a brief intoxication, shames us at the very core of our being for being so cosy in our cocooned world which functions on self-serving ideology, questions the very definitions of pair of opposites in life and above all, it defies the long-established tradition of presenting a lopsided viewpoint of a creative endeavour. It is a fruit of utmost detachment towards the subject at hand and it is very clear that Anand Gandhi has treaded this philosophical odyssey with utmost caution.
To leave the theater with an answer is nothing short of watching a cookery show in which the chef displays the ingredients he would be using in making a particular dish and a mere look at those ingredients evoke a sense of familiarity of taste in you. What makes a film believable and a leaf from one’s own life is when it does not interfere with you but intercepts you for thinking at the state of affairs in and around you. And that interception can be suicidal for a director. It can be counterproductive. Gandhi’s film, though a long watch is episodic—this format has worked brilliantly in raising pertinent questions, and gives us sufficient time to imbibe the sport the restless emotions within us play. The format is Hyperlink Cinema. Hyperlink Cinema—a format where a few stories linked with a common binding theme or a person or an incident, is a very fruitful way of conveying gamut of emotions within us. Emotions, which are so prevalent in us, that it is normal and quite acceptable for us to ignore them. Many master filmmakers have used this technique to effectively tell a story. Gandhi’s film uses hyperlink cinema format to its advantage very ably. To convey deeply philosophical yearnings and concepts in a simple plain continuous narrative can be an emotionally heavy experience for viewers.
The three stories in the film touch the deep recesses of our minds. The first in the three stories is about a blind avant-garde photographer. She captures images on the basis of sound, smell and her thought-provoking instinct. It seems everything about her has symmetry and grace—be it tender movements of her eyelashes, the sheen of her supple skin or staunch determination in her voice. Before undergoing eyes transplantation, the symmetry of her instinct and the very advantage of being absent from the world visually, lend unusual charm to her photographs. But she has strong notions about her creations. So strong that she can be at the peril of coming across stubborn and closed. After successful eyes transplantation, she faces a world that can be chaotic. She meets faces that could be repulsive, extremely expressive, and aggressive. Now, the slate of her mind, which was always clean, gets stuffed with ‘excess’—excess of everything. This can be stultifying. I feel that when you are exposed to too much of details of your art, it loses its charm. It makes you feel heavy. It can be burdensome. It can compel you to run away to that place where you would be near to your creation but not in full grips of the realities associated with it.
The film’s second story is very important to me. It reminds of the novel Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. Here is a monk who is on a crusade. He would refuse to take medicines, which tried and tested on animals. He objects to the inhuman way animals are treated in laboratories to check the efficacy of various drugs. His views are questioned and challenged by an opinionated and loquacious speaker who is an assistant to his lawyer who is fighting his case. What is interesting about this conversation is the futility of intellectualising things. The moment you intellectualise things instead of facing and experiencing them you miss the point—the truth in those things. The monk who is on a journey of renunciation soon realises that his vow is an escape or to put it crudely and harshly, a sport. There is nothing to seek. But, there is everything to experience. He changes his mind. In the novel Siddhartha, Siddhartha warns Govinda that “words and thoughts” are hurdles to what can be experienced, and he says ‘wisdom cannot be passed on.” In this story also, Gandhi through the monk and the young and impatient man puts across these thoughts very well.
The final story is about a young man who embarks on a journey to find meaning in actions and their relevance in the large scheme of things. He has been living a simple and uneventful life. His grandmother represents the moneyed class that is so obsessed with finding a substantial purpose in life. She questions his way of living and coaxes him to think about his contribution to the society. This young man has received new lease of life by transplantation of kidneys. He senses a racket in kidney transplantation and sets off on a journey to unravelling the truth. In the end, he realises that truth pales in front of hard facts of life. He realises that as individuals we are much more than the truth. And when reality dawns on us, truth becomes insignificant and what emerge as significant are the moments and the circumstances of those moments.
These stories are deeply personal. It is a mark of a director who wants to ask questions. For whom the film is an exercise to seek reactions and viewpoints. Even shunning the film is valid. But we don’t know the answers. Because we feel answers also have a different set of questions in them. And as long as the quest is alive, the search has purpose and meaning. The moment you are certain, the trouble starts. But when this realisation dawns on you, how different are you from where you started? Are you treading the right path? Or is there something called right or to be more precise is there is a path to be followed? Just like the legend behind the name of the film, you don’t know what is what even after a transformation. But you do know what Albert Camus said: It is absurd to find meaning (reasons, or order) in life.
Lastly I feel the essence of the film can be captured in an observation by master filmmaker Sidney Lumet in his book Making Movies: “Some movies tell a story and leave you with a feeling. Some tell a story, and leave you with a feeling and give you an idea. Some tell a story, leave you with a feeling, give you an idea and reveal something about yourself and others.” Quite obviously, Ship of Theseus falls in the last category.
This article was written by guest author Rajesh Naidu.
