IFFK Day-2 Evening

A film that jams the theatre

The Wind That Shakes The Barley is a beautiful film set in one of the most influential events of European history of the twentieth century: the Irish struggle for independence and civil war. Its director Ken Loach has made telling use of long shots and succeeded in extracting maximum performance from each actor. Each frame of the film is as beautiful as a picture post card. The director has narrated the story of the civil war through the viewpoints of some village youths with supreme originality. No wonder the film created waves of admiration in Cannes this year.

Here also it made an impact – in fact even before the show has started. Spectators, buoyed by the rave reviews about the film in the Internet or through some other means, started flocking to the theatre (Kripa Theatre) even two hours before the scheduled start of the movie. I did not want to miss the movie. So I went there one hour before the scheduled start, imagining myself as a smart early bird. But much to my surprise, the balcony had been full when I arrived there. Anyway, I managed to secure a decent seat in the ground floor. Virtually every inch of ground of the theatre became occupied almost 15 minutes before the start of the movie. People who did not get a seat sat on the floor. So the organizers closed the gates of the theatre. People who struck outside started protesting vociferously. The organizers tried to explain to them that there were no seats available. “How can you deny our right to see a good film? We are ready to sit anywhere for seeing this movie.” That was their passionate plea. After some futile efforts to pacify the protesters, the organizers decided to open the gates. By this time, the film had started. When titles were being displayed on the screen, a mad rush of people banged in to the theatre. Then the people who had been sitting there for hours started to protest against this kill joy interruption. But most of the people who rushed in started to withdraw once they had realized that there was, actually, no place to sit. One of the vociferous protesters even dared to blame the security: “Then why did they let us in?”

Tomorrow is going to be mouthwatering. In the morning, I am going to watch Scream of the Ants by Mohsen Makhmalbaf. Makhmalbaf has become a legend of Marquezesque proportions in film festival circles of Kerala. Gabriel Garcia Marquez is the only foreigner, in my experience, to receive such adulation in Kerala before.