P A R A D E S I
A Review by Dr Deena Padayachee
Not long ago, I read Orwell's perceptive and brilliant Burmese Days. The book had belatedly given me the best insight that I had ever seen about how Empires operate, how they destroy the souls of the conquered, and how they help the venal to flourish while they eviscerate the most noble (few and far between, as they are, among Homo Sapiens) among the conquered. Orwell shows how empires inevitably corrode the spirits of the conquistadors, even though, since they control the media, they might fool themselves and the defeated, that what they are doing is moral, upright, ethical and even religious.
There is a movie on circuit at present which should strike a chord with most of my readers as it dramatizes living conditions in rural southern India in the early twentieth century and shows us the challenges faced by workers on a typical British-owned tea plantation.
The poets among you (and even some of the rest of you) will love the poetry which spices up the exquisite songs and elevates this movie to a higher level, so that it becomes more than a simple narrative. The music is haunting and for me, absolutely gorgeous. This is a film which I have to see again. It is that good.
PARADESI is a subtitled Tamil language film which is a carefully crafted master-piece set in British-occupied Dravidian India. The writer/producer is called Bala. What struck me is that for Bala, there are few, if any, 'noble savages'. The often primitive peasants are as cruel and unfeeling as any plantation manager or pampered lord. The movie centres around a big buffoon, Rasa, (He looks like a laid-back, sub-normal clone of Kumi Naidoo) who is the butt of everybody's jokes; he is the twit of the village.
Amicable, despite being violated by just about everybody (including the woman who secretly likes him), the muscular wretch is like a caricature of India. There is something infinitely tragic and sad about the way this amiable giant allows so much abuse to be heaped upon him.
He is a metaphor for most of the planet that was owned by the 'free West' at that time – before the Germans, Italians and Japanese were let loose upon them.
Then there are the cunning, devious, sly Indian collaborating class whose existence depends upon their being treacherous traitors, spies, informers, whores and pimps in the rape, exploitation and destruction of their own country and its wretched people. They reminded me of a few venal local academics, journalists and even writers who cozy up to the oh-so-clever white academics in the hope of getting the odd smile here and the crumb there.
The plantation manager has his whores among the workers in the tea plantation. The English did something similar to the conquered Scots and other numerically disadvantaged, defeated peoples in the British isles and elsewhere. A newly married woman is coveted by the white manager and he decrees that 'she must not have sex with her husband but she must be given to him'.
When she resists, the white manager's fury is unleashed on a horrible, venal labour recruiter; the Indian collaborator/pimp has to implore the white Master, in the most servile and nauseating way, to allow him to 'set matters right'. He will get the married woman to be a whore.
What a metaphor about what happens to a conquered country! Metaphorically and sometimes literally speaking, that sort of thing happened in most conquered countries.
There's a biting, satirical vignette about an Indian doctor, married to a white, who is Christian. When they drive up to the plantation, the Indian who greets them automatically assumes that the white is the doctor. They try to convert as many souls as possible while they are healing the ailing. They dance (most hilariously) for the benefit of the Indians and the naive peasants are converted wholesale.
As usual, the whites, as in most Indian movies, are pathetic, wooden actors; the voice-overs are worse than amateurish.
Most of our young are not going to see this film; most are really young and arrogant and will not want to acknowledge that they have any sort of link (no matter how far back) to a macerated country like conquered India.
Then there are the haughty, relatively well-off and often light- skinned 'modern' Indians. (they love to hiss, 'my great grandfather was a white, you know'). Will such South Africans want to see such a well- produced, well directed and beautifully acted film? I seriously doubt it.
On the evening I saw the film there were about 12 Indians at the cinema. The place has a capacity of about 120. There was a white couple there. They sat at a similar spot – about half-way down, on the left- hand side and all by themselves. They nicely isolated themselves from us, dark people.
One of the best aspects of this film is the fact that many dark- skinned actors have a part in the movie. That is most unusual for an Indian film.
Will Vivian Reddy hire the cinema and get his entire work-force to see this film as he did with that spy film, 'Skyfall'? I can't see that happening.
Will the great author who writes about Apartheid cops having 'hearts of gold' (and who, in his book, attacked those Indians who were anti apartheid)see this film? A BIG FAT NO. Will his side-kick, the elephant cliché, watch this film? No, not till Jehovah has a birthday.
Will their embedded journalists see this film? Definitely not. Will the unethical Indian academics see this film? It's unlikely.
However I am so glad that I saw this cinematic stunner. It is magnificent.
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