Chasing Kevin Smith

I just watched a whole ten-part interview series with Kevin Smith on Youtube (starts here). The pretext of the interview was to talk about his upcoming cop movie, ‘A Couple Of Dicks’, with Bruce Willis and Tracy Morgan, but Smith being Smith just runs with it and talks about all matters film for the better part of two hours. He covers a wide range of topics from selling out, to his relationship with the internet, to looking back on the films he’s made, to his influences and some weightier topics too.

And I loved it. For someone who has been a fan ever since I saw ‘Clerks’ and then dove into the rest of his filmography, I think Kevin Smith has come a long way from the amateur in his early 20s who made ‘Clerks’ with little more than a script, a camera, some friends, and a lot of heart. But the best part, I think, is to see that he seems relatively unaffected by his celebrity. He still seems the same fanboy that he probably was when he started out, smitten by all the directors and films he loved, still unsure of how good he is. He seems like a guy who just enjoys doing what he does.

‘Clerks’ is the kind of movie which, anyone who sees it thinks to themselves: “Hey, I could do this too”. And many have been inspired to do so, too. I know I would love to, given a chance. His movies are not perfect, not by a long shot, but Smith has a real gift for creating quirky, memorable characters and allowing his actors to breathe and fill out the characters with long, sometimes pointless, but always enjoyable conversations. Also, I have to begrudgingly give him credit for actually making me like Ben Affleck a little, after ‘Chasing Amy’ and ‘Dogma’. Even ‘Jersey Girl’.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m writing this. I guess I just really like Kevin Smith’s movies. And being that most of his movies are about people talking endlessly, I enjoyed watching him do much the same.

Unrelated: Is this guy an X-Man? That’s awesome.

The God Of Small Minds

With everyone’s eyes focused on such big events of the day as the Beijing Olympics, the situation in Georgia and the American presidential race, it is my duty to bring your attention to the issues that truly matter, lest they go unnoticed. It seems the nice people of the UAE are getting all worked up about ‘God Tussi Great Ho’, a Bollywood film starring Salman Khan and Priyanka Chopra. The atrociously monikered flick is a remake of the Jim Carrey starrer ‘Bruce Almighty’ in which the protagonist (Bruce) and the almighty (Almighty) do a ‘Mudhalvan’. Apparently, the good citizens of the UAE are appalled at the fact that ‘God’ is played by Amitabh Bachchan. Seriously.

For a moment I thought the protest would be about crappy ripoffs remakes and silly song-and-dance sequences. But it seems they are content to be scandalised that Bollywood thinks the Big B is God, when clearly only Morgan Freeman can be. Tch, Bollywood.

Of Kerala And California

I saw three (three!) movies over the weekend: the screaming swipe at Hollywood that is Tropic Thunder (watch out for that Tom Cruise), the very violent-yet-charming buddy-tale that is Pineapple Express and one of my all time favourites The Big Lebowski. All very excellent comedies with some wonderful characters, and very excellent timepass. And each with a great soundtrack. In fact, this is all about the soundtrack to The Big Lebowski. One song from the soundtrack in particular.

Years back, as a part-time aspiring guitarist and full-time first year engineering student in Kerala, probably the one question I was asked the most at the time was, ‘Can you play Hotel California?’. Specifically, the flamenco-ish version they played on the Hell Freezes Over album, which was more famous in God’s Own Country than the electric original. Apparently, Hotel California is accepted in Kerala to be the dividing line that you must cross to be considered a guitarist of any worth. Kind of like Summer of ‘69 or Neele Neele Ambar elsewhere in the country. A reputation built to scare the pants off any young fellow who happened to pick up a guitar.

Having been intimidated by the song since I first heard it, I was even more daunted by the endless requests from friends and seniors to hear it played. Not really knowing many chords or scales (not much has changed), I figured out the first few chords from somewhere, and then the rest from Danny, a kind senior, and then I realised that now I had a response for ‘Hotel California vaayikkeda‘ that wasn’t ‘ayyo cheta, ariyilla‘, which would be followed by the inevitable ‘nee pinne enthu gittarist aadei?‘. I was a ‘guitarist’. Or a ‘gittarist’, at least.

It was about this same time that people kept telling me about the song and the band having connections to Satan or drug use or backward-masked lyrics or something (I never really got what the fuss was about). So it was also kind of a ‘dangerous’ song. Everyone wanted to hear it, but would it damn my soul to hell to play it? Giving the Eagles the benefit of the doubt, I ended up listening to and playing the song almost tirelessly thoughout my first year and even after that, mostly for myself, to try and perfect the arpeggios and licks (the solo was out of reach) that Glenn Frey and Don Felder had by now etched into the back of my brain. Of course, I never got close. But as a result, I ended up tired of hearing the song and, backward-masked druggie lyrics or not, I have not played or heard the song seriously or in its entirety for a long time. Sorry, Eagles.

Wait, what were we talking about? Yes, The Big Lebowski. One of the best moments in this surreal movie filled with quirky, silly, borderline-unstable (okay, Walter Sobchak is clearly unstable) and memorable characters, is the cameo role of creepy latin-lover-pederast Jesus Quintana, passionately holding the bowling ball, licking it, then rolling a strike and celebrating – all in slow motion – with his boxer-like dance to the intro of the Gipsy Kings’ version of the song that can no more be named. I’d say its flat-out one of the Coen brothers’ finest moments ever.

Watching the clip over and over again yesterday brought back memories of learning to play the song and the sudden (if slight) increase in status I saw among batchmates as ‘the guy who plays Hotel California on guitar’. Suffice to say I never got any women or drugs playing that song, but it was a great boost in confidence for a young man working his way around six strings.

I think when I get back home today, I’ll give the song another listen. Just for old time’s sake.

PS. I initially considered, then quickly dropped, the idea of any references to Hotel Keralafonia for cheap effect. Kudos, though, to the true red-blooded Malayali who came up with those lyrics, documenting and forever sealing the connection between the song and the state halfway across the world that is crazy about it.