Ship Of Theseus: Sailing against the current

I’m one of those old-fashioned viewers / readers who expect a takeaway from a movie or a book. It’s fashionable these days to pooh-pooh “message cinema” but I think the movies (and books) that stick usually do have a strong, coherent message. I know art is supposed to be more about the “how” than the “what” but the “what”, I suspect, matters more than we’d like to admit.  But that’s just my bias. It isn’t an apology for Anand Gandhi’s Ship Of Theseus, which scores high on both the “what” and the “how”, and needs no apology. Gandhi’s movie is a remarkable achievement. Remarkable, because it breaks unwritten rules that Indian filmmakers (even the much feted new crop) have internalized.  In the best possible ways, SOT sails against the current: it is more loquacious than laconic; more wise than witty. It philosophizes unabashedly. It avoids becoming preachy by rooting these philosophical observations (and, yes, messages) in deeply personal contexts.

In the first segment, a blind photographer Aaliya (Aida El Kashef) gets her eye-sight back. But this forces her to undergo a painful sensory reconfiguration. The restored eye-sight doesn’t turn out to be quite the blessing she expected. Not surprisingly, this segment is the one most loaded with sensory delights. The lights (Pankaj Kumar’s camerawork is exquisite), sounds and textures are meticulously woven into the fabric of reality “seen” (a verb Aaliya matter-of-factly applies to herself even when she’s blind) by a blind person. In the final scene of the segment, the lens-cap of Aaliya’s camera falls off into a gorge, hinting at her readiness to lose her blindfolds.

In the second segment, Maitreya, an ailing monk, must choose between a slow, painful death and taking medication manufactured by a company that subjects animals to harsh experiments.  With his brisk walk, wiry frame, and avuncular mannerisms, Neeraj Kabi brings a Gandhian physicality to the Maitreya character, whose staunch  ahimsa and stoic embrace of suffering are also quite Gandhian. The interesting counterfoil is provided by a self-styled Charwak (Vinay Shukla), who plays Plato to Maitreya’s Socrates, indulging in banter and philosophical dialectic with the monk. Both Charwak and Maitreya, doppelgangers of the director Gandhi, are finely etched. Maitreya is as human as he is saintly (“Stay a bit longer”, he pleads disarmingly, as Charwak is about to leave after an unsuccessful attempt to convince him to take the medication); Charwak is as compassionate as he is a “nihilistic hedonist” (“We need you; we love you” is his heartfelt entreaty to Maitreya). Of the three segments, Anand Gandhi is most indulgent with this one. Mark, for instance, the shot of Maitreya walking across a bridge, flanked on both sides by the muck-infested Mahim creek – a lonely saint marching through a filthy world.

The third, and final, segment belongs to Navin (Sohum Shah), a stockbroker whose simple philosophy (“some money, some respect and compassion” – hard to argue with that) is the object of his artist-activist grandmother’s ridicule. Navin has recently undergone a successful kidney transplant. The possibility that his new kidney might be a stolen one pricks Navin’s conscience. He sets off seeking redemption through an act of kindness to Shankar, a slum-dweller whose kidney has been stolen.  (Gandhi’s use of the byzantine Mumbai slums is one instance where his wit shows: Navin’s huge car and his huge friend literally don’t fit in the slums.) Things don’t quite pan out per Navin’s plan, but his intervention does leave Shankar much better off. As Navin’s grandmother, an acts-of-kindness veteran of sorts, consoles him, “That’s the best you can hope for”. All the stories have similar pragmatic endings, rooting, as it were, for a qualified rather than an absolute idealism.

Despite its metaphysical leanings, SOT is a very physical film. It is almost obsessed with the biological universe in general and human bodily functions in particular: there are close-up shots of Aaliya’s eye and Maitreya’s sores. A sophisticated Darwinian worldview informs SOT. It isn’t the simplistic “nature red in tooth and claw” Darwinism, but a poetic Buddhist / Jain one. A shot of squabbling monkeys follows a scene involving a human altercation. But this isn’t so much a condemnation of human beings as “lowly animals”, as much as a reminder that the lines we draw separating species are quite arbitrary. Citing an extended phenotype, SOT points out that we don’t always know where our bodies end and “the environment begins” (Aaliya’s camera as an extension of her eye).

The SOT philosophy is also an impassioned political plea. Anand Gandhi seems to be arguing for a better understanding of our place in the universe, and asking us to recognize that our actions have consequences. The movie takes in nature as it comes – no anthropomorphic spins on it. In this ecumenical view of nature, even human waste can become a positive indicator of intimacy between people (Maitreya and his fellow monks; Navin and his grammy). I can’t think of a more evolved take on life.

(PS - I can’t help thinking that Bhansali would envy this film, given that bodily malfunction & disability have been his preoccupations, but he hasn’t quite been able to peel the layers of high drama and “prettiness” to get to the philosophical core).