Review: Bombay Rose

Bombay Rose (2021): Written and directed by Gitanjali Rao. Starring: Cyli Khare, Amit Deondi, Anurag Kashyap and Makrand Deshpande. Running Time: 97 minutes.  

Rating: 3/4 

Anyone who knows me knows that I will go to my grave arguing that animation is a fundamentally better avenue for visual storytelling than anything "live-action."  I think the primary reason for this is that animating a story requiring a far greater concentration to the details on the screen; since it is all being artificially created, the best filmmakers in this field know they have to make careful decisions about what, exactly, they put their efforts into.  And the end result is that the story is then shown in its full essence, elevating it beyond what it might otherwise be. 

Bombay Rose, by Gitanjali Rao, is a prime example of this. The story itself is very sparse and downplayed, with large segments played out with almost no dialogue. But the soft color pallete used and the gentle, very artificial ways characters move across the screen creates a dreamlike, meditative feel that creates a vibe all its own.  It is, essentially, a Romeo & Juliet, star-crossed lovers tale, with a few twists of its own.  Kamala is a young Hindu woman, roped by circumstances into basically being the caretaker of her invalid grandfather and younger sister. Day after day, she sits on the street by their house, making decorations out of jasmine petals to sell to those passing by.  Salim is a Muslim refugee from Kashmir, who works on the other side of the street selling bouquets of flowers to whoever will buy them.  

They soon each notice the other looking at them from across the street and it is clear that they are falling for each other, but it actually takes quite awhile before they ever actually exchange a single word.  These moments, done slowly and with care, are wonderful moments of visual storytelling and make it all the more powerful when they are finally able to touch and speak with each other.  

It's obviously not going to be easy or simple for them.  The religious differences is one major issue, but we also learn that Kamala has a handler arranging to sell her off to a Dubai prince as a wife, which would theoretically provide enough cash for her to leave her grandfather and sister provided for.  Though she has to work the streets, she insists that her sister continues school and spends every afternoon in the company of a charming elderly lady who teaches her English and takes her on walks to the nearby cemetary.  Kamala herself had hoped to finish university, and her frustrations with her situation are often depicted via the flights of fancy she often goes into in her mind, remarkable sequences that intersect with her daily reality in interesting ways.  

The movie never goes for great heights with its storytelling and avoids flashy moments, even where there is an actual chase going on during the climax, but I found that to be a major strength.  The movie comes and allows us to exist in its world, for just a bit, and it is a lovely place to think about the nature of life, aging, death, and the importance of having family and friends close by.  This movie technically came out two years ago but is only now available on Netflix.  Definitely give it a chance.  

-Noah Franc 

Review: The Most Beautiful Boy in the World

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World (2021): Written and directed by Kristian Petri and Kristina Lindström. Starring: Björn Anderson, Annike Andresen, Ann Lagerström. Running Time: 93 minutes.

Rating: 3.5/4

               Fame. Recognition. Adoration. Deep down, we all crave it to one extent or another. Some of us are willing to entertain the hope for a moment or so before letting it pass us by. Others are willing to do sacrifice anything to obtain it, even for a second. In the end, though, few of us are capable of grasping beforehand the costs that can come with fame, the degree to which it can so easily confiscate our humanity as the price for its presence. This, despite the fact that recent decades have provided us with a deluge of examples of how the simple fact of being famous, no matter its cause, can lead to unimaginable tragedy. Björn Anderson's story is one such example.

               On the surface, it's exactly the sort of right lace/right time fortune so many of us dream of. Anderson wasn't even interested in fame or acting when his grandmother dragged him to an audition with legendary director Luchino Visconti for his soon-to-be-classic film adaptation of Thomas Mann's novella, Death in Venice. The director instantly saw stars and cast Anderson as Tadzio, a boy meant to embody the epitome of youthful beauty to such a degree that the story's main character, an older male writer, eventually becomes consumed with obsession over him (when I put it that way, it's probably best no has tried to re-adapt this particular story anytime recently).

               Tadzio's face was, obviously, a huge part of the film's marketing, and over the course of interviews and premiere tours, Visconti increasingly lauded Anderson as "the most beautiful boy in the world." It was, sadly, not immediately apparent to Anderson just what sort of price the attention this all brought to a naive teenager would eventually exact.

               If there is one fatal flaw that tends to hound this more tragic style of documentary, it's the impulse to be too detailed, or at least too overly focused on, the gory specifics of what the film's subject (or subjects) suffered through. The frank and unvarnished truth is often very unnecessary, even if it's merely being described and not shown, but there is a morbid side to us that can rear it's head and make us lose the forest for the proverbial trees. The best documentaries thread this needle well enough to tell us everything we need to know without letting us drown in the pain, losing sight of the protagonists and the scars they bear. This movie performs especially well in this regard, leaving little doubt as to the "nature" of the exploitation Anderson eventually suffered via his being labeled "the most beautiful boy in the world," but it's the ways and areas where it chooses to pull back and not lift every curtain that make it especially effective. I was reminded of another recent documentary, Netflix's Tell Me Who I Am, which I also found balanced itself remarkably well.

               There are still parts that I would love to see fleshed out more; specifically, we get bits and pieces of the bizarre obsession Anderson encountered as a young adult when he moved to Japan for a time, with clips of crowds that forcefully reminded me of Beatlemania in the US. I have a hunch there is enough material there for a whole other film. The focus, though, remains on Anderson as he is now, and while certainly not shying away from the wounds he still carries with him, there are glimpses, especially of him with his daughter, that provide some comfort that he can still find happiness in this world. And, it must be added, though he has obviously left youth and the cage of his previous appearance far behind him, he absolutely rocks his current wizened, Saruman-esque visage. Beauty is most certainly not only the providence of the young.

               More than anything, though, this film struck me as one of the better films of recent years to throw into relief just how much pain almost always results from our world's obsession with fleeting notions of fame and beauty. I yearn for that light, yes- for Christ's sake, I'm an amateur film critic on the internet, I'm certainly not pursuing this for my health- but I do fear, sometimes, what awaits me should it ever actually reach my shores.

-Noah Franc