Documentary channel

Watching rice drying is strangely riveting, as a documentary reveals

David Blamey’s documentary ‘Rice’ will be screened in the international competition section at the Mumbai International Film Festival.

David Blamey’s documentary is about the poetry of rice. The British visual artist has shot his 33-minute Rice at Laxmi Rice Flour Mills, situated in a village between South Goa and North Karnataka. No voiceover or Voice of God interrupts the aural and visual pleasure of watching labourers hard at work, packing rice in sacks and then drying rows of them on a sun-baked plot. The drying process generates a hypnotic rhythm, and the only sounds are the clanging of machines and birdsong.

Rice is being screened in the international competition section at the Mumbai International Film Festival (January 28-February 3). The film is Blamey’s first full-length Indian film, but it is hardly his first artistic engagement with the country. Blamey has previously shot photo series of repaired cars in 1995 (a slideshow was screened at Mumbai’s Regal cinema in 1995) and mosquito coils. Excerpts from an interview.

Why rice, and why this approach?
This is the fourth piece of work that I’ve made recently that has a rural subject. The previous three have been pure sound compositions made with field recordings in India and France.

The subject of this new film is ostensibly a commonplace inanimate material. I was interested in the rice grain’s state of being both fixed and fluid: in the way that it could be solid like sand when stacked in bags and liquid like water when thrown or stirred.

But also, I was fascinated by what the mill workers were doing on a formal level as they handed this material. Their methods reminded me of abstract art in the west by artists who think that art should have its own reality and not represent anything outside itself. In minimalism, for example, the idea that art can be reduced to the point at which it only presents its own medium as a subjective reality is of conceptual interest to me, but too detached from life. I am concerned, conversely, with finding seemingly abstract patterns of behaviour in the everyday world that reveal a deeper reality by connecting them back to life.

For while the loose rectangles, lines, cloudburst circles and systematic working process of the mill workers relate formally to the kind of minimal art I’m drawn to, this is not the primary reason for making the film. I wanted to understand how these geometric shapes related to the work of the people who made them, as well as the circumstances that allowed me to be in a privileged position to observe.

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How long did the shoot last?
I first discovered the location in 2014 and shot a single scene on my phone for reference. A year later, after gaining permission to film from the mill manager, I returned with two cameras to shoot for seven days. A year after this in 2016, I came back for two-three days to shoot additional material needed for transition scenes. I designed the sound from field recordings made on site during each previous visit, made colour corrections and completed the film at the end of 2017. As this was a personal project with no external funding I could only actually afford to take my time.

All the shooting was done in Indian winters. The mill doesn’t operate in the same way during the monsoon season.

What were your experiences during the shoot, in terms of interacting with the workers?
Language was a bit of an issue, because I don’t speak Konkani and nobody on location spoke English very well. We relied on trust, goodwill and the mill manager’s nephew – who was well educated and bilingual.

There was a special energy about the workplace that radiated from the internal dynamics of the close-knit community there, the deep connection of the setting with nature and the ritual practice of a working day. I have been a labourer myself in the past and spent time in ashrams: these experiences were echoed in various forms throughout the time I spent making the film. The way that we interacted was reminiscent of a silent retreat. Since I had no desire to direct anyone’s actions, there was nothing for me to say. The quieter you become, the more you can hear.

Although I was there to observe people working, the workers were able to watch me at work too. We did our jobs simultaneously, in and around each other. But it was only when my presence, equipment and working process lost their fascination to my hosts that I was able to become truly invisible.

Of course, I asked for approval of the final edit out of respect to my subject. I was delighted by the positive response. We plan to hold a screening of the film for the whole village in the near future.

Rice. Courtesy David Blamey.
Rice. Courtesy David Blamey.

You have visited India before, and your work has involved freezing mobile elements into photographs – the series on car, the burning of the mosquito coil.
I first came to India in 1986 and immediately felt at home. This isn’t always the case for first-time visitors, who often find the kaleidoscopic nature of everything too much to handle. I confess that I didn’t understand much of what was going on around me at first, but that realisation only intrigued me more. The cocktail of confusion, contradiction, familiarity (because of the traces of India’s colonial past), inspiration, aversion and wonderment has lost none of its potency for me in the intervening years.

About the photographic series that I made of repaired car bodies back in 1995 – at that time, I was desperate to make inroads into the Indian art scene, but found it impossible to do so. Rather than become disheartened, I decided to take matters into my own hands. By renting advertising space at the beginning and during the intermission of films showing at the Regal Cinema I calculated that a theatre screening films three times a day would give me access to a potential audience of 27,000 people over a month. A local cine advertising agency called Dimples duplicated my 35mm slides up to 2¼-inch transparencies and projected them in sequence, by hand, every day, for the next four weeks. I was finally able to present my work in India.

The Regal mostly showed American action movies at that time and finding myself in a unique position to question the extent to which the outrageous lifestyles and values presented in these films contrasted starkly with the alternative reality just outside. As I was so immersed in the chaos and culture of Bombay’s street life it became my humble objective to celebrate what I regarded as an example of the everyday sublime by unashamedly gatecrashing my local palace of dreams.

Knowing When to Stop. Courtesy David Blamey.
Knowing When to Stop. Courtesy David Blamey.
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Swara Bhasker: Sharp objects has to be on the radar of every woman who is tired of being “nice”

The actress weighs in on what she loves about the show.

This article has been written by award-winning actor Swara Bhasker.

All women growing up in India, South Asia, or anywhere in the world frankly; will remember in some form or the other that gentle girlhood admonishing, “Nice girls don’t do that.” I kept recalling that gently reasoned reproach as I watched Sharp Objects (you can catch it on Hotstar Premium). Adapted from the author of Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn’s debut novel Sharp Objects has been directed by Jean-Marc Vallée, who has my heart since he gave us Big Little Lies. It stars the multiple-Oscar nominee Amy Adams, who delivers a searing performance as Camille Preaker; and Patricia Clarkson, who is magnetic as the dominating and dark Adora Crellin. As an actress myself, it felt great to watch a show driven by its female performers.

The series is woven around a troubled, alcohol-dependent, self-harming, female journalist Camille (single and in her thirties incidentally) who returns to the small town of her birth and childhood, Wind Gap, Missouri, to report on two similarly gruesome murders of teenage girls. While the series is a murder mystery, it equally delves into the psychology, not just of the principal characters, but also of the town, and thus a culture as a whole.

There is a lot that impresses in Sharp Objects — the manner in which the storytelling gently unwraps a plot that is dark, disturbing and shocking, the stellar and crafty control that Jean-Marc Vallée exercises on his narrative, the cinematography that is fluid and still manages to suggest that something sinister lurks within Wind Gap, the editing which keeps this narrative languid yet sharp and consistently evokes a haunting sensation.

Sharp Objects is also liberating (apart from its positive performance on Bechdel parameters) as content — for female actors and for audiences in giving us female centric and female driven shows that do not bear the burden of providing either role-models or even uplifting messages. 

Instead, it presents a world where women are dangerous and dysfunctional but very real — a world where women are neither pure victims, nor pure aggressors. A world where they occupy the grey areas, complex and contradictory as agents in a power play, in which they control some reigns too.

But to me personally, and perhaps to many young women viewers across the world, what makes Sharp Objects particularly impactful, perhaps almost poignant, is the manner in which it unravels the whole idea, the culture, the entire psychology of that childhood admonishment “Nice girls don’t do that.” Sharp Objects explores the sinister and dark possibilities of what the corollary of that thinking could be.

“Nice girls don’t do that.”

“Who does?”

“Bad girls.”

“So I’m a bad girl.”

“You shouldn’t be a bad girl.”

“Why not?”

“Bad girls get in trouble.”

“What trouble? What happens to bad girls?”

“Bad things.”

“What bad things?”

“Very bad things.”

“How bad?”

“Terrible!!!”

“Like what?”

“Like….”

A point the show makes early on is that both the victims of the introductory brutal murders were not your typically nice girly-girls. Camille, the traumatised protagonist carrying a burden from her past was herself not a nice girl. Amma, her deceptive half-sister manipulates the nice girl act to defy her controlling mother. But perhaps the most incisive critique on the whole ‘Be a nice girl’ culture, in fact the whole ‘nice’ culture — nice folks, nice manners, nice homes, nice towns — comes in the form of Adora’s character and the manner in which beneath the whole veneer of nice, a whole town is complicit in damning secrets and not-so-nice acts. At one point early on in the show, Adora tells her firstborn Camille, with whom she has a strained relationship (to put it mildly), “I just want things to be nice with us but maybe I don’t know how..” Interestingly it is this very notion of ‘nice’ that becomes the most oppressive and deceptive experience of young Camille, and later Amma’s growing years.

This ‘Culture of Nice’ is in fact the pervasive ‘Culture of Silence’ that women all over the world, particularly in India, are all too familiar with. 

It takes different forms, but always towards the same goal — to silence the not-so-nice details of what the experiences; sometimes intimate experiences of women might be. This Culture of Silence is propagated from the child’s earliest experience of being parented by society in general. Amongst the values that girls receive in our early years — apart from those of being obedient, dutiful, respectful, homely — we also receive the twin headed Chimera in the form of shame and guilt.

“Have some shame!”

“Oh for shame!”

“Shameless!”

“Shameful!”

“Ashamed.”

“Do not bring shame upon…”

Different phrases in different languages, but always with the same implication. Shameful things happen to girls who are not nice and that brings ‘shame’ on the family or everyone associated with the girl. And nice folks do not talk about these things. Nice folks go on as if nothing has happened.

It is this culture of silence that women across the world today, are calling out in many different ways. Whether it is the #MeToo movement or a show like Sharp Objects; or on a lighter and happier note, even a film like Veere Di Wedding punctures this culture of silence, quite simply by refusing to be silenced and saying the not-nice things, or depicting the so called ‘unspeakable’ things that could happen to girls. By talking about the unspeakable, you rob it of the power to shame you; you disallow the ‘Culture of Nice’ to erase your experience. You stand up for yourself and you build your own identity.

And this to me is the most liberating aspect of being an actor, and even just a girl at a time when shows like Sharp Objects and Big Little Lies (another great show on Hotstar Premium), and films like Veere Di Wedding and Anaarkali Of Aarah are being made.

The next time I hear someone say, “Nice girls don’t do that!”, I know what I’m going to say — I don’t give a shit about nice. I’m just a girl! And that’s okay!

Swara is a an award winning actor of the Hindi film industry. Her last few films, including Veere Di Wedding, Anaarkali of Aaraah and Nil Battey Sannata have earned her both critical and commercial success. Swara is an occasional writer of articles and opinion pieces. The occasions are frequent :).

Watch the trailer of Sharp Objects here:

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This article was published by the Scroll marketing team with Swara Bhasker on behalf of Hotstar Premium and not by the Scroll editorial team.