Devdas (2002)

QFS No. 171 - The invitation for March 26, 2025
For those of you who have been with us for a few years now, our Intro to Indian Cinema 101 is our most popular mini course, in that it is the only QFS mini course really. The films we’ve seen so far from the Indian Subcontinent cover the various distinct areas and eras of the world’s largest and multi-faceted filmmaking region. As a recap, this is what we’ve watched and discussed, in chronological release order:

 ● Apur Sansar (1959, QFS No. 16), directed by Satyajit Ray, as part of the Apu Trilogy and the origin point of Indian Art Films (aka Parallel Cinema), what we would call in the US as an independent film. Also launches indigenous Indian cinema into the consciousness of the global filmmaking community.

● Kaagaz Ke Phool (1959) directed by Guru Dutt, representative of the Golden Age of Bollywood directed by an auteur, a classic musical with melodrama at its heart but an adherence to high aesthetics and artistic cinematic quality.

● Sholay (1975, QFS No. 62) directed by Ramesh Sippy, Indian “Western” with megastar Amitabh Bachchan. With India’s first (sorta) 65mm film, the country is starting to be influenced more by international filmmaking, including Hong Kong action films and American Westerns, as it grows into its young nation 30 years after independence.

● Dil Se.. (1998, QFS No. 32) directed by Mani Ratnam, represents an example of the influence of MTV on Indian cinema, music videos and the opening of Indian media markets to the West. (Also stars global megastar Shah Rukh Khan, who is the star of this week’s selection Devdas.)

● 3 Idiots (2006, QFS No. 118) directed by Rajkumar Hirani, a comedy that’s a portrait of a more modern Bollywood film that’s more (sorta) self-aware than its predecessors and adapted from a successful Indian novel.

● RRR (2022, QFS No. 86) directed by S.S. Rajamouli, an example of “Tollywood,” or films from the Telegu language film industry – technically not a Bollywood film, which are in Hindi. An example of a rare global megahit from a regional film industry. Also an example of India’s embrace of digital filmmaking technology on a massive scale.

● Additional subject material: international films by non-Indian directors that take place in India: Gandhi (1982, QFS No. 100) directed by Richard Attenborough and The Darjeeling Limited (2009, QFS No. 59) directed by Wes Anderson.

That’s actually quite a lot of films about or from India over five years when it’s laid out like that!

So where does this week’s selection Devdas fit in? Devdas is probably the apex Bollywood film, the type of film that screams “Bollywood!” especially if you’re not from India and you think “what makes up a Bollywood film.” The most Bollywood of Bollywood films. You get what I’m driving at – melodrama, colors, costumes, passionate forbidden love, beautiful people, romance, the greatest choreography, set design and cinematography to enhance it. Devdas feels like it crosses eras, influenced by the gaudy past of Indian Hindi films but unleashed into the modern world. It features screen darling Madhuri Dixit of the 1980s and 1990s, giving way to screen darling Aishwarya Rai*, star of the 2000s. And of course, SRK, Shah Rukh Khan in the center at the ascent of his stratospheric career.

Devdas, also is the most adapted story for the screen of all time – the 1917 novel has been adapted 20 times in multiple languages since the 1928 silent film version! This is as classic an Indian tale on the screen as can be told. Join the discussion below!

*Roger Ebert once said (paraphrasing here) Aishwarya Rai is the second most beautiful woman in the world. When asked who was the first, he said, Aishwarya Rai is also the first. You decide!

Devdas (2002) Directed by Sanjay Leela Bhansali

Reactions and Analyses:
There is no medium, there is only maximum.

Modern Hindi films (aka Bollywood films) are not known to be subtle. They are, by and large, maximalist, gaudy, extreme in their emotions and light on nuance or finesse. And the most extreme of those extremes are the films of Sanjay Leela Bhansali, and in particular the opulent Devdas (2002) – perhaps the most maximalist of modern Bollywood films.

Devdas (2002) achieves peak Bollywood.

“Who the hell drinks to tolerate life!” - Devdas (Shah Rukh Khan)

Devdas is the peak, the most Bollywood of Bollywood films. One line of dialogue in particular stands out as an unintentional descriptor of Bollywood films. The titular character Devdas (Shah Rukh Khan) wallows in self-pity and self-destruction for a better part of the last third of the film. His family friend Dharamdas (Tiku Talsania) warns him that he’s drinking to excess. To which Devdas replies rhetorically, “Who the hell drinks to tolerate life?!” There’s only abstinence and inebriation for Devdas, only extremes, nothing in between.

Similarly, who makes a modern Bollywood film to explore subtlety? (The answer to the drinking question also should be the answer to the Bollywood one – lots of people!) Swinging along from one extreme to the next throughout Devdas is an enjoyable endeavor to be sure, highs and lows abound. Bhansali takes the well-known Indian story and gives it the appropriate operatic treatment it deserves.

The stained-glass sets are astonishingly beautiful throughout Devdas.

Star-crossed lovers, Indian style – that’s Devdas. Opposite Devdas is Paro (Aishwarya Rai), photographed in the most glamorous way imaginable, usually bathed in a soft light and equally soft portrait lenses. The imagery evokes the classic cinema of American films of the 1930s, when closeups were glorious and beautiful and stood out from the rest of the film. Truly, it takes very little to make Rai look beautiful, but Bhansal and cinematographer Binod Pradhan elevate every moment she is on screen. Extreme beauty aligns with the extremes throughout the film.

Close-ups of Paro (Aishwarya Rai) are so stunning they hardly seem real.

Devdas executes the operatic scope befit a melodrama – massive (truly massive) beautiful stained-glass sets, shimmering (and heavy) costumes in the traditional Indian classical style with modern twists, exquisitely choreographed dancing sequences – all enhanced by synchronistic cinematography to capture it all. It isn’t simply the use of color and costume and camera work, but the synthesis of all together in harmony and in concert with each other. The dancers in twirling lehengas are nice, but the overhead shot to show the symmetrical pattern of the dancers and the fabric spinning in unison with the music is what makes Devdas a stunning work of film craft.

Overhead shots of dancers twirling in Chandramukhi's (Madhuri Dixit) brothel enhance the choreography and musical numbers.

Literal candle that cannot be extinguished, burning for Devdas.

One of the hallmarks of Bollywood cinema is dramatic character introduction. The filmmakers know that their audiences come for the melodrama, the spectacle, but most of all the larger-than-life stars who loom as large as gods and goddesses on and off the screen. Take the first time we meet Paro – for a long time her face is hidden. She dances with the other women in anticipation of the imminent return of her childhood crush, her beloved Devdas. We learn about the candle that has been literally (not figuratively) burning since he left, a flame that cannot be extinguished. But her face, throughout this sequence, remains cleverly hidden by camera work, blocking and choreography. Then she dances onto the balcony where a storm continues to rage.

The first time we see Paro in Devdas, literally glowing from the lightning strike. Stunning character introductions are the norm in Hindi cinema.

A lighting strikes, a flash fills the sky and the shot cuts to Paro’s face, literally glowing in the flashing light, a vision of beauty and yearning. It’s fantastic. The filmmaker knows what’s important – the power of the close up of his stars. Throughout, Paro’s yearning close ups, as well as Devdas’ and later Chandramukhi’s (Madhuri Dixit) close ups, tell the story of love, anguish, sorrow, hope, desire. Behind Chandramukhi, a courtesan, the gold mirrored tassels that hang in her brothel shimmer like stars behind her when she speaks in her domain. It’s overdone and extreme but that’s the point.

Equally stunning closeups of Chandramukhi, utilizing reflective materials behind her when she’s in her brothel.

What point is there in filming to tolerance, after all?

Bad guys have mustaches, don’t you know? Excellent one here on Kalibabu (Milind Gunjal).

There is no let up in the melodrama and the full-throated extremes of characterization. You suspect Kalibabu (Milind Gunaji) must be one of the “bad guys” immediately. Why? Well who else would have a mustache like that? Only someone with the inclination to commit evil, according to Bollywood logic.

The waterfall and river setting - perfect for a scene to suggest something more than just an innocent collecting of water and removing of a thorn from a foot.

There are other conventions of Bollywood that Devdas adheres to. Up until recently, Indian films refrained from overt acts of love on screen - no kissing, certainly no nudity, PG-13 at most by American standards. This puts Indian films squarely in line with American filmmaking of the 1950s and earlier, with suggestion being more powerful than actual directness. And Devdas has suggestive scenes to the extreme. Take the scene with Paro and Devdas by the riverside, intercut with her mother Sumitra (Kirron Kher) dancing for Devdas’ mother Kaushalya (Smita Jaykar) at a party. The scenes by the river are incredibly seductive, bathed in moonlight, as Devdas tries to remove a thorn from Paro’s foot, the music of “Morey Piya” swelling as the scene cuts between Devdas’ home and at the riverbank. It’s clear, at least to me, that this scene between the two lovers suggests they are making love (off-screen of course), the blue waterfall behind them, the setting awash with lusty romance.

Perhaps more than an innocent meeting by the river.

The entire scene is bathed in a soft blue glow from the moonlight.

And despite all the technical mastery for most of the film, there are a number of scenes that feel as plainly shot and amateurish as an Indian television soap opera. Probably because, at it’s core, Devdas is a soap opera, a melodrama. The evil sister-in-law Kumud (Ananya Khare), jealous of the lower class but beautiful Paro, tries to prevent her from marrying the higher class Devdas. She manipulates Devdas’ mother Kaushalya by whispering poisonous doubts into her ear. Paro’s mother Sumitra is humiliated by Devdas’ family and forbids Paro to marry him, setting of the cascade of tragic events that follow for the next three hours or so. These scenes, however useful they are for the plot, if cut together separate from the rest of Devdas, would appear as if they were from a different film. For someone who didn’t grow up with a steady diet of Bollywood films, these scenes felt excruciating. If the rest of the film was so innovative artistically elevated, why are these other scenes the opposite?

These scenes between the mothers seem to deviate from the artistry of the rest of Devdas.

Regardless, the film captivates. Though it’s been told many times on screen, I didn’t know the story myself. After Devdas has nearly drunk himself to death and strives to go to Paro – now married to another wealthy man who doesn’t love her – Devdas collapses at her gate, about to breathe his last breath. Paro races through her palatial home, her white gown flowing down the massive staircase and sprinting through the halls. Her husband’s guards attempt to slow her down and begin to shut the gate. And at this point, I truly had no idea what would happen. I thought for sure Paro would reach Devdas, the two would finally be together, and her love would resuscitate him, save him, and they would live happily ever after.

Paro racing to be with Devdas near the end of the film.

Devdas near the end.

Paro racing for the gate - will she make it?

The gate closes, red leaves from the tree above Devdas drift downwards, and they are separated forever by his death. It’s a riveting sequence, made the more stunning if you don’t know the outcome of this story and hadn’t grown up with it like everyone in India has. I found myself truly shocked and moved, in awe of the filmmaking but captivated by the frenetic what-will-happen narrative at the end.

Devdas breathes his last breath below the tree with red leaves.

The flame, like Devdas, has died.

There is no comparison in the West, really, to this type of uniquely Indian film. While Bollywood has been influenced by American and European filmmaking to some extent – look at Hollywood glamour of the 1930s including Busby Berkeley’s musical choreography and you’ll see commonalities – there are no purveyors of this level of melodrama and craftsmanship outside of the Subcontinent. Baz Luhrmann probably comes closest, especially Moulin Rouge (2001) and Elvis (2022). I’d say you could even throw in John Chu, but even his Wicked (2024) is more classic American musical than Indian Hindi film melodrama.

The stunning final dance number “Dola Re Dola” brings all of the craft elements perfectly in sync and stars arguably the two greatest female leads of two separate decades - Madhuri Dixit at her peak in the 1990s and Aishwarya Rai rising in the 2000s.

Perhaps we in the West need this. Perhaps we need more of the maximalist movies, bathed in colors and sound and music and tears and laughter and deep sadness and exquisite beauty. There’s a catharsis, or more accurately a chance to disappear into a world that completely envelopes you to the max. Why else make a film but to go to the extreme?

Newlywed Paro in her home, the blues, purples and lavenders of the stained glass surrounds her.

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

QFS No. 156 - The invitation for October 30, 2024
Shaun of the Dead is directed by Edgar Wright, wacky genius behind one of my favorite Quarantine Film Society selections Hot Fuzz (2009, QFS No. 29), selected in our group’s first year.

And since my involvement with zombies and zombie fare as a filmmaker has been long documented, Shaun the Dead seemed like an appropriate pick to discuss on the eve of Halloween. If this movie is even remotely as funny as Hot Fuzz, it’s going to be a very satisfying viewing experience.  

So for now let’s ignore our current apocalypse and watch Shaun of the Dead (one of the great plays on “of the dead” you can find) and discuss.

Shaun of the Dead (2004) Directed by Edgar Wright

Reactions and Analyses:
For a comedy about zombies and a zombie apocalypse, Shaun of the Dead (2004) actually has something very pointed to say about humanity – especially at the beginning and the end of the film.

That commentary begins in the opening credits which roll after the opening teaser sequence where we meet Shaun (Simon Pegg) and all the main characters. During the opening credits, director Edgar Wright shows humans sleep-walking through life, zombie like. They sway in unison with their music devices, drugged out, waiting for the bus with vacant expressions and checking their watches simultaneously. Or they go through the motions as cashiers or in the supermarket parking lot. Even Shaun, when he wakes up, lurches like the undead.

Zombies or people? Or can we even tell the difference?

In Shaun of the Dead (2004), Edgar Wright asks the question if we’d even notice a zombie apocalypse at all.

The filmmaker appears to be saying – we’re already acting like zombies. So if an actual zombie apocalypse happens, would we even notice?

The answer, for a while, is no. At least not for Shaun and Ed (Nick Frost) – roommates and disconnected from the world and occupied by their own concerns. (Or lack of them, in Ed’s case.) Meanwhile, a strange disease or occurrence is turning people into the undead. The fact is, we are so distracted and going through the motions of life that we can easily avoid knowing that an apocalypse is at our doorstep.

Shaun, moving zombie-like through the world already.

Wright cleverly continues to show us that we’re already among people who are the walking dead already. A homeless beggar asks Shaun for cash and later, when that beggar has been turned into a zombie, Shaun barely notices the difference. In another scene, Shaun looks out at the park and sees what appears to be a homeless person with mental health issues who goes after pigeons. Is he about to eat one? Before we can find out, a bus comes between Shaun and the man, and both the pigeons and the – homeless person? zombie? – are gone.

Shaun even stares, zombie-like, at the television, a television set that is desperately trying to tell him that the world is crumbling and people need to take cover because humans are mutating into some sort of animal-like undead creature. It’s an incredibly brilliant device – Shaun is flipping through the channels and each one is filling out a statement, telling us (who already know this) and Shaun (who still isn’t hearing it) that the world is ending. It’s terrifically funny and a perfectly clever coordination of exposition, character development, and plot setup.

Even when one of the undead women nearly kills Shaun, they think she’s drunk and coming on to him. It isn’t until they see her impaled and survive with a hole in her torso do they finally understand that something is very very very wrong. It’s fantastic.

Shaun still doesn’t quite get that there are zombies now in the world, even when one is literally on top of him.

He finally finally gets it.

As several us in the discussion pointed out, Wright and his collaborator Pegg are clearly fans of genres. We screened and discussed Hot Fuzz (2009, QFS No. 29) four years ago, a film that’s a perfect homage and satire of action films that could only be done by someone deeply immersed in the genre. Same goes for Shaun of the Dead – it’s clear that Wright and Pegg are zombie movie nerds. The film contains a multitude of reference and possibly my favorite one is Shaun’s mother, named “Barbara” (Penelope Wilton) which gives the perfect set up to reference a line from Night of the Living Dead (1968, QFS No. 44) – “we’re coming to get you, Barbara!” Not to mention that they can’t say the “zed word,” a reference to the fact that zombie movies and shows go to painstaking lengths to call the undead anything but “zombies.” Even the Hindi-language broadcast in the Indian-run corner convenience store is broadcasting about the zombie apocalypse - but in Hindi so Shaun doesn’t get the news.

This tactic of smearing zombie guts on your body to move among the zombies will be used later in The Walking Dead series. 

The flowers for Shaun’s mother Barbara are an example of a simple gag set up and paid off much later.

Wright’s comedic setup, timing and use of dialogue are unmatched in contemporary filmmaking, I feel. His comedy isn’t based on improv or relies on clever characters the way a Judd Apatow film might, but uses visuals and filmmaking in the way that Charlie Chaplain may have done to enhance comedic scenarios. It’s true directing to enhance a story. And for Shaun of the Dead, it’s his clever use of satire to make a sideways dig at humanity that elevates this film from something like Zombieland (2009) that’s a funny action zombie-genre film but nothing much beyond that. Shaun of the Dead is an insightful film about our current civilization – still “current” even though it was made 20 years ago. I’d argue it's even more relevant now, frankly. He’s saying – we’re already in a semi-catatonic state of detachment. How much different are we than the zombies of movie lore?

Watching useful zombies on television in the aftermath.

And what cements his apparent commentary is the film’s denouement, the final moments after the climactic finale. Humanity has now learned to live with the undead around them. Shaun and Liz (Kate Ashfield) watch TV and see that there are the mundane type of shows we have now – talk shows, game shows, news documentaries – but with one key difference. They all have folded zombie-life into their world. Zombies have been utilized to do daily labor tasks humans once did. Others are part of a game show where they’re raced or used for sport. There’s a sensationalized talk show where a woman talks about the love of her life is a zombie. It’s so perfect – humanity hasn’t so much as learned from their mistakes and made life more vibrant, they’ve just adapted to the reality of having zombies living among them.

The clincher for this is the final scene – Ed, now a zombie, is chained in a little shed in Shaun and Liz’s yard, where he’s hooked up to a video game system. Just as we saw him at the beginning of the film. And Shaun plays with him. Ed is living the same life as before. Just now, as a zombie. Which is basically what he was all along.

Shaun and Ed, living on the couch in front of a video game console.

As Ed was in the beginning - on the couch, playing video games with his friend  Shaun.

Is this a scathing criticism of people, society, of men in particular? After all, Shaun’s journey throughout the film is evolving from an overgrown child into a man who can take charge and actually prove his love to Liz. Regardless, the commentary or criticism would be nothing without humor, the performances, and the execution from the deft hand of an elite-level filmmaker.  

Superbad (2007)

QFS No. 144 - The invitation for June 12, 2024
Last week we selected a somewhat abstract narrative art film from Southeast Asia. It only stands to reason that our next film should be a raunchy teen comedy, the likes of which are churned out regularly by Hollywood. I give you… Superbad.

I have, oddly, not seen Superbad. There is no reason for this other than perhaps I thought it was too silly to bother back then. But more likely, I was no longer the target audience when it came out seventeen years ago. Still, since it’s endured, I’ve wanted to see it. In part because the cast is superb – Jonah Hill (before he was slim and serious), Bill Hader (before he was a formidable auteur), Emma Stone (before she won two Oscars!) Seth Rogan (basically the same) and Michael Cera (also basically the same somehow).

Superbad feels like it has remained a worthy modern stupid comedy all these years later. Stupid comedies are the lifeblood of the industry – just look at Animal House (1978), to pick one school-related stupid comedy as an example. That has endured and is still referenced by at least a subset of the American public (men 45-75 years old). And with summer now starting, won’t it be something nice just to turn off the old noggin and watch a couple of nerdy teenagers just trying to do (super) bad things? I think so.

Anyway, join us to discuss Superbad!

Superbad (2007) Directed by Greg Mottola

Reactions and Analyses:
Is it possible that a film which includes a very long tangent about a 4th grader with an uncontrollable compulsion to doodle penis drawings can also be a film that has deep meaning about relationships, outward appearances, and observations about American society?

Yes. Somehow Superbad (2007) pulls this off.

Beneath all the vulgarity, the obsession with pornography, the underaged drinking, the cops behaving like children and the chaos throughout, Superbad has heart – just as the main characters Seth (Jonah Hill) and Evan (Michael Sera) do. In another era, Superbad (2007) would simply be a tale of high schoolers who set out to find booze for a party and comedy ensues and nothing more. (I dare you to find broader meaning Animal House, 1978). And on its surface, Superbad is that. But without too much digging, you can readily find some deeper themes and meaning.

Of course, the central love story in the film is between Seth and Evan. And in that story, we see one of the filmmakers’ themes that are a little less overt than the obvious – American males are incapable to expressing true emotion with each other unless their guards are down. The two high school best friends are going to miss each other next year and the film winds its way to show that they are undergoing separation anxiety.

Superbad is, among other things, a love story between Evan (Michael Cera) and Seth (Jonah Hill).

But we were interested as a group about why they are incapable of just coming out and saying that they’re going to miss each other. And I contend that the filmmakers are making a case about masculinity, that American males are unable to be emotionally open with another male. Alcohol, with its ability to release inhibitions, acts as the only facilitator for these kids (and adults) to actually talk to each other about how they’re feeling. The only way American men can be true with each other is with help, and that “help” is usually booze.

Finally, after about two-thirds of the way through the film, Seth and Evan have an extended argument and it comes out that Seth feels betrayed by Evan for enrolling in Dartmouth – even simply applying – because Seth isn’t going there for college and could never have gotten in anyway. It isn’t until a later scene when they’re both exhausted, drunk, and in sleeping bags next to each other that they can finally say that they love each other, and that they’ll miss each other.

So the movie is a breakup film and almost a romantic comedy about a platonic relationship between two young men. And the final way they can actually confess their love is when the illusion they present to the world has dissolved.

Finally, Seth reveals he’s upset with Evan and feels he’s being abandoned.

Later, when they’re both exhausted and have their guards down, they’re able to say they love each other.

And here is the second major theme – public persona and perception versus reality. Both Evan and Seth want to portray themselves as something they’re not. They want to show that they know how to party, that they can provide alcohol for everyone, and are part of the “in” crowd (even though no one can remember having seen them at a party before). They believe that sex is the most important thing in the world, and that having sex and being able to be good as sex is so vital before college. Illusions are a major part of Superbad.

The filmmakers here are also making a comment on American society as well. Seth and Evan are led to believe that the world will not accept them as who they are, therefore they have to pretend they are something else. Evan tries to show off for Becca (Martha MacIssac) by exaggerating their previous night’s adventures – which in reality were watching porn, shot-gunning beer, trying to get into a strip club – and tries to act “cool” but of course he’s incapable of it. Seth brags to Jules (Emma Stone) about being able to get alcohol but he needs Fogell/McLovin’ (Christopher Mintz-Plasse) and his ridiculous fake ID card - of course that fails. This illusion drives the two guys, that their ticket into the elites is providing alcohol and acting more important than you are.

Evan brags to Becca (Martha MacIsaac) about how much the guys party together.

But the night actually entails watching porn.

And drinking beer in a basement, followed by not getting into a strip club.

And here’s where the filmmakers are overt about their solution to this problem: be yourself. Seth eventually “wins over” (unclear, but at least as a friend) Jules and not because he got booze for the party like she asked. She doesn’t even drink alcohol. But she’s charmed by him – she saw his open vulnerable side when she caught him crying the previous night – and will even hang out with him at the mall the day after the party, even though he accidentally headbutted her and gave her a black eye the night before.

In that same scene, Evan reconnects with a hungover Becca. The night before she attempted to have sex with Evan but he objects to doing it while she’s drunk (even though Seth earlier in the film said “we can be that mistake!”) because she’ll regret it and won’t even remember. But it’s this act of earnestness that makes her realize he’s special and they go on an impromptu date at the mall to buy new comforters. He was his true self, not trying to put on a metaphoric mask in order to get laid before college because that’s what they were led to believe they needed to do.

Both of them act like themselves for the first time and are rewarded. Of course, this means that Seth and Evan have to awkwardly say goodbye to each other – still incapable of true emotion in public with each other – and they don’t know either to hug or to handshake. It’s a perfect moment. And here the filmmakers use perhaps the most artistic and cinematic sequence of shots in the film – the escalator, and the teeth on the steps separate the two platonic lovers as they go off their divergent paths , cleaving the two. It’s a perfect scene and ending of the film.

Seth looks back up at Evan from the escalator.

And Evan keeps his gaze on Seth, the two platonic lovers separated.

Further commentary about masculinity? Officer Slater (Bill Hader) and Officer Michales (Seth Rogan) and McLovin’s storyline. The cops are given the authority of a badge, and are given a license to behave like adolescent men. They can drink beers at a bar for free, raid parties, ignore responsibility, trash a police car and fire a gun in public at a stop sign with impunity. They’re living an adolescent dream, two men who were unable to be themselves when younger but now look who’s in charge? The kids you picked on are now the boss. Even all the penis drawings probably speak to this obsession with sex and masculinity that’s more about just a cavalcade of ludicrous penis drawings in what’s an otherwise seemingly superfluous tangent.

Setting aside all the actual commentary embedded in the film, Superbad is still, at its core, a comedy. Humor is subjective, and not everyone in the QFS group was taken by the antics depicted. But for me, the film made me laugh and I cringed whenever I had to witness the protagonists’ public awkwardness. In part because I didn’t want these two to look like idiots because I cared about them. (That cringe-inducing behavior was too much for some in the group.) I wanted Evan and Seth to succeed in bringing booze to minors at a party. Not because I felt like this was a great idea, but because I felt I knew an Evan and a Seth in high school. Cera and Hill’s performances are so excellent and spot on for the characters. The uncomfortable-in-my-own-skin feeling that Cera is able to bring in all of his performances work so excellently here.

Hill’s Seth, however, was more polarizing. While several in the group found him irredeemably off-putting, I had sympathy for him. He’s just a foul-mouthed, witty, overweight, awkward kid. And the reason I rooted for him can be found in an early scene. Seth and Evan walk out of a convenient store near the high school and Seth gets spit on Jesse (Scott Gerbacia), a bully who taunts him for no particular reason. That scene illustrated for me at least that Seth isn’t a kid who is all he claims to be, that he’s actually very low in that society and despises he’s at that level. I most craved for both to just be themselves because they were really funny and had a sweetness to them when they were just with each other and not putting on a social performance.

In Eight Grade (2018, QFS No. 19), Kayla (Elsie Fisher) tries to be something she’s not, as we watch her final week of eighth grade.

And the kids in Superbad all are attempting to be something they’re not, as we watch in their final few weeks of high school. (Obligatory shot of the famous McLovin’ fake ID.)

Several in the group were reminded of Eight Grade (2018, QFS No. 19), and there are a lot of parallels. Both take place at the end of the school year with a seismic life shift – Eight Grade of course is the end of middle school and Superbad is the end of high school into college. And while the humor in Eight Grade is rooted in a realism and Superbad is more on the screwball-comedy end of the spectrum, both feature sets of protagonists that are attempting to be something they are not, to project an image of importance or popularity. And both films root the stories in characters who seem realistic and familiar, because the emotions are true. Both films offer broader commentaries on American society, but in Superbad those commentaries are masked by the raunchy comedy the smothers the film. If you see past that (and past the avalanche of penis drawings), just as if you see past the illusion presented by Seth and Even, you can find that the film and the characters have something to say.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000)

QFS No. 1 - The invitation for April 29, 2020
SR Note: This email invitation contains the QFS origin story - our first ever email sent out to the group that would become Quarantine Film Society. The format became slightly more standardized as we went along. Enjoy.

If you are receiving this this email electronically that means (a) society has not fully collapsed and technology still exists and (b) you have been on the list of our “monthly” gathering in LA, Wednesday Night Film Society. Or (c) you have just now been added to WeNiFiS’ risk-averse cousin …

Quarantine Film Society!

The original premise of WeNiFiS was to get us out of the house to watch a movie in the theater and then talk about it afterwards. A way to see movies in the way they are meant to be seen and also an excuse to hang out in the capital of MovieTown. We watched one (1) film this way in 2020 (Parasite) before the plague stretched across the lands. So alas no more theater outings until the plague subsides. But we can still talk … at least until the virus further mutates and renders us speechless. UNTIL that happens, here’s what I’d like to try for QFS.

I’ll pick a film for you to watch at home or in you bunker. It will either be a film recently released or perhaps we’ll revisit an old classic. It may or may not be a film you have already seen. But that’s okay – revisiting a film is wonderful and I find myself doing that so rarely these days. It’s nice to cook comfort food sometimes while also trying to bake something new. 

Anyway – after I’ve emailed the choice of film, you have essentially a week to watch it at your leisure on whatever streaming service you can find the film (or DVD/BluRay/VHS/16mm if you happen to own it). Then on, at the listed time and date, click on the provided Zoom link and we shall discuss it in a civilized manner at first followed by childish name calling and eventually direct threats.

So think of it as a book club for movie nerds. The Zoom get together will give you an excuse to wear a shirt that day, but depending on the framing of your device you could probably still not wear pants should you so choose. You could also remain intoxicated regardless of framing.

Speaking of – since we won’t be meeting at a bar or restaurant like we usually do after the movie, everyone is encouraged to drink at home and turn the music up a little too loud so you have to lean in to hear each other speak.

ENOUGH WHAT MOVIE ARE WE WATCHING?

Let’s escape the rapidly encroaching walls in the confines of our homes and disappear into - Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (2000), directed by Ang Lee.

It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty (!) years since Crouching Tiger was in the theater. I saw it in the first few months after I moved to Los Angeles in 2000 at an IFP screening, and have seen it maybe one more time since. Thinking about it feels comforting and appropriately escapist, so I figured now is a good time to revisit it. I’ll say no more if you haven’t seen it so we can discuss then.

I’ll send a reminder and I guess a Zoom link next week some time. Though I’ve never hosted a Zoom meeting so bear with me. Also – this may or may not work but hell, it’s worth giving it a try. At worst, you’ll have put on a shirt that day.

 Stay safe, be well, disinfect everything.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000) Directed by Ang Lee.

Reactions and Analyses:
I didn’t write extensive notes during this first discussion, but I’ll reflect on the time and the nature of the get together, as well as some details I remember from that conversation. As part chronicle of our times and part film analysis, this one will lean a bit more into a chronicle of our times.

Zoom was a relatively new tool for many of us. My wife had been using Zoom for a year at this point to communicate with her staff in other cities. I had been on it a few times after everything shut down in mid-March, but mostly to talk with friends about how their lives had changed and what their fears were a few weeks into the shutdown.

Chow Yun-Fat and Michelle Yeoh in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (2000) Directed by Ang Lee.

I invited people to watch Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (2000) and to join me on Zoom to discuss. Our turnout was incredible. This was before I kept track of the numbers because I thought I was only going to do this once, but we had I believer more than two dozen filmmakers join the conversation. It’s not just because of the film or anything I did - everyone was yearning for human connection outside of their homes. It was still early and we hadn’t yet paced ourselves or gotten used to being isolated at home.

As for the film - it remains a stunning piece of filmmaking. I had not watched it in many years, but all of it showcases a filmmaker at the very apex of his powers - the cast, the filmmaking craft, the storytelling, the mythology created, it’s all riveting. It feels like a fable, like a tale from antiquity told anew on screen. The fight in the treetops is a masterpiece. Michelle Yeoh (as “Yu Shu Lien”) is as magnetic as ever on screen, as is Chow Yun-fat ("as “Li Mu Bai”), and Zhang Ziyi (as “Jen Yu”) is perfectly cast and her heartbreaking leap at the end is still wrenching to witness.

Jen’s (Zhang Ziyi) leap in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (2000).

Ang Lee remains one of the filmmakers I most admire. After Life of Pi (2012), an essay he wrote went around about how he nearly left filmmaking early on to get his Masters in computer science or something like that, because he was failing to break through. His wife found his acceptance letter to the program and confronted him, imploring him not to give up on his dreams. He threw away the letter and did just that, to the good fortune of us all. It’s something I think about often that keeps me going as well.

His directing is what I call “invisible.” He tells the story the best way he can with the tools of a filmmaker. He doesn’t have a style that you can point to the way a David Fincher or a Wes Anderson does. For an Ang Lee film, the story comes first - what is the best way to tell this story - the style comes naturally from that.

In addition to that - here’s an Asian filmmaker who has made films that reflect his identity but also others that have nothing to do with being Asian. He directed The Ice Storm (1997) for crying out loud - a film with all white people fraying at the seams. And it’s excellent. He directed a film about two men who love each other in a time when they can’t in Brokeback Mountain (2005) and won an Oscar for directing it. What I mean to say - he’s a filmmaker who is treated as a filmmaker, not an “ethnic” filmmaker. This, to me, is the highest praise for someone like him - and like me. As a South Asian American filmmaker, I always strive to be recognized first and foremost for the quality of my work and not who I am or what I look like. I know that’s true for most all of us, and Ang Lee represents that ideal.

Anyway, we had a fruitful discussion that was a lot of fun and gave me the idea to keep doing it. I had no idea it would continue for years - both the group and COVID. Here’s hoping the group endures longer than the pandemic.