|
|
|
|
 |
 |
   |
interview tribute Playing
for the Lahoris The
death of film
interview “The story is important” With a reputation for
producing hard-hitting character-driven content, Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy has
established herself as a leading investigative documentary film-maker.
Just two weeks ago, we learned her film “Saving Face” had received the
Oscar nod for the category of Best Documentary, Short Film. This film was
co-directed with Daniel Junge and shot entirely in Pakistan. Sharmeen
already holds a coveted Emmy award (2010) and describes the Oscar
nomination as “the stuff dreams are made of.” According to her
official website, “Chinoy’s films have been shown on PBS, Channel 4,
CBC, SBS and Arte and was the recipient of the Alfred I Dupont Award
as well as The
Association for International Broadcasting award and is the first
non-American to be awarded the Livingston
Award for best international
reporting. Sharmeen was born and
raised in Karachi, Pakistan and received a bachelors degree from Smith
College and went on to complete two masters degree from Stanford
University.” TNS though an email
interview had a chance to learn from this entrepreneur and TED fellow
about her art and its implications. By Jazib
Zahir The News on Sunday: Did
you receive any formal training in film-making in school? Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy: I
have received no formal training in film-making. I started my career as a
print journalist and enjoyed writing investigative pieces, thus my choice
in majors reflected those interests. I did my bachelors in Economics and
Government and did my masters in Policy Studies and Communication. At that
point, I hadn’t ever considered making the jump from print to film.
The endearing thing
about film is that one learns by practice; I was lucky enough to have a
great crew that was willing to guide me though the entire process. The
learning never ends; each film brings new ideas and possibilities with it. TNS: Why did you choose
to make Afghanistan the initial focus of your work? SOC: My first film,
‘Terror’s Children’ (2002) was about Afghan refugee children living
in Karachi. Working as garbage pickers and carpet weavers, these children
were trying to settle into a country that was not ready to accept them.
The film was primarily about the displacement faced by these children and
the refugee crisis that Pakistan was dealing with at the time. My
consequent film, ‘Reinventing the Taliban’ (2003) focused on the
internal threat posed by the Taliban to the sovereignty of the Pakistani
state. Although on the surface it appears that my earlier films focused on
Afghanistan, they focused on the way Pakistan was dealing with the influx
of millions of refugees and the hurdles faced by these people during the
process of emigration and assimilation. TNS: Have you ever
experienced genuine danger in the course of shooting a film? SOC: My crew and I have
been quite fortunate, there have been a few instances where we have had to
abandon interviews because we suspected that we were part of a kidnapping
plot, but we have never been faced with life threatening circumstances. In 2007 when I was
filming a battle between two rival gangs in Dili, East Timor, a huge
boulder almost hit me but someone pushed me out of the way thereby saving
my life. As a documentary film-maker working in conflict zones, you are
trained to pick up on dangerous cues, and over the years you develop an
intuitive reflex. It is important to remind yourself of the fact that you
are not invincible, and that precaution must be taken at every turn. TNS: Which of your films
is your personal favourite? SOC: Last year, I
co-directed a film about survivors of acid violence called, ‘Saving
Face’. Acid violence is an extreme manifestation of structural
inequalities faced by Pakistani women. Our film followed these women as
they received treatment from renowned British Pakistani plastic surgeon,
Dr. Mohammad Jawad and formed communities to heal as a collective. Saving
Face is equally a story about the ways in which women continue to struggle
for justice in Pakistan as it is about their resilience in overcoming
difficult circumstances. During the shoot of the film, Zakia, a woman who
was burned by her husband teamed up with a female Pakistani lawyer and won
her case. Similarly, our characters made history by collaborating with
members of parliament who worked to pass a law that increased the jail
sentences awarded to perpetrators of acid violence. Today, people who are
found guilty can be sentenced to life imprisonment. Saving Face is my
favourite film because it is a living testament to the incredible things
that Pakistani women are able to achieve when they come together. I was
amazed by the strength displayed by these women and the grace and bravery
with which they continue to live their life to the fullest. TNS: Do you think your
films have made a tangible impact on the world? SOC: I think my films
have made a tangible impact on the people who have watched them. My main
aim as a film maker is to present audiences with stories that ask them to
reconsider previously held assumptions or present them with situations
that they are unaware of. The emails I receive reflect the fact that
audiences enjoy films that challenge them. Over the years, viewers have
chosen to help the characters of my films by sponsoring their education or
finding them gainful employment. They have also initiated awareness
campaigns and fundraising initiatives. I have collaborated with numerous
organisations that have used funds from film screenings to help
communities break out of the situations they find themselves in. This is
an incredibly gratifying reward for a filmmaker and it drives me to work
harder and produce films that continue to inspire people to be part of the
solution. TNS: How do you decide
which theme to pursue for a film? SOC: I am always looking
to bring the stories of marginalised communities to the forefront, and
feel strongly about making such narratives accessible to a larger
audience. Stories that have been neglected or voices that are unable to
tell their own story resonate with me. In my career, I have focused on
human rights, women’s rights and the repercussions of conflict and war.
Sometimes I am inspired by something as simple as reading a news article
or having a short conversation with someone I don’t know. Other times I
spend weeks researching for new film ideas. There is a lot of
brainstorming and collaboration involved in the process. TNS: Has there been a
variance in response to your films between Pakistan and abroad? SOC: Pakistan has
unfortunately not invested in its film industry and documentaries are no
exception. TV Channels rarely show documentary films and, similarly,
cinema houses do not screen documentary films because of a lack of demand.
My films are only screened at film festivals in Pakistan, which are few
and far between in any case; when they are screened they are received very
well. In the US, UK and Canada, when my films air on television or when
they are screened at film festivals; the response has always been very
rewarding. TNS: What has been the
impact of technology and social media on your field? SOC: New developments in
film technology have meant that more people have access to cameras,
editing software and training. Making a film used to be TNS: The Guardian
described your portfolio as a ‘global tour of gender oppression and
social injustice’. Do you agree? SOC: My career as a
filmmaker is dictated by stories that motivate me; I am drawn to
narratives that showcase the resilience of women and highlight structural
and cultural injustices that impact marginalized segments of society. I
have had the privilege of working in over 10 countries around the world
and although the characters and circumstances of my films differ they
share similar themes. My two most recent films, ‘Saving Face’ and
‘Transgenders: Pakistans Open Secret’ are based in Pakistan and
address issues of gender and civil rights and are similar to a film I
produced a film in Saudi Arabia about the underground women’s movement,
a film in Sweden about minority communities, a film in East Timor about
gang violence and its impact, South Africa about xenophobia, Phillippines
about illegal abortions and the Catholic Church, In Canada about the
aboriginal community. So for me the story is important, it doesn’t
matter where in the world it is. TNS: What can we expect
from you in the coming years? SOC: I am currently in
pre-production for a number of projects including a documentary television
series that will be aired in Pakistan. I am also planning feature length
documentaries outside of Pakistan. At the end of last year, I officially
opened my production house, SOC Films in Karachi and am now able to
produce more local content.
Great artists, like good
books, never get old. And it is for reasons other than their young wives
or adolescent mistresses. A great work of art surprises you with its
freshness every time you see it. Just like opening the same old text of
classic books provides new meanings, ideas and pleasure. Actually, a piece of art
or literature is endowed with elements which unfold with every encounter;
thus, it remains valid long after the period of its creation. In that
sense, art has a life longer and wider than its maker, which can be
experienced for years if not centuries. There are a number of images,
artefacts, tales and verses which are enjoyed by the people who don’t
even bother to find out who produced them. Yet, we tend to have a
particular image of a creative individual which is based upon a certain
understanding of his work. That continues to gain strength with the
passage of time. Often you meet people who will have a strong — and not
necessarily wrong — opinion about a writer, despite the fact they
haven’t read him (for example, Allama Iqbal or Salman Rushdie, though
for diverse reasons). Their views are based on a general understanding of
the author’s aura. Same is the case with artists and their work;
Chughtai and Sadequain are good examples. Only a great artist has
the capacity to astonish the viewers even after his death — by either
negating the general notions about him or adding new dimensions to his
work. This was strongly felt during the exhibition of Zahoorul Akhlaq’s
works at Rohtas 2, Lahore. The show, ‘In Remembrance’ comprised his
paintings, drawings and prints from the collection of Salima Hashmi, Wasif
Ali and Nazish Ataullah, thus providing a rare opportunity to glimpse some
of his fine canvases, which are not in the public domain. Looking at his work
thirteen years after his assassination, one wonders about the relevance of
the painter to the art world here. The show reminds one of how an artist
travels between remembrance and forgetfulness. Zahoorul Akhlaq influenced
the younger generation of artists but not many have been able to analyse
his work on a deeper level. Akhlaq was known as a formalist during his
lifetime but, in reality, his work moved beyond these descriptions. He produced paintings,
sculptures, prints, and designed monuments but, in all of his work, two
aspects of our culture are dealt with in multiple ways. His work addresses
the question of tradition and modernity in our culture, even though he was
not the sole exponent of such issues. A. R. Chughtai, Allah Bux and Shakir
Ali also tackled this duality in our situation, each providing an
individual solution. But their works, though admired a lot in varying
degrees, did not influence a considerable group of artists. Probably their
versions still belonged to a past, which was glamorised and preserved
(except Shakir Ali, who claimed to be a modernist painter); hence their
aesthetics are seen as relics rather than tools which can be utilised to
shape the present or to carve the future. Akhlaq, in that context,
played a pivotal role by inspiring a large number of artists through his
work (and his presence at NCA). In fact his main concern — of how to
‘perceive and re-produce’ tradition in modern times — became
relevant for generations of artists after him, with Rashid Rana as the
most celebrated name. One can draw Akhlaq’s
parallel in the fiction of Intizar Hussain; Hussain appropriates old
narrative and stories from the past in order to construct a literature
that reflects the present. However, both in the works of Akhlaq and
Hussian, the blend of tradition and modernity appears seamless and
effortless (even though it must have required an immense degree of
craftsmanship and imagination to do this). So in the works of the two, the
past breathes into the present thus becoming relevant for the future. At Rohtas 2, the works
of Akhlaq confirm the artist’s concerns regarding exploring the past
forms and converting them into a personal and (post-)modern The flatness of surface,
flow of line and the presence of manuscript format are some elements in
his work that foresaw the emergence of modern miniature painting at his
Alma Mater, the National College of Arts. It is usually mentioned but
perhaps not fully acknowledged that Akhlaq’s work was crucial for many
miniature painters to develop their imagery, technique and tactics (Shahzia
Sikander, another successful international artist from Pakistan on many
occasions mentioned Akhlaq’s impact on her art). But if his work is
compared with majority of miniatures produced today, one is surprised to
notice the extent of experimentation and avant-garde approach in Akhlaq,
characteristics which seem to be absent in the works of many modern
miniaturists. Particularly, a work in the present exhibition (from the
collection of Wasif Ali) consists of marks of black lines in different
directions, something like a pure abstract visual, yet the frame and
format convey its link with the tradition of image-making from this
region. The posthumous show
affirms that Akhlaq was more daring than the artists who followed him.
There could be many reasons for this difference but one significant reason
is that he did not classify himself into any one category, such as
miniaturist, traditionalist or even modernist. He was an artist, like
Behzad, Mani, Michelangelo and Mondrian; a fact hidden from various
practitioners of art in our world.
This was not Hariprasad
Chaurasia’s first visit to Pakistan. He visited about fifteen years ago
and gave several performances, surely one in Lahore too that was just as
well-attended as the one held last week. His fame has far exceeded the
geographical boundaries of India and as a bansuri player he is recognised
and appreciated by the connoisseurs of classical music in Pakistan as
well. Bansuri has an ancient
presence in the Indian subcontinent. It has been mentioned in the texts
and there have been pictographic images of it as well. It has mythical
status because it is linked to Krishan whose magical flute playing made
Radha and the Gopis succumb to his charming advances. Hailing from Banaras,
a city steeped in music, Hariprasad Chaurasia started learning vocal music
from Pandit Rajaram at the age of 15. Later, he switched to playing the
bansuri under the tutelage of Pandit Bholanath Prasanna and, much later,
while working for All India Radio, he received guidance from Annapurna
Devi, the daughter of Ustad Alluddin Khan. In the concert while he
played madhvanti, yaman and pahari, interestingly, he was accompanied by
pakhawaj and tabla, at times alternatively and at times simultaneously.
This was some kind of an experimentation that he was indulging in, which
forced an element of variety but it is questionable whether it enhanced
the musicality of his own instrument. Both Bhawani Prasad Kathak on the
pakhawaj and Samar Saha on the tabla, skilful practitioners enhanced the
virtuosity of the performance in their own individual ways. The present shape of the
bansuri is attributed to Panna Lal Gosh, the legendary bansuri-nawaz in
the 20th century who, as the saying goes, was considered the greatest
bansuri player since Krishan himself. He changed the instrument to suit
the changing musical taste of the people. By making its diameter bigger,
the instrument meant for playing folk melodies was creatively modified
into one where the kheyal in all its four lais and three saptaks yet
retaining the mesmerizing quality of the sound could be played. The traditional bansuri
is much smaller; it is not played sideways and is basically meant for
playing bandishes in the upper register. In the concert, Hariprasad
Chaurasia did give a demonstration of the traditional bansuri when playing
the uttrang and in madh and dhurat lai. Panna Lal Gosh must have
been the ideal of Hariprasad Chaurasia too when he chose this instrument
above others. With the European influence during the 19th and 20th
centuries, instrumental music became important too because the European
tradition glorified the instrument and their musical classical tradition
was mostly instrument-based. Under that influence, musicians in India too
started to experiment with the instruments — making them just as musical
in their expression following the classical forms like dhrupad and kheyal,
which were the prerogative of the vocalists. Panna Lal Gosh was very
surila and Hariprasad being surila also held the note for much longer
duration without losing the magic of evocation. His alaap and vilampat lai
renditions in the prime of his life are classic examples of it and
probably no other bansuri players have been able or have managed to do so.
It was also feared that due to advancing years the playing of notes,
dwelling and staying on them does become more and more taxing and may have
been so in his case as well. Even the vocalists find it easier to rattle
off a taan in faster tempo than to hold a note in the vilampat lai. But
despite his seventy plus years he was able to hold the note with
intensity. It was instrumental
music that was accepted more by the international audiences when Indian
music was taken abroad more as a part of the foreign policy initiative to
impress upon the word significant Indian culture on world stage. As the
expression is not divided between the sur and the word, Ravi Shanker, Ali
Akbar Khan, Bismillah Khan, Amjad Ali Khan and Shiv Kumar Sharma were much
more popular and acceptable than the first rank vocalists of the
subcontinent on the world stage. Hariprasad Chaurasia too
is very well-regarded and is sought after by international audiences all
over the world and carries the footprint of the other great
instrumentalists of India who introduced the high culture to an
international audience after its independence about 60 years ago. Lahore has a reputation
of being a very difficult city to perform because it is assumed that the
musical taste of the Lahoris is very well-developed. One wonders on what
this assumption is based on or how it originated surviving the
vicissitudes of time, especially after the partition of the subcontinent.
The musicians and vocalists being fully aware of this reputation have also
wanted to perform in Lahore and it is said, proverbially, that any
musician who can play successfully in Lahore can play with ease anywhere
else in the world. Performing in Lahore is the litmus test of a performer. The Lahoris too are
large-hearted in their appreciation but if a man or a woman with a
reputation arrives to play they raise the bar of their critical level even
higher and go about seeking lapses and shortcomings of the musician. They
have all been very critical of the well-known players who have played here
and have given only a very few the certification of their highest regard. On its Republic Day,
leading artists have been invited by the High Commission through the
Indian Council of Cultural Relations to perform in Pakistan and this has
given the Pakistani audiences an opportunity to listen to some of the
leading classical instrumentalists and vocalists in person. It is hoped
that such occasions are not restricted to a few official days but should
become a regular feature of exchange between the two countries.
The
death of film A high-budget television
commercial is being shot in Lahore at the country’s largest studio for a
leading telecommunications company. The props have been aligned and the
actors revise their blockings as per the lighting setup. The director of
the production Ali Javed has a glance into the monitor, clears the shot
and gives the go-ahead for the take. Within six hours, the principal
photography is complete. The director has two hours to check the exact
output of the footage and shoot any changes or inserts, if required.
“Good thing we chose not to shoot on film,” he says, with great
relief. Had the ad been shot on
a film camera on traditional celluloid film, he would not only have been
deprived of viewing the exact shot being captured onto the film stock, but
the journey to post-production and the final product would have taken its
due time and financial repercussions. “Usually, there’s no
option but to send the film to Thailand or Malaysia for developing and
editing; and that costs a fortune,” Javed adds. To cut the long story
short, celluloid film is dying. Reports of Kodak’s bankruptcy throws
down the anvil on the titanic of all visual art formats. The company,
whose employees’ figure has gone down from a peak of 60,000 to 6,000 in
the last 30 years, is fighting to stay alive. The last three years have
seen a brisk market shift of motion pictures, music videos and commercials
turning to high-end digital video cameras rather than celluloid film. As digital photography
cameras replaced the traditional reel-based photo cameras at the turn of
the century, the same shift has coincided in the professional motion
picture market. “Film has always been seen as a vehicle of great
respect. When you shoot on film, you mean serious business, as there is a
great amount of money being spent every passing minute. Now you can shoot
all that you want as it’s all being copied onto a hard disk,” says
Hassan Ali, a television and short-film director who works primarily on
the digital format. If the Kodak crisis
wasn’t enough, film camera and equipment giants ARRI and Panavision
announced that they were discontinuing the manufacture of film cameras and
concentrating completely on digital camera technology. Even the stiff
critics of this new flood of technology realised they had uttered their
last words. “In the last few years, video has really caught up with
film. The high-dynamic-range video cameras are expensive, but it is
peanuts compared to what film cameras cost. In just a few years, people
won’t [even] be comparing film to video anymore,” says Vasi Hasan, a
leading television ad director-producer, who has got accounts of leading
mobile and beverage companies. Further hassles such as
the risk of film stock being damaged physically during shooting, storage
or transfer have also given plenty of headaches to producers and financers
since the beginning of the art form traced to the late 1800s. Video came of age when a
California-based company by the name of RED came up with its popular line
of Red One, Epic and Scarlet X cameras, each offering motion picture
quality resolution and exposure latitude at a fraction of the price of an
ARRI or Panavision. Thanks to its high compatibility with other lens
mounting systems and a post-production process supported by commonly used
editing suites, RED has minimised the gap between prosumer and
professional productions. Major Hollywood productions that used the
technology include The Social Network and Pirates of the Carribean: On
Stranger Tides; in both cases, the change for the average movie going
audience was imperceptible. RED has penetrated the
local market as well. The much-hyped Bilal Lashari film Waar has been shot
on the company’s next generation Epic camera. The film’s trailer is
already being praised for its visual treatment and presentation, something
virgin to Pakistan. Mehreen Jabbar tested the waters when she shot
Ramchand Pakistani on HD, transferring it on film later. But, as Aga Khan,
a non-linear editor and colourist for television ads, puts it, “this
isn’t a Ramchand Pakistani,” obviously referring to its visual output.
“The film, as per the trailer at least, walks and talks like a true
motion picture shot on 35mm.” According to Lashari,
high-end digital technology will reap benefits other than the obvious.
“I feel more formally-educated people will walk into this industry as
film has traditionally worked on the same apprenticeship-based learning
curve for over a hundred years, with very little formal education,” he
tells TNS. In the prosumer market,
celluloid film has never been a popular format due to its inexplicably
high costs and developing rates — a three-and-a-half minute roll of film
stock sets you back approximately Rs 13,000. The recent advent of
inexpensive video-ready DSLR cameras has saturated the local market beyond
anyone’s expectations, manufacturers Nikon and Canon included. DSLRs
offer the advantage of HD format footage with industry standard lens from
Canon and Nikon, a notable factor in giving video a film-like visual
appeal. These cameras are being used in low-budget commercial ads,
corporate documentaries and music videos. Successful videos for upcoming
niche-market music artists such as Falak and Bilal Saeed are being shot on
DSLRs at astoundingly low costs in comparison to the visual output. These videos get their
due publicity from their target audiences on popular internet sites such
as YouTube. “You are getting professional HD footage with a low-cost
device whose main purpose is to take pictures. A few years ago, the camera
equipment available in such budgets was absolutely ridiculous,” says
popular DoP (director of photography) Faisal Warraich who claims to make
use of the said camera technology for low-budget videos with high-quality
visual returns. That said, the
availability of digital cameras at affordable prices does not necessarily
mean the general quality of content available to audiences will improve.
Although the visual quality of low-budget productions may be enhanced
considerably, style and substance are two entirely different modules. In
the words of Vasi, “a pencil is cheap, so everybody has access to it,
but that doesn’t mean everybody is a great writer. Film or video is just
a recording medium, it doesn’t ensure great results.” However, like most young
ad filmmakers, Vasi is quick to support the coming-of-age of video:
“It’s great that everybody should have access to the right tools of
story-telling; though, it might mean more worthless stuff on YouTube.” In the final analysis,
it isn’t hard to see that shooting on film will have become a matter of
a creative choice for filmmakers in the next few years, just as their use
of black and white format in order to create a certain mood —
references: Schindler’s List and Ed Wood. But, as with each passing day
digital cameras successfully emulate the unique soft-blurry motion imagery
of film with more and more precision, the reasons for remaining on the
medium will likely become shallower. To quote Kazim Abidi, a young film
graduate from BNU, “In a couple of years, shooting on film will become
more of a habit or ritual rather than necessity; quite similar to how
people still use fountain pens whereas gel pens offer the same precision
and quality with less hassle and at less cost.” Again, for those budding
filmmakers who feel video will change everything they learnt about the
format, Bilal Lashari offers some reassurance, “Eventually, you can
replace the technology but you can not change the aesthetics and the
people behind it. The nuts and bolts remain the same.” |
|
I
was still in school when the tragic events of September 11 occurred, and
just like everyone else I was glued to the news. As I watched journalists
struggle when covering events out of central and South Asia I realised
that there was a dire need to have local journalists reporting out of
these areas. It was then that I decided to transition to film as I felt
that it was a more comprehensive medium that allowed for better
understanding and communication. My first film, ‘Terror’s Children’,
was executed with basic training on my end, and I made many novice
mistakes. For example, I was halfway through shooting the film when I
realised that all the footage was missing audio! Needless to say, I had to
start from scratch.
expensive, rapid advancements in technology are democratising the field.
Today, phones come with HD video cameras and YouTube videos show you how
to edit your film. This has a huge impact in Pakistan; independent music
artists are now making beautiful music videos and aspiring filmmakers are
putting their short films online. Social media is allowing them to create
a fan base and collaborate with other artists. It is also far easier to
receive feedback and do research. Technology is opening up the field, it
is making it easier for filmmakers to get funding and publicize their
films. I recently taught a class at SZABIST and encouraged students to use
cell phones and other technology to make short documentary films. Now
anyone can be a story teller, which I’m sure will empower more people to
tell their stories.
sensibility. The presence of border, rendering of inverted space, and
format of an illuminated manuscript are a few features evident in his
paintings and works on paper. Borders are placed as integral part of
imagery which, at places, turn readable, and is built with layers of marks
and strokes. The images recognisable in his work are linked with figures
from miniature paintings and are composed to accentuate flatness of the
surface. The attempt to devise means for maintaining two-dimensionality of
his visual matter is evident in the way the forms are arranged as letters
on a piece of paper.
