dvdisoil wrote:
DVD Collector wrote:
In some respects, I think Black is Bhansali's homage to Kieslowski's visual style. I remember reading an interview of Bhansali's sometime back in 2004, where Bhansali practically praised Kieslowski as the greatest artist known to cinema. If you like, I can dig up this interview and post it for you, it was rather a good read, he even mentioned Fellini as a strong infulence on him.
That will be wonderfull if you can point me to it. Kieslowski's influence i can see ( the mirror shot with Batchan and the mother is so much like a shot from blue with Julie and her mother) -but fellini, i wonder how ? . I actually liked Bhansali for Khamoshi but thats where my taste-in-him stopped the rest in my opinion was more style and less content from him

Here it is, all I can really say about SLB at this point in time is that, I don't think he's relatively an important filmmaker(yet), but irrespective of this, I still throughly enjoy every film he's made to date. Learning more about this filmmaker gives me the notion to believe that he's yet to make his masterpiece. Until than, I'll look forward to everything and anything with his name attacted to it.
On a side note, the only thing I can't seem to understand about him is his fondness for Salman Khan.
SANJAY LEELA BHANSALI
100 WATT CONTROL
This film-maker tells Harneet Singh he loves Raj Kapoor, worries about his hair and vents his anger on his cellphones. Are you ready for his Kieslowski-inspired Black?
Posted online: Sunday, January 09, 2005 at 0000 hours IST
SANJAY LEELA BHANSALI’s typical day: Sleep at 2 am. Dream. Wake up. Dream. Work for 14 hours. Go for a walk or a drive, depending on the mood. If it’s a drive then it must be with Norah Jones, Lata Mangeshkar, Madan Mohan and RD Burman (a song a day from each, please). Eat. Sleep. Dream some more.
The 40-year-old film-maker of modern classics like Khamoshi, Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam and Devdas rarely steps out of his home, never parties and has very few friends in the industry. He’s so reclusive that every two weeks, actor and best buddy Salman Khan calls to check if he’s still alive.
‘‘After my mother, Leela, the only human contact I have with the world is through my characters. Cinema is the only life I live. I find it difficult to reach out to people. Actually, I don’t feel the need,’’ he shrugs.
We’re comfortably ensconced in his workspace, the balcony of his minimalist Mumbai apartment, with dreamy white chiffon curtains and muddy Shahbad tiles straight out of Khamoshi. ‘‘I’m not a marble flooring person. You can’t look at it daily, this is so clean,’’ he says.
I express my personal anguish in my cinema. The world can deduce and debate about my life from my movies
As the photographer begins taking pictures, the director switch flicks on. ‘‘Mera right side bad angle hai. Left se photo le.†He wants to know if the light is falling on his face. ‘‘Is it a close-up? Don’t come so near, my nose is too long.’’ He’s also unhappy about his hair. ‘‘I’ve gone to so many barbers but nobody has been able to help. Now I have accepted that my hair will always stand on end.’’ He checks the display on the digital camera and wants some shots deleted.
‘‘I can’t help it,’’ he shakes his head. ‘‘Film-making is imprinting a moment permanently in time. You never get the moment back. And I don’t want anyone to spoil it for me.’’
Over the years he’s acquired an impressive collection of labels—neurotic, obsessive and eccentric, among others. Stories of him slapping assistant directors and ‘punishing’ them abound. Ask him about it and Bhansali grimaces. ‘‘I am 100 watts. I am very temperamental. I am very edgy. I am very passionate.’’
Bhansali’s ire is easily triggered when someone upsets the balance in the only place he believes he has any real control—the destinies of his characters. ‘‘I spend hours looking at every stone of a pillar on my film set, if I see a speck of dust, I am bound to lose it.’’ But he dismisses all the OTT urban legends. ‘‘I don’t hit anyone. I might give my ADs a rap on their shoulders but that’s it.’’ Maybe he doesn’t go that far, but apparently, his favourite forms of punishment are slightly more school marmish—Bhansali makes errant ADs stand in the sun, or orders them off the set if they so much as whisper.
He also likes taking it out on cellphones. ‘‘I get a strange satisfaction from breaking mobiles. If you go to the lake at Filmcity, you’ll find lots of broken handsets; they are all my doing.’’
I get a strange satisfaction from breaking mobiles. If you go to the lake at Filmcity, you’ll find lots of broken handsets; they are all my doing
THE signs that you’re in a film-maker’s home are everywhere. You can pay homage to Frederico Fellini as you wait for someone to answer the doorbell. Several frames of the Italian director during the making of his decadent 1960 masterpiece, La Dolce Vita, cover one wall. In the study, there’s no shortage of books on movies. An autobiography of David Lean, The 5 C’s of Cinematography, Painting with Light, Notes On The Making Of Apocalypse Now, The Films of Akira Kurosawa jostle with Robert Ludlum, Paulo Coelho, and Richard Bach. There’s a book on North Atlantic lighthouses (that explains Salman Khan’s lighthouse-home in Khamoshi). There are five cupfuls of sharpened pencils; because that’s how Bhansali writes.
Right now, all his attention is focussed on next month’s Black, a dramatic departure from the Rs 50-crore operatic opulence of Devdas. This is his first film without a Khan (Salman or Shah Rukh). And Black’s unlikely lead pair of Amitabh Bachchan and Rani Mukerji will have to make do without the usual boost from Ismail Durbar—it’s a songless film. It is also a stark canvas of black, white, grey and blue.
Though Bhansali regards Devdas as his ‘‘finest work in terms of cinematic form,’’ Black, he says, is his reason to be proud. The story of a deaf, blind and mute girl who wants to sing is Bhansali’s quest to find out if his cinema can go beyond words. ‘‘People noticed even the colours of the curtains in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam and Devdas. I wanted to prove that I can make a rich and vibrant film in monochromatic colours. Black is an important experiment in positive colours.’’
But it’s an experiment that bears a strong resemblance to Krzysztof Kieslowski’s critically-acclaimed three colour trilogy, Blue, White, Red. Bhansali admits to being “definitely inspired†by Blue. “Which film-maker wouldn’t be inspired by Kieslowski? He’s the only modern-day master. And Blue is my favourite film, so might as well,’’ he laughs.
LIKE his previous films, Black is about hope and pain. And this one too seems autobiographical. ‘‘I express my personal anguish in my cinema. The world can deduce and debate about my life from my movies,’’ he agrees.
Bhansali says that he cries while writing about his characters’ lives. His father died nursing a dream to become a director. His mother worked hard so her children could follow their passion for cinema (sister Bela now edits all his films). The past is also about a love gone wrong, but Bhansali never talks about that. ‘‘I’ve gone beyond all that. These days, I am floating. I am happy.’’
And now, nothing comes between him and his obsession. Salman Khan wanted a two-minute appearance in Black but was firmly refused. ‘‘I don’t make changes for anyone,’’ says Bhansali. Ask Aishwarya Rai. It’s well-chronicled how Bhansali’s ex-muse wanted Khan out of Bajirao Mastani, his ‘‘next dream’’. So he opted for Kareena Kapoor instead. As of now, Bajirao Mastani is on hold because Khan and Kapoor have already signed two films.
But Bhansali is confident it is ‘‘destined’’ to be made. A poster of a moustached Khan and a kohl-eyed Kapoor in Bhansali’s study is proof enough.