Home Theatre

I feel uncomfortable going to film festivals these days. Not for the obvious reasons though. No, the films being screened haven’t plumbed new depths in tackiness. And no, my passion for the medium hasn’t fizzled out. On any given day, I would have rushed out in my lungi and tattered chappals to catch the latest Almodovar retrospective.

Well, not any more.

Because it’s getting too crowded for comfort. Because way too many people are thronging the theatres. Because I feel woozy and claustrophobic in a jam-packed hall, where everyone sits cheek by jowl.

Watching a film is a very intimate experience, like having sex, reading a book or taking a crap. You need privacy, spatial comfort and the right ambience to make it enjoyable. How can you decipher the complex motifs in Lars Von Trier’s latest offering when somebody is breathing on your neck? Or make sense of a Robert Bresson movie when the guy sitting next to you has his knee fused to your thigh? Every time you fidget, you must perform a delicate ballet with your limbs. It’s too distracting.

So lately, I settle for the next best thing. DVDs.

Yesterday, I picked up a dozen films from my local video store for binge viewing (I am back in favour there after returning the DVD of ‘Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi’, after precisely one year). The list is eclectic, nothing high-brow, well, except for the Bergman, and it’s mostly stuff that I have seen ages ago.

El Mariachi
All the President’s Men
Cries and Whispers
The Last King of Scotland
Bittermoon
Mons Tresor
Dharavi
Khosla ka Ghosla
A Few Dollars More
Nacho Libre
Knocked Up
Ran

Ensconced in a cosy chair, I stretch my legs, light a cigarette, sip from a flask of black coffee and settle for a night of uninterrupted cine-fest. It doesn’t get better than this.