Sweat
beads dot the bodies of everyone present. The loud sounds of rock, mixed with
the shrill screams of ecstasy from the hyped crowd, overwhelm us. Standing on
the lowest tier, along with my friends, I sing along with the band, with my
hands raised up and my eyes closed. I can feel the music through the ground,
vibrating with every beat. I can sense, with my shut eyes, the foglights
changing their brightness and colour along with the flow of music. Slowly, the
song ends, the vibrations cease, and my eyes open. The stage is dark. My heart
is pounding out of my chest. I look around in the dim light, heaving, my head
hurting from all the headbanging. My co-rockers, all of them doubled over,
catching their breath, are waiting. A few minutes later, the lights brighten up. The band on stage begins playing one of their classic songs. All my mates start jumping, screaming, howling. One even walks around in a daze,shaking his head from side to side, as if possessed by some musical entity. Tripping. I glance at everyone around me. Some of them jump up and down, some bang their heads to the beat, some (in the back) sit quietly, simply enjoying the music and the strange antics of the fans. But everyone has a smile on their face. Everyone is enjoying this night. I grin at my friends, they grin back. I turn back to face the stage. My throat is painfully sore now, my voice audibly broken. But, watching the excitement around me, I soon forget the pain. As the song nears its chorus, I put my hands up, my mouth opens and my face contorts as I produce a loud scream, which joins those of the others to roll out across the whole stage, drowning out music and shrieks alike. Life is good.
Saturday, 6 June 2015
Tuesday, 26 May 2015
Mom.
Every organism in the world, irrelevant of the species it belongs to, or the realm of environment it inhabits, or even the stage of Darwinian evolution it currently is in, has an underlying instinct to protect its young. Now, the duration of this care varies from creature to creature, but the intensity remains more or less the same. This obligation of an animal to take care of its off-springs is seen most powerfully as the maternal instinct. The mother is naturally very protective of her children. In primitive beings, this maternal protective quality can expand to include severe aggression, when it involves the distress of her children. While my mother is a paragon of this unconditional love and care (as are their moms for every other person on this planet), this aegis feature can be particularly seen, with undying strength, in canines.
Yes. Dogs. Man's best friend has apparently learnt from us the divine gift, that is children, and how to protect and care for them. Or have we learnt from them? Doesn't matter. I say this, because I've recently been observing a small family of stray dogs that live in and around my neighbourhood and the adjacent compounds. One mother dog, taking care of its two pups. You can almost relate it to the impecunious scenario of a single mother, struggling to raise her bickering children in an hardened neighbourhood, where homelessness and poverty are looked down upon rather than helped to overcome. What follows is a imaginative piece on how a day in her life must be like.
******
For her, every night is a light slumber. She never sleeps deeply. She can't afford to. Her pups were too precious to her. She feels them moving by her side, rested and content. They always get up earlier than she does. She grunts a permission for them to go ahead and play. Slowly, she too gets up, her knees unsteady beneath the weight of her emaciated body. The perils of old age. It was still dark, but she knew that daylight would come soon. And with that, the people living within the tall walls, behind the cold metal gates. The cruel ones who hurt her, shunned her, spit on her and scared her. She had learnt from experience never to be in stone's throw of a human. It was a life-lesson she wanted to pass onto her children before long. She could see them playing with each other, rolling on the ground, frolicking without a care in the world. She stood there for a minute, watching sadly, and then strengthened herself for the burdens of the day ahead. She would get through it, but only for her children.
Some days, they would have no food. Some days, they would starve. Some days, the food would be too meagre for all three, so she would let them eat it, because they were what was most important to her. But today, they were in luck. Someone had thrown left-overs onto the side of the road, and this was a feast to them. When they had their fill, they would begin their roams. They usually stuck to familiar territory. By noon, they would begin a drudging reconnaissance of the whole neighbourhood, searching for water or food. Usually they could find water at the bottom of the gutter, just a few lap-ups of it, but they had to make do. Then she would spend most her afternoons resting by the side of the road, while her pups roamed about the compound. They knew never to go too far without her accompanying them.
By evening, she would get up again, rustling her dirty pockmarked fur. The nights got cold, so they would have to find a place warm enough before nightfall. Their usual spot was the neglected car-shed a few yards away, but today the cruel people in the adjacent building threw stones and shooed them away. They would have to find another place now. It was late into the night when they finally bedded down beneath a parked car. It was dangerous, but it was the only way to avoid freezing to death. The kids, still oblivious to the pain their mother lived through everyday, playfully roll about underneath the car. She lays down, and gives a low grunt, summoning them to stop play and settle down. They run to their mother, tongues lolling, and nudges closer to the warmth of her body, each one vying for her attention. She lifts her head to sniff them (an acknowledgement), gives them a lick of her tongue (a goodnight kiss), and the pups gradually stop their restless motion to calm down. She lies back down, her eyes glistening. She knows tomorrow would be another day of difficulties, filled with new obstacles and hurdles. But right now, she forgets all that, as she closes her eyes, and, listening to her babies' slow breaths, gently drifts off to sleep.
Yes. Dogs. Man's best friend has apparently learnt from us the divine gift, that is children, and how to protect and care for them. Or have we learnt from them? Doesn't matter. I say this, because I've recently been observing a small family of stray dogs that live in and around my neighbourhood and the adjacent compounds. One mother dog, taking care of its two pups. You can almost relate it to the impecunious scenario of a single mother, struggling to raise her bickering children in an hardened neighbourhood, where homelessness and poverty are looked down upon rather than helped to overcome. What follows is a imaginative piece on how a day in her life must be like.
******
For her, every night is a light slumber. She never sleeps deeply. She can't afford to. Her pups were too precious to her. She feels them moving by her side, rested and content. They always get up earlier than she does. She grunts a permission for them to go ahead and play. Slowly, she too gets up, her knees unsteady beneath the weight of her emaciated body. The perils of old age. It was still dark, but she knew that daylight would come soon. And with that, the people living within the tall walls, behind the cold metal gates. The cruel ones who hurt her, shunned her, spit on her and scared her. She had learnt from experience never to be in stone's throw of a human. It was a life-lesson she wanted to pass onto her children before long. She could see them playing with each other, rolling on the ground, frolicking without a care in the world. She stood there for a minute, watching sadly, and then strengthened herself for the burdens of the day ahead. She would get through it, but only for her children.
Some days, they would have no food. Some days, they would starve. Some days, the food would be too meagre for all three, so she would let them eat it, because they were what was most important to her. But today, they were in luck. Someone had thrown left-overs onto the side of the road, and this was a feast to them. When they had their fill, they would begin their roams. They usually stuck to familiar territory. By noon, they would begin a drudging reconnaissance of the whole neighbourhood, searching for water or food. Usually they could find water at the bottom of the gutter, just a few lap-ups of it, but they had to make do. Then she would spend most her afternoons resting by the side of the road, while her pups roamed about the compound. They knew never to go too far without her accompanying them.
By evening, she would get up again, rustling her dirty pockmarked fur. The nights got cold, so they would have to find a place warm enough before nightfall. Their usual spot was the neglected car-shed a few yards away, but today the cruel people in the adjacent building threw stones and shooed them away. They would have to find another place now. It was late into the night when they finally bedded down beneath a parked car. It was dangerous, but it was the only way to avoid freezing to death. The kids, still oblivious to the pain their mother lived through everyday, playfully roll about underneath the car. She lays down, and gives a low grunt, summoning them to stop play and settle down. They run to their mother, tongues lolling, and nudges closer to the warmth of her body, each one vying for her attention. She lifts her head to sniff them (an acknowledgement), gives them a lick of her tongue (a goodnight kiss), and the pups gradually stop their restless motion to calm down. She lies back down, her eyes glistening. She knows tomorrow would be another day of difficulties, filled with new obstacles and hurdles. But right now, she forgets all that, as she closes her eyes, and, listening to her babies' slow breaths, gently drifts off to sleep.
Wednesday, 20 May 2015
Of Love and Loneliness. [WARNING : EXTREMELY HYPOCRITICAL]
The Internet is a depressing place. And that is to say the least. The secular world most of us belong to believe not in a biblical armageddon, but in a modern apocalypse, brought forth by our own humans deeds. Movies and popular culture are testament to this fact. Most science fiction stories depicts this as a hostile takeover by the sentient beings we create, robots, with advanced artificial intelligence. They all have the same underlying premise. A world so dependent, so addicted, to artificial help that we forget not just ourselves, but our traditions, our culture and our background. But analyse yourselves right now. Take in the world around you. Look around. Is it beautiful anymore? No. It's a horrid place. Desolate. Sad.
Isn't this apocalypse under way already? Sans the hostility, of course. Aren't humans already at the mercy of machines? Has humanity been so consumed by greed and self-imagery, that we have forgot what it means to be really human? Pleasure used to be derived through love, entertainment, and arts. What does pleasure and fun mean today? A few thousand pixels in a luminescent screen? Books were read far and wide then. Fate would have them turn into no more than toilet paper. People have become so self-absorbed, cocooned in insecurity, contorting to the whims of sycophants.
I pity the world around me. I know people who get anxious if they're away from their smartphones for 2 minutes. I know people who mock me for not owning a phone. I know people who ridicule me for reading books. I even know a friend who asked me why I even bothered reading books in the 21st century; the importance of books are soon to be null. I sometimes wonder whether he was wise for saying so, or just extremely stupid. I am looked down upon by a group of philistines. I keep a stoical expression through it all.
To them, I'm a loser. I'm a loser because I don't have a smartphone. Because I don't have accounts in all the up and coming websites dishing out flattery in small packages. Because I don't care about my place in the midst of attention-whores. My friends and I used to have genuinely fun times when we hung out, but lately, I've been noticing the only thing they're interested in are their phones. A typical example of a snack outside with friends would be sitting at a table with all of them rapidly tapping their touchscreen, communicating with "girlfriends" they've never met, and my awkwardly watching this play out.
Does love have the same meaning today? Is it love if its online? Is it possible to feel the same amount of affection towards a person just by staring at their profile picture and exchanging a few lines of dialogue with them? I'm not an expert on romantics, but I say no. "Love". How strange. Its pathetic how 12-year old girls can claim they've found true love with a guy they hardly know. Disgusting.
Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I wrong in believing that humanity is on a path bound to self-destruction? Am I wrong in believing the world is beyond redemption? I contemplate these immoral thoughts as I log myself back into Facebook, smiling at the "friends" I hate, and pitying those I don't, while the blue and white interactive interface gradually eats away at my self-respect, slowly but surely, till I too become a shell of my former self.
Isn't this apocalypse under way already? Sans the hostility, of course. Aren't humans already at the mercy of machines? Has humanity been so consumed by greed and self-imagery, that we have forgot what it means to be really human? Pleasure used to be derived through love, entertainment, and arts. What does pleasure and fun mean today? A few thousand pixels in a luminescent screen? Books were read far and wide then. Fate would have them turn into no more than toilet paper. People have become so self-absorbed, cocooned in insecurity, contorting to the whims of sycophants.
I pity the world around me. I know people who get anxious if they're away from their smartphones for 2 minutes. I know people who mock me for not owning a phone. I know people who ridicule me for reading books. I even know a friend who asked me why I even bothered reading books in the 21st century; the importance of books are soon to be null. I sometimes wonder whether he was wise for saying so, or just extremely stupid. I am looked down upon by a group of philistines. I keep a stoical expression through it all.
To them, I'm a loser. I'm a loser because I don't have a smartphone. Because I don't have accounts in all the up and coming websites dishing out flattery in small packages. Because I don't care about my place in the midst of attention-whores. My friends and I used to have genuinely fun times when we hung out, but lately, I've been noticing the only thing they're interested in are their phones. A typical example of a snack outside with friends would be sitting at a table with all of them rapidly tapping their touchscreen, communicating with "girlfriends" they've never met, and my awkwardly watching this play out.
Does love have the same meaning today? Is it love if its online? Is it possible to feel the same amount of affection towards a person just by staring at their profile picture and exchanging a few lines of dialogue with them? I'm not an expert on romantics, but I say no. "Love". How strange. Its pathetic how 12-year old girls can claim they've found true love with a guy they hardly know. Disgusting.
Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I wrong in believing that humanity is on a path bound to self-destruction? Am I wrong in believing the world is beyond redemption? I contemplate these immoral thoughts as I log myself back into Facebook, smiling at the "friends" I hate, and pitying those I don't, while the blue and white interactive interface gradually eats away at my self-respect, slowly but surely, till I too become a shell of my former self.
Monday, 11 May 2015
Aftershocks.
[On the 25th of April, 2015, at 11:52 am, Nepal was struck by a 7.8 moment magnitude earthquake, which destroyed cities and towns, razed historical heritage sites, killed more than 8000 people and injured twice that. This is a tribute to the victims and the wounded.]
**Earlier that day**
It was a great day today. I usually have mediocre to bad days, but today was good. Today was special. She had smiled at me today. And that made all the difference.
I usually sit on the back row of the classroom. I wasn't the typical "backbencher" student who messed around without showing much interest in studies. I was just an introvert. The bell signalling the end of the lunch break had just rung and all the other students were just entering the class again after their respective escapades to the canteen or the playground. As I did everyday, I kept my eyes discreetly focused on the doorway. Through my months of practice, I had become extremely skilled at this task. She came in a few minutes after the bell, sashaying her way to the front row where she sat with her group of giggly annoying friends. I knew she liked me, even if it was in the most minutest of amounts. Most days, she would not even look to where I sat. But some days...some days, she would just steal a glance my way. Today, however, today of all days, when she looked at me, she stared for a moment, and then ever so slowly, her lips curled into a smile, not one of mock, but of something else. Affection, maybe?
It was Math period now. I liked math, I was good at it. I never had much of a problem dealing with numbers. Our math teacher came in shortly and announced a surprise test. A long moan left the lips of the students but they had no other choice. The papers were distributed and the answering time had begun. The questions were not too difficult. There were some tricky ones, but nothing I couldn't solve. As a result, I could finish the paper quickly. Feeling pretty satisfied with myself, I handed it in, and sat back down on my seat, content with my answers. I capped my pen and put it back on my desk. That was when I felt it.
It was just a tremor at first. A slight vibration, not much different from what you would feel if you moved your chair back forcefully. Most of the students did not notice it, and those that did dismissed it as some inexplicable oddity. Even I would've missed it, had I not seen my pen move slightly from its former position. But then I noticed something else. A low rumbling from far away, not moments after the tremor. A deep vibration within the ground, bringing with it a sense of foreboding, of doom. Then it hit. The big one. It was sudden, like a car crash. The tables rattled and fell sideways. Pens flew around the room. The lamps on the ceiling shook violently. The students were screaming and rushing out the door. It was absolute chaos.
I looked around to see if I could spot her, but all the commotion made it practically impossible. I joined the flow of students and teachers running down the steps. My mind was still preoccupied with finding her, so much so that I found myself drifting to the back of the crowd. By the time we got to the lowest level, most of the throng had already exited. A few others and I had just run out of the main doorway, when we felt the next quake, almost as powerful as the previous. The old building could not take the force. We heard a loud crack, and then the building caved in on itself.
We watched as our school collapsed, along with its side-buildings. We stood there, in overwhelming shock and disbelief, not one soul speaking. Slowly, emotions spilled. Wails of despair were heard all around. Not everyone had got out. Desperately, I searched the group of survivors for her face. I found her standing to the back, crying for one of her friends. I made my way to her. I wanted to hold her, comfort her. I could see that tears had stained her beautiful face, as she lifted her eyes to meet mine. Without saying a word, she fell into my arms, her warm tears wetting my shirt. We were both scared. Terrified. As we stood there, in the middle of the wreckage, realization set in. So many had died here. How many more back in the city? How many of our families? How many of our friends? How many more? How many more?
I close my eyes, trying to wake up from this nightmare. Silent tears roll out, despite my best efforts. I know when I open my eyes, reality would hit me like a brick wall. I would have to venture out into the broken world, search for survivors, family, friends. But right now, I weep. I weep for my brothers. I weep for my sisters. I weep for Nepal and Nepal weeps for us.
My entire world has turned grey. Dust swirls all around as I stand in the midst of destruction. Faces of agony and despair surround me. Faces of pain and sadness. Of grief and disbelief. It seems only moments ago, when our whole lives came crashing down on us. The earthquake took everything from us. If not our own lives, then our families'. Our friends'. Everyone had been affected. The world was not the same for us anymore. Never more.
**Earlier that day**
It was a great day today. I usually have mediocre to bad days, but today was good. Today was special. She had smiled at me today. And that made all the difference.
I usually sit on the back row of the classroom. I wasn't the typical "backbencher" student who messed around without showing much interest in studies. I was just an introvert. The bell signalling the end of the lunch break had just rung and all the other students were just entering the class again after their respective escapades to the canteen or the playground. As I did everyday, I kept my eyes discreetly focused on the doorway. Through my months of practice, I had become extremely skilled at this task. She came in a few minutes after the bell, sashaying her way to the front row where she sat with her group of giggly annoying friends. I knew she liked me, even if it was in the most minutest of amounts. Most days, she would not even look to where I sat. But some days...some days, she would just steal a glance my way. Today, however, today of all days, when she looked at me, she stared for a moment, and then ever so slowly, her lips curled into a smile, not one of mock, but of something else. Affection, maybe?
It was Math period now. I liked math, I was good at it. I never had much of a problem dealing with numbers. Our math teacher came in shortly and announced a surprise test. A long moan left the lips of the students but they had no other choice. The papers were distributed and the answering time had begun. The questions were not too difficult. There were some tricky ones, but nothing I couldn't solve. As a result, I could finish the paper quickly. Feeling pretty satisfied with myself, I handed it in, and sat back down on my seat, content with my answers. I capped my pen and put it back on my desk. That was when I felt it.
It was just a tremor at first. A slight vibration, not much different from what you would feel if you moved your chair back forcefully. Most of the students did not notice it, and those that did dismissed it as some inexplicable oddity. Even I would've missed it, had I not seen my pen move slightly from its former position. But then I noticed something else. A low rumbling from far away, not moments after the tremor. A deep vibration within the ground, bringing with it a sense of foreboding, of doom. Then it hit. The big one. It was sudden, like a car crash. The tables rattled and fell sideways. Pens flew around the room. The lamps on the ceiling shook violently. The students were screaming and rushing out the door. It was absolute chaos.
I looked around to see if I could spot her, but all the commotion made it practically impossible. I joined the flow of students and teachers running down the steps. My mind was still preoccupied with finding her, so much so that I found myself drifting to the back of the crowd. By the time we got to the lowest level, most of the throng had already exited. A few others and I had just run out of the main doorway, when we felt the next quake, almost as powerful as the previous. The old building could not take the force. We heard a loud crack, and then the building caved in on itself.
We watched as our school collapsed, along with its side-buildings. We stood there, in overwhelming shock and disbelief, not one soul speaking. Slowly, emotions spilled. Wails of despair were heard all around. Not everyone had got out. Desperately, I searched the group of survivors for her face. I found her standing to the back, crying for one of her friends. I made my way to her. I wanted to hold her, comfort her. I could see that tears had stained her beautiful face, as she lifted her eyes to meet mine. Without saying a word, she fell into my arms, her warm tears wetting my shirt. We were both scared. Terrified. As we stood there, in the middle of the wreckage, realization set in. So many had died here. How many more back in the city? How many of our families? How many of our friends? How many more? How many more?
I close my eyes, trying to wake up from this nightmare. Silent tears roll out, despite my best efforts. I know when I open my eyes, reality would hit me like a brick wall. I would have to venture out into the broken world, search for survivors, family, friends. But right now, I weep. I weep for my brothers. I weep for my sisters. I weep for Nepal and Nepal weeps for us.
Analysis Of A Morning Jog.
5:30 am - *half-asleep* What, mom? Jog? Oh yeah, yeah, will do.
6:15 am - HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, why didn't you wake me?!
6:30 am - Alright....joggin' like a boss. Let's do this. 5 rounds around the Museum grounds!
6:35 am - Jesus Christ, no way I can do this. I'll just walk.
6:40 am - Why these niggas staring at me? Yeah, I can walk faster than you. Screw you.
7:00 am - Wow, 3 rounds of speed walking. I'm so damn fit. Maybe I'll jog now
7:01 am - Nope, nope, no way. Maybe I'll just walk. Walking's healthier anyway.
7:10 am - Now for some push-ups and shit. Huh, those guys doing 30? Yeah, well, I can do 40.
7:11 am - One....Two....Three....Woo, that's enough, shouldn't overwork the body. Nope.
7:15 am - God, what a healthy morning. I should do this everyday.
7:30 am - How was the jog? Oh cool, I did like 5 rounds. Yeah, I know, so awesome.
7 :32 am - *cries in corner 'cause I hate myself*
fin.
6:15 am - HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, why didn't you wake me?!
6:30 am - Alright....joggin' like a boss. Let's do this. 5 rounds around the Museum grounds!
6:35 am - Jesus Christ, no way I can do this. I'll just walk.
6:40 am - Why these niggas staring at me? Yeah, I can walk faster than you. Screw you.
7:00 am - Wow, 3 rounds of speed walking. I'm so damn fit. Maybe I'll jog now
7:01 am - Nope, nope, no way. Maybe I'll just walk. Walking's healthier anyway.
7:10 am - Now for some push-ups and shit. Huh, those guys doing 30? Yeah, well, I can do 40.
7:11 am - One....Two....Three....Woo, that's enough, shouldn't overwork the body. Nope.
7:15 am - God, what a healthy morning. I should do this everyday.
7:30 am - How was the jog? Oh cool, I did like 5 rounds. Yeah, I know, so awesome.
7 :32 am - *cries in corner 'cause I hate myself*
fin.
Thursday, 7 May 2015
I Hate Most People.
Let's clear up the issue of the title. 'Hate' is a strong word, and it may not be used in its general sense here. 'Strongly dislike' might be a more apt term, but using 'hate' makes for a better title. Excuse my sense of neatness. 'People' is also used peculiarly. I like a few of my friends, my close family and certain members of my extended family. But for everyone else, my default setting towards them would be "Ew". It doesn't matter which race, religion, caste, sex, or anything else discriminatory. Everyone I see are potential asses, unless its a girl who's extremely gorgeous (I'm a dude, cut me some slack here).
I don't know why I do this, maybe its a primitive animal instinct to be careful of anyone and everyone which has somehow been passed down to me over the generations. Personally, I find that theory a tad too improbable. A more believable theory would be that I'm just a dick to people. Yeah, I'd smile, laugh and play with you, but inside I might be thinking of ways to murder you in your sleep.
YEAH.
Its just one of my idiosyncrasies. Please don't judge me.
But just to be safe, next time you see me, come talk to me. If I like you, you'll know.
[Writer's block today. This is just something I've been thinking about. Think of this one of those annoying filler episodes between awesome ones. Bear with me, here. Thank you for reading.]
I don't know why I do this, maybe its a primitive animal instinct to be careful of anyone and everyone which has somehow been passed down to me over the generations. Personally, I find that theory a tad too improbable. A more believable theory would be that I'm just a dick to people. Yeah, I'd smile, laugh and play with you, but inside I might be thinking of ways to murder you in your sleep.
YEAH.
Its just one of my idiosyncrasies. Please don't judge me.
But just to be safe, next time you see me, come talk to me. If I like you, you'll know.
[Writer's block today. This is just something I've been thinking about. Think of this one of those annoying filler episodes between awesome ones. Bear with me, here. Thank you for reading.]
Sunday, 3 May 2015
Thoughts on Joketo.
As a comic-book lover and self proclaimed geek, I was, and still am, a bit skeptical about Jared Leto's casting as the Joker, in the upcoming Suicide Squad movie. The Joker has always been my favourite comic book character (Batman comes second), both in DC and the entire comic world. He's one of the greatest villains ever and Batman's personal archenemy. Add to that, the mind-blowing portrayal of the Clown Prince of Crime by Heath Ledger in Nolan's The Dark Knight, and you'll have a horde of geeks worshiping The Joker, unconditionally. So, is it really surprising that the most psychopathic villain in the (comic book) world, should be a figure of controversy? Get it? No? Okay, sorry.
Speaking retrospectively, the casting of The Joker has always been a very hotly discussed topic. Jack Nicholson was hated on when he went under the clown make-up. People cited he was too old to play the Joker and that a 52 year old man could never pull off the crazed up antics of the infamous lunatic. But he was praised for his performance in the 1989 Batman and was the best Joker, until he was dethroned by Heath Ledger. Ledger himself was subjected to abject hate, however, his portrayal shut all the haters up. Therefore, I think its only natural that people have doubts about any actor portraying their favourite characters.
There's only two ways this can go. Either Jared Leto's gonna kill it, or he's gonna suck. The Joker is already such a revered character in comic book history that the reactions to him in the Suicide Squad movie will be highly polarized. They'll either love it or they'll hate it. There is no in-between.
Let's inspect the Joker image now, shall we? Soak it all in.
Speaking retrospectively, the casting of The Joker has always been a very hotly discussed topic. Jack Nicholson was hated on when he went under the clown make-up. People cited he was too old to play the Joker and that a 52 year old man could never pull off the crazed up antics of the infamous lunatic. But he was praised for his performance in the 1989 Batman and was the best Joker, until he was dethroned by Heath Ledger. Ledger himself was subjected to abject hate, however, his portrayal shut all the haters up. Therefore, I think its only natural that people have doubts about any actor portraying their favourite characters.
There's only two ways this can go. Either Jared Leto's gonna kill it, or he's gonna suck. The Joker is already such a revered character in comic book history that the reactions to him in the Suicide Squad movie will be highly polarized. They'll either love it or they'll hate it. There is no in-between.
Let's inspect the Joker image now, shall we? Soak it all in.
Honestly speaking, this is way different than how I imagined the Joketo to look like. I was still comparing him with the Ledger Joker when this came out. But, this is effing epic. I know a lotta people hate this, the main reason being the tattoos and the grill. People absolutely enraged and infuriated at the thought of The Joker sitting down to get inked.
["Yeah, could you tattoo a skull with a clown's hat here, and a 'hahahaha' here and a big red lipped grin over here? Oh, and I want 'Damaged' on my forehead too. You down with that?"] LOOOOOL.
The tattoos are mostly symbolic and might not even be in the movie. But frankly, I wouldn't mind if if they were, because it gives a different aspect to this Joker. Every Joker has been a reinvention, with the Jack Nicholson being an over the top insane lunatic, Heath Ledger an anarchic psychopath and Jared Leto what appears to be a mentally disturbed neo-nazi. Stop comparing each Joker to its predecessors. Originality is fascination while banality is boredom.
But I'll play along just to humor the obstinate asses out there. The tattoos might be something he's obsessed with. An obsession would not be something new to a psychopath, would it? OR maybe, he got them when he was still struggling with bipolarity, when the line between sanity and lunacy was just fading OR maybe, the whole thing is a big tease. As for the grills, maybe, the Batman smashed out his front teeth, and those are actual metal teeth, OR the Joker might just be image conscious now. (Yes, the last one was a joke).
A different take on the Joker might not be that bad, really. An open mind is essential to viewing Joketo without bias. The most important thing is to keep calm and wait till we watch Leto in action. Let's not make the same mistake we made with Ledger, shall we? Peace.
fin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)