Thursday, November 21, 2013

Pan's Labyrinth

This post follows criteria for an analytical essay covering the film's integration of fairy tales.

The previous post covered the fairy tale that most obviously fits the structure of Guillermo del Toro's 2006 Spanish film Pan's Labyrinth. Charles Perrault's Le Petit Chaperon Rouge, better known as Little Red Riding Hood, contains certain aspects that coincide with Ofelia's journey through the labyrinthespecially the 'little girl lost' motif. I already did some analysis here, but I think it would much more interesting to see how the film transforms not only the Red Riding Hood myth, but fairy tales in general. del Toro uses an amalgamation of folkloric stories—and even creates a few of his own—so it would be truly unfair to limit the film to just one. Click that last link for the previous post where I noted similar visual/imagery styles between P'sL and LRRH, and read through this post for in-depth ties to the fairy tale genre (or, for Mimi, the continuation of part two and inclusion of part three on the criteria sheet).

Rated R for graphic violence and some language.

The fairy tales in Pan's Labyrinth act as a form of escapism for both the character Ofelia and the audience. While del Toro does an excellent job creating a fresh story within a narrative text and mythical subtext, the film was only as successful as it was because he adhered to basic fairy-tale tropes with which we are all familiar, at some level. The rule of three in literature is probably the most important. This can be very basic, as with a beginning, middle, and end to a story, a three act structure in screenwriting like the other two movies in this 'trilogy' (The Devil's Backbone and The Orphanage), or through canonical layering, i.e., del Toro's civil war, fairy tale, and coming-of-age stories. Or, it could have more blatant symbolism attached. In fairy tales, there are usually three daughters/sisters (Cinderella) and three brothers or princes; there were three little pigs with three houses; Goldilocks met three bears; Rumpelstiltskin spins golden thread three times for the girl that can guess his name over three days; wishes granted by djinn come in threes; Snow White is visited by her wicked stepmother—you guessed it—three times; the list goes on for ages. This number hails back to texts from a plethora of religions, such as Christianity's holy trinity in the Bible, Odin's three earthly hardships or Ragnarök with a precedent of three harsh winters in Norse mythology, the Triple Bodhi of Buddhism, Trimurti in Hinduism, triple deities in Celtic Paganism, e tcetera. Don't even get me started on triplets in Greek myth .

So, yes, threes are extremely important. It usually depends on the tale to understand just what they symbolize. In Red Riding Hood, things that repeat three times act as warnings, such as the wolf's hunger brought on by three days of starvation. In Pan's Labyrinth, Ofelia's three tasks mark phases in her departure from childhood while the three storehouse keys signify both salvation in the form of medicine and destruction in the form of an unbroken lock. The gigantic toad is killed with three magic stones, the Underground Palace possesses three thrones, the faun supplies three faeries, and Ofelia must choose from three doors once inside the Pale Man's domain. I have typed the word 'three' far too many times, and I hate grammatical repetition. However, I still need to mention that adults saw Ofelia's magic as 'real' three times: Carmen and the mandrake's fiery death, Mercedes' observation of the chalk door in Ofelia's bedroom, and the Captain's inability to bear witness to Ofalia's interaction with the faun at the center of the labyrinth. But Rachel, you said that they saw the magic, yet the Captain clearly did not! I attribute this not only the film's commentary on Ofelia's coping mechanism, but the Captain's complete failure to perceive beauty; that kind of thing strays too far from a regimented world such as his.

Twos are also significant, since that the doctor doses Carmen with two drops of laudanum, the mandrake needs two drops of blood, the Pale man possesses two eyeballs, Ofelia eats two grapes, and so on. Twos are more representative of duality, which makes sense in this film given that it consists of two intermingling worlds.

Three Doors and an Athame—sounds like a game-show title, no? 'Come on doooown!'

There are of course other important fairy-tale elements reflected in Pan's Labyrinth. This genre oftentimes deals with morals and, while Ofelia learns to be observant, brave, and to deal with sacrifice, the glaring moralistic lesson I noticed was the Captain's unhealthy fascination with mortality. His own watch was a symbol for the passage of time and his inevitable death. It could not be thwarted for all of his preparedness or obsession with having everything in its proper place. Another thing to consider is del Toro's parallel between the Captain and the Pale Man. This is perhaps less obvious than the connection between Ofelia and Mercedes, but both creatures committed infanticide and, as Mimi pointed out, both sat at the head of their tables at a 'feast'. Creepy-ass mo-fo's. In other fairy tales, a lot of characters are parallels with one another, such as the big bad wolf and the huntsman/woodcutter (check out Telltale Games' The Wolf Among Us for more morally layered characters).

Eyes were also a featured image in Pan's Labyrinth. The first 'real life' scene has Ofelia pushing a stone eye into the faun's carved rock face, marking the beginning of her journey into the realm of magic. She alone has the eyes to see the fairy-tale world in its entirety—to appreciate the natural world despite her unsafe surroundings. Likewise, Red observes the wolf as her grandmother and questions his animalistic features before being devoured. Sight is a decidedly good attribute. Then again, there are the Pale Man's hands...ugh.

Music is incredibly important in this film. The myth of Princess Moanna (see the next section) has its own theme, recognizable as Mercede's lullaby and later identified as Ofelia's leitmotif. Listen to Javier Navarrete's orchestration below. It certainly shivers my timbers.

Pan's Labyrinth Lullaby—Nana del fauno del laberinto.

On top of these thematic and symbolic choices, del Toto integrates a slew of mythical creatures from belief systems around the world. 'Faun' is an Ancient Greek term for a satyr-like being in Roman mythology. They are half-man/half-goat and play on the gullible nature of humans in order to get what they desire. It is unclear if the faun in the film—named Pan like the Greek god of the wild—is trustworthy or simply trying to get back to the Underground Kingdom before he dies out like the rest of his kind, but it makes me feel better on a personal level to think that he had to test Ofelia's true spirit by doing a kind of double-cross with the final trial. He does show up in the royal court, after all. On top of the faun we have his three helpful faeries, one of which transformed from a giant stick bug into a 'more appropriate form'. The giant toad and the Pale Man are both monsters that Ofelia needed to defeat, and it could be easily argued that the Captain as an evil stepfather is a monster, too. In fact...though human, he is without a doubt the most monstrous being of the story.

The film actually has its own original fairy tale: "Princess Moanna, whose father is the king of the Underworld, becomes curious about the world above: the human world. When she goes to the surface, the sunlight blinds her and erases her memory. She becomes very ill and eventually dies. However, the king believes that her spirit will come back to the Underworld someday." And so they waited for her...for a very long time.

The story Ofelia tells to her unborn brother about the blue rose of immortality is similar to that of Sleeping Beauty, what with the thorns acting as an unbreachable barrier. It also connects to the idea of virginity/purity present in most fairy tales. The faun wanting the Princess to prove her purity; the overall shape of the Moribund Tree, which Ofelia enters and leaves like a womb; the bleeding book of precognition; Carmen's pregnancy; Ofelia's eventual maturity. In Sleeping Beauty, the princess only awakes because the Prince has had sexual intercourse with her and she needs to give birth. Both princesses in Snow White and The Juniper Tree have 'lips red as blood, skin white as snow'—a glaring symbol of menstruation or a broken hymen. Little Red Riding Hood features not only the coloured headpiece but the girls' own innocence. The Littlest Mermaid is all about reaching a certain age and acquiring love. I could go on and on in this direction.

Pan's Labyrinth gives me the perfect excuse to talk about another Labyrinth. Jim Henson's 1986 film focuses on a the adolescent Sarah and her fairy-tale journey. She deals with an evil stepmother of her own, as well as trials and monsters galore. Ofelia did not have to face a singing, dancing goblin king with outrageous hair, but I'd chose to fight '80s glam David Bowie any day over the three-times-almost-but-not-quite-killed torturing bastard who is the Captain in Pan's Labyrinth. Yikes.

Ofelia with the faun's book, Sarah with hers.
The covers are even the same exact colour, for Crispin's sake!

Why did  Guillermo del Toro chose to tell this story through the use of myth? Supernatural elements tend to be well-contrasted with grim realities, and the Spanish Civil War of 1944 fills that bill to a T. Myths were created by human beings in the first place in order to rationalize unexplainable concepts like death and cruelty. Ofelia used her imagination to cope with her mother's illness brought on by pregnancy, having to leave the city because of her father's death, and the sins of her new stepfather. Paralleling those things with surrealistic characters and ineffable trials was a good move on the director's part. It helped the audience to deal with scenes of torture when they were then also faced with the acts of a non-human cannibal. I know that sounds bizarre...but it's true.

A final note: I see a trend in fairy tale movies of casting dead relatives in fantastical roles. In the film MirrorMask, the main character Helena's mother, Joanne, is sick, so when Helena travels to the other side her mother becomes the Queen of Light and Queen of Dark, emphasizing the way her moody teenage daughter views her in real life. In The Brother's Grimm, Angelika's father, the huntsman, is turned into the wolf by the evil Queen, dying once he is no longer under her spell. Van Helsing sees Anna's brother, Velkan, shed his human form and turn into a werewolf. The list goes on. This transformation allows the main character to deal with the loss, just as Ofelia did with her own mother.

Carmen as the Underworld Queen, Joanne as the Queen of Light & Queen of Shadows.

Now if that did not hit all the criteria, I don't know what will. :P

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Ofelia & Little Red Riding Hood

This post follows criteria, linking a specific fairy tale to the film Pan's Labyrinth through summarization.

Little girl v. big, bad danger.
Illustration by Lauren Henderson.

There are always different versions of the 'same' fairy tale, and Little Red Riding Hood is no exception. French author Charles Perrault and one side of the Brothers Grimm (Wilhelm) both adapted their own stories from German, Polish, Italian, Austrian, and French versions that cropped up sporadically throughout Europe in the 10th and 14th centuries. It has gone by many different names, most familiarly The False Grandmother, which could possibly to explain why some renditions feature hoods v. caps v. other types of headgear of various colours (Charles Marelles rewrote the story entirely, changing the hood to yellow/gold). The whole colour thing is interesting when you consider del Toro's lighting preferences when separating 1944 fascist Spain with the fairy-tale and underground worlds, or even Ofelia's red shoes with that of Red's whatever-she-happens-to-be-wearing. Anyway...

I had to indulge my history support and aesthetic validation there for a few moments, but enough context. The earliest recorded written account of the folktale lies with Perrault, and it just so happens that it fits quite well with del Toro's film. For starters, both stories begin with the age-old line "Once upon a time..."

There lived a little country girl who was doted on by her mother and grandmother [Ofelia moves to the country with her single parent]. The mother made her daughter a red hood [Ofelia's mother made her a dress]. One day, the mother sent Red to her grandmother's house because she was ill [the mother's poor pregnancy]. So, taking along some confectionery [Remember the Pale Man's banquet? Of course you do.] the little girl went on her way through the woods [for Ofelia, the labyrinth].

As she walked, Red met a wolf [in the film, this changes from the trickster faun to the evil stepfather]. The wolf wanted to eat her but could not for fear of nearby woodcutters [the resistance]. Instead, he made light conversation with the young girl and asked where she was headed off to in such a hurry. Oddly unafraid, she answered by telling him about her sick grandmother in the next village...disclosing the exact location of her house. -_- She told the wolf that it was nestled just past a mill [which is where most of the events of the film take place].

Intermission image, cuz it's beautiful and dark, the paragraphs were too many...
and I do what I want.
Illustration by Noctillucca.

The wolf takes his leave, rushing off to go eat the grandmother and wait for Red to show up so he can consume her as well [Pale Man again *shudder*]. Red gets distracted by butterflies [Ofelia by faeries] and decides it would be a grand idea to gather some nuts and little bouquets of wildflowers [Red goofs around three times, Ofelia completes three tasks]. Meanwhile, the wolf has arrived at the house and lies to the grandmother about his identity in order to gain entry [much like the faun's lies to Ofelia, although his reasoning is much more sound]. He eats her alive because he's starving—hadn't eaten in three days, apparently. >_>

Enter Red. The wolf, now disguised as the grandmother in the sickbed, asks the girl to join him, which she oh-so stupidly does. This bit strays from Pan's Labyrinth in that Ofelia is no where near so gosh-darned dumb. Well, apart from when she eats the two grapes despite being expressly told not to. Siiigh.

Anyway, this is when Red makes remarks about her 'grandmother's' big arms, legs, ears, eyes, and teeth. The wolf responds with light remarks in an attempt to make her complacent, but eventually gets bored with the mind games and eats her whole [Ofelia's death brought about by her stepfather, the Captain, or a direct reflection of the Pale Man's terrifying eating habits]. Some versions end with a wood cutter or group of lumberjacks bursting into the grandmother's cottage to kill the wicked wolf, and I suppose that could be taken as the Spanish rebels surrounding the mill and shooting the Captain in the face. [He totes deserved that.]

End-of-story-moral-wise, Ofelia differs from Red in that she learned independence and bravery rather than how to hide from dangerous strangers along isolated forest paths.

Illustration at left by Arthur Rackham. Uterus-shaped Moribund Tree at right by del Toro.

With both stories we get the rule of three, a nature-setting (see the above images), characters with similar, er, characteristics, allusions to virginity/ menstruation/ coming-of-age (again, look at the above image and try to unsee the feminine similarity), and all that good stuff. I will analyze these things—and more!—in the next post.

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Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Use of Music: Musical Masterpost

This post is going to be a long one. I apologize in advance for the varying sound levels of the posted videos.

I first came to enjoy musical's with an episode of Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Before that, all I had were the endless reruns my music teacher used to play of West Side Story, mum's favourites The Music Man and Singin' in the Rain, and Disney films like Mary Poppins or Beauty and the Beast. I actually kind of enjoyed those, but then regressed a bit when I watched the sloppy & soppy plots of The Sound of MusicWilly Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (although I do love 'Pure Imagination'), Grease, and Annie. Others I just did not really get. Musical is a tough genre to get into, truth be told. The plots of Fiddler on the Roof and Cabaret as well as the humor of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Little Shop of Horrors went over my head because I was too young/uneducated when I first viewed them. Then came musicals like ChicagoRent, and Mamma Mia—all of which made my ears bleed. Harsh, I know, but true all the same.

No, it was Whedon's Once More with Feeling that allowed me to truly appreciate the skillful interweaving of story with lyrical verse. I was already a fan of the show, so I am sure that helped. So did Anthony Head. (Though, for the love of mercy, DO NOT watch Repo! The Genetic Opera. It's sooo terrible.)

Oh, Giles...

Years later I came across another of Joss' works: Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. This three-part miniseries was created during the Writer's Strike of '08, and oooooh did the audience win. Neil Patrick Harris, Nathan Fillion, Felicia Day, and all of your favourite Whedonverse-tropes. The finale has all the feels (I almost never use that phrase, so you better believe I mean it).

They used to have the entire movie/combined episodes available online, but no more. GIF'd!

Backtracking a little, I fell majorly in love with Andrew Lloyd Webber's 2004 film version of The Phantom of the Opera. Well, in all honestly, I hated it the first time I saw it. Twelve-year-old me was in that awkward 'What's the fuss about all these silly moozakaalz?' phase. Ah, youth. Stupid youth. After I had finished rolling my eyes at the ludicrousness of people breaking out into song in a legitimate, modern Hollywood movie that did not involve old-timey morals or animated characters, the film ended and I was bawling. The Phantom is a tragic character, and I have always been a sucker for that kind of thing. Becoming obsessed, I read Leroux's original novel, watched a crap-ton of other—admittedly wretched—versions, and saw ALW's live production a few years ago. It was by far better than the I recommend purchasing a ticket if it is ever showing in your neighborhood. There's a good reason it is the longest-running show on Broadway.

Oh snap, he calls Piangi fat! >_< Also, way to be a creeper at the end, amirite?

Then came the patently Tim Burton version of  Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Who knew Johnny Depp could sing so well, eh? Or Helena Bonham Carter, or...Alan Rickman?! Arising from the Penny Dreadfuls of old, this story is really dark for the genre. I did not guess the twist until the very end—should have seen it coming!—but was still left satisfied, if a bit terrified. I would not object to seeing a live production at some point in my life, either.

Dangit, stalker-kid Anthony! Stop interrupting!

At some point I watched Baz Luhrmann's 2001 creation Moulin Rouge! in its entirety. It's one of those movies that was on tele all the time, but one could never quite sit down and watch it all the way through because it is so...hard to describe. The first half is completely crazy banana-pants, but you have to admire the technique. This musical meshed modern-era songs and fit them into a story loosely based upon the opera La Traviata. Ewan McGregor is another surprising actor in the singing department, and the end of the film always makes me tear up a bit. Whether that's due to (spoiler!) Satine's death or the fact that the movie just finally ended is a question that boggles my mind to this very day.

I've tried fixing the video clip at least three times
and it always gets taken down, so fuck it. GIF'd!

Let's move onto Across the Universe. This musical doesn't seem to be that well known despite the fact that it is an absolute masterpiece. Set during the Vietnam war, the story is molded around the music of The Beatles and more-than-adequately performed by the actors/singers in the film. The narrative was fresh and the historical feel seemed accurate enough. 10/10 stars from this viewer.

These characters are the best in town.

I had to watch the most recent Les Misérables for a history course on twentieth century France here at Alverno, and it was definitely a different experience. Unlike musicals I was used to at the time, the entire thing was sung in verse. I mean all of it. I could not stand that. Peoples' ears need to take an intermission or two, but with Les Mis it was unrelenting. There was also the whole controversy about getting famous Hollywood actors to take on roles better suited for theatrical singers, and I have to concede that I probably would have liked PotO, ST, or even MR! better had the singers been trained professionals/experienced in the genre. Grant it, I thought Russell Crowe and Anne Hathaway did well in Les Mis while Mr. Broadway Hugh Jackman was meh. As usual, it all comes down to personal opinion. This is a story that probably would have been better off as a normal, non-musical movie. Some of the songs aid while others just feel drawn-out. I wonder what Hugo's opinion would be.

Rooftop scenes happen a lot in musicals—skyline backdrops are easy to create.

It would be remiss of me to not mention ALW's Jesus Christ Superstar, even if it is technically a rock opera. The original Ted Neeley and Carl Anderson, ladies and gents: they have got some pipes. Funnily enough, JCS is like Les Mis in that there are no spoken lines of dialogue. However, it is done in a way that actually suits the story. Not a single line seems forced. I suppose that you need to see it to truly understand my point. Anyway, as I mentioned in my last post, I am mad for Tim Minchin. He played the most recent incarnation of Judas in the 2012 Live Arena Tour. I must say, even with the unfortunate auto-tuning job done to the DVD version, Minchin still sounds pretty swish.


Speaking of Minchin, did you know that he wrote the music and lyrics for the multiple award-winning Matilda the Musical? I don't much like children...least of all when they are singing. But in this story, children are maggots. Very talented ones at that. Still, if that's not your cup of tea, let this medley performed at the 2013 Tony Awards convince you:

Get it? "Revolting" children? Clever-clogs.

I know this next one is not a musical per se because there isn't actually any singing, but if you enjoy choreography set to a phenomenal soundtrack, then Jon M. Chu's Legion of Extraordinary Dancers comes highly recommended. Try their YouTube channel for free episodes, or take on all three feature-film versions. The series is on hold because one of their main dancers is recovering from a ruptured brain aneurysm...but hopefully, one day, it will return. My personal favourite is the Dark Doctor played by the amazingly talented JRock Nelson. Check out the video below and you will not be disappointed. This is only episode three, so watching it will not spoil anything.

How do they even do that?!

Lastly, I am most certainly looking forward to Psych: The Musical. Both a long time fan of the series and a firm believer in the idea that if a show reaches seven+ seasons a musical episode should be obligatory, I could not be more psyched. [Lazy pun intended.] December 15th could not possibly arrive soon enough.

UPDATE 12/20/13 - I cannot get "Jamaican Inspector" out of my head. >_< Also, Timothy Omundson has a rather lovely voice.

UPDATE 1/25/15 - Galavant. King Richard <3

Again, let me just asdfghjkl;'.

What are your favourite musicals? Which ones do you dislike? What story would you like to see turned into a musical? Let me know in the comments below.


This post follows cultural/spiritual perspective and response criteria. Major spoiler alert.

Deepa Mehta's 2005 film Water (वाटर in Hindi) was written and translated by Anurag Kashyap. Set in 1983, this film examines the harsh treatment and livelihood of widowers in Indian society. Before the DVD was even set up to play, Mimi asked members of the class where they drew the line when it came to movies. In other words, what did they think counted as inappropriate or having gone too far? I mulled over this question as my classmates talked about child abuse, scenes that portray torture, children depicted as the enemy, a distinct lack of plot, et cetera. All very understandable. Now, because the story of Water focuses (in-part) on the struggles of a little girl named Chuyia—played by Sarala Kariyawasam—this meant that it was difficult to watch for some members of the audience. On a personal level, I base my response on more of a character-to-character basis. If I am invested in someone, I dislike to see harm come their if they were people I actually knew in real life. On the other hand, if it serves the story and helps to get the point across, then I do not mind seeing them placed in peril. Those things are at odds with one another, mais c'est la vie. Let us move onto the meat of the post.

Rated PG-13 for mature thematic material (sex, drug use).

The presenters told us of Radha Krishna, a Hindu god/goddess usually considered as one being. In Water, Mehta's lead character's Kalyani (Lisa Ray) and Narayan (John Abraham) acted as physical interpretations of this deity. The story is definitely improved with this context in mind, as it creates ties to one of India's most ancient religions and helped bring it into the modern world. Given that the love story of Radha Krishna is celebrated so highly in Hinduism, it was interesting to watch the interaction between these two Romeo and Juliet-esque characters. Social caste repeatedly won out against seemingly pious views simply because it benefited the Brahmin class. The entire film did an excellent job exploring related fallacies, which is one of the reasons why Mehta was spoken out against so vehemently in her native India.

Kalyani, the prostituting widow, and Narayan, the Brahmin follower of Gandhi.

Something that struck me about Kalyani was her portrayal as a sort of martyr. The widows were all dressed in white, branding them as being widows in Indian society. They were seen as unclean but, in so many other cultures across the globe, white depicts innocence and purity and usually signifies virginity. Even in India, fair skin means wealth and a high-born class. In fact, white was traditionally reserved for the Brahmin caste...odd, given revised circumstances. We know that Kalyani's husband died before they even met. Then again, she was prostituted in the widow house...but as our presenters informed us, this place exists in Varanasi, which is considered the holy land of India. Something to mull over. Anyway, Kalyani ended up drowning herself in the cleansing waters of the river Varuna after finding out that she had slept with her fiancee's father as a means of income. She saw herself as unfit for marriage because of a 'sin' forced upon her in order to pay for her fellow widows' welfare: a truly tragic story of self-sacrifice in the name of love. Kalyani's very essence is that of a dutifully religious and caring individual. She is simply placed in unfortunate circumstances. Narayan falls for her at first sight because of her physical beauty—although their meeting had a rather fateful aspect—but her gentle and humble personality is what bound them together as kindred spirits, what with Narayan's belief in pacifism and equality. We also have to consider that clearly iconographic scene of Kalyani as she prayed to her god. Here's my take:

Bit of a resemblance, no?

That obviously dips across cultures and into Christianity (the Madonna figure), but Hindu scripture is very important in Water—as revealed in the trailer. Another link that I did not recognize during my first viewing of the film was the tree under which Kalyani and Narayan had their rendezvous. It looked like a Pipal/Bodhi, which was the same type of tree that Gautama Buddha supposedly meditated beneath until he "found the truth." Narayan said over and over that truth was the most important thing in life. We could also consider Gandhi's tie to Buddhism, since he was another character in the film and an inspiring figure for Narayan. Just something else to think about, I suppose. The final thing I want to addresses is something that I remembered hearing in musician/comedian Tim Minchin's nine-minute beat poem, Storm. In the story, Minchin debates with an imaginary New Age hippie existing under the horrible namesake of 'Storm'. Over the course of a dinner party, he demolishes the girl's anti-logic/anti-science arguments through intelligent social commentary. Some lyrics are as follows:

"And fine, if you wish to
Glorify Krishna and Vishnu
In a post-colonial, condescending,
Bottled-up and labeled kind of way
Then whatever, that's OK..."

I've probably listened to the song way too much (I'm kind of obsessed with the guy, so it was really only a matter of time before some of his insight appeared on my blog), but when the presenters mentioned on Saturday that Krishna was an incarnation of Vishnu, I immediately recalled that bit of the poem. Looking at it more deeply after having read Arundhati Roy's novel The God of Small Things in a world lit. course, I can see Mehta's similar criticism seeping through in Water. Minchin mocks how some non Indian-born people adapt Hinduism only in areas that work for them and without actually considering the deeper meanings of the religion and its negative effect upon society. Roy and Mehta have an insider's view on colonialism in relation to culture and spirituality...but that is another post entirely. As for Minchin, I recommend having a listen to Storm in full.

The official trailer for Water.

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