Whatever Malcolm Gladwell might have intended, his book has been reduced to a simplistic notion that any bloke can become an expert by practicing, practicing, and practicing for 10,000 hours. The character Sharad in the movie The Disciple appears to have arrived at that Gladwellian framework on his own and devotes his time, energy, and money to practicing classical music with the hopes and dreams of becoming a maestro.
It does not take long for a viewer to figure out that Sharad will not succeed. The movie then is about when and how he would realize this on his own, and what he would do as a result.
What a pleasure it was to watch the movie!
In a cinematic world of fast action, cuts and edits, loud noise, and closeups, this movie stands out in contrast. Long and wide takes in which the camera slowly movies in allow us to absorb the moment and feel the events and the emotions that the director presents to us.
They rarely make movies like this anymore. Not that they made such movies in plenty in the past, and definitely not in India. I wonder if even among the audience, there are fewer numbers now eager to watch storytelling that is at a slow pace. The shorter and shorter attention spans that people of all ages seem to have means that movies like The Disciple will appeal only to a few of us who long for the longform in text, music, and movies.
As a kid, I gravitated towards classical musicians who rendered music at a slow and deliberate pace that presented a raaga in all its richness. One of my favorites was M.D. Ramanathan. He performed at the auditorium in Neyveli, and I was immediately drawn to his style. I was so much a fan of his that I could not understand why a music critic like Subbudu was merciless in his comments about Ramanathan to the extreme of outright insults like calling Ramanathan a water buffalo!
One of my greatest disappointments with Carnatic musicians was their abandonment of the longform presentation of a raaga. Instead, they chose what appealed to the audience and which, thereby, brought them money and fame. The Disciple presents the tension between purity of music and the market dynamics, and does it well without taking sides. Sharad is committed to the purity of classical music and, towards the end of the movie, watches with a mix of horror and awe a female musician gaining money and fame in popular music.
A couple of months ago, after listening to a NPR segment, I immediately placed an order for a twin-CD set of recordings of a live performance in 1970 by Ali Akbar Khan, accompanied by Zakir Hussain. In one of the CDs, Khan Sahib performs Sindhu Bhairavi for 75 minutes. One raaga in all its glories for more than an hour. Do musicians even attempt something like this in contemporary India, I wonder.
Bageshri is one raaga that features prominently in The Disciple. I will end this long post with a favorite of mine--but from the world of movies.
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