Lights, Camera, Conversation… “The awakening of unconsciousness”

Films aren’t always what their creators claim they are. At least, that’s the philosophy some of us subscribe to.

News arrived, a few days ago, that Mani Ratnam’s Raavan(an) – that most vilified of recent films, sentenced to be drawn and quartered on enraged social-media platforms – had been included in the permanent collection at the Austrian Film Museum. Not that this means anything (other than the fact, of course, that the people at the Austrian Film Museum, for whatever subjective reasons, found Raavan(an) worthy enough to collect) – but I cannot help being reminded of the time the film came out and the number of instances, thereafter, I was asked to defend my review, whose thesis was simply “Raavan falls for Sita (and vice versa) in an intriguingly idiosyncratic take on the Ramayana – if you can get past the lead performances, that is.” Intriguing. The word conjures up a vision of someone scratching their Vandyke and murmuring, “Hmmm… Interesting.” That was my reaction to the film then. That’s my reaction to the film now.

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But “intriguing” and “interesting” are useless grey currency in a cultural world whose transactions, increasingly, are in black-and-white denominations of “good” and “bad.” I didn’t loft the film to the skies, but I didn’t consign it to the fires of hell either (like most others). My taste, therefore, was suspect, and I needed to explain myself. Everywhere I’d go, I was asked some variation of this question: “How could you have liked Raavan?” And I – never the most eloquent of speakers when cornered by irate, self-appointed guardians of taste – would mumble something about the subversion of the epic being interesting, and pray fervently for the waiter with the crab cakes to arrive and give these mouths something else to chew on. The most surreal explain-yourself command was issued by someone who hated Raavan because she thought it was too wet, marking what is surely the only time in cinema history that a film was damned for its perspiration content.

I am occasionally interrogated about what the most vexing aspect of being a film critic is. The daunting number of films to be watched? The deadlines that drive you to calcify into cold words a nascent opinion-cloud still swirling in the mind? The bigger problem, in my experience, is being faced with readers who subscribe to what literary theory labels Authorial Intent. “Aren’t you reading too much into this film?” I’ll be asked. “How do you know that the director put it there?” And no amount of “I don’t know that the director put it there, but more crucially I don’t care whether he put it there or not” will stave off their scepticism. What’s frustrating is the fundamental nonresolvability of the situation. You belong to the Authorial Intent school, deeming that the author decides the meaning of art, whereas I am a card-carrying subscriber of the Reader Response club, which shifts the responsibility of gleaning meaning from the person who creates art to the one who experiences it.

Wouldn’t it be easier, instead of reading me and wringing your hands, to latch on to a critic more consonant with the way you view art, someone who pinkie-swears by Authorial Intent? Besides, how, short of buttonholing the director for explanations, do you determine Authorial Intent? And even then, how do we know he’s telling the truth? Films, so often, are amoebic entities, beginning life as one thing and ending up resembling something else altogether. Would Authorial Intent, then, manifest itself in the writing stage, which is the stage the author has fullest control over but which may bear little relation to the film that’s later shot and cut and plastered on our neighbourhood screens? In this context, I imagine myself viewing, say, Moondram Pirai (Sadma) alongside Balu Mahendra. And I ask him about the nari kadhai song sequence, whether he picked the fable of the fox – the one that jumped into a vat of blue dye and was subsequently anointed king of the jungle, until the dye dissolved in the rains and exposed the fox as a fraud – because the narrative arc of the fox is a distant echo of the arc negotiated by Kamal Haasan’s character.

He is, after all, a nobody (like the fox) who, through a salubrious twist of fate, becomes the ruler of a woman’s life, until he is restored, at the end, to the nobody he was, a fraudulent claimant to her emotions. Balu Mahendra might laugh and say no, that he chose the fable simply because it was familiar to everyone. But I would still have, in my Reader Response corner, evidence from the film that supports this possibility: Kamal, through his frequent aping of a trained monkey, has already aligned himself with the animal kingdom. Surely that’s no coincidence. Or is it? Maybe the director didn’t zoom in on this fable consciously – but couldn’t it be otherwise? A filmmaker I’ve been talking to a lot lately swears that everything in his films is there because he wants it that way. I respectfully disagree, and I think that the only person (thing?) capable of telling me the “truth” is Balu Mahendra’s unconscious. That’s why I like the term “film analysis,” which suggests the critic putting the filmmaker on the couch and analysing his work, the intents that produced which may have sprung from unconscious wells deep within. That process, to me, is both intriguing and interesting.

Lights, Camera, Conversation… is a weekly dose of cud-chewing over what Satyajit Ray called Our Films Their Films. An edited version of this piece can be found here.

Copyright ©2012 The Hindu. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.

29 thoughts on “Lights, Camera, Conversation… “The awakening of unconsciousness”

  1. This is like, your 37th column on authorial intent, overanalysis and such? :-)

    “A filmmaker I’ve been talking to a lot lately swears that everything in his films is there because he wants it that way. I respectfully disagree, ‘

    what is there to “disagree”? If Balu Mahendra didnt think of the character arc echo that you talk about, maybe he did’nt.Unlike music, where the same piece can invoke different emotions/thoughts/visual imagery in different listeners due to its abstract nature(all of which might be valid responses), films are a bit more pre-defined(pre-written and executed to a plan) I would like to believe. A filmmaker(especially someone of Balumahendra’s calibre) works on his script for days, weeks or months together(unlike say, a song which might get done in a matter of hours or even minutes). And then he might sit on it for some more time. If a subtext or a certain angle to a scene did’nt occur to him during this period I find it unlikely that it could remain buried in his sub-conscious for that long and didnt rise to the surface. I might be wrong though but that’s my take. What you are raising here is more of a borderline psychology issue relating to cognition processes and such than about films or filmmaking.

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  2. Sometimes, some folks see in a movie more than what is shown. It’s a blessing and a curse as you know by now.

    *note to self* – Must hop in more often. :)

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  3. Analysing art is interesting, no doubt. But once we get into the habit of interpreting each and every single shot in a movie, dont you think that a movie is reduced to the level of something that has a rational, scientific conclusion? Everytime you find some form of self-indulgency by the director, which might be labelled as illogical by the not so serious movie goer, there is a sense of nagging desperation to give it an allegorical, nay a spiritual meaning, not for the sake of the director’s ingenuity, but for showcasing the intellectual prowess of the critic himself.

    And i think it is really pretentious that a critic revels in analysing the unconcious of a director rather than experiencing the movie for what it is.

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  4. Brilliant read!
    ” A filmmaker I’ve been talking to a lot lately swears that everything in his films is there because he wants it that way.” – Care to tell who that is?

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  5. Dear Bharadwaj Rangan…despite your good intentions to prioritize the reader’s response over the author’s intent, you are a little too quick to place yourself in the role of a psychoanalyst with a rather pedantic understanding of what the unconscious is all about. An author’s unconscious, to those who know a bit of psychoanalysis, is available or accessible only to the author…the analyst by way of being a midwife can raise questions and suggestions now and then to make the analysand reveal his unconscious and work on it in a typical clinical situation. If this is all a trained psychoanalyst can do, how can a reader put an author on the couch assuming in the process that even before the author states his point that the critic already has access to the author’s unconscious? This is downright bullshit masquerading as knowledge. If we claim that a text can give rise to many interpretations still the onus is upon the critic to defend the validity of his or her interpretation. We cannot get away by claiming that “I know better than the person who created it” much as it may be the case that the author cannot control the semiotic (meaning) effect of her text on the reader/spectator.

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  6. Movie making is obviously something related to one’s cognition and conscious more than to one’s conscience.

    Rangan sir, you have brought out very well why we feel sensible to discover something out of the movies that we watch. Its good to know that you, sir, will stand firm on your conception about a movie even after hearing about its odds from its very director.

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  7. >>. whereas I am a card-carrying subscriber of the Reader Response club, which shifts the responsibility of gleaning meaning from the person who creates art to the one who experiences it.
    >> That’s why I like the term “film analysis,” which suggests the critic putting the filmmaker on the couch and analysing his work, the intents that produced which may have sprung from unconscious wells deep within. That process, to me, is both intriguing and interesting.

    Branigan, the second para seems to contradict the first, doesn’t it? If you belong to the ReaderResponse gharana, then why would you be attracted to the idea of gleaning meaning by analyzing intent?

    I think the Authorial Intent philosophy seems to be a quasi-religious one – where there is only one Truth, that intended by the creator, and all interpretatons of it are to be done via the explanations of the creator or a prophet (= critic who gleans intent). Once an art form has been let into the public domain, it is up for grabs – to be appreciated, interpreted, analysed or panned, as it may. There will be as many interpretations as there are members in the audience, readers, viewer, listeners. There is no single Truth. If the creator is lucky, he will find a couple of the responses resonating with his intent and he can feel gratified that what he wished to get across, did indeed strike the targeted chord in a few hearts. And if he is intellectually curious, he will be intrigued and eve gratified with the responses that were far off from his intent, and which vindicate the power of his work . I would think that any art form in which all the responses are exactly congruent to the author’s intent, would be a rather feeble and simplistic offering, so lacking ambiguity and complexity as to not really be art anyway.

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  8. BR, I think this is very akin to say a commentator trying to analyse what goes into a batsman’s mind. Reality is that the batsman’s shot selection and timing are clearly built over long periods of practice and development of something like muscle memory where your body just reacts to the ball without any real concious thinking.

    I guess film making isn’t very different, and in fact may be more instinctive since literally every minute of your life plays a role in shaping your eventual work. So authorial intent in film making maybe more dubious than say in a parliamentary speech. To that end, reader intent is clearly as valid and as effective (and clearly a more fascinating) manner of looking at films.

    I know for a fact that I enjoy films much more after looking at them the way you do, just wish I had gotten someone to open the door for me much earlier.

    You should check out Malcom Gladwell’s “Blink” sometime, he puts forward a strong case for how intuitive thinking shapes our actions.

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  9. vijay: More like 137th, no? :-) I thought Rahul would groan and roll his eyes and chip in with a what-again? comment…

    “disagree” because the number of days someone works on a script has nothing to do with *where* the ideas come from. Not everything is a hundred per cent conscious. You seem to think that music-making is somehow different from movie-making. In terms of the creative processes, it’s the same IMO. And why do you say that “cognition processes” have nothing to do with filmmaking? I think they have *everything* to do with writing and stuff.

    Adarsh: I don’t think people get into the “habit of interpreting each and every single shot in a movie” — only those that speak to you, which make you sit up and notice. And I think that “analysing the unconcious of a director” (which happens *while* you watch a film, and not outside of it) is not a separate thing from “experiencing the movie for what it is.” For some people, the two go hand in hand.

    Ini: :-)

    Venkatesh Chakravarthy: “We cannot get things away by claiming that “I know better than the person who created it” I agree. Which is why it would be wrong if I said that the things I point out in my review *are* what the author/director meant. I am not saying that. Merely that they *could be* part of the design, and that the director himself might not be fully *aware* (at a conscious level) at times about what he puts into his film.

    Radhika: What I wanted to say (and should have been clearer about) is that my response is in a way shaped by what I think the author put in — it’s just that I don’t buy what he necesarily says he put in. And yes, the Authorial Intent philosophy *is* a quasi-religious one. A lot of Bible studies deal with this — voice of God and all that. Excellent point in “And if he is intellectually curious, he will be intrigued and eve gratified with the responses that were far off from his intent, and which vindicate the power of his work .” BTW, there’s a mistake in this article. It should be “precipitation” not “perspiration.” I thought your eage eyes would have picked it out :-p

    Vivek: Yes, and I feel that “instinctive action,” honed by years of practice or whatever, is driven by the highly honed intellect.

    Ranjitha: “Mahendravukke?” Ungalukkum grass-itching aacha? :-)

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  10. “You seem to think that music-making is somehow different from movie-making. In terms of the creative processes, it’s the same IMO. ”

    I would think that they are at the least somewhat different. Screenwriting is fed a lot by internal logic and self-explanation as to why a character would behave in a certain way and so on. Music-making/listening is a much more abstract and also a spontaneous process. The MD need not explain to himself as to why he ended up scoring a song in a particular raag. If he had sat with the same director for the same situation some other day he might have come up with a tune in a completely different raag(a lot of times our MDs aren’t even aware of what rag they composed a tune in).Whereas a film director/screenwriter needs to convince himself as well as the audience as to why a character in his film behaves in a certain way and how that fits his plot and so on. A lot of “plotting” involved here.

    And especially the examples that you have, about Kamal’s character arc being an echo of the fox’s story arc or how Ash gets kidnapped in water in Raavan while Priyamani kills herself in it. There is an element of logic/structure/pre-determination to this which I doubt would just like that happen in the sub-conscious of the director, without him realizing it for the 6 months or so that he is working on it. . There can be only 2 possibilities-either he thought of it or it is purely coincidental, maybe a serendipitous thing

    “And I think that “analysing the unconcious of a director” (which happens *while* you watch a film, and not outside of it) is not a separate thing from “experiencing the movie for what it is.” For some people, the two go hand in hand.”

    Or maybe your own conditioning or how you have trained yourself to look at films over the years is instinctively leading you to certain interpretations of certain scenes.People are talking about the conditioning of the artist, honing of the intellect muscle-memory and all that. But the critic has conditioned himself in a certain way to look at things too and that can affect what you get out of a scene. The equivalent of this in music is the type who always look to assign a song to a raag or map a song to some scale and then praise the MD for the brilliant usage of the raga even if the MD himself hadn’t come across this raag in his life. IR talks about how when he listens to Bach or other WCM greats all he hears is our own Sudhdha dhanyaasi or other carnatic ragas in it. That reflects his own conditioning, not Bach’s intent or his sub-conscious.

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  11. Although I might give you a hard time about the number of times you have written about this topic already, I think this is one of those things which some of us aren’t tired of reading about or debating. And who knows, the next time you write about this my take on this whole thing could be a little different :-)

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  12. Dear Baradwaj, my contention was about using the term “unconscious” of the author and the use of the psychoanalytic metaphor in your article. The author not being aware about the many possible readings her text may throw open, is an entirely different issue. No author can ever be aware about those things before hand. It relates more to what I meant when I said that the author cannot control the semiotic (meaning) effect of his text. There is another thing called the ‘unconscious’ of the text which can be teased out by the critic in her deconstruction of the work. Even here it would be preposterous to equate it with the author’s unconscious. The unconscious of the text is not however hidden behind the text, it’s right there on the surface. It is equivalent to what Freud would call the form of the dream rather than its content. Or what film analysts refer to as dream-work of the text, again borrowing the term from Freud. In that sense, we can even speak about the ‘political unconscious’ of the text as Fredric Jameson does. But if we are speaking about the unconscious of the author, then as I mentioned, it is accessible only to the author and the critic cannot claim to know anything about it.

    At the same time as for the elements of design and so on they are in the film because the author and the crew put it together including what we may identify as the chance elements they incorporated during the shooting process or on the editing table, for instance, suddenly recognizing something valuable in one of the out takes. And after 20 years or so of the making of the film, if we expect the author to remember all the details that went into the film or make the kind of connections we think are more pertinent, I don’t think we are being fair even in such an instance claiming to know what the author is not aware of.

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  13. Rangan,

    I was reminded of your piece on whether getting to know the name of the ragam enhances the listening experience of the rasika in a live concert. I think you suggested “It doesn’t”.

    I would think the same applies here.

    By necessarily finding out multiple interpretations that might/might not be there in a scene in a movie, I would miss the ability to enjoy and savor what instinctively strikes me about a particular scene. It’s purely for academic reasons that I would want to think this way, so that I can gloat in suave conversations later with people who wouldn’t have thought on those lines ;-)

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  14. Wow! The clarity of thought and the lucidity of its expression are applause worthy! Not often in the comments space of a blog do you find an argument matching up in standards to the original content, but with all due respect to Brangan, your words here will perhaps echo more loudly in the minds of the readers (or at least one of them) than his. Well said Radhika!

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  15. vijay: “IR talks about how when he listens to Bach or other WCM greats all he hears is our own Sudhdha dhanyaasi or other carnatic ragas in it. That reflects his own conditioning, not Bach’s intent or his sub-conscious.”

    I think I’m kinda saying the same thing when I say , “I don’t know that the director put it there, but more crucially I don’t care whether he put it there or not.” What *we* bring to the film (or music or whatever) is what gives us the reading we take away, yes. But sometimes, the filmmaker may have also put something that becomes clearer because of the way we look at it, like Radhika says so wonderfully. We cannot submit *all* control to the conscious.

    Manojh: I don’t think this is about “gloating” at all. Farthest from it, I’d think…

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  16. Well written, as always.

    Particularly liked the line:
    //The deadlines that drive you to calcify into cold words a nascent opinion-cloud still swirling in the mind? //
    All of what I have to say falls into that category, so please bear the same in mind when reading:

    It is one thing to say readings need not be restricted to the intent, because of the sheer impossibility of the artist to perfectly anticipate the reader’s response- which is drawn from everything that he is at the point at which he experiences the piece of art.

    But it is quite another thing to say I don’t care about the intent at all. Of course, as you observe, it is impossible to find out. But I feel it is important to keep caring about it, in order to appreciate things ‘properly’.

    How is the validity of a reading to be evaluated? Surely not every reading is equally valid.

    Anyway all this are readers’ problems. Regarding the author, one point in the comments that I found ..err.. intriguing was:

    //Excellent point in “And if he is intellectually curious, he will be intrigued and even gratified with the responses that were far off from his intent, and which vindicate the power of his work” //
    Gratified?!
    Just curious to know you two think about a situation where nobody ‘gets’ what the author intends but there are responses far from his intent. How would the said intellectually curious author feel then?

    The existence of latitude for multiple interpretation does not necessarily a testament to the ‘power of the work’ is it? In the most ridiculous case, it could just be plain ambiguity, because film is a tough medium to communicate clearly in.

    I ask because this has been taken to the extreme. Praising a work of art if and only if it is possible to read it in n different ways.

    I vaguely remember reading a review which was critical of Inception because the ending brought all the audience to the exact same reaction. Whereas a ‘good’ film would disperse them, make them go out with experiences that would differ based on who they are

    If space is given, religious establishment is snatched.

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  17. dagalti: When I say I don’t *care* about intent, what I’m saying is that I don’t read things (books or music or art or film) with the notion that “this is what the author could be saying.” That is certainly a valid way of approaching art, but my brain — for whatever reason — refuses to work this way. So I’m not saying that Authorial Intent-analysing is wrong — merely that it’s a different school than the one I belive in.

    But even from the Reader Response corner, I do get around to some semblance of Authorial Intent-analysis because of the deconstuction process. In order to make sense of what is in front of me, my conscious and unconscious processes make certain associations / inferences / whatever-you-want-t-call-it, and sometimes these may help unlock (if only to me) some version of Authorial Intent.

    So it’s not that I don’t care about it at all. It’s just that I get to it in a roundabout fashion. Now, about the other thing: why is my reading valid? Well, it’s valid if it is convincing and if it comes backed up by evidence from the film that supports this reading. That’s what concerns me a lot (consciously-speaking) when I write reviews.

    And if I present my reading thus, hopefully you’ll see that this is a valid reading (and not the only reading).

    About the “intellectually curious” author, I think what’s being said is that even if something wasn’t intended and if someone points it out, then the author thinks there *may* be something to it. For instance, there was a piece I wrote recently about overweight actors and some women discerned in it strains of misogyny and sexism. I certainly didn’t intend any of that, but maybe deep down, I *am* a sexist misogynist. Because writing — like everything else — wells up from within, and we only have control over how we write (in terms of the words, the polish) but not what we write.

    But I don’t agree that a work of art isn’t valid if it doesn’t support multiple interpretations. Kahaani, for instance, is a fairly straightforward genre piece, with a very clear and finite ending, and it’s a very good film IMO.

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  18. dear brannigan, chillax. take a vacation to a placewhere you cannot read any words.

    you’re a mess.

    regards etc..

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  19. I understand what you are saying better now. Thank You.

    // I certainly didn’t intend any of that, but maybe deep down, I *am* a sexist misogynist. Because writing — like everything else — wells up from within, and we only have control over how we write (in terms of the words, the polish) but not what we write.//

    Hmm.. you probably know better as a professional writer. But I am not able to agree too easily. Not least because I can see this giving room for a reader to take it to ridiculous extremes.

    Here are a couple of lines from a discussion about a contentious Tamil shortstory by Shoba Shakthi that was doing rounds online:

    இதை கட்டவிழ்த்து கதையினை அதன் ஆசிரிய குரல் முன்வைக்கும் அரசியலுக்கு எதிராக மீட்டெடுக்கலாம்
    By deconstructing, this short story can be recovered (rescued?) from the politics put forth by the author’s voice (intent)

    இவ்வாறான தான் வெளிப்படையாக முன் வைக்கும் அரசியலுக்கு எதிரான வாசிப்பை சாத்தியப்படுத்துவதால்தான் ‘கப்டன்’ கதை இலக்கிய பிரதியாக மாறுகிறது.
    It is only because the short story provides the possibility of reading it in a manner opposed to the politics it so openly espouses, that it become a literary text

    I am not even getting into how that particular story ought to be read (don’t bother reading it, it’s a boring story). I just invoked the discussion, to give an example of an approach I can’t come to grips with – that it is admissible to go against the intention of the author to appreciate a piece of writing (and elevate it to literary status!)

    And this isn’t a silly opinion to be dismissed. It is from a serious litterateur (I haven’t personally read his works, going by reputation here). Possibly there are schools of literary criticism that take such approaches quite seriously!

    Even here, at some level I can understand someone bent upon reading a work at a particular angle (a feminist reading of, a subaltern take on..etc.) even if I may not do so myself. But I will always be baffled by the generosity of artists who are at peace with their works being appreciated in a manner decidedly different from what they intended.

    Baffled because, in such cases, what is being appreciated is something where, what the artist brought to the table becomes a tad incidental.

    I have this shortstory idea about a writer who plagiarizes a story. He writes many original ones but is famous for the one he stole. Noone knows. But it is painful enough that he is regarded highly principally for of the one thing which was not his creation.

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  20. Brannigan : >>BTW, there’s a mistake in this article. It should be “precipitation” not “perspiration.” I thought your eage eyes would have picked it out :-p
    Hah, I did raise my eyebrows at that but not having seen the movie I figured there had been some really sweaty people in it.

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  21. Dagalti :// But I will always be baffled by the generosity of artists who are at peace with their works being appreciated in a manner decidedly different from what they intended.//

    I am not sure how I would react myself if no one at all in the whole universe got what I intended from my work. Probably a good deal of chagrin and self-flagellation at my failure to communicate. But if even one person got it, I’d be okay with multiple contrary interpretations. Vikram Chandra talked (in his interview with Jai Arjun Singh) of the concept of the reader who has the “same heart” and how that’s the reader the author writes for. To me, that “same heart reader” would make it all worth while.

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  22. I guess it (the gratified response) would be a function of how nuanced the “other” interpretation is, and how willing the author is to explore whether there is some underlying validation in the work that allows room for an unintended outcome. If the work is treated not as a static offering by an author, but as a dynamic experience that gets created again and again, every time it collides with a new audience, then to (some) authors, this mutation and multiplicity of response can be a source of continuing wonder. As an aside – technology has facilitated greater effectiveness in this feedback loop – authors today are privy to a range and depth of insights into how their audiences react that was never possible before the internet.

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  23. no komedy keemady keeping. both you and brannigan are overthingking this thing waay beyond it needs to be.

    Since Neither art nor art crit is a science(ie needs to submit to falsifiability, verifiability and replicability) , all the kayanda case theories you guys produce make you merely eccentric types watching the same fare we all are, except through the rocks you keep in your asses.

    Also, while there is much subjectivity to this (what brannigan likes to call reader response) the basis of communication comes from the part of this that has an objective common denominator to it(not quite what he calls Authorial intent, because that is some form of subjectivity too, but somehting like an authorial statement of intent- what the author **SAYS** he wants to communicate to his audience by this words and deeds).

    So in a work of art, the skeleton its built over is the objective element of **what we all agree** that the art is about,(and this is not a democratic exercise the most influential interpretation wins) , but the enjoyment and appreciation of its originality and voice is entirely subjective. you may think kahaani is very original piece of art, I may think it is a derivative piece of Dragon tattoo.

    It’s not possible to construct an “interpretation machine” full of rules about how to interpret the work. Brannigan is simply don quixoting this against (pretty derivative) windmills…and the fact that he’s reinventing the wheel of 350 years of critical theory(from descartes to date) is something like my 10 year old efforts to invent a car that runs on H2O without quite taking any classes in internal combustion engines or molecular chemistry. + cute in a 10 year old but laughably naieve and rednecky in an older person than high school fail.

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  24. @dagalti wrote: “I have this shortstory idea about a writer who plagiarizes a story. He writes many original ones but is famous for the one he stole. Noone knows. But it is painful enough that he is regarded highly principally for of the one thing which was not his creation.”

    Sorry for the digression but this will be fantasy fiction (the painful part) when it comes to the current Indian music directors :)

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