Continued from part 1

Part 2

Silence - a state that speaks more and better about a frame than a thousand words. Never more than in the visual medium is the value of silence understood better, and if used properly, is the emotion conveyed effectively, shifting the onus of explaining the scene to the audience allowing it to have it's own interpretation of the proceedings and derive it's own meaning of the context. Build a few words, present the argument and let the audience be known what the director exactly thinks about scene in question and the point is made. Take the words out of the equation, rely on the mood, cut back and forth between the expressions, proceed with the action and a point could made this way too. A double-edged sword, the latter way of handling a scene can literally slice the mood apart, if the setup to the silence is too shaky or if it just lacks the proper gravitas rendering the whole exercise as hypocritical and pretentious; but, move the set pieces in just the direction and place them apart at just the right distances, the result is a true work of art - the very reason why visual medium scores and ranks much above its aural counterpart, proving over and over again, that a picture is indeed worth a thousand words.

Tulasi, who has just been acquitted by the court of murder, stand on the steps of court. Her mother had just been dragged away by the police, kicking and screaming and hurling curses and abuses at her. Her hopes dashed and her life doomed. Alone, she awaits her true verdict of future. Her uncle comes back and tries to grab her and drag her back into the wretched life that she greatly detested. And the scene calms down here. All that we could hear are the crushing footsteps (typical of "aaku cheppulu") that resonate in the halls of justice of Sankara Sastry. An impressive figure (aided by the low-angle tilt of the camera to enhance the commanding stature), he looks on at the uncle who had his hand on Tulasi's shoulder, from the top of the stairs. Silence rules on. The hand is drawn away. Sankara Sastry walks by the uncle and Tulasi joins him. Uncle looks on mutely and the scene cuts away to both of them riding the horse drawn carriage speeding away through the streets much to the astonishment of the onlookers.

Dissect this scene and see how much information was infused into those last few shots without being aided by the otherwise wonderful words of Jandhyala, one can call it a true tribute and deep respect of Viswanath to the visual medium. The low-angle of Sankara Sastry standing on top of the steps of the court hall, a principled man with an unblemished and untainted record, looking down upon the uncle (He who has not sinned shall cast the first stone - well, Sankara Sastry can). The air of confidence and the gait of proper culture, his hands folded in front, the look of seriousness in his face ripping away whatever faux-authority that the uncle had over Tulasi. The walk down the stairs down to them, a glance at Tulasi and the walk away. The instructions to Tulasi were not conveyed and implicit. The order to the uncle was unexplained and unnecessary. The acceptance of Tulasi by Sankara Sastry was unspoken. While the carriage zooms fast in the streets of the city with eager onlookers, the sense of regality conveying that Sastry does not care about what the world would think of a pious man together with a woman of disrepute. The entire sequence is just one among the several poignant silences that Viswanath peppered in Sankaraabharanam, each silence varied but equally effective as every other. Consider the scene when Tulasi meets Sankara Sastry in his compartment the very first time, when she runs away from her house. No introductions, no drawn out dialogues, no explanations - a true testament of the ability of the direction to trust the scene, to trust the audience and more importantly, to trust to the value of silence.

It is not only when dealing with one particular emotion alone did Viswanath employ the services of silence. When Balu comes to know that Madhavi has got him an entry into National Dance festival, emotions take over and silences the words. Balu's mixed sense of happiness, elation, indebtedness, respect, admiration, and that important emotion of being finally recognized even by a single person who places him next to the stalwarts - Silence rules and lets the mood spill over. It is very prudent of the director to make that important decision of whether to translate those feelings into words or hold back on the words and let expressions interpret the emotions. Sivayya is helpless in making a decision, whether to let Lalitha and her kid leave him and have a seemingly better life with her father-in-law or spend a contended life with whatever they had. One needs to appreciate Viswnath's sensibility and judgement here, because of Sivayya's inability in framing complex words around complex thoughts. He is a kid at heart and acts like a kid with a big heart. He cannot verbally express the conflict between what is good and what not right. He starts to sulk at a corner and when Lalitha catches him in his solitude, she (we) finds him, fiddling with his fiddle, throwing his hands around, unable to overcome his sorrow nor able to control his emotions. Again, no dialogues, no words, no sounds.

kaadaa mounam prati bhaavaaniki bhaashyam

(Cont'd in the next part - Viswanath's hardest challenge - Sirivennela)

Tell Srinivas Kanchibhotla how you liked the article.