Lights, Camera, Action: Part Two
Returning to work today was like waking up from a dream; the memories from the past three days were still fresh in my mind, but I couldn’t figure out if they were real or imagined. But the fact that the feelings of disappointment, which usually follow the realization that what one did in his dreams (at least, the good ones) were only psychosomatic fiction, were replaced by feelings of content and accomplishment was the first indication that I hadn’t dreamt the experience, but lived it. The all-important hard evidence, however, won’t surface until January 31st…
Despite the second daylong hartal in two weeks that restricted travel and kept people at home throughout Dhaka, almost the entire cast and crew made it up to our shooting location shortly after 7am yesterday. The only exception were the four foreign teenagers who were going to be our backup dancers, as their parents, understandably, were concerned that leaving the house during a hartal was too dangerous. Instead, they rescheduled to shoot separate scenes today that may or may not make it into the final video.
Not yet fully awake at that early hour, I couldn’t figure out whether we’d entered a carefully manicured village or some derivation of the same. It turns out that our two microbuses full of “Let’s Move” cast and crew would be spending the day on location (I love saying that…) at this mock village built specifically for the Bengali film industry. Here you’ll find: a handful of traditional thatch-huts; your standard water reservoir/pond complete with wooden rowboat and ceremonial bathing steps; a small lychee tree plantation; a miniature forest; a single story building that can play the role of government office, community hall, primary school, madrassa or, in our case, university; your standard mushroom-shaped giant ball of hay; and a selection of traditional farm animals including sheep, ducks, and most importantly, oxen.
The two resident oxen would go on to play a leading role in almost every scene of our video, and this meant that I got to know them rather well. In fact, it was in my personal interest to do so, for the physical well-being of my own anatomy was at stake. It wasn’t so much their misshapen horns that was the issue, but instead the fact that I was put in charge, on numerous occasions throughout the day, of steering these two hulking beasts of tendon and muscle around the open field and between the huts and trees on its periphery. But that’s not all; the “hero” (as the lead male is referred to in South Asian films like this one) was carrying his love interest (Solange from Cameroon) on the back of his ox cart. On a flat-bed of bamboo poles fixed over two wooden wagon wheels, each a meter in a diameter, she stood up and waved her scarf in joy or knelt down to embrace her hubby as he attempted to avoid running into huts and trees along the way.
Forget the fact that my only steering implements were a whipping stick and a tough rope that dug into my hands as I pulled back with all my strength to bring the oxen to a halt or try to turn the cart in one direction or another; dressed in traditional attire – me in my panjabi, pajama pants, golden head scarf and aviator sunglasses and her in a flowing saree – we also had to try our best to sing at the same time. In Bangla. While smiling. On an ox cart.
By the end of the day, however, I was a seasoned pro with my two giant oxen and whipping stick. I had learned to put aside my city boy mentality that initially prevented me from using the force necessary to get these animals to turn or even get moving, and I took the liberty provided by an unobstructed open field and the need to get as many ox cart shots as possible to have some fun by have my beasts of burden take us on a little tour around the compound.
My visible confidence in the driver’s seat wasn’t entirely a good thing, though; it also lead to our lone cameraman falling off the back of the cart after I kicked the oxen into high gear without enough prior notice, and later to him being semi-trampled by my right-hand ox after I whipped the wrong haunch. This caused the animal to veer off course and overtop of him as he attempted to take a head-on shot and slip underneath the cart as it passed by overhead. Apparently he’d had many near-trampling experiences in the past, as he emerged chuckling and unscathed.
Despite the fact that no mammals were hurt in the making of this production (though my urbanized self has its doubts about whether this includes the oxen), the cameraman’s experience and Solange’s handful of close calls made us both think about the issue of liability, not to mention the limits of volunteerism. I can only imagine the number of forms I would have had to sign before getting onto the ox cart if this was shot in Canada, but like numerous other experiences I’ve had so far, it’s an inappropriate comparison to make.
Perhaps it was our empty stomachs and parched throats that brought out the frustrations that we raised with Brownia before lunch. We were concerned that our voluntary spirit was being taken advantage by a company that stood to make a profit off of our generosity, and both thought that we hadn’t been adequately prepared for what we had been asked to do so far, even though we were having a great time doing it. Fortunately, however, it only came down to a question of communication, and possibly lack of foresight on our part. They were under the impression that we’d let them know if we had any problems with what they were asking us to do or the way we were being treated (which was exceptionally most of the time) and that we were aware of the few resources with which the Bengali film and television industry must make do.
We were surprised that the potential risks we would be subject to by diving into the project (an into our characters) head first weren’t brought up to begin with [it turns out that this wouldn’t have been possible as they only decided where and how to shoot each scene a few minutes before each one was shot], and we weren’t aware of the pilot nature of the program or that half of the crew was also volunteering their time to be there. Once these issues came out during our post-meal discussion (always a better idea to resolve tensions after eating), both sides were on the same page and therefore able to keep working with energy and enthusiasm until the sun went down to signal the end of the day.
In hindsight, if I had known how much work we’d be putting into the program, I probably would have asked for more compensation than the small honorarium we were eventually given. There’s still a part of me that’s uncomfortable with the fact that they will likely be making money if not immediately than indirectly off of our performance. But even if I wanted to pursue the issue any further, I wouldn’t have much to work with. I knew it was voluntary from the start, and I should have thought more carefully about the work that has to be put into undertakings like this. So if there is a next time, there will certainly be a contract involved – regardless of cultural norms – and in the meantime I’ll write off the past three days as invaluable experience.
I never could have guessed that during a six-month human rights internship in Bangladesh I would be given the opportunity to step onto the other side of the silver screen (or cathode-ray tube, as the case may be…) and give the art of acting a try. By putting aside my Western conscience that was telling me to sign some sort of contract before I got in too deep, and by trusting the assurances of a friendly and honest hostess – not to mention the friend of a close colleague – I ended up on the unfamiliar side of that screen.
More surprisingly, however, is that despite the long hours, constant repetition and slightly awkward situations calling for heartfelt eye gazing and (G-rated) romantic scenes in giant haystacks, I found that I kind of liked it there as well. But don’t worry…I’m not going to quit my day job.
posted by Per at 9:41 a.m.
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