was six years old when I first saw Peter Brook's Mahabharata. An aunt, knowing of my fascination for the epic, had brought back a copy of the film for me from England. I was hooked, from the very first minute. Initially my parents were gratified, even proud - like all ambitious parents, they were constantly on the watch for some sign that I was prodigy material, and my delight in Peter Brook's film, seemed a promising indication of good taste to them. But soon their gratification turned to worry. Day after day, in the stubborn, insistent way of small children, I would bully my parents into letting me watch the film. If they said no, I would turn to blackmail - I would refuse to eat unless the film was on, and I could perch, eyes a mere, few, dangerous inches away from the screen of our small, fifteen inch TV.No one was allowed to watch anything else on the family TV. My father was frustrated, after days of not watching the news, and my mother feared this had grown into an obsession. Attempts were made to wean me away, to no avail. They turned desperate - as a last resort, my parents tried to interest me in a substitute - another Mahabharata, BR Chopra's glittering, golden version.
Their plan failed. After weeks of watching Brook's subtle, restrained, minimalist Mahabharata Chopra's dazzling costumes and grandiose special effects failed to hold my attention. A tiny part of me was even repulsed by the opulence of Chopra's series.
Chopra's characters dripped with gold, were weighed down with heavy silks and dazzling gems. They were clothed like the gods, and the world they lived in looked like a noveau riche heaven. Special effects were used lavishly. But all this worked to obscure the characters, and presented, a dazzling, glittering surface, a story of magic, demons, of god-like characters. How could one relate to these characters? They were fantastical, products of the imagination.
In Peter Brook's Mahabharata the clothes are utilitarian and simple - yet still gorgeous. The restrained, pared down aesthetic allowed the epic to truly emerge. The sets and props are artfully minimalist - the battered rope ladder that leads to heaven, the white Ganesha mask, the shard of crystal that speaks eloquently, without words, of the shimmering, magical beauty of Indraprastha - all these are imbued with poetry.
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thout the gold and gloss, we can identity with the characters of the Mahabharata, characters who are faced with difficult, complex choices. They are not so alien to our world. The performances of Brook's actors are moving, and give the characters a human dimension - particularly those of Polish actor Andrzej Swereyn (Yudishthira), Greek Actor Georges Corraface (Duryodhana) and Bruce Myers (Krishna). Myers, initially, seems an unlikely choice to play Krishna. With a hooded nose and sunken eyes, he doesn't look like a master seducer. But it's soon apparent that Brook's Krishna is infinitely (even infuriatingly) more subtle, a god and a man at once, and embodies the principle of choice. In the film, he constantly presents choices to various characters, much as he outlines Arjuna's choices in the Gita. When accused of being a master manipulator or the architect of war, he tells us that the war has been the product of choices, knowingly made.Despite it's many triumphs, Brook's version is not without flaws. Pivotal characters, like Vidura and Sanjaya, are absent from Brook's version. A few moments in the film, such as Bhima-Hidimbi encounter, are garishly comic. Some have found much more to damn in the film. Critic Pradeep Bhattacharya takes issue with Brook's version and interpretation. For him, the epic is about the 'titanic clash of good and evil.'
Although myriad interpretations of the Mahabharata exist, Bhattacharya's description of the epic seems more true of the Ramayana than the Mahabharata. Brook's version, instead of focusing on 'good and evil' as Bhattacharya would like, chooses to emphasize the subtlety and the confusing complexity of Dharma. The simplicity and minimalism of the aesthetic also rouses Bhattacharya's ire - he wants the 'grandeur of Indraprastha' to be depicted and finds the rope ladder ridiculous - it seems that Chopra's opulence would be more in line with Bhattacharya's tastes.
Bhattacharya's rigid ideas of the Mahabharata fail to realize the magic of the epic – that it exists in many and various forms, some grand, some simple - a mask, a shadow on a screen, a dance. This becomes apparent, reading the diary of french writer Jean-Claude Carrière that accompanies the newly released DVD box set. Carrière, Brook's collaborator on the script, is famous in his own right, having worked with filmmaking legends like Luis Bunuel. Carrière's diary (In search of the Mahabharata: Notes of Travels in India with Peter Brook 1982-1985) may not hold much interest for those who aren't Mahabharata aficionados. But for those who are, the book is a quick, and worthwhile read, testifying to the the extent of research that went into Brook's film. Carrière describes travels across India to watch a diverse range of performances of the Mahabharata – he and Brook watch the death of Abhimanyu seventeen times. They travel to remote villages where Chau chieftains ply Brook with impossible questions - how many cows does he own in London? Brahmins, at the Kanchi Matha, test Carrière's knowledge of the epic. Along the way they meet Mallika Sarabhai (who plays Draupadi in the film), Girish Karnad, the Shankaracharya saints in Kanchipuram, Satyajit Ray and Professor P Lal (famous for his trans-creations of the epics). Carrière's and Brook's amazing curiosity, their fascination and enthusiasm for the epic, make for a gripping read, and illuminate how much effort went into visualizing and writing each scene.
Carrière also discusses the difficulty of choosing the right words for his script. The words of the film are powerful and beautiful – he translates "atman" as the "depth of one's being" – an exquisite rendering. The characters speak in simple, intelligible language that possess the poetry of the Mahabharata, but do not sound archaic or impossible emerging in the accented voice of Japanese or Italian actor.The language reminds us constantly that what we are watching is, in it's most ancient form, a work of breath-taking poetry, created with great skill and artistry. Many other retellings gloss over (or neglect) the fact that the Mahabharata is a frame narrative. The epics - whether it be the Mahabharata, the Ramayana or even the more whimsical Vikram and the Baital - all use a frame narrative, featuring a storyteller and an identifiable listener. The storyteller is always more than just a storyteller; he is also a character in the story he tells.
We are reminded of the frame in the opening sequence of Brook's film. A boy (Parikshit), enters through a door. It's subtly done, and easy to miss - but, if one watches closely, one will notice a fire hydrant in a corner, a board of switches above it. Parikshit is in the backstage area of a theatre. He continues to walk in, hesitantly searching, and enters a set, a palace. He continues onwards until he finds what he is looking for - Vyasa, the storyteller, the author of the epic, who will tell him a story that is more than just a story.
The backstage setting reminds that we are watching a play, a story. Yet, from the onset the invisible boundary between stage and audience, listener and storyteller, character and author, is punctured. The act of listening changes the audience, and shapes their identity, telling them who they are - Parikshit discovers who he is and the 'history of his race.' He realizes that he is part of a story that he never knew, until know. All of us, who listen, watch or read the Mahabharata, are lead to a similar process of self-realization. We emerge, changed - and the story continues to change for us as we age, and are drawn to different characters and episodes.
Brook's international cast and minimalist aesthetic may not be to everyone's taste. But I think Brook was trying to speak, through his casting choices, about the world we live in and how the Mahabharata is still relevant today. Brook was attracted to the epic in the wake of the Vietnam war. - ostensibly about a war centuries ago, the Mahabharata unfolds as a story about us, our time and every conflict. The international cast of Brook's film reminds us that the world we live in today is still shaped by the consequences of conflict.
As Brook brought his interpretation to screen in 1989, the Cold War was ending. A parallel is subtly drawn in this film, as the Pandavas and Kauravas engage in an arms race; competing to make alliances, gain weapons and armies. The sense of destiny that directs the Pandavas, in war and in empire, seems eerily reminiscent of the concept of 'manifest destiny.' Brook's version evokes the realization that we can still find the Mahabharata today, everywhere, on battlefields and between nations, in the drawings rooms of the wealthy (think the Ambani brothers) and in tiny hamlets.