Once Again, Adoor (Open Magazine)

thanks to Bliss…
LINK

BEFORE I SEE the film, I see him on my mind’s screen. A lone man in the house on a hill, and the rustle of leaves in the afternoon as familiar as stranded whispers from one of his frames. The house, solitary and solid in the sun, draws its retro spirit from his ancestral memories— maybe it’s architecture as archetype. Inside, the sense of space is accentuated by silence, and he is not particularly inclined to disrupt the comfort it offers either—maybe memories are too sacred to be banalised by words. The silence is an expression of the void, and he is still overwhelmed by its intimacy. There are enough stories in his head to help him overcome the kind of loss that can make ordinary men invalids in the present. Maybe it is stories that add to the serenity he exudes. As in his art, what you see is an invitation to perceive the hidden, the nameless emotions that stir beneath the calm. Adoor Gopalakrishnan is in conversation with himself, and at 75, this exploration has become lonelier, even linear, but you can’t miss the intensity. I love to be an intruder.

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