WHEN NIGHTS DON'T SLEEP - by Dipankar Sen Roy
Bring Your Own Film Festival
When the nights don't sleep
By
Dipankar Sen Roy
The third edition of byoff is round the corner and the byoff team must be busy in such a way that they can't afford time for reflection now. Any festival of this kind, dependant on voluntary participation to work its way through – successfully or otherwise—needs a lot of hard work: even a fool can guess that. So it's for people like me –- the non-film-making, fringe enthusiasts, who have been more or less around from the first chapter without soiling their collars --- to reflect, to pontificate, to share stories, and to eagerly wait for the good time to revisit. And, on both the previous occasions, byoff did give me a very good time.
Speaking to film-fraternity participants I gather that byoff is an unique experiment in many ways: a festival where there's no jury, where the entries are not vetted through a selection process, where all formats, all lengths, all substance are accepted and screened, where there's no visible bureaucracy etc. etc.. Here, film-makers, wanting to exhibit their wares to an interested audience, come on their own, pay for their passage and stay, register their films with a nominal charge according to the length of the film, and relax. And ways of relaxing, there are many. Myriad ways of having a good time; if one option doesn't work, the other may, or the other…Sounds very curious, if not alluring, doesn't it? Well, one has to find that out for himself/herself.
For me, however, the most endearing feature of byoff has been its ability to be happily amorphous, its readiness to accommodate any new thing that comes its way, its willingness to harmonise the disharmony and chaos caused by varying, often conflicting, ways and ideas and actions. It seems to celebrate its confusion, its state of being in an enchanting flux. And the way the first two editions have gone, if nothing, it promises to be a successful experiment in cultural pluralism. Like a new-born, it also celebrates its ability to adapt and grow.
Apart from the background roar of the waves, the intricate relationship worked out between the sea and the sun and the sky and the sand, and the star-spangled night, and the venue, what has remained constant for the last two episodes have been the infectious byoff spirit, walking hand in hand with bittersweet confusion. (Bittersweet, by the way, is one of my favourite tastes: it reminds me of a bottle of French wine my friend had stolen from her father's cabinet and had gifted to me when we were very young)
There is almost nothing official about byoff. No regimentation, no party line, no censorship and, according to the organisers, no hierarchy. (To dispel any apprehension in this regard, the organisers have done away with all designations: just the ubiquitous 'on behalf of the byoff team'. "Whoever wants byoff, and wants to work for it, byoff is his", goes one serious claim, whatever it may mean.). One major upshot of it all is that there is no single view on almost anything, excepting that byoff must go on, and that differences really don't matter: it only adds necessary spice to the show. Perceptions vary, even among the core organisers, on fundamental questions; about what byoff represents, what it seeks, where it's heading towards, how to go about it, even, what should be the menu etc. Yet, end of the day one finds that it has worked, often wonderfully. At least, the visible seem to have a visibly gala time. The weather is pre-holi, something that passes as spring in this part of the land. Neither too warm nor cold, the sea breeze moderates for both. In the day time one can reach for a sombrero and, to beat the chill of late night, an extra large peg of rum.
Another dear upshot of this festival is the variety it attracts: a panorama of colours, shapes, sizes, proclivities, aesthetics, preferences, ability. Here, I get to see short, very short, films. Three, five, ten, fifteen minutes… ask for any length, and you have it. And, if you suffer a film, you can come out of the tent and chill out with a beer or just watch the fishing boats moving in the blue waters. (I know of friends who have hardly entered the tents: they simply enjoy the company of film-makers by the sea.). Here, the uppity rubs shoulders with the plebeians, the pretentious with the creative, the aggressive with the docile, the arse-licker with the irreverent, the teetotaller with the alcoholic. Here, you get to see films of varying flavours, genres, appeals, and competence. We have had films as varied as one on 'an Ayurvedic operation of fistula or piles' and Siddharth Tripathi's 'Bony Kasaya'.
There's a great charm hidden in all these apparent chaos; one can enjoy it only if one is patient enough. The most enduring memory that I retain of byoff, one that has helped me to savour the typical byoff flavour, appreciate the beauty of the chaotic dance of a new-born Nataraja, and also helped me to write the above shag, is a night dedicated to Collin McCombs, our young friend from New York who was with us in the second edition of byoff. Thanks to byoff, we got to know each other, and, boy, what fun it was. He studied film making from a film school, though he hadn't brought any film; his father, whom he called his 'old man' and who was heavily into Bob Dylan, was hardly a few years older than me. He had originally come to visit India and be with his friend, Sammit (whose 'At Midnight Hour' in the first byoff caught many people's attention), who in turn had brought him here. The first two days he appeared diffident and introverted, fatigue, jet-lag, or for whatever reason. He was quietly watching films, quietly smoking, quietly drinking till, perhaps, we all watched Sharmy Pandey's 'Ebong Falguni'. That film, shot in an unbelievably low budget, seemed to have struck a different chord in him. That night, he took over and not only kept five of us awake, but in peels of laughter. His best take was on George Bush; he performed the role of an 'embedded' journalist, 'an emissary of freedom', giving an hourly bulletin on byoff: the 'axis of evil' and an 'outpost of terror'. Impromptu and extempore, delivered in a pompous baritone, I can still feel the laughter-induced cramps in my stomach. What all he said and did, how he regaled us, would take another byoff to relate. After watching the sunrise we had walked, finally landing up at the hallowed crematorium, where he was taken by the sombre sight of dead flesh burning, the sound of skin splitting… He helped me to see better than before that this festival offers space to all participants to live and let live, to be themselves. Whether you chose to let down your hair, or raise your hackles, is a matter of choice you're free to exercise. He also gave me the idea that whichever direction byoff may take in the future, so long it is held at this venue, it will continue to attract votaries who would flock to have a good time. I wish he was here, this year too, with his repertoire of irreverent wit and profound observation. May he ever be happy, and make others happy. Like a true emissary of freedom, and laughter.
(Dipankar Sen Roy is a writer, civil liberty activist and film enthusiast based in Bhubaneswar.)
He can be contacted in dips...@gmail.com
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