Jail Film In Hindi Free Download
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Parag is housed in an overcrowded barrack, having barely any room to move. He is tortured mentally by the jail but eventually adjusts to his new situation. Mansi retains Advocate Harish Bhatia to represent him in a preliminary hearing, but the judge denies him bail. At the jail, Parag meets many people, both convicted and awaiting trial including:
Galib escapes from jail by bribing police. Joe gets bail and celebrates by donating his clothes. An angry Parag beats him up. As punishment, Parag is sent to solitary confinement. He is released after 10 days on the request of Nawab. With the help of Kabir, he is allowed to go to hospital to meet Mansi and his mother. Nawab scolds Parag and tells him to stay away from gangsters as they demand a lot in return. Nawab opens up about how his little brother, under the influence of a gangster, was involved in a murder case, and Nawab had no choice but to kill his brother as well as the gangster.
Two years later, Parag is convicted and sentenced to ten years of imprisonment, of which two years he has served. He therefore has eight years left. Having no faith in himself and the system, Parag contemplates suicide. Parag asks Kabir to ask Baba Bhai to get him out of jail. He agrees to do anything in return. A routine transfer to another jail is happening. With the help of Baba Bhai, Parag is transferred to Nasik Jail.
During the transfer, a corrupt officer places Parag in Kabir's transport. Kabir and his gangster cause an accident and escape but Parag stays back. Nawab is informed of the events by Jailor Arvind Joshi (Chetan Pandit) and is happy for Parag. In Kolhapur Jail, Parag tries to find hope in his life and circumstances. Six months later, Mansi hires a new lawyer (Atul Kulkarni) who proves Parag's innocence. Parag is accquited. Some time later, He and Mansi visit Nawab in jail.
Jail is a 2021 Indian Tamil-language crime film written and directed by Vasanthabalan. The film is produced by Sridharan Mariathasan under the production banner of Krikes Cine Creations. The film stars G. V. Prakash Kumar, with debutant Abarnathi and Radhika Sarathkumar. Prakash Kumar also composed music for the film which was edited by Raymond Derrick Crasta. The film was released on 9 December 2021.
It was announced that G. V. Prakash would act under the direction of Vasanthabalan.[1] Prakash started his career as composer with Vasanthabalan's film Veyil (2006). Abarnathi, who rose to fame with the reality series Enga Veetu Mapillai, made her cinematic debut as actress with this film.[2]
Government and media witnesses to the investigation and trail agree that they never saw anything like the treatment of Abacus bank employees by Vance's office. They were handcuffed and paraded down public corridors in a group of fifteen, their wrists linked by handcuffs as if in a chain gang, and three of the people in that lineup were Chinese-Americans who technically shouldn't even have been there because they had already been released on bail. (Rolling Stone columnist Matt Taibbi called the image "almost Stalinist.") There is, by this film's account, no compelling evidence that the Sungs were guilty of anything worse than failing to detect the actions of dishonest employees until they'd already caused a lot of damage. The case presented by the film is one of negligence or poor oversight, not active conspiracy to break laws.
But as gripping as the movie is as a legal thriller, it's even more notable as a portrait of a community. James, whose crew spent many hours with the Sungs all over Chinatown and in Connecticut, has constructed a rich and revealing context for this tale, and it's one that is rarely showcased in American cinema. This is a film filled with Chinese people engaged in an underdog story not unlike the one in "It's a Wonderful Life," a film the Sungs adore and that inspired Thomas to enter the financial industry. We get a strong sense of a thriving community that defines itself in relation the mainstream of American culture and that is aspirational but never entirely comfortable or accepted. This is a precarious psychic state to exist in for successive generations, and it's unusual to see it portrayed onscreen with such empathy and nuance.
More immediately fascinating, though, is the film's depiction of an accomplished Asian-American family filled with strong-willed, educated professionals who obviously love and respect each other and have a great rapport. Some of the most striking scenes in "Abacus" are unrelated to the trial itself. They just show the Sungs sitting around a kitchen table or a table in a Chinese restaurant, talking about money, the law, the movies and each other. They talk over each other, interrupt each other, talk over each other. They crack jokes, tease, apologize and compliment one another. The physical fact of their existence onscreen is inspiring. So is the film's impressive array of archival images, documentary film snippets and bits of TV news reports, showing Chinatown through the ages. There is history here. An entire world. And we finally get to see it. What happened to the Sungs seems horribly unfair, but this film is a silver lining. Everyone needs to see it.
A French article claimed the term "movie jail" could not be translated. I found the following sort of sarcastic explanation about the expression on some random website as I can't find it in Collins/Dictionary.com/TFD:
This is Movie Jail, a unique maximum security prison that houses some of the worst writers, directors, actors and producers from Hollywood and beyond. Their crimes? The offenses vary from convict to convict but most of these inmates have contributed negatively to the film world to some capacity* and his or her misdeeds have covered a long enough period of time that the authorities had to intervene.
I noted the capital letters "Movie Jail"; is that something coined or a magazine trademark of any kind, or just literal English used figuratively i.e. "the jail of the movie industry". Is that mainly AmE? What is another idiomatic way of expressing the movie jail idea which showcases further the impact on the artist without resorting to the penitentiary system metaphor?
Movie Jail is not an every day term. From the above context, I understand this term, in a very sarcastic sense, as a way to make fun of people who have made poor or damaging contributions to the movie industry as a whole. These people, for the good of everyone else, must be pulled from society so that they cannot continue to damage people with their awful films. Another metaphor - would be perhaps the Survivor series trope of "voting them off the island." Or perhaps taking away their pens before they accidently stab themselves with them (like young children with sharp objects.)
Led by executive editor Bill Moyers, 'Rikers: An American Jail' aired on PBS in 2017, winning the Robert F. Kennedy Media Advocacy Award and quickly inserting itself into the debate over the future of the notorious New York City jail facility. Consisting entirely of first-hand accounts of incarceration on Rikers Island, the film presents a stark and disturbing portrait.
CAMPBELL: I just want to say one thing, which to me is real important: Opening up these community-based jails is one thing, but the systemic culture of Rikers Island is not only in the bricks, it's in the individuals that are running it.
The correctional officers, the civilian workers, even the medical staff to a certain degree. And I'm not talking about all correctional officers, I'm not making an indictment on all of them. But the systemic violence is ingrained within the personnel that are on Rikers Island just as much as it's in the bricks.
So I say to all of you: if you open these community-based jails and you got the same people running it, baby girl you got the same damn problem. I can't put it no other way.
WATKINS: On that happy note, let's move to our next clip, which is I'm afraid on another pretty grim subject: really one of the most disturbing features of incarceration and one of the defining features of Rikers Island, which is solitary confinement. Let's roll that please.
FILM CLIP: I was sentenced to 1,580 days in solitary confinement, almost four years.
FILM CLIP: My longest stretch as an adolescent was 120 days. When you first enter the box, it's a very dark and gloomy place. It kind of replicates a jail cell, it's just a little bit smaller. Floors are gray, walls are a dark, dingy color, it's all gloomy. It's meant and designed to keep you down. You hear people out the window screaming all day. You hear people on your tier screaming all day.
FILM CLIP: I walk into the box and it's noisy, it's like everybody screaming and it just sounds like a madhouse. I went into the cell and the cell closes. That sound that the cell makes when it closes is a crazy sound.
FILM CLIP: It sounds like a dog kennel. Imagine like 20 different breeds of dogs on the same so-called tier in cages and hearing so many different sounds of barking. That what it begins to sound like. It's madness.
CAMPBELL: You sleep until you can't sleep no more, then you're awake until you can't take it anymore and you just wind up ... You either count the cockroaches that come under your door or you start counting the cracks in the wall. Anything to keep your mind occupied.
FILM CLIP: I used to look at paint chips on the wall and they would become figurines. You look long enough and hard enough, they start moving around so now all of a sudden you got your own private movie theater.
FILM CLIP: I really did feel like my mind was breaking down because my body was also breaking down as well because the portions that they feed you in the box is smaller than what they feed you in the general population. You have to make sacrifices when it's chow time like you get two pieces of bread, but you're starving at that moment. You want to eat everything and you know this isn't going to fill you up, but you have to eat a small portion and you have to put the bread off to the side for later. I'm not necessarily going to say I felt I lost my sanity completely, but I know it was being chipped away little by little.
FILM CLIP: I'm thinking about doing something negative. You understand what I'm saying? Not doing something positive because, how could you think about doing something positive when you have nothing positive being locked into a box?
FILM CLIP: You want to hold on to that understanding that this is insane because if you lose it, then you kind of become conformed to it. And once that happens, there is no redemption or rehabilitation as they like to say it.
WATKINS: A question for you first Barry. What kind of offenses land people in solitary confinement? I think your average person would think, "Well, the bar has got to be pretty high for that kind of punishment. The people must be posing a grave threat to themselves or the others."
CAMPBELL: No, no, no. It depends on the correctional officer working your house, it depends on the correctional officer that you come in contact with. Correctional officers are human. Sometimes they wake up on the wrong side of the bed and you happen to run right into them. When you do that, welcome to the box.
PEREZ: I want to add to that. You would think that it's people who are stabbing COs or something like that. Four out of five offenses are there for really minor offenses, non-violent.
The most absurd case that I heard was a 16-year-old who shot a spitball at a correctional officer and got 60 days in solitary for that. Now, 16-year-olds throw spitballs. We get that. Some adults do too, but our reaction to such a minor offense is so punitive, but it's also symbolic to the society that we live in. We have a really criminalized mental illness. 40 percent of the people on Rikers Island are living with some type of mental health concern.
We've criminalized homelessness, we've criminalized poverty, and now we're even criminalizing just being from a whole other country. So we're criminalizing people not because of what they've done but because of who they are and solitary is the best expression of that.
LUONGO: The issue about people with mental health issues that are incarcerated as a result of a mental health issue because they were put in a cage as opposed to a hospital bed is a real one and we have to tackle that.
Do not conflate that, and we should not conflate that, with the issue of solitary confinement, which in many ways the person doesn't have a mental health issue until they are placed there for 1,000 days, or if you're Kalief Browder for three years as a 16-year-old. And until we sued at Legal Aid Society here's what used to happen: You'd owe a solitary bid, you'd get out. If you're rearrested a year from now, they put you in because you owe 60 days on your old solitary. We had to sue to end that incredibly draconian, horrible process.
I want to say, yes it's true that there are people who have mental health issues at Rikers and as a result of them acting out because they need treatment and not prison or cages, they're in solitary. But we own the issue of creating people with mental health issues that come home and kill themselves like that young man. That's the conversation that we need to focus on when we talk about solitary. Issues about needing more treatment, more sustained housing, more programs, more of a public health response to mental health is on us also, but they're two separate issues.
WATKINS: We're going to go to our final clip. It's in some ways a little disorienting to go from talking about solitary confinement to the topic of coming home because that is the topic of this last clip, which is this very important question of reentry. What happens to people when they're let out of prison? What kind of support are we giving them? Really I think it's a larger question of: what are jails for? Are they there simply to isolate people and to punish them or do we see a role for corrections? Do we see a role for rehabilitation? So, a lot of issues. A good way to round up our clips. Let's roll the Coming Home clip, please.
FILM CLIP: You have all the plans in the world, but the main plan is to just stay free out of prison. Being released out here where there's no one at, there's nobody that's going to help you if you need some help because no one knows you. You're so nervous being back out in society after being in jail even if it's just for one night. It's overwhelming.
FILM CLIP: Coming home, it was hard for me to readjust. I didn't like being around people, I didn't want to share anything with anybody, like my thoughts. I didn't want to be around my own family. It was just really, really hard for me to talk to people. I wanted to use violence for everything that was wrong.
FILM CLIP: My brother and sister will have nothing to do with me. My husband's family will have nothing to do with us, my husband and our daughter included. It's very difficult. My husband and I are currently separated.
FILM CLIP: Unless you've experienced coming home from jail or prison, you'll never know what it's like. I've always said it's great, everybody's talking about these 6,000 inmates that are being released. But what are you putting in place for them to come home to?
WATKINS: That very much seems like the question. As Spaces of Justice is part of the title of this event I want to, as we're nearing the end, return a little bit to talking about spaces and about this proposal again of replacing Rikers with community-based jails of a more modern, effective, humane design. Johnny, from a reentry perspective, what do you see as the importance of having jails in the community, not at the end of this mile-and-a-half long bridge that didn't even used to be marked on subway maps? What's the importance of having them in the community, on the street?
PEREZ: When I think about reentry, it's important for everyone to understand reentry should start the minute that you are arrested. We should be preparing for this person to come home. Why? Because 95 percent of the people who are currently incarcerated are going to come home. About 700,000 people a year are actually released into our communities and wear this scarlet letter where we expect them to come back into a society that will not fully accept them.
Being able to have better access to resources in the community, being able to have more access to your family, it strengthens family ties. My daughter's sitting in the audience and not to put you on the spot, but I saw my daughter a total of six times the entire time that I was incarcerated out of those 13 years. Part of that was because the prison was just too far and there was very little access.
So being able to put the jail in a place where the families have more access, where attorneys, mental health providers or any other service providers also have more access to the individual, we increase the likelihood that a person will come back into a society with services in place, continuity of services for those people who have mental health concerns. Being able to have jobs or at the very least, be in a position where they'd be able to connect with employers before they get released.
Any time that a person has a successful reentry we all benefit.
WATKINS: Then a question for Jill. It seems like there's the beginnings of a more holistic conception of the role of the prosecutor that's taking place, aided in part by people such as yourself joining prosecutors' offices. Do you see a role for prosecutors in the issue of reentry? Not just prosecuting crime and sentencing people, but thinking about reentry issues. Is that something that's on the radar screen for the Brooklyn District Attorney's Office?