A few good men – movie review

The movie begins with the murder of William Santiago, a marine of United States of America posted at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Two other marines Dawson and Downey are charged with murder, conspiracy of murder and conduct unbecoming USA.
The movie poses a question to the practices in army but that is not why I watched A few good men five times in the past two months. There’s something special in the honesty of the characters of this movie.

An eloquent JoAnne Galloway, Lieutenant Commander and a prolific lawyer, played by Demi Moore, shows keenness towards taking up the case in her belief that there’s more to it than two marines killing another. However, given her skills that threaten to stir up the sacred and clandestine codes of the army, the case is cautiosly handed to Lieutenant Daniel Kaffee, an immature and disinterested lawyer who has a record of out of court settlements. This character that spends more time playing softball than in office is played by Tom Cruise.

As Counsellor Kaffee’s clients, Dawson and Downey do not reveal much. They answer what they have been asked, and say not a word or a gesture more. Dawson is acknowledges that his taciturnity with respect to this case might get him into trouble, but he is headstrong and takes pride in and values code before anything else. He is not afraid of the punishment that awaits him whereas Downey has no say of his own. He follows Dawson. With Dawson’s lip tight, Counsellor Kaffee has nothing but speculations and small clues that come his way during the course of collecting evidences. Galloway, who is Kaffee’s superior, dissuades him from out of court settlement that he looks for and almost forces him go deeper into the case. 

The badass is played spectacularly by Colonel Nathan Jessup who is not only foul mouthed but also a sexist that thinks not once before humiliating whomever fails to understand his altruistic code of conduct.

Kaffee’s most important witness kills himself by firing a pistol into his throat. Despite this, Kaffee outstands himself as a lawyer and the movie gets the better of him. His disclosing of  his courtroom strategies before entering the court for the final time might not please everyone because of the harm it causes to one’s curiosity. As for me, it goes well with my personal taste, as he only tells what he’s going to do and not how. The process in itself is splendid. 

The climax, though predictable, hinges on an irony where one is left to reconsider the limits of code when it comes to moral values. The movie spares no one in that it hits hard in the face with truth and sadness and sends a blow to the concept of a happy or a morose ending. 

All the characters are a treat to the senses. The energy, the vocal capabilities  poise of actors come full fledged and suit the time and place the movie is set in. Extraordinary acting skills and a struggle for justice that runs underneath marches ahead of the simple plot.

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Unearthing the answers

What is wrong with things that go haywire and situations that run out of control? Are they seeking something without knowing it? 

What is wrong with my attention? What is wrong with your patience? What is right about this day, if anything?

For all the my questions unanswered, yes, I did make up some lies. What was wrong with your mood and what is right with it now?

You think I can let you face my questions again. You think they are sitting around.

Even seasons don’t wait for the sun.

For it is not a question of honour, it is of trust. If the answers are any different, how do you think my heart will trust me ever again? 

This

A strange bird in Walter Sisulu,   South Africa. Strange because I can’t tell which.Apparently, I’m never going to be done with memories. 

How does one go to sleep? 

Even when it’s dark, a dim light pierces in

Even when the mood in the room is still, breeze sweeps in, a strange breeze

When there is hope of the morning

When there is much to do

How does one close eyes? How does one go to sleep?

All open eyes in the night don’t weep

All open eyes in the night aren’t afraid

Some may paint, plan, or pray. Some just climb from one thought to another.

Some think sleep might kill their night. Ferocious, ambitious, sincere night.

Some splash the time on the air

Some splice the air into quarters and see them as musings and blow them into blisters, blisters of each such night so that the question remains.

How does one go to sleep? 

Whoosh!

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The nasty self

Everybody talks to self and some of us even take it seriously. One night, I had trouble convincing my other self that it must stop it’s talk. It’s talk— frivolous, pretentious of being grave and like most of the times, a threat to my peace. Problems in the world are many, and they are all dung and dust unless they concern human development, freedom, justice and peace. Although there are certain other family issues that should bother me, like forgetting the lunch bag at home and getting to be hauled at by mother, or my sister stunning father by putting cool Whatsapp statuses, or when father manages to inspect my display pictures, which he usually thinks are not suitable — every time for a new reason. He’s so much like an unhappy manager at times.
My other self argued that the issue was of equal significance. It was this: I believed that I had hurt a colleague and my other self was pressing me to apologise. All I wanted was to escape. I then asked my other self to better be quiet and it snapped back. It said, ‘I was minding my own business till you started digging your nose.’
I really do not dig my nose but my other self ensures that it says all the nasty things it can make up against me. It was not sane enough to abuse my other self, which is after all ‘self’, however sheepish and peevish. So I tried to shut the voice. I began singing, to which my other annoying self replied, ‘You sing well, but have
you heard someone fart?’
Then I imagined my other self raising its monstrous chin and nodding. ‘It’s just slightly better.’
What a great simile!
‘You bloody monster! It’s slightly better than the sound of a fart?’
‘No! Haha. I mean the fart sounds just better.’
I imagined the monstrous self banging a table.
There’s a popular term in Hindi for fools. It translates into English as lid. And my other self is the lid of the box that was never made.
It said so softly, ‘Yeah, I know you don’t like me, but isn’t that just your personal choice?’

There, you are

Every time I have seen you, you’ve been such a mystery, so bright that I would like to figure out the colors that form it.
Indeed I am fragile to be shaken by your brightness.
You make me tipsy, but the worldly affairs have contained me.
Your giggle can be heard around, and your sob twitches me.
I can hear the footsteps, but your shadow cannot be seen,
because, obviously, you carry enough brightness.
In the course of believing so, I will notice your darkness.
Maybe, even that will whip me up. I can’t tell.
I might find it lighter than mine.
I hope I am able to bring it on before you usher another surprise.
I shudder on imagining I may turn you off by my shabby show.
But I choose to believe, you will have something shabby, too.
And that will help us bind. Help our greys entwine.
I may relax, you’re on the way, you’ll take time.
After all, you’re too bright.
May have to sit midway, bathing the life of others.

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