I watched the deliciously cut Ship of Theseus trailer five times last year before the film was available. Several times I watched it with Chinese subtitles and even quoted lines in Chinese. Both the blind photographer and the Jain monk are resolute in their convictions and values and I found it incredibly inspirational.
While watching the film, I realized that the trailer frames the stories deceptively resolute, while most characters actually experience more ambivalence towards the end. To my excitement, all plots and themes of the three segments developed in a much more complicated fashion. The blind photographer and Arab coming-of-age woman Aaliya states that in the trailer that she does not believe there are any restrictions to her producing work. In the film, I find her reliance on sound-based technology in photography to substitute for her lack of eyesight and light detection capabilities as well as the plot twist in which she experiences difficulty in appreciating the new, post-surgical art. The director of the film, 34-year-old Anand Gandhi Anthropologist on Mars, whose author suggested in the preface that disabilities can be a source of creativity,
Thus while one may be horrified by the ravages of developmental disorder or disease, one may sometimes see them as creative too—for if they destroy particular paths, particular ways of doing things, they may force the nervous system into making other paths and ways, force on it an unexpected growth and evolution.
This book suggests a whole new way to look at the disability and could provide much psychological support for anyone who feels damaged after an accident. Chinese author Bi Feiyu wrote beautifully in his novel Massage about the enormous differences between those who did not have eyesight since birth and those who became visually impaired, either gradually or suddenly, after several years of vision. While the first never knew what they lost, the latter have utterly despondent outlooks on life. If they read the previous passage, perhaps they would think differently. Yet what happens when one readjusts back to modes of ableism? Perhaps the surgeries that makes one “complete” also cut short Aaliya’s growth and evolution.
Aaliya’ artwork is on exhibition. Even the blind can experience her artwork.
The first segment also shows an incredible relationship between Aaliya and her artistic Indian boyfriend. While he cares for her and even learns Arabic, their story is not about Aaliya’s dependency and it is not romanticized. Like couples, they fight over mundane matters as well as artistic differences. She doubts whether or not people appreciate her art for itself or the novelty of her as a blind photographer. Her boyfriend stays through the periods of difficulty, but not without bitterness. In terms of post-surgical adjustments, how does a relationship endure? Does Aaliya view him differently now that she can see him? Was he as handsome as she imagined? Now that she regained her vision, will their relationship lose balance? Neither is her relationship with India romanticized either. After her surgery, does she find it just as beautiful? What about after she notices the male gaze? After her surgery, what keeps her in this country?
The second character, the Jain monk Maitreya, resolutely refused drugs in the trailer and argued that they were tested on animals with much unnecessary cruelty. He fights a case in court against the use of testing animals for cosmetics and other non-medical use products. When I watched the trailer for the first time, I was in my first year of vegetarianism and rooted strongly for this moral proclamation and triumphalism. Maitreya discovered his liver cirrhosis and did not seek a transplant because that would require western medication.
Many of his friends could not accept this decision. One of them is a young and inquisitive friend, who adopted the name of “Charwaka,” is a reference to the Indian skeptic and atheistic tradition Cārvāka.
Charwaka plays the role of the straw man skillfully as he argues with Maitreya about what happens after death, the universe, and karma in the film. Both he and Mr. Gupta, the lawyer, argued against Maitreya’s extreme decision to refuse treatment at certain points, but they still provided companionship. Mr. Gupta said in an eloquent monologue when visiting Maitreya,
Look into your own religion. There’s constant reference to relativity. Your ancients, they were masters of understanding that there is no one ultimate rule book for all situations. The woman churning curd into butter, she has to pull one end of the rope, and let the other end go otherwise the rope will break. Contradictions and polarities are two ends of the same rope. You can pull one end and let the other end go.
Like the “middle way” in Buddhism, one should not steer towards extremities in the name of ethics. Maitreya’s fellow monks also took “Western” medicine, contrary to the strict portraits of Jain monks I have read in Maximum City and Nine Lives. In these two books, Jain monks do not brush their teeth because that would also kill germs. Some use a cloth for a ritual mouth-covering as to not inhale living beings.They also do not step outside when it’s raining and risk breaking the water puddle for similar reasons. They do not use modern modes of transportation. In the film Maitreya wakes up in the middle of the night and walks along highways in the rain to battle for an animal rights case. He breaks one code but not the other for his goal of justice.
Maitreya sits in court, listening to Mr. Gupta, the lawyer, present the argument against animal testing for cosmetics.
I have read about sallekhana, the Jain ritual to stop the intake of food and starve oneself to death, in Nine Lives. The first of the nine portraits, Prasannamati Mataji, is a respected Jain nun that fell ill, refused western medicine, and decided to take on this formidable ritual. Due to the interview format of the book, the author William Darymple does not follow through to the end of the Jain nun’s sallekhana. I learn about the nun’s resolution in words,
Mataji: ‘Sallekhana is the aim of all Jain munis. It is the last renouncement. First you give up your home, then your possessions. Finally you give up your body.’
Darymple: ‘You make it sound very simple.’
Mataji: ‘When you begin to understand the nature of reality, it is very simple. It is a good way – the very best way – to breathe your last, and leave the body. It is no more than leaving one house to enter another.’
The examinations of Maitreya’s decaying and ailing body in Ship of Theseus thus provides a more visceral and emotional portrayal of a man’s confrontation with his own mortality. Some films have oppressive long shots and the philosophical musings bog down the flow of the film. But Ship of Theseus avoids these traps and placed the stunning formalist long shots and musings evenly. I especially appreciated the examination of the Jain monk Maitreya’s body, with jarring leisions creeping on his otherwise smooth skin. The physical ailments took much toll on Maitreya’s mental resolution as well. While Jains believe in “an immortal and indestructible soul, or jivan, and that the sum of one’s actions determines the nature of your future rebirth.” in his trepid and frail state, Maitreya could not answer whether or not souls exist. He eventually accepts treatment for his liver cirrhosis and survived the immediate transplant.
In the end, Maitreya looked very healthy and content, yet no longer wears monk robes. One wonders what new occupation he took on, unanswered just like the question of Where did he learn his English, possibly before monkhood?In Maximum City, I only see the previous secular lives of a wealthy Jain family described in detail. The author observes their intiation ceremony into diksha, or monk/nunhood, with much reservation. The father of the family is the most resolute person striving for enlightenment. Yet he also takes on his entire family. His sons still desire for companionship after diksha, and the author skeptically wonders whether or not they would persist. Even if I did learn about the ending of the Jain family, there is no simple conclusion to what they experienced internally.
Part three of Ship of Theseus also departs from the trailer’s suggested plot. The trailer showed Shankar, a desperate man whose lost his kidney unexpectedly, pointing to the ostensible “culprit” and kidney receiver Navin. In the film, I discover that the altercation was a misunderstanding—Navin actually received his organ donation from a legal source. Yet Navin still helped Shankar because his grandmother, a freedom fighter, chastised him for expecting too little in life. As a stock broker, Navin wanted wealth and respect. Imparting no harm is the ideal ethical conduct in his view rather than actively helping and understanding the downtrodden. His grandmother berated him and expected him to hand out true compassion and concern for the world. Eventually he seeks out justice for Shankar, flying all the way to Stockholm, and finds an adequate but not perfect solution. Navin feels defeated but his grandmother accepts the efforts with a heart-warming welcome back in India.
This is the only segment in the film which most interactions occur in Hindi, perhaps because only the Hindi speakers would intersect with the underworld of organ-harvesting and narrow chawls. Through the film, I know little about the life of Shankar after accepting the guilt money from the Stockholm receiver. Perhaps he moved out of the narrow chawl? Little is presented about the NGO that organized the legal organ donations, as well as the person who donated nine parts of his body to nine strangers. While the film complicates and leaves more questions to the film audiences, the director Anand Gandhi has many answers and thoughts on his blog for those who are interested.
