There’s a classic scene in the popular mob movie ‘Analyze this’ where Billy Crystal, playing Ben Sobel, a psychiatrist forced into treating the mafia boss Paul Vitti (played by Robert De Niro), is arm-twisted into representing Vitti at a gathering of all major mafia outfits. Out of place and out of sorts, he spouts out drivel absolutely unrelated to the proceedings.
‘Who is this guy?’ asks Primo Sidone (played by Chazz Palminteri) and Nobel seizes the opportunity to ramble on about the question of identity.
‘Who I am or who am I? “Who am I?” is a question for the ages.’
That, Sobel explains, ‘is the question we are all searching to find out.’
Now ‘Analyze this’ is a comedy and this particular scene is hilarious. Crystal himself is a comedian in addition to being an accomplished actor. Perfect. Comedies, however, often have humour and laughter layered over serious stuff, even things that are deeply philosophical.
This was apparent in Ravindra Ariyaratne’s ‘Charithe horu aran (the character has been stolen [by thieves]),’ which I watched a few days ago.
Two key characters, the mayor (played by Gihan Fernando) and the Leader of the Opposition (played by Chinthaka Peiris) in the unnamed Municipal Council, are both sleepwalkers who, in addition, suffer from memory loss. They don’t know who they are, they don’t know where they live or anything about their personal lives. Ravindra has scripted in the mayor’s wife (Ferni Roshini), as the mayor’s doctor (Wasantha Vittachchi), a random single woman who is oblivious to the political intrigue embedded in the play (Chamila Peiris) and a nosey journalist (Sarath Karunaratne). It is a cleverly woven story with no loose ends, plenty of laughs caused by multiple confusion caused by both memory-loss and delusion.
Udayasiri Wickramaratne, another accomplished playwright who too uses the comic element to examine identity issues has written an excellent review in Sinhala (published in the ‘Silumina,’ March 31, 2018) which I need not replicate/translate here.
The title reminded me of identity theft, which is not the same thing. Identity theft would be ‘ananyatha sorakama’. In the case of identity theft the person ‘robbed’ does not have agency. It happens often. A ‘character’ is not the same thing as ‘identity’ for it refers to all kinds of traits, preferences, flaws, strengths and even thoughts, aspirations and dreams.
In this instance, on the face of it, the ‘thief’ is a medical condition, but memory having been erased, the particular character has to reconstruct his identity and in the process the true character emerges but without any of the filters people usually use so as to ‘show the best face,’ so to speak.
On the surface, this ‘revelation’ is funny because it confirms what is suspected of politicians and of course the near and dear as well as those who associate politicians seeking personal gain. The confusion caused in the process drags people out of comfort zones and scripted lives: they slip, they reveal. And we laugh because we know that all is part of the ‘everyday’ of all lives, ours included. Life writes in lines we have not read, rehearsed or anticipated, and we are forced out of the script. Masks thus shed, we have to show our real faces.
And just like the characters on stage we are encouraged to consider the perennial question referred to by Ben Sobel in the mob meeting scene: ‘who am I?’ Extrapolate: ‘who are we?’
What kind of citizens are we, really? What kind of citizenship are we comfortable with? What do we do or refuse to do when confronted with citizenship-slivers that prick up, cut, disempower, insult and humiliate us? What do we do with politicians who we know are not what they make themselves out to be? Why do we indulge, if indeed that is what we do?
And how about ‘self’ outside the domains of the political? How much of who we are do we own? How much of our ‘characters’ are scripted by others? How much of who we are is composed of what we believe we should show the world? How long have we worn masks? What kind of masks do we wear? At what point did pieces of mask become part of our skin?
Did someone steal our characters? Did we, knowingly or unknowingly, allow our characters to be robbed? Did we steal other people’s characters and what did we do with the stolen goods? Are they aware? When last did we peer into a mirror and assess the nature and volume of theft? And are we planning on recovering what has been lost? Are we comfortably numb?
Ravindra Ariyaratne, I feel, is asking a bunch of questions. Serious stuff. He’s made it all palatable by sugar-coating with humour. The underlying question however is unmistakable and, come to think of it, hardly sweet. Needs to be swallowed though. It’s a pill that is also a question that the singer/lyricist Senaka Batagoda also asks. A pill that is a question ‘for the ages’ as Sobel puts it: ‘Who am I?’
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