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By:

Shoumojit Banerjee

27 August 2024 at 9:57:52 am

Sands of Empire: Revisiting Khartoum

If you thought Lawrence of Arabia (1962) was the only great desert classic, think again. Overshadowed for decades by David Lean’s masterpiece, Khartoum (1966) remains one of the great neglected historical epics. Directed by Basil Dearden and anchored by commanding performances from Charlton Heston and Laurence Olivier, it deserves a place alongside the decade’s finest large-scale historical dramas. While it falls short of the towering achievement of Lawrence of Arabia, it remains a worthy...

Sands of Empire: Revisiting Khartoum

If you thought Lawrence of Arabia (1962) was the only great desert classic, think again. Overshadowed for decades by David Lean’s masterpiece, Khartoum (1966) remains one of the great neglected historical epics. Directed by Basil Dearden and anchored by commanding performances from Charlton Heston and Laurence Olivier, it deserves a place alongside the decade’s finest large-scale historical dramas. While it falls short of the towering achievement of Lawrence of Arabia, it remains a worthy epic unjustly overshadowed by Lean’s film. More importantly, it belongs to a now-vanished tradition of historical filmmaking that believed audiences could appreciate history, ideas and spectacle in equal measure. Set in 19th century Sudan and Egypt, Khartoum sees the flamboyant General Charles ‘Chinese’ Gordon, played with tremendous conviction by Heston, square off against Muhammad Ahmad, the self-proclaimed ‘Mahdi’ or the ‘Expected One,’ portrayed by Olivier. Amid tangled imperial geopolitics, the British government dispatches Gen. Gordon to oversee the evacuation of Sudan, where the Mahdi has ignited a rebellion against Egyptian and British authority. The Mahdi was a nineteenth-century Osama bin Laden-like prototype – a ruthlessly charismatic religious figure capable of rallying thousands through a potent mix of faith, prophecy and political revolt. The duel between Gordon and the Mahdi is alone worth the price of admission. Heston, relishing the opportunity to play something far more nuanced than his usual larger-than-life heroes, delivers what may well be the finest performance of his career. Sporting a British accent, Heston’s Gordon is a vain man (with a monumental ego) driven equally by courage and conviction. Heston creates a character far more interesting than his celebrated household roles of Judah Ben-Hur or Moses. Indeed, Heston personally regarded Khartoum as one of his favourite films as the role allowed him to move beyond heroic certainty and explore the contradictions of a deeply complex historical figure. Olivier’s performance has long attracted controversy because of his use of blackface. Yet as an acting performance, it remains extraordinarily compelling. His Mahdi is intelligent and magnetic; a man whose seething fanaticism and certainty of purpose makes him a lethal opponent. The conflict between Gordon and the Mahdi is not simply military but philosophical. Each sees himself as the instrument of a higher cause and recognises something admirable in the other. Their exchanges possess an intellectual weight seldom encountered in contemporary blockbusters. That quality owes much to the literate screenplay by playwright Robert Ardrey who has his characters debate faith, empire and political expediency in scintillating dialogues. The supporting cast is equally distinguished. Sir Ralph Richardson is magnificent as the British Prime Minister, William Ewart Gladstone who embodies British pragmatism and Machiavellian statecraft in equal measure. He admires Gordon while recognising that empires cannot be run according to the impulses of heroic individuals. Richardson captures the tension between moral rhetoric and political calculation with a finesse that only a legend of his stature could. One should perhaps be thankful that such a film got made at all. Never mind today’s audiences, the tangled skein of late 19th century British imperial politics was hardly an easy sell for audiences in the 1960s as well. Americans, in particular, would likely have had little clue about Sudan, Khartoum, Gordon or the Mahdist revolt. Yet Khartoum succeeds brilliantly in bringing this forgotten era to life. The political intrigues of Whitehall and the desperate military situation on the Nile acquire genuine dramatic force. It belongs to a period when filmmakers trusted audiences to listen and follow ideas rather than watch mindless action. The 1960s were the golden age of the literate historical epic. Films such as Spartacus, El Cid, The Fall of the Roman Empire and The Charge of the Light Brigade combined spectacle with serious engagement with history. Khartoum stands proudly within that tradition. Gordon and the Mahdi have long gone. The British Empire has vanished. But Sudan remains trapped in seemingly perpetual cycles of conflict. Coups, civil wars, military strongmen, competing centres of authority and devastating violence have haunted the country for decades. The headlines change; the instability persists. That is what makes Khartoum feel unexpectedly contemporary. Beneath its grand costumes and imperial pageantry lies a story about a state struggling to define itself, about rival claims to legitimacy, and about the dangerous collision between political power and religious conviction. 60 years after its release, Khartoum remains not merely a superb film but a haunting reminder that history, especially in Sudan, has a habit of repeating itself.

Harmony Beyond Borders: The Transformative Power of Fusion Music

Updated: Jan 2, 2025

Harmony Beyond Borders

In an age where geopolitical rivalries and cross-border tensions dominate the headlines, one enduring force continues to unite people across cultures and ideologies: music. Its universal appeal transcends linguistic and geographic barriers, fostering a unique form of cultural diplomacy. Particularly compelling is fusion music, a genre born from the interplay of diverse musical traditions, proving that harmony can emerge even amid discord.


Fusion music is not merely an artistic endeavour but a testament to the power of collaboration. By blending elements of distinct musical traditions, it creates a hybrid soundscape that captures the essence of globalization. At its core, fusion embodies a dialogue between the old and the new, the local and the foreign, the sacred and the secular. Yet, it often faces resistance, particularly from purists who view such experiments as an affront to tradition.


This resistance is not new. Even Hindustani classical music, often hailed as a pinnacle of Indian musical heritage, owes much of its identity to historical fusion. A case in point is Khayal gayan, a popular form within this tradition. Derived from the Persian word khayal, meaning “imagination” or “thought,” this genre epitomizes creative synthesis. Emerging during the Delhi Sultanate period, Khayal was deeply influenced by Sufi and Bhakti traditions, which emphasized spiritual expression.


Khayal compositions, with their intricate ragas and improvisational aalaps, are a showcase of artistic ingenuity. Yet, their origins lie in the cultural cross-pollination that occurred during the Mughal era. The genre’s hallmark elements, such as Bada Khayal, Chota Khayal, and Tarana, reflect the fusion of Indian and Persian musical aesthetics. This amalgamation has not diluted its authenticity but enriched it, transforming Khayal into a vital part of Indian classical music’s identity.


Ironically, those who champion the “purity” of Khayal often overlook its fusion origins. This raises an intriguing question: if Khayal is not an entirely indigenous form, what then is the most ancient and unadulterated style of Indian classical music? The answer lies in Dhrupad gayaki, a genre steeped in history and spirituality.


Dhrupad, derived from the Sanskrit words dhruva (steadfast) and pada (verse), traces its lineage to the Vedic period. It represents a meditative and solemn approach to music, with its roots in the Sama Veda’s Samgana—a chant-like style blending rhythm and melody. Over centuries, this evolved into Chhanda and Prabandha, which in turn birthed Dhrupad.


Characterized by its slow tempo and emphasis on lyrical depth, Dhrupad is often accompanied by traditional instruments like the tanpura and pakhawaj. The genre flourished under royal patronage during the Mughal era, gaining refinement and complexity. Despite its historical significance, Dhrupad has receded from mainstream popularity, overshadowed by the more accessible and romanticized Khayal.


This transition from Dhrupad to Khayal highlights a broader shift in audience preferences. While Dhrupad focused on religious and philosophical themes, Khayal embraced romanticism and emotional expression, drawing larger audiences. Such changes underscore the dynamic nature of music, which evolves in response to cultural and societal transformations.


The story of fusion in Indian music does not end with Khayal or Dhrupad. The 20th century witnessed another significant milestone: the global introduction of Indian music through Pt. Ravi Shankar. The legendary sitar maestro’s collaboration with George Harrison of The Beatles in the 1950s marked a turning point, bringing Indian classical music to Western audiences. This cultural exchange not only popularized the sitar—a fusion of India’s Tritantrika Veena and Persia’s Shehtar—but also paved the way for modern fusion experiments.


Such collaborations have challenged the notion of “purity” in music. Critics often lament the dilution of traditional forms, but history suggests that fusion is intrinsic to musical evolution. From Dhrupad’s Vedic origins to Khayal’s Mughal influences and the global appeal of Ravi Shankar’s sitar, fusion has consistently enriched Indian music.


At its heart, fusion music represents a celebration of diversity. It is a reminder that cultural exchange does not diminish heritage but enhances it. As the world grows increasingly interconnected, fusion serves as a powerful metaphor for coexistence—a harmonious blend of differences that creates something greater than the sum of its parts.


In a world fraught with divisions, music offers a blueprint for unity. Whether it is the soulful strains of Dhrupad, the imaginative improvisations of Khayal, or the global appeal of fusion, each note tells a story of collaboration and shared humanity. As purists continue to debate the merits of tradition versus innovation, one truth remains undeniable: music, in all its forms, is a bridge that spans divides, connecting us in ways words often cannot.


Fusion music is not a betrayal of tradition but a celebration of evolution. As audiences and artists continue to embrace hybrid forms, fusion stands as a testament to humanity’s shared heritage and creativity, reminding us of its boundless potential to unite and inspire. And in that sense, music’s fusion is not just an artistic endeavour but a profound act of diplomacy, one that holds lessons for a world in desperate need of harmony.

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