Borgen (TV) (2010-2013)

If Chanakya is more about political thought, the Danish TV series that wowed the world Borgen is more about the seamier side of politics and media (and their marriage); while Chanakya had hardly any major woman character, Borgen is one of the rare works that humanity has produced that is not concerned with gender, reflecting Nordic societies: the lovable woman protagonist of the series, Birgitte Nyborg, has as many faults and virtues as any other human being. There is no attempt to pity her, glorify her or to see her through the lens of her being a woman: even if the story has to deal with issues of man and woman, as in her failing marriage with Philip, in the go-getter attitude of Katrine, partly you would suspect fueled by society's patronising, or in the fiery feminist Hanne, sadly relegated to sidelines as the series progresses. But not getting trapped in feminism or otherwise is not the sole strength of Borgen: the major strength is its authentic, rich plots, as if coalition politics were streaming live into our consciousness. There is no attempt to view the viewer as dumb: episodes like the prostitution one (Season 3, Ep. 5) are not afraid as well to take a very debatable line in any society. The typical spectrum of political parties in Europe, especially the Nordic countries, is present, mirroring not just Denmark: for countries such as India and the United States, big democracies but with no left wing to speak of, this is something to learn.

A democracy is healthy when voters have a range of options to mix and match, and know who stands for what: Kruse's fall also indicates that some principles never ought to be compromised on; Nyborg's choice to not use non-politics-related information to dent rivals (Season 1, Hesselboe's credit card issue; Season 3, Kruse's drunk driving history) reflects how in mature democracies, it is good politics that wins, not good mudslinging; and Nyborg's combination of charm, charisma, sincerity but guts tells you what is needed to be a good politician: she may be the leader of small parties, but she is certainly the best politician in Denmark. As the creator of Borgen, Adam Price, has himself said, Sidse Babett Knudsen as Birgitte Nyborg brought this combination of vulnerability and strength at the same time: the perfect embodiment of what the audience would look for, would connect to. There is an idealism running in Borgen: our cast-iron images of politicans, moulded in disappointments and broken delusions, like Pernille Madsen or Benedikte Nedergaard, whores ready to sell themselves or the state at the earliest best opportunity; Troels Höxenhaven or Jakob Kruse, a deadly combination of cowardice, lack of talent and inordinate ambition; or Anne Sophie Lindekrone, a big-mouthed firebrand—all these are mercilessly trampled about with their true (lack of) worth exposed: the audience roots for the practical idealism of Nyborg, and not for the less idealistic realism of Bent Sejrø, nor for the idealistic world that Bjørn Marrot or Erik Hoffmann live in and find themselves trapped in, lacking more practical tactics. Borgen is however equally a story of the media world: and the same counterparts, in less incarnate forms, play out.

Season 3's continuing focus on Torben Friis is a bit puzzling at first: slowly, especially towards the end, the reasons, or the parallels, become more clear. He is the much less likeable counterpart of Nyborg, but he is, like Ulrik, only now learning the value of sticking with his principles, even in the face of adversity. Nyborg also loses a lot of joy in life and work post her separation with Philip and as she lets the work pressures submerge her personality (in Season 2): so does Torben in Season 3. Both are regenerated when reminded of life's transience and simplicity: for Nyborg a lump in a breast, and for Torben a kink in his marriage. Both try to deny and go down; and then they admit the futility of denial, Nyborg to her children and Torben to his wife, and both are reborn, in work and life. The journalists-spin doctors duo of Kasper and Katrine continue to search for meaning in life and a meaning outside love for each other: and yet, Katrine may have found some peace in Ravn, but what about Kasper? He is the most lovable, enigmatic, magnetic character of Borgen, surpassing even Nyborg herself, and one big fault of the series is the lack of role for him in Season 3. Episode 6 of Season 2 is for me the best episode of Borgen: when we know why Kasper is what he is, though we have been given hints of that right from the beginning. And finally, there is the regeneration, both in series and in character, of Ulrik himself: a journalist and fashionable TV presenter always envious of Katrine in Seasons 1 and 2, and with limited screen time, he emerges out Katrine's and Torben's shadows and is able to hold his own, in Season 3, with a hefty amount of screen space: not only as a top-rate presenter and journalist, but also as a man ready and confident enough to take a stand on what he believes in.

It is surprising to read that many viewers and critics have not liked Borgen's Season 3 that much. For me, Season 2, except Episodes 6 and 10, was the weakest season of all: it was a bit undefined, with no narrative. Just a box of chocolates: some issue concerning the ruling party becoming the theme of the episode. Also, I found the foreign policy episodes in poor taste, with shallow depth (Season 2, Ep. 1, 7 and 8): not something found otherwise in this series. For me, Season 1 was the best, and Season 3 was not much far behind, though giving so much screen time to Pia and Alex and sidelining Kasper and Hanne is certainly something that very much went wrong. Performances are great, the opening credits and quotations are excellent and already set the tone for each episode in most cases, and the series is not just a TV show, but a solid beginning in understanding coalition politics, especially for those who are not used to it (e.g., those from the United States). It is also a great tool to start understanding European, in particular Nordic countries', politics, electoral systems and electoral behaviour, as well as the weddedness of politics and modern media in countries where information is consumed—and spawned—at a very high rate.

Chanakya (TV) (1991-1992)

One of the most powerfully told TV series ever made in the history of television across world, Chanakya is a wonderful account of political intrigue: rich in political science, the series brims with the original Machiavelli, Vishnugupta Chanakya "Kautilya", a man who was not just one of the shrewdest political pundits of all times but also a man who was as true and as untouched by the dirtiness of politics as Gandhi himself. Set in the bedrock of Indian philosophy, all of which is as valid today as it was 350 years before Christ, the series provides insights into the intricate interlinking of philosophy, politics and ethics. A must watch for any student of politics, the series' power is such that it can even illuminate the art and the need of politics for those who remain indifferent to it, thinking that they or their lives are not affected by politics. With astonishing acting performances by most important actors, most notably for the roles of the young and adult Chanakya, King Dhananda, Shaktar, and Ambhi, a fine group of supporting performances, and a wonderful set of Sanskrit verses to finish each episode, and interspersed with brilliant discussions on the meaning of freedom, democracy, duties and nation, the slightly dated look that the series has is soon forgotten in the face of such splendid and well-performed content.

For Indophiles as well, the series is a greatly made detail of Indian history: and the teachings circumscribed are as valid and relevant today for any part of the world, especially for India, as then. The world may have come from arrows to missile heads: but politics remains the same, as do man's tact and strategy, as do man's greed and lust, and as do man's mental strength or the lack of it. The series does have its faults, some of them born out of obligations to an audience which was unused to television when it was first made and shown on TV and some from a limited budget: for example, except for certain scenes in one episode, where Greek is spoken, all other scenes with Macedonians are in English or Hindi; war scenes are shot on a very poor scale and with clumsiness; also, the cries of "har har Mahadev!" ("Glory to Shiva!") seem to be much more contemporary, and unnecessarily bring a religious overtone to a political and philosophical saga. "Maa Bharati" (Mother India) is also a concept that I doubt was valid in those times: while Chanakya's idea of a united land may very much be a fact, that he would say "Rise, Mother India" is much doubtful for me. However, these little details do not manage to tarnish much an honestly and skillfully made programme. While Chandragupta as the second most important character might lack some acting skill, it is not much felt because of a superior acting ability of Chandragupta's associates: in particular roles of Akshay and Sharangrav. It is no wonder that many of the actors who were at the beginning of their careers with Chanakya will later on become prominent actors in films and TV series of India. And for those who understand Hindi, the high-register language of Chanakya will be a delight to hear.

To understand India, and its repeated successes of uniting the land under one culture, Chanakya is a landmark series. While King Bharata might be part history, part mythology, the story of Chanakya and Chandragupta is fact, even if the details might vary from version to version: the current TV series is based on the ancient play Mudrarakshasa. The story of a man resolving to unite India under the aegis of one culture through politics will repeat itself many times in the course of history: one more Chandragupta will find the Gupta empire; then Harshvardhana will again unify the land bound by the Deccan while the Chalukyas and the Cholas will do the same south of it, and the Mughals under Akbar in particular will again come to perform that role: until British control will give the shape of a nation to India, from Kashmir to Kanyakumari. However, while these stories are prompted by selfish desires of power, Chanakya's story, the story of the founding of Maurya Empire, is a different story: that of a teacher par excellence, a political scientist who could act what he preached, who had to unify the country to save its ethics, its values, its culture, without a selfish motive, without any desire for power or riches: the story of Chanakya, a man who could be ruthless in his methods, but tender to an orphaned family's cries; a man who could live on begging for food, and yet could change the most powerful rulers of the world. It is the story of the Indian tradition: philosophers living what they preach, and not philosophizing for the sake of philosophizing, in stark contrast to the history of philosophy in the West.

The complete series, subtitled in English, is available on YouTube (as of the time of writing, there are a couple of episodes for which subtitles are missing). For those who did not know anything about Chanakya the man or Chanakya the TV series of the 1990s (first shown on Doordarshan, and later shown again on BBC), Episode 8 will give them a good foretaste of things to expect. For those who have trust in my words, Episode 1 is here.

Dekalog, piec (TV)

The beauty of Kieślowski's films is that they are not humanist: they are human. The Dekalog series travels wide and far in its range of characters and lives, in its stories, so much that it is difficult to believe that one man can produce so much work of the highest quality, with the same themes echoing through such diverse multitude of humanity. This short film of less than one hour, the fifth part of the series, is at par with Victor Hugo's works in their human understanding and with Dostoyevsky's works in their plumbing to depths unexplored before. Can there be a higher praise for any creation than being said to carry both Hugo and Dostoyevsky in its womb?

This almost twenty-five-year-old film carries particular significance in today's society, where people often demand death penalty for those who commit rape or other crimes condemned by the system, or where there are those who are simply intellectually opposed to capital punishment, and yet have never bothered to think themselves as responsible when a crime has happened. And yet, isn't it they who are responsible? And yet, they have the temerity to judge, condemn and murder? The lawyer feels guilty because he was in the cafeteria when the condemned was toying with the rope, tortured by guilt, hate and the need of being loved and accepted.

We seek acceptance through conforming or rebellion, through declaring love or declaring hate, through creating or destroying. All expression, all communication is nothing but an attempt to seek acceptance, to seek respect, to seek a place. We seek it in people's hearts, in their memories, in their words, in their deeds. Sometimes, when we are too tired of seeking it there, we seek it even in a system. And when the system fails us, we hate not only the system but all those who comprise it. A film that raises questions about the moral tenets that society holds and keeps howling about, and raises doubts among each one of us about our duties, what we are doing, and if it is enough: it is not just life but it is the human spirit first of all that "Thou Shalt Not Kill."

Dekalog, jeden (TV)

In the whole Dekalog series, and most impressively in its very first episode, Kieślowski again tackles the spiritual quest of mankind without invoking the necessity of religions, or even that of gods. The quest that is the result of human curiosity: that seeks to define and predict, that seeks to know instead of not know, and yet that finally knows more in knowing that not everything is to be, or can be, known. Lit up by a wonderful relationship between the precocious father-son duo of Pawel and Krzysztof, seldom seen in most cultures' films, the film finds easily a way into your heart and lodges there for ever. Maybe, that's a fault to contend with: in a film which conveys a deeply philosophical message, there is more sentimentality than many would usually like. But a sentimentality of the warm kind, of the intelligent kind: as if the bonding, both of love and of intelligence, between Pawel and Krzysztof is like the soft feathery flocons of snow that dreamily fall, defying meteorologists and the most accurate machines.

Systematically, as he would do in all his films, Kieślowski will be obsessed with the point of the view of the absent, of that that would have happened (had ...), of the irrealisable. Little shots throughout the Dekalog series, and throughout the master's oeuvre, will time and again remind the viewer: that the perception of the same event, the same circumstance can be different from the other side of the window, from outside, from another's eyes, from another world. And what if the circumstances had changed? Charts of destiny are again the drifting flocons of snow: and nothing can be predicted, nothing can be established as one definitive truth or good, and no theory or science or religion can be cherished as God save the actual love for and by Pawel. It is Love that says "I am Lord thy God, and thou shalt not have no other gods but Me." Only, it doesn't say (so, or anything): it is silent and pervasive.