Kite Runner

Kite Runner.

The story is a fascinating web of factors extrapolated from the majestic book by the same name. But for an unknown, outlandish factor, the film failed to engross me. I am a detractor of critics who rank books higher than their filmic adaptation. One has to be reasonable with Marc Foster’s Kite Runner. Besides from the obvious story board cropped from the book, both modes of art, literature and film, desire to transmit the situation in Afghanistan by depicting the moral decay and the abysmal tragedy the country has long been peppered with by the Taliban since the Soviet invasion.

I will spare you my opinion on the disconnected intercalation of flashbacks. I can forfeit my distaste for those unlinked lapses for the sake of the well-constructed story-telling. A part from the story, the salient aspect of the movie was the acute sense of cultural disparity. There are particularly three scenes in which the cultural difference can be savored.

As the story unfolds, we witness Baba(Homayoun Ershadi), the father, fall from grace. The transition is almost immediate. Going from a high intellectual respectability to a stereotypical gas-station manager, Baba’s pride must be bruised. But unaffected by the traitorous nature of political affairs, he managed to retain a modest life in the United States as a gas-station manager. Even as he plummets to death, he marries off his son, the frail Amir (Khalid Abdalla), to a good woman of honorable background. Baba’s influence on the story is only measured by his effect on his son, Amir. The movie’s climax buds from the hunting memory of a father, who, even if not wearing the jewel-laden watch, preserves the poise, presence, and honor to continue facing life’s challenges.

The cultural discrepancies are well emphasized. The most permanent of them is the blurry figure of the loitering mother walking yards behind the couple, Amir and Soraya. While Soraya(Atossa Leoni) reveals a dark secret from her past that could ruin the arranged marriage, her mother paces behind them watching discretely their every move. Marc Foster, the director, captures the essence of a culture that, to an untrained mind, appears to be eons from the habitual elopement in American society.

In yet a third scene, towards the end of the film when the family is having dinner, the General – as a result of his social standing – questions Amir about the boy’s religious affiliation and demands Amir for a proper answer to the hypothetical queries of friends. Amir, instead of bending over to the general in his usual gentle demeanor, indicates to the general what is to be said. Amir bares the truth, which is worse than any lie. Amir humbles the General in the most affable and delicate of ways. It is here where the stretch of the father’s influence finally reaches Amir’s ears. One most stand for one’s self.

And here, possibly the most important of all cultural disparities is underlined. For people like Amir, who have grown and nurtured to revere the name of the forefathers, living up to the memory of the death is often the sole purpose of one’s life. One is always the son/daughter of someone else in Islamic culture, whereas in the United States, everybody is nobody until they make a name for themselves. Although both ideologies target the same standard, to maximize the individual’s potential, the means to that end see different landscapes.

Landscapes are a minor character in the film. Nonetheless, they conceal a greater deal than they reveal. Contrasting the vibrant colors of the Californian landscape at the end of the film with the initial dry, ancient and colorless look of Kabul, the film closes the circle of atonement that surrounding the story with a touch of hope. The lopsided smile of a convalescing young Shorab(Ali Danish Bakhtyari) serves as a harbinger of change. It opens the door for Amir to yell “For you, a thousand times over” and with the pronunciation he clears his past pains sprinting, with the lethargic athleticism of a writer, to run the kite.

I must add that visually, the marvel of the film lies in the effects -- sound and visual -- of the actual kite runs. The extras involved in these sequences are so believable, or adept, that if you have ever flown a kite you will find your hand circling just as theirs. By the end of the day, the film is a forgettable representation of an unforgettable story. They don’t cancel each other out.