The Tragedy Of Rana Naidu

One of the worst side-effects of the influx of OTT platforms, is the need to choose what to watch. That’s one thing I miss about the cable television era.

With televisions, you browse through different channels like an alien from Neptune voyeuristically watching different earthlings. You choose which party you wish to crash – a movie, a show, a song. If it doesn’t seem like your vibe, you exit and crash another. Choosing to watch something on OTT seems like committing to a marriage.

The ranking system on the apps was supposed to make it easier for us to choose. But so starved of content are we in India, that anything noteworthy that releases on OTT finds itself ranked as No.1.

And so it was with mild curiosity that I set out to watch the No.1 show in India last week – Rana Naidu – the Indian adaptation of Ray Donovan on Netflix. This is not a review of the series per se, but something about the series struck me as real tragic.

The makers make a bold choice by casting Telugu stars Venkatesh and Rana Daggubati as the father-son duo with a bloody history. A choice made even more interesting by the fact that they are real-life uncle and nephew. Rana is a 3rd generation member of a dynasty that has been making movies for decades. It is not uncommon for sons of producers to join films, but Rana’s filmography is rather unique. Most star kids debut with safe films that involve four fights, five songs and a heroine with the IQ of a vending machine.

But Rana chose to debut with a completely non-massy film Leader, the story of a young Chief Minister learning the ropes of politics after the demise of his father. Since then, Rana has chosen to do films that are slightly off-beat in nature. Ironically though, he is known for the ‘massiest’ of his films – the Bahubali series.

And then there’s his uncle – Venkatesh. A man known for taking up the safest projects. A three-decade long filmography built on surfing the tides of the times. Go through Venkatesh’s filmography and you’ll get a fair picture of what was working at the time in Telugu cinema.

For readers unfamiliar with Telugu cinema, here’s a bit of a background. Venkatesh was the third of the trio of youngsters who were taking Tollywood by storm in the 90s. If Bollywood had the three Khans, Tollywood had Chiranjeevi, Nagarjuna and Venkatesh.

Chiranjeevi is probably the most well known – the only outsider among the three. Who created his own legacy and settled his entire clan as one of the power families in the industry. 

Nagarjuna is the second most known outside the Telugu states. He made a few Hindi films and also infuriatingly kissed Raveena Tandon in Agnivarsha – creating conflicting feelings in my teenage heart. The man with the droopy eyes and a moustache thick enough to trap Dawood Ibrahim in it.

And then there was Venkatesh.

Walk into any Telugu household on a Sunday afternoon, and you’ll find the entire family giggling at a Venkatesh film. While his contemporaries were stabbing thugs and slashing sickles, Venkatesh played the guy who bought pickles on bicycles. While the others were hacking people and gyrating with teenagers, Venkatesh’s films were about a polite underdog winning over the girl and her family. His films were about the common man who uses love over brawns. He told the story of the nice guy. He was a simp before the word was invented.

His films never promoted a particular community or caste. Of course, it was the 90s and you needed to slash a few villains here and there. But Venkatesh’s films also tried to make you smile, giggle, and shed a tear.

Which is why I was interested in Rana Naidu as a concept. It allowed a veteran of the industry to play a badass who swears, fucks, and kills remorselessly. I can totally understand why it was a Hindi show made in Bombay. For the fans wouldn’t have let him make such a show in Telugu.

For you see, Telugu audiences are extremely touchy about their stars. A standup comedian once cracked a joke on Mahesh Babu, and the association of movie actors and producers sent him an official letter demanding an apology for the joke! Even if a star wants to experiment, his fans will not allow him to.

As a show, Rana Naidu is mediocre at worst, and mildly engaging at best. In many ways, Rana Naidu is the latest in a long line of web series produced in India. Somebody in the offices of Netlifx, Hotstar and Amazon decided that Indians want just ONE kind of web series – those filled it’s guns, gangs, and gaalis. The kind of web series where everybody says gaandu and behnchod while sipping their morning chai. Ever since Sacred Games became a hit, we have been served similar shows – all with the same beats, the same stories, the same characters. So for the regular audience, Rana Naidu might be just another web series.

But for Telugu folks, a show like this is nearly inconceivable. Which is why I was thoroughly amused by the reactions the series garnered in the Telugu states. In online reviews, viewers passionately implored others not to watch the series with their families since it contained graphic violence, and a lot of swear words. The series was never promoted as family-friendly, but Venkatesh has always been the one that brought families together. I could only imagine the horror people would have experienced watching Venkatesh abuse and solicit prostitutes.

This further piqued my curiosity, and I sat down to watch the series. Rana Daggubati seems to be having fun in the series – using his impressive physicality to good effect. He swears with all the enthusiasm of a teenager newly acquainted with colourful language, going through the entire gamut of swear words – Gudda (ass), yerripooka (mad pussy) and modda gudu (suck my dick).

But Venkatesh is not allowed to do that. When he has to swear, he says ‘G’ instead of gudda. Imagine a gritty web series where the hero is constantly saying ‘Main tera ‘G’ maar doonga’, ‘Main tera ‘G’ phod doonga’. It’s hilariously absurd.

And that’s what makes it so sad. Down South, stardom is akin to electoral politics. People will worship you, emulate you, and fawn over you. They will do abhishekam and pooja of your cutouts and storm theatres in hordes even to support a terrible movie. But in exchange, you are required to abide by an unwritten code of conduct. One wrong move, and you are answerable to the fans. Your fans will put you on a pedestal for decades – give you money, fame and success. But the same folks won’t let you break out of your shackles. They won’t let a 62 year old man experiment with his roles at an age when most uncles take VRS and shift permanently into their smartphones.

Rana Naidu might have been created as a gritty thriller that explores the blood-hardened equation between a father and son. But it ends up becoming a sorry example of Indian stardom and the heft of fans’ expectations.

And that really, is the tragedy of Rana Naidu.

***

Stop Assigning Tasks to Everyone You Meet!

Till a few years ago, I was what could be described as ‘gregarious’. I liked stepping out, meeting new people, making friends and hanging out with said friends.

But over the last few years, I have become increasingly hesitant to step out of my house. The prospect of having to meet people seems daunting. It’s a little ironic that this coincides with the time I decided to become a writer and stand-up comedian. But the reason is a very specific one. Ladies and Gentlemen, kindly brace yourself for the kind of rants you hear from old men who reach the bars early.

Every generation has a different set of societal pressures. A hundred years ago, there was pressure to work in one’s ancestral property to provide food. A few decades ago, the pressure was to get married, have kids, and produce mediocre progeny to completely unnecessary dynasties. In today’s times, it’s a different kind of pressure.

The pressure of meeting people who randomly meet you, assign tasks to you, and vanish. That’s the reason I detest meeting people these days. Nearly every person you meet assigns some or the other task to you, whether you know them or not. It’s a rampant, vile practice that nobody speaks about. Everybody you meet is adding to a gigantic, imaginary To-do list in your head.

These task-assigners come in various shapes, sizes and categories.

THE WOKE PEOPLE

Most people assume that performing comedy in front of right-wing rogues is the toughest. Surprisingly, right-wingers do possess a sense of humour. The real problem are the left-wing, woke people. They have woken so much out of their slumber that any joke that doesn’t fit their moral text book needs to be put to sleep. In fact, apart from woke people, the only more dangerous place to tell a joke is in front of a pride of lions in the Gir forest! For a woke person, there is no perfect intellectual. The idea of a perfect woke person is a constantly shifting flagpole that is humanly impossible to adhere to.

I had the rare misfortune to host an Open Mic at a vegan restaurant in the city. The kind where rich folks wear kurtas and sit on mats in order to remain ‘grounded to their roots’. Vegans are the most intolerable among the woke-folks. Of course, people are free to make their own dietary choices, but it’s the sanctimonious ‘I’m doing it for the planet’ tone that is intolerable.

I mean, Gandhi fasted for years and he’s called a chutiya on Twitter. But Neha wants to be respected because she said ‘No’ to paneer! Give me a fucking break!

I was performing a silly joke about Shah Jahan and how he cut off the workers’ hands because the Question Mark wasn’t used in Indian languages in the 16th century. Right in the middle of a joke, I got interrupted by an audience member. I called her out for interrupting me in the middle of a joke, and we spoke after the show.
‘That joke is able-ist’, she said.
‘How?’
‘Well, it is the perspective of an able-bodied person who is mocking people without hands’.

Have you ever had a moment when as an atheist, you begin to believe that God exists? That God created somebody this stupid only to make their ancestors pay for ghastly crimes? It was one of those moments.

‘You do know that it’s a myth, right? There isn’t really enough evidence to prove that Shah Jahan actually cut off people’s hands after they built the Taj Mahal’.
She gave me the look I used to give my Maths teachers in school.
‘Even so, that joke is able-ist. You are perpetuating a violent idea through your joke’.
‘Are you telling me people are going to listen to that joke and cut off other people’s hands?’
‘…Ahem, maybe you should choose to read up on Disability Studies, and you wouldn’t be so insensitive in your jokes’.
‘Why don’t you tell me what the studies say?’
‘I’m sorry, it’s not my responsibility to educate you about the world’.

That’s the thing about woke people. They are constantly dropping names on Social Media. You should read this. Maybe watch that. For you see, I’m an educated person willing to debate my views on social media for hours, but I do not possess the skills to summarise what I have learnt in a couple of sentences.

In that sense, I like that right-wing folks do not assign any task to you. They are absolutely sure of their views. If you disagree, you can go fuck yourself. Irrespective of whether you agree with their opinions, it is hard not to be impressed by the confidence. But debate with a woke person, and you will be tasked with reading three books, a couple of essays on EPW, and four academic papers on JStor before you’re worthy of having an argument!

THE RECOMMENDERS

If the woke-walkers are an army of brain-dead people marching at you while echoing each other’s opinions, they can only be defeated by their worthy opponents – the Recommenders.

These are people who have watched a series or film and can’t stop fucking raving about it. ‘OMG!!! YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED THAT SERIES? Are you serious? You’re a critic. You SHOULD watch it. MUST. OUGHT TO. BETTER WATCH IT’.

If the recommenders are an army marching, they are commanded by seniors in their own army. The recommending generals who make recommending a competitive game of tennis.

‘Have you watched Better Call Saul?’
‘No, I haven’t. But OMG, have you watched Fargo?’
‘No, I haven’t. But I’ve watched The Wire. Have you?’
‘No. I haven’t’.
‘You MUST watch it. It’s one of those shows that will blow your mind’.

This game has no rules, and no winner. It can go on for a few minutes, hours, or the entire night. But the recommenders are also guilty of another crime. If you ask them to describe the show, they mostly refuse. ‘I can’t describe it. I’ll do a shoddy job. You MUST watch it’.

What they’re essentially saying is that they have the time and resources to watch a show that ran for an entire decade, but cannot be bothered to indulge you in a two-minute summary. Because THAT would require some skills and intelligence.
‘You just watch it. It will blow your mind’.
Everything seems to blow the minds of recommenders. It is a mind or a school in Pakistan? To get blown every Friday??

THE NUMBER SHARERS

The third in the list are those that immediately want to exchange numbers after meeting you.

I have met people at parties with whom the only commonality I shared was to belong to the same species. ‘Give me your number, I’ll give you mine’. I thought this was true only in case of pretty women, but apparently, it’s a rampant social disease.

Despite the fact that it takes 2 seconds to find someone one by searching on social media. ‘Give me your number, I’ll call you’, they say. And then stare at you till you take out your phone. ‘Unlock your phone. Use the swiping pattern. Let me see it so I can theoretically know everything about your life. Unlock your phone RIGHT NOW and save my number. Or I’m going to stare at you till you drop dead’.

The number-sharers are not easily pleased though. Some of them will take out their phones and give you a call. ‘I called you’, they’ll say. ‘That’s my number. Save it’. Trapped like a teenager in Shakti Kapoor’s bedroom, you have no option but to nod.
‘Give me a call when you’re in this locality the next time’.
Sure.
‘And let me know if you have any shows coming up, man. Just ping me on WhatsApp or something’.
Sure.
‘And oh, have you watched this series…?’

THE WRITERS

As a culture, we have strange ideas of writing and writers. When I tell people that I’m a writer, the first question I get is ‘What books have you written?’. It is hard for people to wrap their heads around the fact that there are other types of writers than authors.

We have made writing so performative, so cliched – that an entire generation of youngsters is more comfortable solving complex mathematical equations to arrive at one common answer, than write a short essay that displays their uniqueness. But even though I belong to the camp of writers myself, writers are one of the worst committers of the crime of assigning tasks.

‘Hey, can you read what I’ve written? Do let me know what you thought’.
No hello, no introduction. No cursory line of courtesy asking if I would be interested to read their work. Forget niceties, there is no context to what was sent – no summary, no one-para description of the content within. I am supposed to open the document and plunge into ‘EXT. DAY. SCENE 1 – A dusty Jeep arrives outside the village. We see a child inside the Jeep, with a snake around its neck’.

I have had one dude send me his script over 5 long WhatsApp messages. Another dude met me at a party after a few years and cribbed about me not giving him feedback. That’s the thing about writers – while their wallets are thin, their egos are massive. If you do not reply to their messages, they take it as a personal insult. ‘Since you are a professional writer’, the dude would say to me in the balcony as we passed joints, ‘I expected you to respond professionally’.

I think the problem lies in the fact that writing is considered an art. And because it’s considered an art, people don’t realise that to review it is actual work.

THE FILMMAKERS

I review movies professionally, and as a reason I get sent at least 20 to 30 videos every week. Most of them have no introduction, or summary, or any sort of hint about what the video might contain. Just thrown my way with the cursory message that says, Hey, check this out.

I understand that film making is a tough business. But how do you expect to be taken seriously when you don’t even follow the basic rules of professionalism? The common message attached to the video links go something like Hey, the video is just about 5 minutes so please watch it. Sure, it might take about 5 minutes to watch your video. But it will take me about 30 minutes to analyze it. And then another 30 minutes to put it in words. And then some more time to find you on social media and reply to your message and then discuss it with you.

So in essence, you are asking me to work for 3 hours. For free. Without even the basic modicum of courtesy. People think that it is some sort of a joyful activity to review films. But it is actual work. Imagine if you were a software engineer working. And I suddenly drop in at your desk and say, Hey, can you write this code for me, please? People do not even take permission. Do not even drop in a line that says, Hey, do you mind having a look? Do you have a few minutes free?

And if you do not respond to their messages, they come back and check in a weeks time. Like it was a fucking assignment to begin with. And when you fail to respond to their unprofessional messages, they get pissed off.

Which gives rise to the question. What is the professional way to ask somebody to review your work?

I don’t know what are the industry guidelines but I personally would like it if you first asked me if I would be interested to check out your work. And be ready to accept a ‘No’ if I’m busy. The next step would be to send a short summary along with the link. And then leave it for me to decide if I want to have a look or no. Because it’s a favour I’m doing you. It’s not a contract. I’m not getting paid.

*

So that was it. That was my rant. If you belong to any of the above categories, please stop assigning tasks to everybody around you. We live in tough times as it is.

Thank you for reading. Now please go to the comment section and tell me what you thought of my article. Right now!!

Irrfan

I have always hated questions that begin with ‘What is your favourite __________’

Favourite film/band/cricketer – these questions expect you to do a quick scan of your entire life and point to ONE definitive answer. It is such a rude thing to do – to make the person undergo the unwanted hassle of scrutinizing all their memories because you want a one-word answer that you will judge them for. It is no surprise that I scored the lowest CAT score among all the human beings I know of.

When Irrfan Khan passed away, I got a number of requests from people asking me to write about him. At first, I was hesitant. I had read a number of articles, and they all sounded like eulogies. Emotional outpourings whose every paragraph reminded you that he was no more. But that’s the thing about cinema – it keeps you immortal. It’s the reason Samba is known today, it’s the reason Tuffy the Dog still resonates with people.

*

At the risk of sounding heartless, I did not feel a personal loss when Irrfan passed away. I do not feel a personal connection with people I know in real life, so I’d be lying to say I felt that connection with Irrfan the actor. In fact, I do not feel a personal connection with anybody in cinema. This works as a double-edged sword when I have to review films. On one hand, it gives me an impartial view of the film. On the other hand, I feel handicapped when I think that I will never be as moved, as touched as other viewers of cinema. But let’s talk about Irrfan.

For a lot of Indians, the journey with Irrfan began much before they knew who he was. I had watched films like Ek Doctor Ki Maut, Karamati Coat and Kasoor, without knowing of Irrfan, or the magic he would go on to create on screen. In Chandrakanta the Doordarshan show with no visible ending – he played a set of twins that were unintentionally hilarious. I first noticed him in the criminally underrated Haasil. As a teenager, I would read Kaveree Bamzai’s reviews in India Today, and that is where I saw his name mentioned for the first time. Since then, I have watched nearly every Irrfan movie that has released.

While the entire nation might be mourning his demise, the truth is that most of his films played to empty halls. In spite of all the films he made by selling his soul out, Irrfan was quickly branded as an ‘off-beat’ actor. ‘I don’t want to think in a movie hall, yaar’, a friend of mine would say when I invited her to watch The Lunchbox. She chose to watch Phata Poster Nikla Hero instead. This is probably the reason why Irrfan had to sign a number of shoddy mainstream films. So that at least a fraction of those audiences would choose to explore the films that he truly cared about.

And boy, did he sign many of those shoddy films! Yours Truly had the pleasure of watching most of them in a cinema hall, using money earned through shitty call-center jobs. Charas: A Joint Effort, where he is saddled between Jimmy Shergill and Uday Chopra. Thank You, where he is cast alongside Akshay Kumar and Sonam Kapoor. And the string of blatantly copied Hollywood films – Chocolate, Footpath, The Killer, and Rog, among many others. Unfortunately, Irrfan rose to stardom in the 2000s, a decade notorious for blatantly copying movies from the West without even an iota of dignity or acknowledgment to the original makers.

Another often ignored aspect of Irrfan’s relatability were the advertisements he chose to do. Indian advertisements are minor soap operas – with families, drama and conflicts thrown in as 30-second vignettes. It is all over the top and dramatic. And there, Irrfan knew that to stand out, he had to look the viewers in the eyes, to simply talk to them. Whether it was the Hutch ka Chhota Recharge or Syska LED, most Irrfan Khan advertisements involved him staring directly at the viewers – making a point. He also shot a spoof with AIB when the entire film industry was shunning them, perhaps acknowledging that the Internet was no more the younger brother of the large screen. While his acting was nearly flawless, Irrfan certainly knew a thing or two about relating to his audiences.

And it wasn’t all just for the camera. In a country where the biggest stars are Muslim, Irrfan was the only Khan who called out maulvis on live television for their dogmatic views of the world. Ballsy, some would say. But what can possibly deter a person after he’s signed a film involving Sonam Kapoor and Bobby Deol?

*

Every time I sit down to discuss, write, or critique acting, I am reminded of a quote by Naseeruddin Shah. Shah says that most audiences do not have opinions on cinematography, production design, or background score. But every single viewer, whether they have had any experience with the form, can tell if the acting is good or bad. There is something about the trade that connects to people directly, that they instinctively know if the acting is good or bad.

Difficult as it is to gauge the art of acting for a non-actor like me, I shall attempt it nonetheless. While much has been written about Irrfan’s acting abilities, not enough has been said about his chameleon-like ability to adapt. On the surface, the primary reason why he stood out among his peers was the realism in his portrayals. In a world where everybody was on all the time at full blast, Irrfan would slip in a subtle 67-off-83-balls sort of innings to steady the ship. He was a ray of realism in the world of hyperbole. Whether it was the modulation of his voice, or the use of his eyes, or physical mannerisms.

But scratch the surface, and you’ll find that Irrfan was also smart at another level. He knew how to adapt to the film he was working in. He knew how to amp it up in commercial cinema. Watch for example Hindi Medium, Piku, and Madari – and you’ll find him dishing out the kind of heroic acting that mainstream Bollywood needs. One can only suspect it came from a deep understanding of markets, audiences and genres. To play subtle when needed, and unabashedly amp it up at other times. It is something other actors who are usually termed ‘underrated’ (Akshaye Khanna) have failed to do over decades. That was perhaps Irrfan Khan’s biggest strength. While everybody in the industry was trying to either fit in, or stand out – he had mastered the art of standing out even while fitting in.

When I re-watch his films, it is this trait of his that distinctly stands out. For an actor trained in acting and theater, he steals the thunder from established movie stars. Watch Piku, and you will find him effortlessly slaughter Amitabh Bachchan – the biggest legend in Indian cinema, and Deepika Padukone – the biggest female actor of the time. Watch Life in a Metro, and you’ll find him overshadowing an otherwise talented cast of Kay Kay Menon, Konkona Sen Sharma and Sharman Joshi. In Haider, where Vishal Bharadwaj miraculously managed to extract a decent performance from Shahid Kapoor, it is Irrfan’s cameo that kicks ass.

Perhaps he always thought of himself as the outsider. That must be the reason why his best roles were those of outsiders. The ghost in Haider, the older bachelor in Life in a Metro, the exasperated CBI officer in Talvar, the cheating right-hand in Maqbool, the immigrant in The Namesake, or the lonely widower in The Lunchbox (read my review of the film here)

Of course, there will be a number of regrets over the coming years. That the decade that he most flourished in was the decade of massive plagiarism. That he had to act in films that were rip-offs of legendary Hollywood films. Or that he never got to work with filmmakers like Anurag Kashyap, Zoya Akthar and Dibakar Banerjee. Or that he was just beginning to come into his own, to form a legacy that would live on for decades.

When he crossed the seas to Hollywood, he brought a certain dignity to his roles. For years, actors like Naseeruddin Shah, Anupam Kher, Om Puri and Aishwarya Rai had essayed roles in Hollywood. But they seemed ill at ease. Brown faces that sat uncomfortably among the rest. But when Irrfan took up roles in Hollywood films, he upped the game. Instead of masking his hard ‘r’s and ‘t’s with a fake accent, he let them stay, to show his uniqueness.

Irrfan Khan had a way of gobbling up everybody and everything else around him. Films lit up when he arrived on screen, and dimmed out when he left. He could stand tall among legends, and reduce them to caricatures.

Haunting. Perhaps that’s the ideal word to describe his screen presence. A feeling that stayed with you when you went home after watching a film. So you wanted to watch the trailer of the film once more before jacking off to sleep. In a country that sees more than 2000 releases over 365 days, Irrfan Khan had a way of creeping into the back of your mind and staying there for years.

Haunting.

The Legacy of Shah Rukh Khan

Every week on social media is a new life-lesson, and last week witnessed the outpouring of love and admiration for Shah Rukh Khan across my wall, my feed, my neighbourhood and my soul.

Every year, Indians rise up in admiration for a celebrity. Till a few years ago, it was Sachin Tendulkar’s birthday that littered my wall. Now, it is Shah Rukh Khan. I suspect this is a digital carrying-forward of Gandhi Jayanti and Buddha Jayanti and Hanuman Jayanti and all the other Jayantis that we observe in our country.

I also got to watch the David Letterman interview that was very smartly plugged in by Netflix. The interview was hardly a surprise, as was David Letterman. The entire episode seemed to be shot through the lens of exotic Asian superstardom. There were no questions about films or acting – and the only time Letterman mentioned a film (DDLJ), he got it wrong. Of course, Shah Rukh Khan bossed the interview. He is probably the only celebrity who doesn’t wear that insufferable mask of Indian humility.

The outpouring of Birthday messages made me realise something else about Shah Rukh Khan’s celebrity. There was no mention of his films or acting – it was sheer love, across ages and regions. Teenagers who were born after Shah Rukh Khan made his last great movie. Older people who were born before Shah Rukh Khan himself was. Even in my shows, when I ask people what movies they watch – I invariably get a few Shah Rukh Khan fans.

But there was something sad about it all too.

The tributes that were flowing in weren’t really about his craft or body of work. They were about his origin story – of a Delhi boy breaking into and ruling the big, bad world of Bollywood. They were about his wit and charm, with an almost resigned tone about the future of his films.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t watch Shah Rukh Khan’s films at the peak of his popularity. And yet, I had a personal relationship with Shah Rukh Khan’s films. I started watching films the year Shah Rukh Khan debuted on the screen. The first two films I ever watched were Hatim Tai – starring Jeetendra and bad VFX, and Maine Pyar Kiya – on a small, black-and-white television set. My family believed films were harmful for children and I was banned from watching films or humming their songs.

Which was all fine, till puberty perturbedly knocked on the door. Our class had a Narada-muni of sorts. A guy whose parents were cool with him watching movies at home. This guy would watch all the latest movies and come back to narrate minute-by-minute descriptions of the films.

Sometimes, the descriptions were more detailed than the films – ‘And then Rani Mukherjee comes to the college in a see-through pearl dress…

‘Just pearls?’

‘Just pearls’. 

The descriptions were also generally longer than the actual movie’s duration, which helped during long meditation and bhajan sessions.

Meditation sessions which were supposed to be about getting rid of thoughts, were filled with images of Shah Rukh Khan running in slow motion towards Anjali or Pooja or Neha. During vacations when I heard songs at shops or at weddings, I knew the exact situations the songs popped up in.

These were the years when Shah Rukh Khan was on a roll. Every year brought along a few hits by the man, and I would ask my friend to narrate and re-narrate the stories and imagine them all playing out in my head. Which is why, even though I find the word ‘fan’ rather cringey, I have a special relationship with his movies, and have probably cracked what he needs to do get back on track!

*

The last three decades in Hindi Cinema will be known as the era of the three Khans. Three non-brawny men who rewrote the rules of a 50-year old game that required the heroes to bash up goons and change society with one sweep of the hand.

Among the three, it is not hard to see that Shah Rukh Khan is clearly the better actor. There are films that nobody else could have pulled off. Using a blend of charm and vulnerability, the man changed the grammar of the Hero. It is difficult to imagine the current brand of Bollywood stars ruling the roost without the grammatical changes that Shah Rukh Khan made to the mould of the Bollywood hero. Shah Rukh Khan is also blessed with spontaneity, something that is rare in our superstars.

Unfortunately, after a point, the longevity of a star depends on the films that the actor produces. It is no surprise that the biggest Hollywood superstars – Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio produce their own films. And that is where Shah Rukh Khan has struggled.

Films produced by Shah Rukh Khan all have one common factor. On paper, they all seem game-changing and genre-bending. But when they finally materialise, they bring along all the excitement of semiya upma.

From Asoka to Ra.One to Zero, the films have done so badly, I’m surprised Bejan Daruwalla hasn’t asked the production house to be rechristened Lemon and Green Chillies Entertainment.

And at the other end of the spectrum is Aamir Khan. Mostly a template of stock expressions being played out over 30 years. His dialogue delivery from Andaz Apna Apna to Secret Superstar is honestly much the same. There are stock expressions for anger, sorrow and resolve. But Aamir Khan is a great producer, and that is half the battle won.

The role of a producer, the visionary behind the project – is enticing. But many great actors have burnt their fingers in trying to be the visionary. Sprawling film empires have been reduced to rented studios because of the unbending vision of its leader.

And here, I shall become Bejan Daruwalla. Aamir Khan should produce a film for Shah Rukh Khan. A film where he is required to only act.

For that is what he finally is. An actor. And maybe that is what people should remember him for. Nobody remembers Marlon Brando for his drunken outbursts. Or Sachin Tendulkar for his table tennis matches.

Shah Rukh Khan’s best performances have all been in films where he was just the actor. Where his only task was to emote in front of a camera, and play a different shade of vulnerable.

Aamir Khan should produce the film, and Shah Rukh Khan should act in it, and Salman Khan should provide outside support.

May be then the actor will be remembered for his acting, and not his wit, charm or other complimentary qualities.

*****

If you’re a fan of Shah Rukh Khan, you should read my other blogs on him:
1. Yeh Jo Bhes Hai Tera

2. How I knew Jab Tak Hai Jaan would be crap.

3. The World of South Indians according to Shah Rukh Khan. 

Who the fuck is Sooraj Pancholi?

The last two weeks were proof of what’s wrong with Hindi cinema.

People with too much money investing in useless star sons because of their jeans genes.

There was Imran Khan’s Katti Batti (Read review here), which made Aamir Khan shed tears again.

Picture Courtesy: Wirally.com

But perhaps more painful was the remake of Hero, starring Chhota Bhai, who was ‘introduced’ by Bhai.

Now, I think I have not been subtle about my appreciation for Jackie Shroff. Jackie Shroff is cool.

Jackie Shroff cannot watch The Big Lebowski because it reminds him of himself too much.

Honestly, you don’t expect too much acting from someone who was launched by Salman Khan, the Indian God of Not Giving a Fuck.

But this guy was just terrible. I was enraged why they couldn’t find someone better to replace Jackie Shroff. I mean, Jackie Shroff was the bomb.

He literally came off the slums.

He used to spend his days hanging out, when someone told him to get a few pictures taken. That’s how Brother got into modeling, and then he was noticed by Dev Anand who gave him a small role in Swami  Dada.

But it was when Subhash Ghai noticed him, changed his name from Jaikishan to Jackie, and directed him in Hero, things changed forever.

Jackie Shroff began to live his dream. He went on to star in over 200 films, and pick up three Filmfare awards. Somewhere down the line, dream and reality got muddled, with films like Naksha – a film that was written sometime in September, the month when you get the worst pot in the year.

Hey, it’s on Wikipedia. Must be true!

Jackie Shroff epitomized the Indian fantasy. A man from the ghetto making it into the big, bad world of success. In fact, that was what made Jackie Shroff stand out from the rest of the stars of the time. Compared to the Kumars and the Kapoors, Jackie possessed that one defining quality of the Indian middle class back then. Poverty.

Jackie Shroff was thin, scruffy, and had none of the suave politeness of other heroes.

But this Pancholi fellow looks like any other guy. Rippling muscles, tattoos with his own name, fire beer in the belly.

But no matter how much you criticize the taste of the Indian audiences, there’s a limit to how much they are willing to take. They saw through the farce. They will go watch a fuck-all film like Ready starring Bhai. But won’t fall for the photoshopped , glitzy marketing of chhota bhai.

In a way, I am glad the film tanked. Fuck Sooraj Pancholi.

If I were a Bangladeshi, I’d have released a hate video in support of Jackie Shroff and say hateful things.

But I know Brother won’t like it, so I am letting the matter go. Brother is a non-violent sort of guy.

Peace.

Baahubali Movie Review

If there is one thing that I absolutely hate in a cinema hall – it is kids.

They wail, and cry, or decide to take a walk between the seats and touch your hair, and expect you to turn around and pet them. Every time I notice there are kids around me in a hall, I pray that they die before the film starts.

Which was why, when I arrived in the hall for Baahubali, and found there were two kids near my seat, I prayed that they die. When the movie began, I had to double-check if they actually died, because they were silent all through. It is a testimony to how engrossing the film’s beginning is, that even those stupid kids kept shut. (But of course, they are kids, so they decided to cry later on in the movie!).

For a little context, Rajamouli is huge in Telugu cinema. For more than a decade, he has been churning out classic Good vs Evil, Prodigal Son stories that have all been hits – not even one of his films have been average grossers.

Rajamouli’s films more or less maintain similar themes – reincarnation, retribution, and a grand climax. He has perfected the archetype of the hero, villain, and most importantly, the Mother.

When I first saw the trailers of Baahubali, I was sceptical. The graphics didn’t look all that impressive, and I was worried it might just be another Telugu film that had ambitiously bitten off more than it could chew – like his earlier outing Eega.

I am not a huge fan of the ‘Big Budget’ theory. I fail to understand why people rave about terms like ‘Biggest Budget’, ‘Most expensive film’. Having a large budget doesn’t mean anything.

This scepticism comes from having watched earlier ‘most expensive’ films – Blue, starring a pregnant Sanjay Dutt and coke-glazed Zayed Khan, or Ra.One, which was so bad, they should have released a sequel called Tut.Two.

 

Clearly, having a huge budget is not a big deal. If you get a funder, you can make a film on as large a budget as you want, but it’s what you do with the budget that really makes a difference.

Rajamouli has painstakingly invested most of the money on his vision – lavish sets, the epic war scene. He doesn’t let you take your eyes off the screen even for a single moment.

If there was a grudge I had, it was to do with the slight compromises he had to make, to fit in songs. Perhaps we are not hindered by budgets and stories, but our own cinematic sensibilities. The songs seemed force-fed, and were definite speed-breakers in a film that was cruising along smoothly.

Which then brings me to the second part of any huge action film – inspirations.

There have been talks of action scenes ‘inspired’ from LOTR, and 300.

I don’t invest too much thought in such discussions. Cinema, like any art, builds up on its ancestors. For example, for a decade after Matrix released, all action movies had the slow-mo bullet flying in air shot. Even today, most Chinese-Hong Kong action films build on the Bruce Lee style of quick, hand-to-hand combat mode.

So I wasn’t too picky about which scene was inspired from where.

For me, all that matters is if it hasn’t been shamelessly lifted (without any context, just to latch on to an idea). Yes, there are a few shots that remind you of other action films, but the war scene is much more than that. In a way, right from the beginning, you are waiting for the war. And when it does come, it stays on for a good 30 minutes.

The performances, as in most Rajamouli’s films, are consistent – probably because most characters in his movies are archetypes. Prabhas is consistent, and Rana is a shade better. But it is Ramyakrishna and Satyaraj who take larger chunks of meat than they were promised.

If there was one complaint, it was of Tamannah. To watch her walk like a warrior, or use her sword, were laughably amateurish. It’s probably a grave she dug for herself – if you keep playing dandy, simpering doormat roles, it’s going to be difficult to be taken seriously when you actually put in the effort. Tamannah (What’s with the name change? It sounds like an orgasm!) sticks out like a sore thumb in a film with otherwise consistent performances.

Unlike most other hyped movies, you don’t feel cheated with Baahubali.

The best scenes aren’t the ones already shown in the trailers. The film is over before you know it, and that is saying something for the largest budget film in the country.

Rajamouli has his work cut out for the sequel.

**********

Dil Dhadakne Do – First World Armageddon

Farhan and Zoya Akhtar make films about First World Problems.

Dil Chahta Hai dealt with three overgrown college-goers dealing with life. Zindagi Milegi Na Dobara dealt with three rich Mumbai kids discovering their true calling through a trip to Spain. Rock On! dealt with a bunch of guys whose problem in life is that their rock band couldn’t click.

Not that I have a problem with it. I have made peace with the fact that a filmmaker will mostly derive from his/her own upbringing in life.

Which is why the Akhtars make films about South Bombay dudes and Anurag Kashyap makes films about factories, slaughter-houses, and gangsters in Bihar. Which leads me to think – if I ever make a film, it’ll probably be about cats and masturbation.

But getting back to the topic at hand, I don’t really have a problem with first world problem films. The Akhtars have always ensured that their scripts are tightly written. The screenplay exploits the conflict through sharp lines, beautiful locations, and music accompanied to Javed Akhtar’s lofty, if slightly dopey, lyrics.

Sadly, with Dil Dhadakne Do, there is a feeling of Been There, Done That. A multi-starrer depends heavily on its characters, and unfortunately, the characters in Dil Dhadakne Do seem jaded, un-fresh.

Ranveer Singh plays a soft, rich youngster. Now, Ranveer Singh essentially has two voices. One – the loud Gunday voice, the second the raspy, soft Lootera voice. He uses the Lootera voice, and yet slips every now and then.

Priyanka Chopra and Anushka Sharma play feisty independent characters, both of whom we have seen in umpteen movies. And frankly, after you see Sharma bashing goons with an iron rod, this is going to seem a bit tepid.

Farhan Akhtar, of course, plays what he always plays. The urban, non-conformist, liberal cool dude.

It’s like yesterday’s gajar halwa that was kept in the fridge overnight. It’s still gajar halwa, but there’s something amiss.

Interestingly, it’s the seniors of the film who salvage the movie.

Parmeet Sethi and Manoj Pahwa, saddled with bit-roles, put in their best.

Anil Kapoor, who seems to have let down his narcissistic guard after all these years, shines in every single frame. But the star of the show is Shefali Shah, playing Anil Kapoor’s wife. Watch her in the scene where she stuffs herself with cake, and you feel a yearning for what the film could have been.

Sadly, Dil Dhadakne Do never manages to cruise over its troubled, haphazard script. It’s just another First World Problem film that Farhan Akhtar stars in.

But that’s ok, because he’ll grow a moustache and play Veerappan, and win awards for it.

***********

A Very Late Review: Tanu Weds Manu Returns

Not to sound picky, but there’s something about grammatically wrong movie titles that gets my goat.

Like a Sohail Khan movie released a decade ago named ‘I Proud To Be Indian’. I understand that the story, the production, the budget – is yours. But how much does it cost to add an ‘am’ in the middle. Or may be a comma?

The makers of this film could have named it ‘Tanu Weds Manu Again’, or ‘Tanu Weds Manu After Returning’. ‘Tanu Weds Manu Returns’ makes no sense.

Right. Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, here’s what I thought about the movie.

*

There are a few things Anand L. Rai gets bang-on in his films.

Casting, for one.  If one were to forget his first two forgettable films, director Anand L. Rai has a knack for casting people who fit the role, even though it might not seem right in the beginning.

Another thing he gets right, is the sharp dialogues. His films are laced with interesting lines, mouthed by interesting characters. Tanu Weds Manu is no exception.

After reading the universally rave reviews, I got to watch the film very late in the day. And I’m sorry to say, I wasn’t blown away by it or anything.

I know the usual argument. That it is better than your average Bollywood fare. But somehow, over the years of watching, analysing, and writing about cinema, that lame description doesn’t cut it for me any more.

Tanu Weds Manu does the classic Bollywood trick of raising your expectations and slamming it down on your head with a gigantic Thud! at the end. I had problems with Manu’s choices in the film, but I’ll get to that later.

Deepak Dobriyal is a fine, fine actor. But I’m tired of seeing him as the hero’s sidekick. He has done it in Omkara, Tanu Weds Manu, and this one again. But if you’ve watched him in Teen They Bhai, or Shaurya, you’ll know he’s capable of much, much more.

Kangana Ranaut is undoubtedly the hero of the film. She reminds you of the time when Sridevi would make films with less famous actors and carry the film on her shoulders.

Having perfected the crazy-girl-with-big-heart role, Kangana nails the fiesty, if slightly cranky Tanu. As someone who has found her immensely watchable from her very first film, I am scared if it will get tiring after a point.

Which brings us to the second Kangana in the film – Kusum.

Tanu was probably an exaggerated stereotype on purpose. Because when Kusum comes on screen, she steals your heart. Ranaut puts so much into the role, that you forget it’s the same person at one point. Kusum is vulnerable, attractive, strong, and steals your breath away.

And when Manu (Madhavan playing the nice guy, a role he’s been playing since he was a sperm) has to choose between the two, is when my problems with the film really begin. Why would he choose the crazy, psycho, alcoholic Tanu when he has gone through the pains of getting married to another lovely girl?

I’m not trying to be Mohan Bhagwat here, but let’s do a comparison.

Tanu is moody, clearly dim-witted, critical and caustic, and uses men in her life because they are attracted to her. She also walks about the streets at night after getting drunk, and eats chow mein, which a Sanskari Indian girl shouldn’t do. 

Kusum on the other hand, is independent, caring and mature. She doesn’t shy away from fighting for her love, and most importantly – is superfantastico, smoldering hot. She’s so hot, she makes Tanu seem like a loud, insecure starlet in comparison. Then why would Manu choose Tanu over her?

I failed to put my head around this.

Ah! Because, love.

Love is supposed to be blind, and biased, and doesn’t need to follow logic or reasoning. I’m hardly an authority on love. Like Mahishasura, most of my decisions are driven by lust.

Love might be blind, and deaf, and HIV positive, but all that love bullshit is what ruins Tanu Weds Manu Returns as a finished product. If Manu chose Komal, I’d have been impressed. But with its present ending, the film is just about Meh!

I am waiting for the director to release a third part – Tanu Weds Manu and Returns with Komal. 

#Threesome

#SorryIKnowThatsATerribleThought

#KarnaPadtaHai

**********

Movie Review – Piku

Personally, I have never been a huge fan of Amitabh Bachchan.

I couldn’t connect with his 70s ‘Angry Young Man’ image. I have watched Zanjeer, Kaalia, Deewar, and Don, and thought he was terrific in them. But ever since I have started actively following films, Amitabh Bachchan was just a caricature.

He would do the same role – the powerful patriarch with the powerful voice – over and over again. Every single director who signed him would give him a different version of the same role.

Black was a shitty film with terrible acting. Sarkar was just RGV fusing his AB and Godfather fetishes into one dimly lit movie. Baghban made me want to pull my hair out in frustration, and then reach for my neighbour’s.

Piku, surprisingly, does away with the AB frills.

In a film that stars tall actors, Amitabh Bachchan towers over the others in every way possible. Given a role by director Shoojit Sircar that lets him stretch his hands out and have fun, Amitabh Bachchan slips into his character and stubbornly refuses to step out of it.

*

Piku talks about parents, but chooses a path that no other film earlier has dealt with.

We have been shown films where parents are sacrificing, idealistic, loving and caring. But no film has ever touched upon one important aspect of Indian parents – that they are stubborn. That they refuse to budge from their standpoint, even if times around them have changed, even if their children are a different generation.

Our scriptures expect us to respect our parents just because they are parents. Matru Devo Bhava, Pitru Devo Bhava – we are told. I have always been baffled by this idea. Anybody can marry and have kids. It requires no special skills. How then does the simple act of reproducing elevate you to the level of a God?

There is no nice way to put this. But Indian parents are selfish.

And Piku brings this point out beautifully.

I will leave out the details so that you can go watch it (if you haven’t already), but let it suffice to say that director Shoojit Sircar finally paints a realistic picture of Indian households. And the transitional pains we face on a daily basis. The wide chasm between age old morals and the hustle-bustle of the modern world and its demands.

Deepika Padukone barely puts a foot wrong. Surprisingly, Irrfan Khan seems like the weak link in the film. His newly found English accent is a little difficult to come to terms with, especially since he speaks his Hindi lines in the same old Vodafone Chhota Recharge kar lo voice. And his English lines (A’right) seem a little forced.

Minor hiccups if you aren’t a picky viewer, because Irrfan Khan does more with his eyes than his voice. Moushumi Chatterjee is spot on as the party-popping Bengali aunt, as are Raghubir Yadav as the doctor who attends to AB’s idiosyncrasies.

But finally, Piku belongs to a 70 year old man. A 70 year old man who has finally found a reason to stretch his hands out and have fun.

***********

A Script for Chiranjeevi’s 150th Film

There have been reports in the Telugu film circles for a while that Chiranjeevi (who’s lovingly called MegaStar by his fans) has been looking for a script for his next film – one that is stated to be his 150th.

However, if our brothers at film news channels are to be believed, the right script still seems to evade the makers.

As we all know, every big budget Telugu film is completely different from the other. They all have completely different plots and characters, and one could never predict how things are going.

Along these lines, may I humbly present a possible script for Sir’s next film. This script, needless to say, is completely new, and fresh. Like the dew drops on Soundarya’s navel in the famous song Jabilli…sorry, I am getting carried away here.

Here is the script.

*

The film begins with a flashback, shot in grim tones of sepia or greyscale. A child is watching from behind a wall, scared. He must be about 10, clad in a white shirt and brown knickers.

Across the wall, a group of men have encircled a middle aged man. Trapped within the circle, the middle aged man holds a metal rod in his hands, just as the circle gets closer around him. We see a man watching coldly from a distance, a man with a thick moustache, white shirt, and thick gold chains around his neck.

Close up of the boy’s face – he wipes off the rain from his eyes, as they grow wider – KHACHAAK – blood splatters across his face. Through the reflection in his eyes, we see the man has fallen to the ground, the metal rod lying limp next to him. The boy covers his mouth to stop himself from crying, as the goons leave the scene.

The screen fades to black, as large letters spread across the scene –

ROWDY BAABAI.

*

We now have the intro song.

Sir has grown up now. We have a nice song with Kali Mata’s procession in the background. Sir is dancing along with his friend Ramesh, and other friends from the colony.

He is Muruga – The Fearless.

The intro song introduces Sir as the youthful, bubbly star that he is. 

Then, Sir meets heroine – Suvarnalata.

She is a demure, silent girl. She doesn’t like love, doesn’t believe in it. But one day, a dark man tries to touch her on the way to college. Muruga reaches the scene and beats him up, and Suvarnalata notices him for the first time.

When she goes home, she is thinking – ‘Do I love Muruga?’

She is dressed in a pink nightgown, and in the next song, we show the innocent beauty of a girl.

First para, she is sleeping on a rose bud – not flower, only bud. ‘Why do I feel like this?’ she sings. And then, Muruga enters from the right. Suvarnalata looks at Muruga, and the rose bud under her slowly opens up into a rose flower.

In the second para, as she is sleeping on the rose flower, Muruga jokingly pinches her navel, and a pigeon comes flying and lands on it. Muruga keeps a grape on her navel, which the pigeon picks up and eats. Suvarnalata hides her face abashedly.

In the third para, Muruga pinches her navel, and then slowly climbs up on her. He balances on her navel and starts doing Yoga on it.

By the end of the song, Suvarnalata and Muruga are in love. 

*

Next, villain’s entry.

Suvarnalata is walking home one day, when SCREEEEEECH! – a jeep parks in front of her. A few goons step out, pull her into the vehicle, and zoom off.

The heroine calls out, but nobody responds – women of the neighbourhood close their doors in fear. Frantically, the heroine pulls off the golden chain from her neck and flings it on the road.

The hero returns home, and sees the chain lying on the floor. He picks it up, looks at the heavens and screams – SUVARNALATAAAAAAA !

He then looks down at the tyre tracks and begins running in the direction of the Jeep. We show time and distance passing quickly, as the hero runs and runs and runs, till he reaches the Jeep.

He leaps over a car and lands atop the Jeep, shattering the windows and windscreen. The goons step out, one of them holding Suvarnalata by the hair. Muruga pulls out the exhaust pipe from the bike and clobbers them one by one. He pulls Suvarnalata out from their grasp and holds her close to his chest.

Just then, a phone rings, it’s the villain calling one of the goons. Muruga bends down to pick up the phone. Then, full punch-dialogue takes place between the two.

We see that the villain is the very same man who killed the school teacher in the first scene. They talk to each other, full punch-dialogue.

‘You are a small fish in the aquarium. I own the sea inside which there is a submarine, inside which the aquarium is placed’.

‘I am the lion who eats buffalo meat twice a day, you are only a zebra. When I reach you, you will have stripes of black, white, and red’.

‘I am the sun, you are the eclipse. You scissors, I rock’.

‘Jaya jaya hey Mahishasura Mardini Ramya Kapardhini Shaila Suthe’.

‘Jingalala ho, jingalala ho, hurr hurr hurr’. 

By the end of the conversation, the hero and the heroine throw open challenges to each other. Then, they accept each other’s challenge. 

* 

Now, we meet the second heroine.

She is modern, bubbly, wears shorts, and shows her navel to the world. She sees the hero when he is rescuing a small beggar kid from the footpath, and bites her lower lip in passion.

She wants the hero very badly, but Muruga only has feelings for Suvarnalata. He is only mildly interested in this girl – Mona. Mona sings a song for Muruga to get his attention – ‘Sex, sex sex. I want sex. Gimme gimme sex, ra bulloda‘.

But Muruga only smiles and pinches her navel.

Here, we also have the Comedy Track. Brahmanandam plays an astrologer who cheats people. He reads their hand and makes a prediction, which his sidekick immediately executes. For example, he tells a woman that if she doesn’t hand over her gold chain, it will start raining. His friend is sitting on top of the tree and he pours a bucket of water on her LOLOLOL.

Brahmanandam tries to con Muruga, but he smashes his skull in with a PVC pipe. 

* 

Muruga is walking home when he smells some food cooking. The wisps of smoke enter his nose and it sends electric shocks through his body. His eyes well up with tears and he begins to look around frantically.

He runs in slow motion, the smell getting stronger and stronger, stirring memories in him from an age long forgotten. He keeps running till he reaches a small hut.

From inside the hut, an old, blind woman steps out. She is frail and poor, and when she senses the hero standing in front of her, she calmly calls out – ‘Muruga, it’s you, isn’it it?’

Muruga walks towards her, and falls down at her feet. It begins to rain as he weeps, holding her feet. Yes saar, you guessed it right – the old woman is none other than his Mother.

She calls him into the house, and we see that he also has a sister. She is a young girl, wears salwar-kameez, and ties her hair up with a ribbon. She also starts crying profusely when she sees Muruga.

Mother makes Muruga sit on her lap on the floor and feeds him with her own hands. Muruga is overwhelmed – it is the same taste, the same flavour. His tears continue to flow like Godavari river. 

*

Suvarnalata sees Muruga on the road, giving a lift to Mona. She feels jealous and decides to teach Muruga a lesson.

When Muruga returns home, she slowly takes off her clothes one by one, and puts on a jeans and T-shirt. She is looking very fresh and juicy, our mango crazy. He smiles a coy smile, and – cut to song.

Muruga is dancing with both the heroines. He is in the middle as both Suvarnalata and Mona are dancing for him. This is full rocking-folk song. Lyrics are – ‘Bring your sugarcane into my machine. I will take out your juice and drink it. Bring your cucumber into my kitchen, I will chop it and eat it’.

Then, again Comedy Track.

Brahmanandam finds the hero walking on the road and decides to cheat him again. This time, he’s dressed as an LIC Agent and promises to give people five times their investment in a week. He narrates the same story to Muruga, who picks up a cycle chain, smashes him with it, and ties him up to a tree LOLOLOL.

*

Muruga gets a call from his friend Ramesh (who was seen dancing with Muruga in the intro song). Ramesh informs Muruga that the villain – Surya – was seen trying to set fire to their basti. 

Muruga immediately rushes to the scene, and finds the villain there. He single-handedly beats them all to pulp, and the villain escapes in the last minute.

While escaping, he turns around and fires a bullet. Ramesh sees it and rushes to save Muruga, and is felled down by the bullet. Muruga screams and rushes out to hold Ramesh, who is spouting blood from his mouth. He smiles at Muruga, runs a blood-stained hand across his face, and says ‘I couldn’t do it, my friend. You do it for me. Kill him, cut his body, and feed it to – aaaaaaa…breathes his last.

Muruga is devastated, and looks up at the sky (aerial shot), as it begins to rain. 

Suvarnalata calls Muruga and asks him to meet her. They meet on her terrace and Rain Song starts.

In the first para, they are dressed in traditional dresses. In the second para, the heroine is dressed in Apsara costume. Muruga makes her lie down on a bed of roses and eats fruits off her navel.

In the third para, we have a folk setting. The heroine is dressed in a half-saree and Muruga in a kurta-lungi. At the end of the song, he drives a tractor across Suvarnalata’s navel. 

Brahmanandam again comes to Muruga, this time dressed as a scientist who tells people that gold and silver ornaments are bad for the skin. Many people are fooled by Brahmanandam and his assistant, till they meet Muruga.

Muruga brings out a chainsaw and cuts through both of them. He then douses the body parts with petrol and sets them on fire LOLOLOL. 

*

Back to action.

Muruga is returning home, as he sees a circle of people around his house. He walks up to the circle, to find that the villain has raped his sister. She lies on the floor, the sleeves of her dress torn open.

Mother is wailing next to a pillar, and the hero rolls his fist into a ball. We see a nerve running up from his wrist, all the way up to his neck. There is thunder and lightning, and Muruga looks up at the sky and screams – SURYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Surya is sitting in his house, on a swing. There are 20 Tata Sumos outside the palatial building. The hero walks into the building all by himself; the wind is making his hair fly in slow motion.

Muruga kills all the goons with his bare fists. Some of them fly into walls nearby, the others lie limp on the ground. The hero keeps doing it till there are only two men standing – Muruga and Surya.

They are in the courtyard now. Surya takes out a gun and shoots Muruga. He stumbles backward and falls down. Life is slowly leaving his body, when his fingers feel something on the ground.

Using blood-soaked fingers, he digs into the mud, and lo and behold! – finds the metal rod that his father had held in his hands. As Surya is smiling a smug smile, Muruga stands up, runs towards him, and spears him with it.

Surya is dead. Muruga falls and down and cries. This was the same spot where his father had died. Life has come a full circle.

Muruga draws a full circle with the metal rod and plants it in the middle.

*

Back in the house, Muruga is standing next to his mother.

Suvarnalata walks in dressed in a saree, and Mother blesses her. Suddenly, Mona walks in too, also wearing a saree. Mother looks in the direction of Muruga, smiles, and blesses her too.

Camera pans up to the wall, and there is a photo of Tirupati Balaji with two wives standing next to him. All three of them are smiling happily.

The whole family smiles in a snapshot, as the words appear on the screen – ITS JUST THE BEGINNING.

***********************

Movie Review : PK. Mostly OK, but a little pheekay.

Five minutes into PK, you feel a familiar sense of joy.

There are very few filmmakers in India who transport you into a different world like Hirani does. Of course, there is Bhansali, but the worlds he attempts to transport you to seem like the shreds of a bad MDMA trip.

Hirani, meanwhile, is a good tab on a sunny winter morning, where you can feel the chill on your skin, and the warmth in your eyes. And as you look around you, everything in your vicinity transforms into a joyous, delightful utopia.

Hirani’s films are distinct in their imagery – you could tell a Hirani film just by looking at a frame. The skies are blue, the clouds carelessly white. The buildings blemishless, the people good natured. And amidst the wonderland, is a hero who sets out to make you think.

I shall waste no time in going through the premise, as most reviewers and channels must have done it for you. What I’d rather say is that PK grips you from the very first frame. A joyride that barely lets you take a breather, PK is a winner all the way.

Watching it in a single screen theatre in Bhubaneswar, PK reminded me of the magical quality of films. There is no director in present day India who elicits the whistles, hoots, applause, laughter and tears in the way Rajkumar Hirani does.

Watching PK was cathartic for me. A throwback to the days when films could move an entire audience in a tidal wave of emotions. In a time of such attention deficiency when even two free seconds mean a quick message sent over the phone.

The person sitting next to me had his phone out in the beginning of the movie. But ten minutes in, he couldn’t do it anymore. He slipped his phone into his pocket, and his abnormally large elbow on the arm of the chair.

Every few minutes, his elbow would jiggle. And somewhere in the climax, he moved his elbow, ran his fingers along his face, and quickly brought the elbow back to the arm.

Sitting right next to me was a living testimony to what Hirani does with the medium of cinema, in a way that only he can.

If you haven’t watched PK yet, please go ahead and watch it.
***

Please do not read any further if you haven’t watched the movie. I’m serious. It’ll ruin your experience, and a brave, endearing film as PK deserves to be watched for an honest, unbiased first experience. You can always come back to read this section after watching the film, and tell me if it makes sense.
Good. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, here is another opinion on the film.

I laughed and hooted and cheered, but deep within, I felt a pang of pain. After the interval, the film slipped into familiar rhetoric territory. Somewhere in the beginning of the second half, I knew how the story would end. In my mind, I drew gigantic story arcs, connecting dots and covering up loopholes.

Deep within, I was fighting the greatest fear I have for a filmmaker – predictability.

In his last four films, Hirani has used a fairly simple but utterly remarkable formula. A charming hero who takes on a gigantic systemic bull by the horns and brings it to its knees in the most humane manner possible. Through the journey, Hirani makes you laugh, cry, and question a few things.

And yet, in PK, even though the theme is a pet peeve of mine, I felt uneasy. An hour into the film, I recognised the villain. Hirani’s villains are not so much characters, as they are ideas that prevail in our society. After that, it was a case of how, and not what.

My biggest fear is that Hirani will turn into a Madhur Bhandarkar – who uses the same character (a vulnerable pretty girl in a bad-wolf world) in different scenarios. Or a Shankar, whose hero singlehandedly sets right cancerous illnesses in society.

There’s nothing wrong in being a Bhandarkar, or a Shankar. Only, it kills the joy of listening to a story. Of having it throw you off your feet.

It was a wonderful film, Mr. Hirani, but may be it is time to show Vidhu Vinod Chopra the finger. He has made crores and crores riding on your immense talent, and spawned off many bastard children with the golden cow you gave him.

May be it’s time, Mr. Hirani, to do a quirky crime thriller next. Or a gut-wrenching epic saga. The pothole is right in front of you, Mr. Hirani, each getting larger with every outing of yours.

Please be a Woody Allen, whose only predictability is his brilliance. Not a Madhur Bhandarkar, who, well, is a bit of an idiot.

Reviewing Fanny

I always thought Indians would connect to Finding Fanny. The men, at least.

Since the time we turn 18, much of our energies, talents and thoughts are expended on chasing pussy.

Now that I have made the customary first joke so that you open the link, here’s the review.

I have been mostly ambivalent towards Homi Adajania’s films. Being Cyrus was mildly interesting, but it didn’t blow my mind or anything. Just about tickled it with a feather, probably. Cocktail was problematic on different levels.

Finding Fanny, right from the first scene, makes it clear that it isn’t going to pander to you. You have to sit through the man sitting three rows behind you slurp on his Coke and say ‘Slow hai, behenchod’.

The film takes its time picking itself up, which could either pique your interest, or leave you bored. At the risk of doing a Rajeev Masand, who has a spectacular knack for revealing important plot points, let me try to summarise the plot.

Or wait, fuck it. Why should I?

*

One look at the trailer, and you know there are interesting things in store for you. A cast of Naseeruddin Shah and Pankaj Kapur is a coup on any given day. The others – Dimple Kapadia, Deepika Padukone, and Arjun Kapoor – are merely playing catch up with the senior pro bros.

Watching Finding Fanny is a reflection of the difference between great and moderate actors. You see Dimple Kapadia act out a scene, just managing to walk the tightrope, in a laborious, onerous manner. And then Pankaj Kapur turns to her, smiles, and waltzes through his scene.

Deepika Padukone is skating on thin ice throughout the film. There are scenes where she spins around in a beautiful routine. And then there are others where her shoe is stuck in a soft patch of ice. But that could also be because I watched the Hindi version and when there is no link between lips moving and sound coming, I feel ill at ease.

What Padukone manages spot on, however, is to look smashingly pretty throughout. Which also makes you wonder, when someone is so naturally pretty, why do other directors paint her face till she looks like an Anime vamp ?

Arjun Kapoor, the actor who last gave us the heartwarming 2 States – The Story of My Two Expressions, puts in an honest effort. But there isn’t much you can do when your face doesn’t emote too much. He looks stoned all through, which might not be such a bad thing since he is [random Goan generalisation about Goa, hash, hippie, peace yo, cool brother, Boom Shiva].

*

Most of the reviews I hear from people said that the film didn’t move them enough. Which makes me wonder – are we constantly looking for films to move us? For films to shake the foundations of our emotional core in three hours? Look at our biggest hits, and most of them are epic, grandiose, larger than wife.

Finding Fanny might have its problems, but just the fact that the casting team did their work right, should give you enough reason to watch the film.

Don’t go in looking for the film to transform your life. One, it’s stupid. Two, if a three hour film can transform your life, you shouldn’t be walking into theatres. What with Arbaaz Khan directing Salman Khan in an Sohail Khan production, you might be a threat to society around you.

Finding Fanny is bold, and it is cheeky, and it expects a friend of you, not a devotee.

In a way, the film is like ordering food in a Goan shack. The cook steps out every half an hour, smokes a cigarette, and then walks back to the kitchen. When you ask him how long, he smiles.

The food finally arrives, slowly, swinging from this side to that.

How much you enjoy it depends on how hungry you are.

***

Movie Review: A Kick to Your Brain

At the onset, I understand what I am against here.

Writing a review for a Salman Khan film is a futile exercise. Like being Bappi Lahiri’s dietician. Nothing you do is going to affect anything in real. And yet, one has to go about one’s life with these pressures.

Kick is a remake of a Telugu film of the same name, starring Ravi Teja.

For those who aren’t acquainted with the Telugu film industry, a short background. Of all the film industries in the country, the Telugu film industry is the most nepotistic, caste-ridden one there is. All actors in the industry today are either sons or grandsons of actors. It is a dog-eat-dog world that is difficult to get into, and if you manage to get in, impossible to retain your place.

Among the Gandhi family that the industry is, Ravi Teja is one actor who made it on his own. There is a colony in Hyderabad – Krishnanagar – where all the strugglers of the film industry reside. Everybody from hawkers to auto drivers to cooks to waiters – everybody who resides in the colony has celluloid dreams in their mind, with just one actor to look up to – Ravi Teja.

In many ways, Ravi Teja’s films symbolise his struggle. He is always the crass, loud, goofish guy who manages to woo the smooth, svelte heroine. His lines take double entendres to a different level, his songs have triple meanings, he gets away with squeezing the girls’ lips, pinching their navels, and pressing their boobs.

Somehow, in his own weird way, Ravi Teja manages to pull off all that he does.

And Kick was his biggest hit.

 

*

 

Now, the problem with someone like Salman Khan doing a Kick, is that it will always be a sanitized version of the film. And then there’s the fact that Salman Khan does no real acting in his films.

He is simply waltzing around, mouthing lines, making faces, raising his eyebrows, and taking off his shirts. He is probably the only actor in the country (and perhaps in the world) who has no need for a script, acting, and direction.

“Director ne bola ‘Kick karte hain’, maine kick kar diya.”

If you made a three hour film of Salman Khan eating biriyani, it would still make 200 crores in three weeks. But anyway, since one has to review the film, let us get into the act.

*

 

Kick is the story of a guy who always wants a kick in life. Someone who goes out of his way to do things in different ways so that he gets an adrenaline rush from it. We all meet such guys in life; we just choose to call them assholes.

Along his weird antics, the hero (Devi – again, Salman Khan waving a middle finger to humanity’s need for naming people according to their gender) meets and falls in love with a girl. In typical Indian film style, he impresses her by doing a string of illegal things. He first bashes people and breaks property in a café. When he is arrested by the police, he goes to the police station, breaks furniture, and even strips the inspector to his underwear.

But since this is India, he goes viral on YouTube and the girl falls for him.

 

*

 

This goes on for a bit, till the girl is fed up with him for quitting jobs. For not ‘settling down’ in life. Salman being Salman, says ‘Fuck it’ and goes on to become a thief.

Not just a regular thief. But the suave, cool, kick-ass thief of the Dhoom 3 kind. The kind of thief who looks at 3D projections of plans and maps on his table, and zooms in and pushes them across screens.

Then, Randeep Hooda, who is probably going through some bad times and has signed up for the film, is engaged to the heroine and needs to catch a dreaded thief called Devil (10 points for scripting!!).

The next one hour contains some bizarre shit, thanks to extremely lazy writing. At this point, let us stop and appreciate the genius of the scriptwriting. And who has done it? Chetan Fucking Bhagat.

For all his bravado about writing, and his cribbing about not getting his due in the west, he fails to fill some basic plotholes. Take for example the scene where Devil is stuck in a river, with police surrounding him from all sides. In the next scene, he is in India planning his next heist? What happened in the middle?

Guess we’ll have to wait for a book titled ‘9 Ways I Had A Love Story and Change the Country’ to find out!

 

I slept off in the last 20 minutes, so I have no clue what really happened. But there are a few things that I noticed. Not that either of them are new to this film alone.

1. Loud Background Score: In spite of nearly seven decades of churning out musicals, Bollywood is yet to understand a background score. In most films, the background score is a loud rendition of the songs of film, in slow motion. In Kick, the background score is like a hungry 2 year old on cocaine, blaring into your ears, making you want to turn around and stab him in the heart. Thrice.
2. Hero-Villain Phone Call: Every Hindi action film has a scene where the hero calls up the villain/cop and has a long, dramatic conversation with him. The two of them are mouthing absolutely absurd lines, and each line is followed by a metal tune. Here is a sample:

 

Villain: I’m going to catch you. Be ready to listen to the music of death HAHAHAHA!

Hero: The wind cannot be caught, the sun cannot be burnt.

Villain: I like your confidence. I like how you talk, I will like how you die. Kim Kardashian has a nice ass.

Hero: Dog! Scoundrel!! You don’t know who you are talking to! Red is the colour of Chacha Chaudhry’s turban. I am rural, you’re urban.

Villain: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, How I Wonder What You Are.

Hero: Jai Mata Di, Let’s Rock. Jai Hind.

(so on and so forth)

 

*

 

Kick, true to its name, is a kick to your senses.

It is a kick to critics, to writers, and to cinema in general.

And yet, it will go on to earn 200 crores in 27 minutes. It stars our biggest star, and has been written by our greatest writer. And the director is a long time producer – another kick to all aspiring directors out there.

Go watch it if you’re into sadomasochism.

Movie Review – Too Stale!

Disclaimer: The post contains ‘spoilers’. However, if you watch the movie later on TV, you’ll realise they’re actually ‘money-savers’.

 

From the stable of Chetan Bhagat, comes yet another film that is targeted at the youth of the country. And yet, when you sit through the movie, you’re looking around frantically for a knife. And wondering how someone could devote a few years of their lives to such a steaming pile of crap.

Welcome to the land of Chetan Bhagat.

A land where professors pick students on the first day of class and humiliate them. A world where Tamilians call Punjabis ‘uncultured’ two minutes after meeting them. Where Punjabis tell a respectable Tamil family that they’re all dark-skinned, while having dinner with them. Where all students of IIMs wear specs – except the heroine of course. That’d make her unhot!

Two States is the Mahakumbh of stereotypes.

Where stereotypes of every colour, creed, and literary value meet to take part in a gigantic orgy.

The film is set in IIM Ahmedabad, where Krish, a Punjabi boy (who was also from IIT) is a student. He falls in love with Ananya, a Tam-Brahm who doesn’t look, sound, or act like a Tamilian at all. She pronounces ‘bahut’ as ‘bhot’, and ‘Punjabi’ as ‘Pnjaabi’. Because that’s how Tamilians talk.

Like all Chetan Bhagat heroines, she wears jeans as well as salwars, and is ready to have sex at the drop of a hat. But deep within, she’s a sanskari kudi who doesn’t want to go against the wishes of her parents.

The two of them complete their course and it’s time for placements. The boy applies for Yes Bank (because he’s a boy), and the girl applies to Sunsilk (because). And what mind-blowing replies they give, to get through their jobs.

When asked why he wants to join Yes Bank, the guy says ‘Because your bank is the best.’ And when the girl is asked ‘Why Sunsilk?’, she mumbles something about ‘Sunsilk Woman – Confident Woman’.

And then, the interviewers, who are actually ant-eaters in disguise, offer them the jobs. After which, the couple moves on to other first world problems. Like how to get married. Without pissing off parents.

When the parents are introduced, one feels a tinge of regret. That such actors are made to go through such tripe. Revathi manages to bring in some respect into her otherwise frivolous role, whereas Amrita Singh dives into hers uninhibitedly. And then, there’s Ronit Roy – a guy who usually manages to pull off intense roles with aplomb. But since it is Stereotype Carnival, he plays an abusive, alcoholic father. Completely different from his role in Udaan, where is a father of a boy who wants to be a writer. (In Udaan, the boy was a teenager. Here, he’s in his early 20’s. See? Subtle!)

And then there are the leads – the next-gen of Bollywood.

Alia Bhat brings in absolute zilch into the role, and in spite of her screen presence, carries just one expression throughout. Take for example the scene where Krish narrates the most painful incident of his life. When the flashback is done, she is smiling.

And it is the same smile she has when Krish proposes to her (in the middle of her Placements Interview), when she moves in with him, and when she cries during her wedding. Resulting in her looking like a Kareena Kapoor clone – everything from her voice modulation, her expressions, to the way she carries herself, has a distinct Kareena Kapoor hangover.

If Alia has one expression, Arjun Kapoor has half.

Whether he’s talking, walking, grimacing, grinning, or smiling – you feel absolutely nothing for his character. Making him seem like a pass-out from the Sanjay Dutt School of Acting – where actors are trained not to give a single fuck about the film they’re starring in.

*

But what hurts the film the most, is the lazy writing.

Dialogues have been lifted verbatim from the book. As if to prove that even if books and films are different media, Chetan Bhagat transgresses such banalities. And then, there are the morals that are thrown into the film. Otherwise log kahenge ki yeh sirf entertainment hai. Is se desh nahi badal sakti hai.

So Alia Bhat wins over her in-laws by solving a dowry problem. By humiliating the groom at his wedding, and asking him to be happy with the dowry he’s received, and stop whining for more. Or the scene at the end, where a voice-over tell us that our parents are actually just worried that we’ll forget them, and hence all this drama.

Thus blowing a gigantic kiss to patriarchy, regressive social norms, and 14th century values being practiced in 2014.

*

In the end, the film succeeds in becoming Chetan Bhagat.

It plays out to the galleries. In one moment, the narrator is a shy, introvert sort of person. In the next, he begins singing and dancing at college, and in weddings. The makers go on to make this abominable shit-fest, with the confidence that backing them, is the voice of the nation.

Chetan fucking Bhagat.

And in the end, that is what the film is. A shit-fest that will earn lots of money.

 

 

 

No way!!

Disclaimer:

• If you haven’t watched Highway, please go ahead and watch it.
• If you have watched Highway, go ahead and read the blog.
• If you like Jackie Shroff, you’re cool.

Right from the trailers, there was no doubt what Highway would be about. Stockholm Syndrome, the scenario when a hostage falls in love with his/her kidnapper.

So clearly, it was just a case of how, and not what.

Highway is a difficult film to ease into. The first ten minutes are montage shots of a truck going through different terrains, and a marriage video where women are selecting sarees for the wedding.

And then, the girl gets kidnapped, and taken hostage.

Journeys have been a leit-motif of Imtiaz Ali films. Jab We Met was about a couple who discover their love for each other over two journeys. Love Aaj Kal spoke about the journeys we need to embark on, for love, illustrated through parallel stories from two generations. And Socha Na Tha was…err…the beginning of Abhay Deol’s journey in cinema.

Now, this is where the problems in the film begin. The girl is kidnapped, and suddenly, she realises that she’s actually enjoying it. Enjoying the grandeur of nature, the open spaces, open air and the smiling sun, and other such first world luxuries.

She’s been manhandled, felt up, gagged, made to sleep in a dumpyard, and yet when she wakes up, she starts talking animatedly.

Here, as a viewer you are wondering: ‘What’s wrong with her? Why is she talking so much?’

Just then, Alia Bhat stops and thinks aloud, ‘Hey, what’s wrong with me? Why am I talking so much?’

A few scenes later, the police are searching the truck, and instead of escaping, she chooses to hide inside the truck. At this juncture, you as a viewer are wondering, ‘Is she going mad? Why didn’t she escape?’

As if on cue, she thinks aloud, ‘Hey! Am I going mad? Why didn’t I escape?’

But in true Bollywood style, these are minor hiccups. As we all know, when lauvv has to happen, lauvv will happen.

And so when the trucker tells her that his mother used to sing him songs as a kid, she tells him, ‘Tum mujhe kaafi cute lagne lage ho.’ To put this in perspective, it is like Scarlett Johansson sending me a friend’s request, and then commenting ‘Oooh, so sexy you are. Proud to be your friend, ya!’ on my pictures.

*

As befuddled as the viewer, is the poor trucker. Randeep Hooda, playing an intense and brooding man for the absolutely first time in his entire career, fails to understand what’s wrong with the girl.

[INSERT ERIC CLAPTON VIDEO: ‘COCAINE’]

 

The basic premise of the film is so contrived, it’s hard to empathise with the protagonist. In  today’s India, when how we treat women is such a large issue, when sparrows have gone extinct in Delhi in the presence of burly men, would a girl really be enjoy being kidnapped?

Not only does the heroine fall in love, she goes one up, and experiences what I like to call the ‘Bollywood Heroine Chhota Sa Ghar Complex’.

Whenever a rich girl in a Hindi film gets kidnapped, or stranded, she will want to have a small house, away from the rest of the world, just her and the hero – their small house of happiness. An adult version of the House-House game that kids play.

And so the two find a house, and start living in it. She cooks him Maggi, sweeps the house, and prepares a bed for the two of them. And then, shit hits the AC. So our trucker guy, who has killed three men, kidnaps women from roads, and carries a gun in his bag when he travels in a bus, refuses to go into the house. So transformed is the man, that he doesn’t want to make the sexay time with the girl.

I am sure this happens in the People’s Republic of Karan Johar, but in our world, it is simply too far-fetched to believe.

The point about her having a troubled past seems hollow. She could have spoken to her father. He is shown as a sensible, caring person, the only cruel thing he’s ever done is to give her an anaesthetic against her will.

Imtiaz Ali, slowly but surely, has become the King of Unexplained Angst.

In Love Aaj Kal, the hero is torn because the girl he loves (who also loves him back) is getting married to another man. He refuses to do anything about it, and then lands there a week after the marriage.

In Rockstar, our hero is angsty because he whisked away his lover, who was another man’s wife, to the Himalayas. In the Himalayas, he gets the terminally ill woman pregnant, and then is angry when she succumbs to the complications.

And in Highway, a kidnapping serves as a coming-of-age for the woman, who rebels against her life by choosing to live with her kidnapper, who hasn’t even acknowledged his love once, but has threatened to sell her to a brothel twice.

‘Is this love?’

‘Maine na jaana….chutiya banana….’

*

The other problem area for the film is Alia Bhat’s acting. Saddled with a role that requires an intense portrayal, Alia Bhat flares her nostrils so violently, it would make Hrithik Roshan run and hide behind a curtain.

And AR Rahman is barely used in the film. Most of the film consists of silent, long shots. When you have Rahman, why not use Rahman? It’s like having Tendulkar on your side, and opening the innings with Venkatpathy Raju.

If Socha Na Tha was a breath of fresh air, and Rockstar was a gust of angst, Highway is a farcical fart. A terribly disappointing film that sets an unrealistic premise in front of you, and doesn’t help you unravel it.

Watch Highway only if you can get high on the way. There are some shots of beautiful snow-capped peaks that you wouldn’t normally get to see on YouTube or National Geographic.

***

Dedh Ishqiya : One and a half times more fun

Most times when I’m sitting down to watch a cricket match, the first two balls do it for me.

The way the batsman meets the first ball gives me a fair idea of how the match is going to go. It doesn’t work all the time, and I’m not going to say, ‘IF IT DOESN’T WORK, I WILL SHAVE MY HEAD. JAI MATA DI’ or anything like that. But the first few minutes generally show the way.

When Dedh Ishqiya begins, you know things have been set up nicely for you.

When I saw the trailers of Ishqiya a few years ago, I knew it would be a winner. The chemistry between Naseeruddin Shah and Arshad Warsi is such, that I wouldn’t be surprised if they suddenly broke into a rain song and kissed each other.

 

*

 

There is something about Naseeruddin Shah. He shines when there are good actors around him. It’s like ‘Good Acting’ auras are bouncing off the room when he’s with someone who can act. His iconic pairing with Om Puri is testimony to this theory. When there’s a partner at the other end, Shah mutates into a fabulous, other-worldly magician.

But when there is general morony happening, Naseeruddin Shah looks bored. Like in the last film I watched of his, John Day – there was something missing. It was like he had had three pegs and was frantically looking for the fourth, but someone was keeping it away from him.

In Dedh Ishqiya, he has his work cut out, and neatly placed in piles in front of him. Thanks primarily to Arshad Warsi. Playing the loud, rustic, vulgar Babban, Warsi begins the film like he had spent the last four years hanging around the sets, waiting for the sequel to come out.

The stuff of Tushar Kapoor’s nightmares.

Not a foot wrong, not an expression astray, Warsi manages to steal some screen presence even with Naseeruddin Shah at the other end. There is an edginess to him – like he could shoot your balls off while telling you a joke. And Warsi manages to remain that edgy person, not once coming off as vapid.

 

*

 

And just when you’ve settled into your seat, and you’re smelling the food that you’ve ordered, pleased with its fragrance and taste, you discover that the chef has a surprise for you.

By the name of Vijay Raaz.

 

There are few moments in Hindi cinema, that can rival Vijay Raaz going batshit crazy on screen. Having perfected the pursed lips – say-what-you-want-I’m-going-to-slap-you expression, Vijay Raaz is an absolute delight.

His frustrations with shayari, his frustration with his henchmen, and his frustration with the entire universe in general – has been squeezed out, drop for delicious drop. One needs to watch his duels with Naseeruddin Shah in the most enjoyable swayamwar in recent years, to know what I’m talking about.

Which brings us to Madhuri Dixit.

Madhuri Dixit, who had retired from films after marriage, had made a comeback with Aaja Nachle in 2007, but the audiences said ‘Nay nay’. Inspired by Yousuf Youhana, she retired again and made a comeback with Dedh Ishqiya. 

She still can dance, as the makers of the films leave no stone unturned in making sure you acknowledge. But as for her performance – so compelling are Warsi and Shah’s performances, that Madhuri Dixit is reduced to playing third fiddle.

 

*

 

The real champion of the film, however, is Vishal Bharadwaj. India’s only true auteur, Bharadwaj, who has produced, written, done the screenplay, music, and written the dialogues, is in splendid form.

The dialogues in the film crackle with life, lighting up what would otherwise have been ordinary moments. Unlike Bhansali’s films, where languages (English in Black, Gujurati in Raam Leela) seem to isolate you from the world being shown to you, the language in Dedh Ishqiya is inviting.

You don’t understand much of it in the beginning, but so earnest seems the endeavor, that you want to strain yourself, in order to catch every word. The pastel coloured world of nawaabs and begums, the fading green walls, the large kitches, the servants attending to masters in their lawns – the world lights up like magic in front of your eyes.

My only grudge with Dedh Ishqiya is that it plays itself out long enough to become a Dhai Ghantiya, but then we live in a country where a party comes to power, and people begin to criticise it within a week.

Keeping such pretty complaints aside, Dedh Ishqiya is a mighty enjoyable film.

If you watched Dhoom 3 and contributed to that shitfest that guzzled up 500 crores from our already fatigued economy, you owe this one to the institution of Cinema.

Make up for that blunder. Go watch Dedh Ishqiya.

Aye, why you hurting my sentiments??

There was a time when I would wait for Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s films.

I loved getting transported into those timeless, geography-less lands that he created. I loved the drama, the colour, the painful soundtracks. It was just what my teenage heart needed.

Unfortunately, while my taste in cinema has grown, Bhansali’s endeavors seem increasingly tiring by the day. I am sure in his nightmares, Maps and Calendars come walking towards Bhansali, their hands outstretched, making whooshing noises.

If you strip them down to their basics, Bhansali’s films have always centred around a handicap (Khamoshi, Black, Guzarish), or unrequited love (Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, Sawariya). While enough has been said about his knack for creating these other-worldly worlds, the colours and the drums seem unnecessary in this film.

Playing to the galleries, Ram Leela is an average story, and all the peacocks and the statues and the colours cannot change that fact. And by the time the three hour colourfest has ended, you’re sincerely wishing the two of them die already. Since it’s inspired by Romeo and Juliet, don’t we all know how it’s going to end?

At the end of the day, Ram Leela is like Gordon Ramsay cooking pani puri. A good cook stirring up an everyday dish. So whether you like Ram Leela or not, depends on what you feel about Gordon Ramsay preparing Pani Puri.

*****************************

But what’s more interesting than the film itself, is the controversy surrounding the film.

You see, some groups were offended by the film’s content.

The film hurt their religious sentiments. Even before the bloody film released!

Absurd, you say?

I don’t think so. Even before Lord Krishna was born, Kamsa had known that the boy would offend his sensibilities (by killing him). So it’s not all that a novel idea to get offended by things we haven’t even seen yet.

I did a bit of research on who were these sensitive people who got offended, and who should I find, but my old friends?

The Bajrang Dal.

For years now, the Bajrang Dal has magnanimously taken up the daunting task of handling our sentiments. And that is a Herculean task.

Because as a nation, we love taking offence. It’s what we do.

I read in the news that Bajrang Dal had taken offence to the film because it was called Ram Leela. Very, very, valid point.

It’s such an overarching point that it negates the need for other banalities, like actually watching the film to find out what it is about. Ever the logical diplomats, this is the reason that was given – “The title has the name Ram, and Leela is associated with Lord Krishna, so people would mistake it for a mythological film, but it is a film steeped in sex, violence, and vulgarity.”

Don’t you feel like standing up and saluting? I know!

Because we live in dark ages, where we walk into a film having knowledge only of its name. Trailers, teasers, and promotions are for Martians, in case they want to enjoy some of our films.

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But this is not new at all. We have been banning films for a few years now. And while you’d expect that with time, societies around the world would loosen up their iron grip on culture, in India we keep going a step backwards every year. Let’s have a look at the list.

Fanaa: The film was banned in Gujarat because Aamir Khan had spoken out against the Narmada Dam project. Personal opinion, you say? Haha, you little fool, you.

Billoo Barber: The film was based on Billoo, who’s a barber. Apparently, barbers took offence to a barber being called a barber. Dignity of labour, you say? Haha.

Black Friday: Unlike other films, this film did not malign anybody’s name or character. In fact, it is among the rare films that uses real names, real locations, real incidents. But how can something that really happened, be offensive? Haha.

The best part is, these films were banned before they were released. Before anybody had an inkling as to what the film could have contained. Talk about a seventh sense.

And as if the petitions aren’t intellectually stimulating enough, Indian courts entertain these people and pass those laws. Raasleela has been banned in the UP, as were the earlier films mentioned in the list.

Now, isn’t it the work of courts to uphold someone’s legal right to release a film? For all their erudition and experience, shouldn’t lawyers and courts be looking at larger issues? Aren’t we heading towards a Banana Republic, if any Tom, Dick, and Hairy can walk up to a court with a piece of paper and stall the release of a film?

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But you shouldn’t get depressed. No, no.

Apart from upholding our culture as a nation, religious groups also take on the side job of entertaining us once in a while.

The second reason for banning the film was this – How can a character named ‘Ram’, be involved in violence and killing?

Because you know, Lord Ram vanquished Raavan by sending him a bouquet of roses. After which Raavan wiped his tears with the words, “Ab bas kar. Rulaayega kya?”

The petition goes on to say that the character named Ram is also involved in other trades, like selling of vulgar CDs, and is a general Casanova.

Very very valid point.

I am sure I couldn’t get through the Bajrang Dal because my CAT score was only 18%. After all, how else could one come up with points like this, you tell me?

Talking of which, let’s look at some other people who dared to act against their names.

Govinda: Even though he is named after Lord Krishna, he had the audacity to romance Raveena Tandon. He also shamed the nation, Lord Krishna, and the entire cosmos (because the entire cosmos was inside Krishna’s mouth!), by wearing yellow pants, and crooning ‘Meri pant bhi sexy’. He should have instead crooned ‘Mama Pitambaram Ati Madhuram’. Burn his house and blacken his face, I say.

Ram Jethmalani: Mr. Jethmalani has two wives. In one stroke a few strokes, he has shamed the name of Lord Ram, who was faithful to Mother Sita all through his life, never looking at any other woman, us nazar se.

But this shameless Jethmalani fellow goes on to live his life without his face being blackened.

Shakti Kapoor: Even though he’s named after Shakti, Mr. Kapoor has less than religious feelings towards women. In an interview, he told a girl that she has to ‘fuck’ to get ahead in her career.

Apart from this sacrilegious act, his career has spanned a wide vista of characters – ranging from the friendly neighbourhood sex offender, to a vicious rapist. How about we blacken his face?

Oh wait, we already have!

Bala Krishna: Named after Child Krishna, this actor has done things that can neither be counted as Krishna-like, nor childlike. Apart from being accused in a shooting incident, he has also done things that little Krishna would never have imagined. Even though he had the whole cosmos in his mouth.

How dare these people do anything vulgar, when they have been blessed with names of Gods?

How can they dare do their own thing, even though this is a free country?

How can they offend my sensibilities?

Blacken their bloody faces!!

Movie Review: Gravity

Smoking Kills

I was heartbroken to hear that Woody Allen cancelled the release of his latest film in India, because the ‘SmokingKills’ warning was a distraction.

It is something that has pissed me off for long, too.

Having watched The Lunchbox and raved about it, I am tempted to say it
was my idea of the perfect Hindi film.

Not for me the outlandish costumes and people flying off the surface
like they popped anti-gravity pills. Not for me the loud soundtracks
that butt into your head, pulling you here and there, making you feel
things that the story is incapable of making you feel. Give me a film like this anyday.

However, if there was one thing that irked me in The Lunchbox, (and this
wasn’t because of the makers at all), it was the ‘Smoking Kills’ sign
that kept popping up everytime Irrfan Khan lit up a cigarette.

Every Indian film is compelled to give warnings about the ill effects
of smoking every time a character is shown smoking, and this is
supposed to deter the youth of the country to take up the evil habit.

Now, there are so many things wrong with this, but I shall harp here
about the two most annoying things.

a. Creative Liberty: A film is a creative medium. Which means my story
and characters will behave in a certain manner because I made them.
You have paid me your money to come watch what I made, with the
confidence that it will be well made, and not treat you at par with
the orangutan in the state zoo.

Now, if I make a film on Shiva and show him smoking his chillum, will
I have to add a ‘Smoking Kills’ warning at the bottom of the screen?
But how? He is God, no? How can he do something that might kill
people? Also, most people who hang out near Shiva temples first pray
for a few seconds to Bholenath and then light up the chillum. Would
you have the Supreme Court pass an ordinance asking the religion to
disassociate itself with the evil habit?

Oh, I forgot. You wouldn’t, because that constitutes religion. But
films? Fuck it, yaar. We have been singing and dancing for decades
now. Who gives a fuck?

2. Playing with the medium: When I am watching a movie, I am immersed in
it. In the story, the characters, and what is happening to them.

Ignoring the annoying kid who cries every two and a half seconds, and
the letch who whistles every time anybody female appears on screen, I
have somehow managed to suspend my disbelief, and get involved in what is going on.

And right then, BAM! I am jolted back into reality with a warning
about how smoking kills.

This, after there has been an anti-smoking law passed in the country
since 2008. And every cigarette box has a picture of a topless John
Terry with his lungs burnt.

And all those ads with Mukesh, that poor 24 year old guy who died of
oral cancer, but if he were a ghost, he would come back to haunt the
fuck out of that doctor for pimping his death out for his own needs.

But no, apparently the youth of the nation, with all the brains that
their many gods have gifted them, are thick enough to start smoking
after watching it on screen.

And those two words – ‘Smoking Kills’ – are all that stand between
them and a life of waste and ash.

Give me a break, morons!

What’s next? Digvijay Singh fighting for the rights of smokers, and
Manmohan Singh saying that smokers have the first rights to Oxygen of
the nation?

Since we are anyway doing our bit for the youth of the country, why not go the whole hog?

Why not insulate the youth of the country from the other evils that
films propagate? Don’t they need warnings too? What if the youth watch
films and want to loot banks like Hrithik Roshan in Dhoom 2? What if
they watch Uday Chopra in Dhoom 3 and decide that education is not really necessary?

Won’t that be a crisis of sorts?

What then, could solve this problem?

More warning signs!

As it is, all these cinematographers these days use vast, wide frames
for their shots. Breathing space, they call it. Why not use this
breathing space as a warning space? Fill up the empty spaces with
disclaimers for the youth?

I am totally for it.

So let’s begin with a probably list.

1.      The Police Officials Disclaimer:

While the police is supposed to keep you safe, and instil a sense of
security in your life, the police have connived with Bollywood to
create an image of totalitarian monsters.

As if all the decades of the corrupt policemen who would eat out of
Amish Puri’s hands wasn’t enough, there is the new crop of police
films nowadays.

The ones with cops who survive on a steady diet of steroids, and bash
up people as and when they please. Every popular superstar has played
a cop, and he randomly sings songs on the road, punches people, shoots them, has slo-mo wars with the baddies in the middle of a road. And no one says anything.

Won’t it create the wrong impression about policemen of the country? Won’t
it eclipse the fact that they are actually soft hearted puppies who
would go out of their way to make you feel comfortable, especially if
you’re a woman who’s gone to lodge a complaint? How do we ensure that
the youth of the county doesn’t mistake our cops for WWE superstars? Or Altaf Raja?

Why not give a disclaimer sign there?

2.      The Women’s Disclaimer:

Now, it’s an established fact that Bollywood treats its women as crap.
They are generally doormats, or objects of affection. Look at the top
grossers of the last three years, and you’ll notice that the women had
nothing much to do in the film (Except that slo-mo shot of her
running, of course!).

They’re either the sister who gets raped by Raj Babbar, or the mother
who is praying for her son (because, you know, the daughter’s in the
kitchen, cooking gaajar ka halwa – the hero’s favourite!).

How about a disclaimer for women, then?

How about a disclaimer reassuring women that they are not really
doormats and objects of affection? That they are normal people, and
their existence is not merely to get the hero to sing and dance with
them?

Don’t they deserve a disclaimer too? Come on!

3.      The Fairness Disclaimer:

Another known fact is that you have to be fair in Bollywood. Because
life is not fair, and our cinema is escapist, so you have to be fair.

Everything’s fair in love and Bollywood.

If you’re dark, you’re either a thief, or a poor man. Or the villain’s
sidekick who speaks in ‘Hoohoohaahaa’ language. You fly off the ground
when the hero punches you, even though in reality, you could crush him
to chutney and eat him with masala dosa.

But no, if you’re dark, there is no place for you here. Actresses like
Kajol will endorse skin ‘lightening’ creams, and dark actors like Shah
Rukh Khan and Ajay Devgan will be painted, layer on layer, till they
are presentable enough to the camera.

Now, let us stop and pray for the dark-skinned people. Won’t they feel
offended? Won’t they get the idea that there is no other work for them
on earth, than to look fair?

What will all the brands do? The telemarketers, and the consumers of
fairness creams, the very elixir that made Shah Rukh Khan what he is,
that stood by him from his earliest days (as he says himself) in this
advertisement.

Don’t they all deserve a disclaimer too?

 

4. The Science Disclaimer:

Copernicus lost his life in its pursuit.

People have devoted their lives in their pursuit. The greatest minds
who walked this earth spent decades, arriving at them.

Close home, millions of engineers exist in our own country. Who have
studied the laws of physics for many years, and then went on to write
books like The Three Days of Sixty Nine. Spent hours of their time, sacrificed their social life, and copious amounts of their own seed to pursue them.

What about them? What about the concepts of science in general?

Won’t the practitioners of this great science feel offended by our films?

Don’t they deserve a disclaimer too? Won’t their very foundations be
shaken by what is shown in our movies??

 

5. The Sexual Harassment Disclaimer:

Smokers kill themselves with the habit. Agreed.

But they do it silently in their own way without disturbing anybody.

They don’t go around violating people, passing remarks, singing songs,
and touching them. You know who does that? Sex offenders.

And also, every Bollywood superstar.

It always happens that the girl loves it. She likes being called
names, and sung songs to, on her way (walking can be a lonely thing
sometimes, you know). She then falls for the guy.

And this apparently happens in every city and town in the country. It is for
strange reasons, called ‘eve-teasing’, a seemingly lesser crime than
sexual harassment.

But there will not be a disclaimer for them. No no.

Disclaimers are for smokers.

Dumb cretins of the society who have chosen to burn their lungs with
their own money.

So we need a warning, to keep away.

And the perfect film, is ruined.

Because Smoking Kills.

Sexual Harrassment meanwhile, simply lands you in jail.

And then Ram Jethmalani brings you out.

Guest Blog: Tushar – “A Raksha Bandhan Message”

Dear friends,

Things like culture, religion and custom are generally seen as relics of the past. They are mocked at, looked at like dinosaurs. Many of the younger generation mock these customs and beliefs.

But I have always believed in them.

I am not going to be lecturing you about anything. I have three stories to tell, that’s it. Just three stories – no big deal. And then I am positive I can convince you about the importance of our culture and their customs.

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1. I am an actor.

I know what you are thinking. You probably giggled when you read that. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.

I entered the industry amidst the Sunnys, Salmans, and Sanjays. I was not beefy. It’s debatable if people found me good looking or not. The Hindi film industry was waking up to the mega-glosser family entertainers that did huge business.

When I came in, people wrote me off. But I went all out. I even took off my shirt even though conspiracy theorists said it was surrogate advertising for KFC. It wasn’t. It was hard work and persistence. I had nothing to say.

When my first film did well, I learnt that hard work pays. I knew I could stand tall amidst the heroes. I had something to say. As did my debut film – Mujhe Kuchh Kehna Hai.

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Now, heroes’ sons have come and gone. There was Kumar Gaurav, who in spite of huge hits, vanished into oblivion. Shadaab Khan, Fardeen Khan, Harman Baweja – countless such examples. It is easy to do well in one movie, but the important bit is hanging in there. Not giving up.

Now, I have always believed that a person’s personality is often reflected in his body of work. It is, ultimately, what he is – his body of work, a legacy that he leaves forever. I am not the kind to insinuate anything, but look at the names of Shiney’s films – Sins, Gangster, Hazaron Khwahishein Aisi. Just saying.

Me, I was always trying. When people talked about lack of any screen presence, I capitalised on that and made Gayab, when they said that the only challenge to me in the film was the village well, I did Shart: The Challenge. When people said there was something about me, I did Kuchh Toh Hai.

Kuchh nahi tha

And finally when they said I came across as dumb handicapped, I did Golmaal.

I had to adapt. I am after all, a human. (I also did a film called Insaan, by the way).

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It’s not easy to hang in there. It is difficult.

It is difficult when your Facebook fan page has 1285 Likes. When you are trying to search for ‘Tushar Superstar’, and Google suggests you to the LinkedIn profile of one Tushar Supekar, Project Engineer at Aarti Ind. Ltd. When you check your Wikipedia page and realise that you had started your career with Kareena Kapoor and your latest heroine is Celina Jaitley.

When people say that your dance looks like you’re fighting and your fighting looks like a dance. You question yourself. You begin to ask yourself if what you’re doing is the right thing.

But all you need is that final push. That one comment that goes ‘Hey Tushar! I love you. Accept my friend request. ❤ Isha from Bokaro’.

You need to hang in there.

And this is the third final lesson. It is important hang in there.

For every Aggar, there will be a Dirty Picture

For every Dhol, there will be a Shor in the City

For every Yeh Dil, there will be a Shootout at Lokhandwala.

So when all the odds are stacked against you, how do you survive? What keeps you going? I will leave you with that question. 

Be nice to your sisters. Tie rakhis, give gifts. It might just change your life!

Lots of love,

Tushar Kapoor.