Vikramaditya Motwane’s Udaan was the film of the year for me.
However, I had known before watching it that it was adapted from the story of Anurag Kashyap, and with him involved in the writing, I knew that it wouldn’t be bad at all. Also, Udaan was an unconventional story, and when you make an unconventional story in a cliched industry like Bollywood, you have the entire world open in front of you.
I was curious to see Lootera because I have always believed that it is tougher to make a genre movie. Especially when characters break into songs every half an hour – be it out of love, lust, anger, or depression. Would it be possible to create a romance (having set it in the 50’s, to boot) that will not seem asinine?
And I am not really a fan of romantic films. Barring Annie Hall and Notting Hill, I have never really connected with a romantic film, as I find the lines too corny, and the premise laughable.
But two minutes into Lootera, I slipped into my seat comfortably.
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When Varun, an archaeologist arrives at a zamindar’s house, it is not his boots you see first. His boots, his pant, his belt, his shirt, his neck, his eyes, and his face. No.
Lootera begins on sound footing, drawing you into its world. A world that is captured lovingly by Mahendra J. Shetty. A world that is untouched by democracy and its many benefits and failings. A world that is independant, yet dormant. The world of the zamindar who knows that times are changing.
Before we know it, we smile at what is frothing – a slender romance. Like the ones we felt at high school. The soft tickle of a glance, the victory of a snide remark reaching its target.
Amid the loud exaggeration that we are used to, here the magic lies in chemistry that arises from smart dialogues, just the way it should be.
The film benefits from performances by the cast. While Ranvir Singh and Barun Chanda play their roles to perfection, it is Sonakshi Sinha who stands out.
She has very distinct looks, and Lootera uses it to the hilt. There are no shots attempting to cover her forehead, or make her look chic in shorts. The camera grazes over her sensuously at times, and hopelessly during others.
Much is being said about Trivedi being the next Rahman. There are years to go for him, of course. But there is a clear difference between the two.
Rahman’s music is like powerful and gigantic. It looms over the film like a colossus. If the film lives up to the music, it is a spectacle. If the film doesn’t, it cuts a very sorry figure. Like Sachin hitting a marvelous century, only for India to lose the match.
Amit Trivedi’s music, however, is never larger than the film itself. When it works well, the music makes love to the film, blending together to form moments of cinematic magic. Like in Udaan, the greatest thing about Amit Trivedi’s music is that you don’t really notice it after a point. It is part of the narrative, part of what is unfolding.
And yet, it is not overbearing. Moments of silence are interrupted by beautiful pieces of music – from the Sawaar Loon to the ektara in Monta re. For the connoisseurs, the film doffs its hat to the film of the era.
Lootera is a Bollywood romance that doesn’t make you cringe while watching it. Making DDLJ and Dil Toh Pagal Hai seem like badly done Doordarshan soap operas.
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Go watch Lootera. Before it gets outcharmed by Despicable Mitu, or run over by the Flying Sikh next week.
Some will complain that it is slow. But then, not every film has to be fast paced. It’s not a race.
At least, Lootera doesn’t seem to be running in it.
Back in my childhood, we had an old, black and white television. Konark was the company, and Gitanjali was the brand.
Like a high school romance, the television was not the best around. But it belonged to me, and my heart belonged to it. It had a knob that you could turn to access 12 channels – a cruel mockery that the government only allowed it one. Under the knob, were three buttons – On/Off and Volume, Brightness, and Contrast. It had a red box, but that was all the colour it had.
I was used to it. To its timings, and to its tantrums. I knew what to do if the picture was blurred (run up to the balcony and shoo away the crow on the antenna), and what to do if it rained (pray to God and promise not to think about Juhi Chawla). We were cool friends – me and the television.
So imagine my surprise one day, when I randomly turned the knob, and found there was a second channel slowly appearing on the screen.
DD Metro.
My world opened up. No more did I have to endure the sober, sedated programs on National. This channel looked a lot cooler, the people wore dresses I could see on the streets, and a language I didn’t feel alienated by.
It was on this wonderful channel, DD Metro, that I saw a young girl sitting on a throne.
She was unlike any other actress I had seen. What right did she have to be singing a song if she wasn’t an actress? And what was with those crazy scenes? One moment it was a durbar, the next there was a snake crawling across the floor, then someone doing yoga.
I hated it. But I watched on like a man transfixed.
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The 90’s are often seen as the years when the floodgates were being opened for the rest of the world. But for us who were too young to figure anything out, all the liberalisation and privatisation didn’t make any sense.
Our revolutions happened in our television sets.
Made in India, the song whose audacity I couldn’t take, but whose tunes I couldn’t wish away, was just the beginning. What followed was a hurricane – Baba Sehgal appeared in the Jumpin ad, Daler Mehndi was making the entire country blabber Punjabi, and a young boy with long hair was singing about the pangs of a lonely heart.
Indipop not only changed the way we listened to music. It also changed the way we watched television.
For the first time, there was no heroine gyrating in the rain, or singing out songs of pain about her love. The tone was spunky, the tunes funky. While television was slotted earlier – the mornings and evenings for news, the afternoon for soap operas, Sundays for films – indipop meant you could watch anything you want. And the earth didn’t come crashing down on you if you walked out of the room and came back ten minutes later.
I remember watching television those days with a sense of awe. I never knew what was going to come up. Since these were not films, no one knew the artists, or the genres they were going to play. What resulted was a heady mix of genres and styles.
If there was Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan singing about Lisa Ray in a bad blouse, there was a gawky Shahid Kapoor saving money to buy Hrishita Bhatt a dress. Dooba Dooba had a band that was slowly sinking into water to symbolise that the singer was drowning in her eyes – tacky now, earth shatteringly profound back then.
And Lucky Ali! That man with the husky voice, and dreamy lyrics, and those crazy, beautiful videos that were shot in locations that made our televisions look really posh.
If there was something about Indipop that made it such a rage, it was that it catered to every category. Tunak Tunak Tun would be followed by Tanha Dil, which would be followed by Ab Ke Saawan. My ears and brain had multiple orgasms on a daily basis.
It also changed the way I listened to music. Belonging to a family that would make a Khap panchayat beam with pride, I had no access to any films or film music. Which meant that I had to wait for someone to get married in my lane so I could listen to songs being played and mug them up. Or go to a friend’s place to watch television or music. Or wait till a kind uncle gave me some money so I could go to a cassette shop.
Oh, those cassette shops!
Side A would have one film, and Side B would have another. You listened to all the songs on one side, and flipped the cassette over. God forbid you left the cassette lying around, and the tape would come out like a snake from Pandora’s Box, and the next few days were spent in screwing the cassette with a Reynold 045 Fine Carbure jammed into it. All this trouble for listening to an Anu Malik song that sounded like two mules mating.
But with Indipop, there was no such trouble. Neelam, or Malaika decided the songs for you, spoke in English, and kept you glued till the song came on. And how they came on!
But obviously, everything couldn’t be so smooth.
For Bollywood, that hydra headed monster was watching. Very soon, it would plan its deadly attack.
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While the Bollywood of the early 90s was an outdated, embarrassingly loud rogue, the Bollywood of the mid and late 90s tried to win back the hearts of the nation.
DDLJ had happened, and India had a hero who did not bash three Pakistanis per second. DDLJ was followed by KKHH, and then DTPH. If the bonfire was slowly dying out, these three films, in one go, put the wood back in Bollywood.
From then on, Bollywood went out of its way to woo the audience everywhere. Songs began to be shot in locations abroad, and the youth reconnected with the films.
Slowly, everybody who was anybody in Indipop started drifting to Bollywood. Shaan, KK, and Sonu Nigam became a part of the Bollywood stable. Baba Sehgal, who had inspired a generation of rappers (even though the elders felt it was gangrap of their music aesthetics), stopped cutting albums.
Hariharan, one half of the beautiful Colonial Cousins, started singing in films. Lucky Ali smoked a lot of pot and moved to New Zealand and married thrice. Palash Sen acted in a film with Sushmita Sen and Daler Mehndi would pave way for his younger brother, someone with such an appreciation of beauty that he had to forcibly kiss Rakhi Sawant at a party.
Slowly but surely, like an octopus patrolling a sea, Bollywood ate up everything that came in its way.
What was a delight on television, slowly became a pain.
Indipop gave way to the Remix Scene. Crappy remakes of crappy songs. With 25 year old girls wearing the clothes of 15 year olds and dancing like 65 year olds.
Magnasound, that record label that started it all, got sued by Asha Bhonsle and filed for bankruptcy. Bollywood started making snazzy videos to entice the youth, who had already been dumbed down when Bournvita Quiz Contest was pulled off air and Derek O Brain went to join Mamta Banerjee’s political party.
Just like that, the dream was shattered.
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So today, when I watch a Coke Studio or MTV Unplugged, I watch it with cynicism. I know that the monster is watching too, with bated breath. It just has to stretch its hands out, and the guy will be lost forever – singing songs for 45 year old heroes chasing their daughters’ friends – till there is life.
Music today is film music.
Alisha Chinai is a judge on a fucked up reality show.
Baba Sehgal is the Snake God in a Telugu film called Rudhramadevi.
Starring: Ranbir Kapoor, Deepika Padukone’s Legs, Aditya Roy Kapoor, Ghost of Kalki Koechlin.
Director: Ayan Mukherjee
This post contains spoilers. If your last update was “Ranbir Kapoor OMG! HOT!! <3<3”, and you haven’t watched the movie yet, please go watch it and help it earn some more money. If you have already watched the movie, do not intend to watch the movie, or simply don’t give a fuck, kindly read on.
Director Ayan Mukherjee’s previous film was hailed as the coming of age film of the year. It brought him laurels, and also firmly established Ranbir Kapoor as the next big thing on screen. Now, it is kind of accepted that he is going to be the next big thing, so everyone talks about it in a matter of fact tone.
But if you look closely, you will notice that in almost every film, he plays the same character. He is always the urban, brattish, flirtatious, guy who realises something at the end of the movie. Excepting Rockstar, Barfi, and Rocket Singh, he essentially plays the same character on screen every single time.
Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani is a progression of the same guy playing the same guy. Karan Johar, who took one step forward with his short film in Bombay Talkies, successfully takes three steps backward with this movie. It’s a gimmicky, sell-out sort of a film that is meant to earn 100 crores after engaging in coitus with your brain. And because my brain sometimes fancies a quickie, I walked into the movie.
Now, there are so many things terrible about the movie, but I shall focus my energies towards three aspects that stood out like sore middle fingers:
1. The Concept of the Geeky Girl:
So amidst appropriately peppy background score, the film begins and we are transported into the worlds of Bunny and Naina. Bunny is the flamboyant extrovert who dreams of travelling the entire world. Naina is a geek who likes to read books.
Now, this is the point that pissed me off. What validation does the girl need from this hipster dude, in order for her to be cool?
Let’s look at the girl. She has consistently been the topper of the class, is well-read, has got a fabulous sense of fashion, and looks like Deepika Padukone.
But she ain’t cool. Why, you ask?
Cos she succumbed to that evil that Bollywood allows not to its heroines: Spectacles.
Through years, Bollywood has used the simple act of making the heroine wear glasses to show her as the geeky loser. Whether it is Preity Zinta in Kal Ho Na Ho, Urmila in Khoobsoorat, or Simran in DDLJ, the specs are supposed to signify that the heroine hasn’t blossomed into a bosom-heaving, melodramatic swan yet. So Boy Wonder comes and reminds her of how cool she is, in real.
Boy Wonder’s claim to cooldom is that he does extremely original stuff like flirting with girls with the IQ of a table fan, fighting with local gundas, and escaping on a pushcart. Kyunki banda jeena chahta hai, girna chahta hai, sambhalna chahta hai. Bhencho Temple Run nahi khelta ghar pe baithke?
Of course, if the heroine is wearing specs in the first half, you can rest assured she is going to get rid of it in the second half, when she ditches the glasses, and starts wearing make up and outlandishly gawky clothes, to fit the bill of the heroine of the movie.
And that is exactly what happens in the beginning of the movie.
2. The Realisation of the Dream
While Wake Up Sid had at least a fresh Hindi film heroine, it too suffered from the Karan Johar Magic Brush Syndrome.
You see, in Karan Johar’s films, the heroes don’t really work. They have swanky jobs, suave cars, designer houses – the entire package. But no one really knows what it is that they do. In Wake Up Sid, the hero decides to pick up photography, and immediately, as predicted by Paulo Coelho, the universe conspires to bring it to him.
In Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani, the hero dreams of travelling the world, and just like that – Plomp! He lands a job at Fox Traveller. Not NDTV Good Times, or Travel and Living, mind you. Fox fucking Traveller.
And then, just like that, he is selected as the host of a worldwide show. Just like that, even though he was a junior cameraman until now. The perks of being Rishi Kapoor’s son, I tell you.
So does he host the show? God knows, because Karan Johar doesn’t waste precious screen time in unwanted details like showing the hero working for a living. He comes to India on a holiday, and is given a lecture by Deepika Padukone (who, by now, has taken off her specs and become the afore mentioned bosom-heaving, melodramatic swan) about the magic of family, the joy in togetherness, and the sheer thrill of watching DDLJ in Maratha Mandir.
Towards the end of the movie, the boy decides to quit his job. He simply does it. He has apparently been chasing this dream of his, and he is one step away from realising it, and he has an epiphany, and quits his job. Work pressure, how his bosses take it, and other such details be damned.
Wonder Boy want. Wonder Boy do.
Fuck you.
3. The Usual Bollywood Suspects
Apart from logical loopholes the size of Sreesanth’s jail cell, the film also manages to throw in every possible Bollywood stereotype known to god. Some of them are as follows:
Alcohol: Alcohol is to be used primarily to get people to dance. One swig of alcohol is enough to get people to dance, laugh, have a good time. In this movie, C2H6O has a larger role than Deepika Padukone, and manages to pull it off spectacularly, making everyone dance and have a good time.
Background Score: After a few inspireding albums, Pritam goes lazy on this one. Which means that instead of conveying a mood, the background score is pimping out the story, telling you what you need to feel. Happy scene? Major chords strummed on guitar. Dramatic scene? Violins and slow, epiphany music. You don’t need to delve into any particular scene to understand the characters, because Pritamda is doing it for you anyway.
Women as Doormats: As with all Karan Johar films, the heroines are A-grade doormats. They dance and whimper according to the whims of the hero. There will also be this skimpily clad woman who speaks with an accent and generally wants to sleep with the hero. The women do not really have worries like their careers, or their own wishes and desires. Their lives are entwined around the hero, their love, and their mission is to conform to everything the director does, in order to reach the climax of the film.
All in all, Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani is no different from a Dabbang 2 or a Ready. It’s got Ranbir Kapoor in it, so it wears the aura of an intelligent, thought-provoking film. What it really is, is a 3 hour shitfest.
Avoid at all costs. Think of all the sex you can have in three hours!
If you ask me, it is much easier to make an abstract or genre-blending movie, than to make a genre movie. Suppose you are the writer of No Smoking, or even say Peepli Live – you have a completely white canvas in front of you. But a genre movie has its norms, and if you can still evade the pitfalls and keep the audience interested, you have won a major war.
Over the last few years, Indian horror films have become the Bhatt of all jokes. Wildly successful, but extremely unimaginative, the Bhatts have spewed out horror films year after year, even creating franchises like Raaz and 1920. Then there is Ram Gopal Verma, sitting in the dark corner of a park, churning out horror films to scare the country.
Indian horror is a genre of its own. And before moving any further, it is important that we get a clear picture of the Indian ghost.
The Indian Ghost is unique from its brethren across the globe.
The Indian Ghost always has a motive. Revenge. Lust. Correcting a wrong that occurred long ago.
They have emotions, and feelings. Sometimes, like in Haunted 3D, they have to endure human indignities like getting raped. Or may be that’s because in India, even if you’re a ghost, you’re fucked.
Indian ghosts hang out in palaces for years, waiting for the right opportunity to strike, in order to take revenge. There is a single minded focus to their mission. I am sure in the underworld of ghosts, Indians must be taking over the jobs of their counterparts, such is their Zen-like focus to their mission in life.
Indian Ghost – The Thinking Ghost’s Sex Symbol. In this picture, Aftab Shivdasani, who was last seen alive in 2003, can be seen trying to bone the ghost.
And it is after years of watching such no brainers that I have stopped watching horror films. Of course, that’s not saying much, since most of the movies that run are horrific in their own way.
With Ek Thi Daayan, what interested me was Vishal Bharadwaj revisiting the horror genre. His debut, Makdee, was a smart film that toed the line between a childrens’ film and a horror flick, and managed to hold its own, considerably.
The other thing the makers did right was in the casting. Hashmi, Kalki Koechlin, Pavan Malhotra, Konkana Sen Sharma, and Huma Qureshi read like a heady cocktail.
Ek Thi Daayan begins like a Shikhar Dhawan debut. Confident, taking huge strides forward, and whacking you out of the ground once in a while. The writers get it bang on. Simply by playing on common sense.
I really find it funny when I see grown ups in horror films seeing something spooky and getting all sweaty and pissy. It’s rare that someone who didn’t believe in ghosts would all of a suddenly do it. The person has watched too many movies, and a general cynicism has set in.
But at childhood, we are all believers. We have our heroes, who bring in the daylight. And lurking behind the shadows, we all had our monsters. The one in the film, or the TV show, or the spooky story that our cousin narrated in the vacations.
With this as their carrot, Vishal Bharadwaj and Mukul Sharma begin on a believable footing. It seems believable that an eleven year old would believe in the dark world of ghosts, especially if he is an aspiring magician – someone whose whole life revolves around make belief.
The premise set, the film chugs on comfortably. Till the interval.
Now, this is the other thing that sucks about Indian films. Why the fuck do we need to have an interval?
In a genre like horror, it is extremely difficult to capture the attention of the viewer, and just when the makers have managed to, you have an interval. You are drawn into a fascinating imaginary world, and the next minute you are ordering a large Coke with popcorn. How does a filmmaker bring back the mood that he strived to create for more than an hour?
And that is the reason why most Indian horror films are diagnosed with the same illness. “Interval tak mast tha, boss. Phir mazaa nahi aaya, yaar.”
Chutiye, mazaa is liye nahi aaya kyunki tu jaake Coke khareed raha tha.
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And then, critiquing a genre movie is a different ball game too. How do you rate a genre movie? If you’re walking into a horror film looking to get spooked, Haunted 3D might have done its job well. If you’re looking for a tight, coherent story – may be not.
Ek Thi Daayan attempts both, and in my final judgement, does pretty well.
Go watch the movie, and in the next post, we’ll discuss the climax.
When an Indian filmmaker stamps his authority over a film, he is often accused of being ‘indulgent’. It happened with Kashyap in ‘No Smoking‘, Bhansali in ‘Sawariya‘, and will probably be said of Vishal Bharadwaj’s Matru ki Bijli ka Mandola.
This term has always baffled me. I mean, these little indulgences, those quirks, are what define the filmmaker. Otherwise, we would have similar filmmakers making similar films, all through the year. How bad can an indulgence be?
Now, coming to Vishal Bharadwaj.
Among my favourite filmmakers in the world, and perhaps the only true auteur in our country today. Starting as a music director (Satya, Maachis, and the ‘Chaddi pehen ke phool khila hai’ song from Jungle Book), the man moved on to films where he writes the story, screenplay, dialogues, gives the music, sings the songs, produces, and directs the films.
His body of work has a clear graph. He started off with children’s cinema (Makdee, Blue Umbrella), to Shakespearean tragedies (Maqbool and Omkara) to the Tarantinoesquq Kaminey. His latest film resembles Saat Khoon Maaf (where the first hints of a distinct style were seen).
Matru ki… is a film in a fictional village which is more or less owned by Pankaj Kapur. A stern, greedy bastard in the day, but a concerned, friendly drunkard in the night. He plans to transform the village into another Gurgaon, and getting his daughter married to the Chief Minister’s son is his gateway.
I won’t reveal anymore of the story for the sake of those who want to watch the film. But here’s what I will say.
The film is not easy to digest. The dialect is not smooth on the ears, the narrative strolls around aimlessly, picking itself up suddenly, and then taking a break along the turns, helping itself to a few pegs, much like the protagonist of the film. The story is an antithesis to Kaminey, if you think about it. Kaminey had a zillion characters, and if you went for a loo break, you would have missed a key plot point, thanks to an Usain Bolt like screenplay.
Here, Bharadwaj lets his story graze in an open field. He lets it sit in the sun, chew some grass, and ruminate. And that is where you as the viewer, begin to shift in your seats.
There are samples of the quintessential Bharadwaj, with dialogues like ‘Tere ghar pe Mao-Lenin nahi hai kya?” or the tribute to Emir Kasturica, in the form of a brass band that’s named ‘Kasturi ka band’. For a movie geek, there are such gems of brilliance that stick out in the middle of the otherwise earthy lump.
If there is something I badly missed, it’s Bharadwaj’s music, coupled with Gulzar’s lyrics. Each of his earlier films had soul-stirring music, but his latest offering offers nothing more than a few strains here and there.
And here is where my question troubles me. Where does a filmmaker draw the line?
Where does the filmmaker stop being the maker of a product meant for mass consumption, and let the real Vishal Bharadwaj creep into his creation?
And as a consumer of the product, where do I draw the line? Do I look for what pleases me, or take a compassionate view of what the man is trying? Do I go by actions, or intentions? I do not have the answers.
Finally, it all depends on whether you are a Bharadwaj fan or not. If you are the kind who demands a bang for every buck you spend at the movies, you will be disappointed.
But for the man who gave me so much, I can surely overlook this as a stepping stone, a learning curve. Years later, the film will probably be looked at as one of his in-transition works.
And I as a viewer, would willingly participate in it. I love the guy!
Long before the film actually released, I knew that the film would be crappy. Just another pink, velvetty stepping stone into whatever SRK is planning to make of his career in the coming years.
And how did I know?
From the music.
The first song that was aired was the Punjabi number Challa. Sung by Rabbi Shergill, the voice seemed out of sync with Shah Rukh, who has been steadily serenading beauties with the voices of Udit Narayan and Kumar Sanu.
The music seemed to pique my interest for a bit, and then slid down into disappointment.
And moreover, the song featured SRK doing what I call the Guitar Bullshit.
For decades, Bollywood has fooled us into believing that heroes can play the guitar. Pull off legendary riffs, pick out heartwrenching ballads by the ear, and strum along to anthems.
Shah Rukh, of course, is no stranger to music bullshit, having earlier done the Violin Bullshit, Flute Bullshit, and Drums bullshit.
So anyway, I went on to the rest of the songs, and one of the tunes seemed to grasp my attention for more than a few seconds. But then quickly slipped out like sand. Not one of the songs seemed to capture my attention.
Now, let me introduce my theory. It called ‘Rahman Knows’.
Rahman, whom many Indians worship as a living God, knows when the film is going to be good. He recognises the value of a well written script, and has a fair understanding of the film maker’s abilities.
It’s only a theory. But the sheer facts and numbers that back the theory can be quite surprising.
Over the years, Rahman has produced music that has been in line with the kind of film that is being made.
Rahman’s music for Hindi films can be broadly classified into four categories.
THE EPIC: In this category, it is a sureshot winner. The director is good, the actors are good, there is a good story, and the music, like the scale, is epic.
There are numerous instances of this. The theme as the last day of cricket unfolds, the track that plays when the minister is being killed, and the grandeur of the Mughal kingdom – the music walks hand in hand with the film, producing a profound effect, that only elevates the film to a different experience altogether.
THE INTENSE: Here, the story is intense. It is not your average soppy Hindi romance. The film might not be an epic hit, but it definitely has a story to tell. Rahman’s music for these films has also been like the films.
The music is not epic, but it is intense and soul-stirring. The heart thumping beats in Dil Se, or the smooth, tragic tunes of 1947 Earth. Or that bit of music, the theme of Bombay that is uplifting and depressing at the same time, Rahman’s music has been on par with the films, and the canvas that they were trying to paint.
THE AVERAGERS: These were films that treaded the line between sensible and your average idiotic Hindi film. These films had their moments, kept you involved, but were not something you would devote time to, after returning home.
If you look at Rahman’s music for these films, it will be like the films themselves. There will be a few good tracks, neither epic, nor intense. Just songs that occupy the large space between great and average. Songs that you would hum for a while, and then relegate to the back of your mind.
Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na, Ghajini, Pukar, Saathiya – the examples are endless.
And finally, comes the last category.
THE BULLSHITTERS: These are the kind of films that are made to squeeze out the superstardom from actors. The stories aren’t much to write home about, and the films are driven more by the status of the leads at the time, rather than the story of the film.
When these films are offered to him, Rahman knows. He happily signs on the dotted line, and makes the music.
And the music, is like the film. A shadow of what it could have been. Songs that will play on MTV for a few days, and 9XM for a few more, and then will live the rest of their lives on Youtube, that old age home where songs spend their twilight years.
Examples of this, again, are aplenty. The songs in Blue, then the most expensive film – starring Sanjay Dutt as a deep sea diver, but visibly pregnant by 7 months – are a grim reminder of what happens if you try to fuck with Rahman.
Then, there is Yuvvraj. And Kisna.
So when I saw the trailers of JTHJ, Shah Rukh holding the guitar and strumming away on the wrong chords, about Challa or whatever, I stood up, and stretched out my hands.
I took a deep breath, ran my hands through my hair like the man himself, and muttered.
We all have that one friend who wants to make films.
That one friend who, when we sit down to drink, tells us concepts, and story ideas, and then longingly wishes that he had the resources to make his film. That one film that will give him his break. We all nodded in agreement, thinking ‘Itna talent hai bande mein, isko ek mauka milna chahiye’.
And then we order another large.
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Malegaon is a small village situated about 300 kilometers from Mumbai. There isn’t anything especially special about the place – largely dependent on textile looms and suffering from long power cuts, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between Malegaon and any other small town in India.
Till a film releases, that is.
Malegaon is crazy about films. And Nazir Sheikh is its most popular filmmaker.
Having taught himself to make two earlier films, local rip offs of Sholay and Shaan, Sheikh sets out to make his magnum opus – Superman. Sheikh writes his scripts, does the screenplay, works on the costumes, sets, and produces his films.
He is ably supported by Lex Luthor who edits the films, adds the music, and writes the dialogues.
And then there is the Superman himself – Shaikh Shafique – a loom worker who takes leave from work to act in the film. A Superman who dances with the kids, shoots with the village, and saves the village from the dangers of tobacco. The man who has to get married in the middle of the shoot, disrupting the whole process.
Supermen of Malegaon is a kick in the balls to everybody who complains about funds.
What Malegaon lacks in funds and expertise, they make up with sheer ingenuity and passion. The localisation of the story – how Superman is suffering from cough because he flies in the polluted air, his fears while jumping into a pond to save a child, and the songs he dances to with his lady love in a garden – there are moments of sheer brilliance.
Like when the tiny handycam they shoot with, falls into a gutter. And Superman is stranded on a tyre in a lake, and paddles himself to the coast. Or when the local daily publishes his paper, calling him ‘Spiderman’.
In spite of being a charming story in itself, Supermen of Malegaon is also the personal story of all the people involved. People who come together to make something for the village. And the whole village helps them shoot the film, which they will all watch.
I found Martin Scorsese’s Hugo underwhelming. Of all the films made on films, there is Cinema Paradiso, Burton’s Ed Wood, and Truffaut’s Day for Night made an impact on me. But they were all foreign films – about films of a different culture.
If there was a tribute to filmmaking in India, it has to be Supermen of Malegaon.
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We all have that friend who wants to be a filmmaker.
I have told people around me that I loved it, and I got stares, giggles and arguments. Sadly, none of them had actually seen the film themselves. State of our times, I say.
I know that as a blogger, it works for me to take a ‘different’ stance on issues. But when it came to this film, I couldn’t help not liking it.
Of course, five minutes into the film and I also knew why the film is going to fall flat on its face.
Aiyya is funny but not derogatory
Since the basic premise of the film revolves around a girl who is in love with a Tamil boy, there were bound to be some references to Tamil language and culture. I was cringing when the scenes were supposed to be come on, as I personally can’t stand that kind of bullshit.
I was surprised when none of the scenes seemed derogatory, and yet evoked laughter in me. But then, what to do? How can we laugh when someone is not fat, dark, stupid, or just a sardar?
Look at the biggest comedic stars we have had in Hindi cinema. Mahmood made a living out of the Madrasi stereotype, Johnny Walker was perennially drunk, Kader Khan was stupid, and Johnny Lever was…. well, Johnny Lever.
As a film, Aiyya charts out its own style of humour. A mix of slapstick, visual comedy, and a mocking commentary of how films affect us in our daily lives. How they add the necessary drama in our other otherwise Mundane Mondays.
But then, there are no dark guys being called ‘kavva’, no fat guys eating food and slipping and falling, no sardars who are stupid. So how can we find it funny? We, the nation that loves to laugh at others but can’t take a single joke at ourselves? How could we?
Aiyya is a heroine centric film in the true sense
This is an issue that has bugged me a lot.
Whenever people talk about women centric films in India, the immediate references that come up are Mother India (where a mother kills her erring son), Kahaani (where a woman puts on an appearance to find her husband and kill him), Khoon Bhari Maang (where the heroine transforms into a glamorous superstar and takes revenge on the villain by killing him), or Saat Khoon Maaf where the heroine kills not one, but seven husbands in one film. Three before the interval, and four after the interval.
It is almost as if to make a woman centric film, you have to kill men, or raise a strong social issue along the way. Are we a nation with an IQ of anteaters?
Can’t we just have a story that is centred around the female lead? Just a normal story?
Quite clearly, we can’t.
Aiyya turns the tables around when it comes to roles. Here, it’s the woman who does the staring, the stalking, the following, the rona-dhona, gaana-vaana. But she doesn’t take revenge on the guy by ringing the bells in a temple at night and piercing the villain’s heart with a trishul.
Ghanta hit hogi picture!
Aiyya is wild and experimentative
Most of the critics of Aiyya have pointed out to the character of Meenaxi’s friend who dresses up like what Lady Gaga would, after two beers and three joints. They called it loud, and annoying.
Now, this is where I see a huge bias.
I mean, come on. For more than twenty years, Johnny Lever’s roles were weaved into the plot without rhyme or reason just so the audience could laugh. Item songs are thrown in mindlessly into tearjerkers so the audience can get a break from all the dejection with an erection. Songs are thrown in, with locations from Ambala to Antarctica.
And we call Aiyya unreal?
To prove my point, let’s look at three of the top grossers of the year.
Ek Tha Tiger: A film about a RAW agent who is so kickass that he romances an ISI agent and sings songs and dances in Brazil. So very grounded in reality!
Rowdy Rathore: A film about a thief who finds that he looks like a cop and just like that (without any training in martial arts or the Indian Penal Code) starts bashing the heads of the villains. Right!
Housefull 2: A film where “Four sons-in-law marry four brides whose four father-in laws mistake every son-in law for Jolly”.
Give me a fucking break now, will you?
So if a film that doesn’t have a Khan or a Kumar tries something imaginative, it is panned and dashed.
I know it is beyond redemption now, but Aiyya had me in splits for most of its running time. And Rani Mukherjee needs a special mention for carrying off the role with aplomb. The sheer audacity in accepting the role of a leading lady who fantasises about her guy, steals a peek at his body, asks her guy not to button his shirt, requires huge metal balls. . I dare say it was probably the best role by an actress this year.
Of course, it is not the perfect film. Far from it. The climax seemed forced and hurried, and some of the scenes seem a little too much.
But it was definitely better than all the three top grossing mindfucking shitfests put together.
But it will be a flop. And the sad part is, most of the guys haven’t even watched the film.
And we crib about the lack of imagination in our films.
You know a country’s film appreciation skills are in the doldrums when Ram Goal Verma is a joke, and Madhur Bhandarkar is a hero.
Since 2001, the guy has been churning out films that are mediocre at best, and outright offensive at worst. Throwing in every known stereotype known to man, Bhandarkar makes films that are supposed to be gritty. But in reality, are quite shitty.
Cardboard characters, drugs and alcohol, moronic depiction of gays and lesbians, adulterous wives, scheming companies, news hungry journalists – its one mixed bag of stereotypes bundled in one after the other. It’s like a video game, where the locations change, but the characters and plot remains the same.
Without even watching it, I can predict the story. There’s a girl who is an outsider to the industry. She makes it to the top in a male-dominated, power hungry world, and then things start going downhill from there on. There will be cheating wives, creepy producers, drugs, booze, and a friend who is like a voice of conscience in the protagonist’s head.
Madhur Bhandarkar often says that his films hold a mirror to the society. But in reality, his films are tinted glasses through which we see things the way we want to.
Often touted to be the filmmaker for the Common Man, Bhandarkar’s claim to fame are the four National Awards he has picked up over the last decade. But take a look at the list, and you’ll see that not all of them were a result of great choice.
Chandni Bar winning the award in 2001 is understandable. It was a well enacted film, and a woman centric film in a time when Govinda was among the top heroes is commendable. But Bhandarkar continued to milk the whole ‘outsider woman in a cruel man’s world’ theme in each and every film after that.
Satta (2003), about a woman politician, was chosen over Munnabhai MBBS, Pinjar, and Ek Hasina Thi. Page 3 (2005) was chosen over Black Friday and Sarkar. Traffic Signal (2007), we were made to believe, was better than Chak De India, Taare Zameen Par and Guru.
Even a layman can tell that the babus sitting in the Selection Committee aren’t exactly experts on the subject. But then, this was the same committee that awarded Saif Ali Khan the Best Actor for Hum Tum.
A hair-raising decision.
So why do his films do well?
My theory is that his films give the viewer a voyeuristic joy in depicting the world of glitz as a mucky, immoral world. The kind of viewers who’ll walk out of the hall and say, “Sahi bola. Saare actress saale randiya hain.”
Thank you very much, Mr. Bhandarkar, but I don’t want you to hold a mirror to the society. May be if you tilted the mirror towards yourself, you’ll see a filmmaker who keeps repeating the same formula and playing to the galleries.
I understand the Page 3, Fashion, and film worlds might be murky. But then, which field isn’t?
But now my only fear is that Bhandarkar will release a film called ‘Critic’. The story of a young woman who struggles to succeed in the world of critics, a world that doesn’t understand ‘realistic’ films.
Last week, I came across a bit of news that was truly depressing.
No, it was not about India’s show in the Olympics. Neither was it about Aishwarya Rai’s weight. It was something more depressing.
Uday Chopra is apparently dating Nargis Fakri these days.
Those who have watched Rockstar would know who Nargis Fakhri is. Fans of her smoldering hot looks called her ‘Duck Face’ and those who weren’t impressed by her acting called her something that rhymes closely.
But no matter what your opinion, you cannot deny that Nargis Fakhri is undeniably hot.
Which now brings us to the topic of Uday Chopra.
It must be a great pressure to be Uday Chopra. Like Sachin Tendulkar’s son having the cricketing skills of Dodda Ganesh. Son of one of the biggest directors in the industry, family that owns one of the largest ‘camps’ and produces a slew of films every year, younger brother to Aditya Chopra, director of one of the biggest hits in the history of Hindi cinema. It must be tough.
It hasn’t been for want of trying, though.
Exactly, a decade back, Uday Chorpa stormed into our lives and on to our nerves, and quickly got under our skins. If failure is the pillar to success, Uday Chopra was on the way to building a magnificient Hampi Temple with his body of work.
Here is a walk-through of his work.
Ladies and Gentlemen, kindly leave your footwear outside and step in.
Thank you.
Mohabbatein: Directed by Aditya Chopra after the humungous success of DDLJ, Mohabbatein was set to be the next blockbuster of the decade. Boasting of a cast that included Amitabh Bachan, Shah Rukh Khan, and Aishwarya Rai, the film also had six youngsters who find love and happiness thanks to the almighty powers of their music teacher Shah Rukh Khan. Even though he doesn’t hold the violin correctly, he teaches the students enough to learn that music is about falling in love, and falling in love is what life is all about.
Mohabbatein was also the debut of a young Uday Chopra. Even though many people saw him on the poster and went “Mohabbat! Aein??”, it was to be the launch vehicle for the son of the Chopra clan.
But it didn’t take long to notice that acting was neither in his jeans, nor the T-shirt he took off at regular intervals.
The film didn’t perform as well as expected, but Uday was hopeful of a better showing with the next film.
Mere Yaar Ki Shaadi Hai: His next release was a love triangle that went under the title ‘Mere Yaar Ki Shaadi Hai’. Inspired from the hit ‘My Best Friend’s Wedding’ – the filmmakers didn’t even bother to change the title.
A film that rested on the reliable shoulders of Jimmy Shergill and Uday Chopra
Starring Uday Chopra, Jimmy Shergill and Tulip Joshi, the film had Uday playing the hero’s best friend, who until she sits on the shaadi ka mandap, doesn’t realise that her heart truly beats for her best friend and not her lover. The film sank. Tulip withered, Jimmy vanished so much into the oblivion that people still play the song “Jimmy, Jimmy. Aaja Aaja” in front of his house in the morning to taunt him. But Uday Chopra soldiered on.
Charas: His next film was ‘Charas: A Joint Effort’. Not many understood the word play in the titling there, but almost everyone understood that the film had nothing much to offer. It was the time when romantic comedies were seeing a decline in success rates, and the film, dealing with subjects like drug cartels in Manali, failed because of some lame acting by its cast. The chief villain, Irrfan Khan, however would go on to become an actor of repute in the years to come.
But Uday Chopra would strive on, carving yet another spectacular pillar on the way to his Temple.
Mujhse Dosti Karoge?: Fresh after the intergalactic success of Koi Mil Gaya, Hrithik Roshan and Kareena Kapoor got together again, even though the harrowing yaadein of their earlier film had barely been erased from our minds. Hrithik Roshan and Kareena Kapoor got together with Rani Mukherjee to star in a film about love and friendship. Uday Chopra got in through Management Quota, filling the space of the good guy who sacrifices his love so that the film can get over and people can go home.
Uday Chopra is paired with Rani Mukherjee, but alas! the fates work against him. Rumours of Aditya Chopra’s affair with Rani have begun to float, leaving brother Uday with nothing but a large heart to show. And he showed more than just a large heart in his next film.
Dhoom:
Touted to be the relaunch of the Chopra son, the Indian version of Fast and Furious turned out to be Miscast and Dubious, with Chopra playing a racer who helps a cop who never catches the culprits.
Some of the lameness of the film was shared by Abhishek Bachhan and John Abraham, and the slow-motion shots and loud background score. The highlight of the film was Uday Chopra’s pairing with Esha Deol, who looked so feminine that the two of them reminded viewers of Jai and Veeru.
The film, however, was a huge hit, and Chopra’s career got a shot in the arm.
Dhoom 2: The second installment had Uday Chopra playing the same guy, with Bipasha Basu as his partner. In a masterstroke of scripting, Abhishek Bachhan and Uday Chopra travel to Brazil to catch the most dreaded thief in the world. But upon seeing his love, Bachhan decides to forgive him. Just Like That. He comes back home empty-handed, in the process waving a huge middle finger to things like laws, work ethics, and accountability to senior officials. The film didn’t do much for Uday Chopra’s standing in the industry, though.
Uday Chopra had the customary song in the film, and nothing much apart from the usual goofing around. This film, again, was a huge hit, but saying that it was because of Chopra is like giving Sharad Pawar the credit for India’s World Cup victory.
Pyar Impossible: Paired with Priyanka Chopra, the only good thing about the film was the realistic title it had. The story of a geek who falls in love with the class chick and is heartbroken, only to come back into her life seven years later after inventing the world’s greatest Operating System which gets stolen when his enemy copies it from his Pen Drive (I’m serious).
When I first saw the trailer of Pyar Impossible, I chuckled at the sheer arrogance with which the producers went ahead to make a film from a story that was written by Uday Chopra. Before the release of the film, Karan Johar, India’s BIS Halmark on everything to do with Family and Morals, had this to say about the film,
“It has a subliminal message which is delivered without preaching to a world where people are very physically oriented.”
A team of experts translated the statement into layman terms, and it read something like this:
“I watched the film. It sucks donkey balls. Now someone please pass the Cocaine!”.
Uday Chopra’s wet dream of being a star pretty much dried up after Pyar Impossible flopped. He was no where to be seen or heard, except when people would crack a few jokes.
Teacher: “Give me an example of an Oxymoron.”
Student: “Uday Chopra…LOL”
You almost felt bad for the guy. He tried his best, trying to be a romantic hero, action hero, and comic hero. And each time, ending up as a tragic hero. In spite of all his attempts, the fact that he had all the charm of a water buffalo, worked against him.
The last I heard of him was in a news article, where he told the reporter that he was having a great time at Las Vegas. In fact, just the previous night, he had been kicked out of a bar for taking off his shirt. In response, Uday said, “I was just trying to impress a chick.” (Link).
He also announced that Dhoom 3 was to be his swan song, he would retire from acting after its release. May be concentrate on film making and return to haunt the industry after a break of a few years.
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Everything was fine till this story surfaced in a column in the newspaper. That Uday Chopra was dating Nargis Fakhri.
I mean, that’s simply not done, man.
Dear Uday Chopra, we as a nation have been kind and tolerant with you.
We have paid money and willingly subjected ourselves to you. We don’t mind if you continue to make films. Reboot it as Mere yaar ki teesri shaadi hai. Release Dhoom – 27. Write and act in Pyar Impossible – 4, like the other franchise with the similar name. We wouldn’t mind in the least.
But, you dating Nargis Fakhri is simply unfair. It’s a cruel reminder to us, of how ordinary our lives are, and how unfair the world is.
It’s now been three weeks since Rajesh Khanna passed away, and the accolades and tributes have dried up.
The last couple of years witnessed a number of celebrity deaths, and the tributes that follow a celebrity’s death always intrigue me. It’s such a funny thing, isn’t it?
We lead our lives under the illusion of control, doing what we do, making choices we make, going about it like we are the centre of the universe.
Yet, when we die, we have no control over how people will remember us. What will be said of our lives, and what it will be exalted, or reduced to.
Memories are funny things. We choose the bits we like, safely tucking away the rest under the blanket of our mind, never to be looked at again. Javagal Srinath, probably India’s greatest fast bowler, slogged his ass off for fifteen years, consistently clocking speeds of 140 kph on dusty, lifeless Indian tracks. And yet, when we are asked to pick one fast bowling moment from the 90’s, it will always be Venkatesh Prasad bowling out Aamir Sohail, off a lame delivery. Cruel, cruel things, these memories!
When Dev Anand passed away, people spoke about his evergreen spirit. When Dara Singh died, people spoke of a person with a golden heart.
When Rajesh Khanna died, there was no mention of his good deeds, of how he was a simple man who helped others, of his humility. Zilch. The tributes revolved around his superstar status, and the timeless songs in his films.
If you dug a little deeper, you’d find stories that revealed an egomaniac, conniving superstar who couldn’t come to terms with his decline, and who would go to any lengths to sabotage the careers of others. (Link)
I couldn’t believe these articles. Not that I doubted their credibility, but it was hard for me to digest the fact that the smiling, winking man who wooed women with his charm, could be a monster off the camera.
Does it change my opinion of the man? Not in the least.
As human beings, we judge people on the basis of how they treated us, and Rajesh Khanna gave me moments of pure joy.
Whether it was Yeh kya hua, the amar song from Amar Prem, a must sing song when I get drunk, or the melancholic Babumoshai moment in Anand, Rajesh Khanna held a special place in my heart. An image of the smiling, affable romantic hero.
But it all changed one night when I was watching late night TV.
The scene was of a typical retro disco number. Lights, rotating stage, trumpets, and in walked the man.
And on came the song.
Duniya mein, logon ko, dhoka kabhi ho jata hai….
I had found this song terribly cool, whether it was the original, or the way it was used in Vishal Bharadwaj’s Kaminey.
When I watched the song, I knew why it was legendary. And right then, a lasting impression of the man was imprinted in my mind.
Whether it is the way he turns to face the camera in a red, velvet blazer, as RD Burman screams “Heeeeeeeya……”
……or when he slides on to the dance floor…
…… or when he has all the women of the house dancing to his tunes…..
……. serenading the extremely sensuous Mumtaz with his moves.
Only someone at the peak of their superstardom could carry off a costume like that, and elevate a song to the levels of awesomeness that will remain bloody cool, even after forty years.
Not for me the white dhoti clad babu of Amar Prem, or the smiling chocolate boy of Aradhana. Rajesh Khanna was a player if there ever was one. He was in a string of relationships, and had a nation of girls swooning over him. Girls married his photographs, and wailed with grief when he married Dimple Kapadia, then merely 16 years old.
This song epitomises the player Rajesh Khanna was.
I was watching a film last week, and it had Balakrishna in it.
I know the first line would elicit a smile from most people, but I do not intend to talk about the film as such.
The film was nothing spectacular. Balakrishna was not the main hero, but when he came on screen, he got the most whistles, claps and cheers. But since it was a Monday and there weren’t many people in the hall, I got to notice something interesting. In the scenes where Balakrishna comes on to the screen for the first time, the whistles and hoots were embedded into the background score of the film, which could act either as a cue to the audience, or heighten the cheering that was already going on in the cinema halls.
Balakrishna first comes out of the water, there is a close up of him looking into the eyes of the audience, and then he proceeds to run towards a mad elephant, jump over its tuskers, climb on top of its head, and calm it down by smashing its head with his bare fists.
If this was two years back, I would laugh my guts out.
At the sheer silliness of it all. How could a hero agree to do that on screen? And how can an audience accept that kind of illogical nonsense?
But now, I can see deeper than just the logic (or the lack of it) of the scene.
My roommate for two years is a huge Pavan Kalyan fan.
Since I have never been a big fan of any particular actor, it took me a little while to come to terms with it. I had known that actors enjoy superhuman status in the South, but I had never gotten to see it first-hand. In my opinion, all those people were just some semi-literate people who had nothing else to do in the morning, but to pour milk over an effigy of their favourite star.
I couldn’t be further from the truth.
Gabbar Singh was set to release in early May of 2012.
Over the two years, three films starring Pavan Kalyan had released – Puli, Teenmaar, and Panja.Over the two years, I watched as my friend changed his Desktop wallpaper, his dressing, his Facebook Display Picture, and his Playlist according to the film that released. Each time, the film had flopped, and I had seen his disappointment.
Over the two years, I had seen the excitement that goes with the morning of the release. Friends from abroad calling to inform about the ‘talk’ that the film has garnered there. Strangers, whose only connection with each other was their love for their favourite star, would sit together and talk at length about the film’s success, endless debates online about the film’s reviews, and dirty mud-slinging to defend the star – I had seen it all.
Over the two years, I was administered a healthy dose of the star’s greatness. I was told that he was a huge fan of Che Guevera, and a die-hard Communist at heart. I was told that he was the only person in the entire state with the balls to take up the biggest criminal in the state – Ravi, the one whose life Raktha Charitrais based on. I was told about his passion for fight scenes – that he is a trained Black Belt who has been choreographing his own fight scenes for more than a decade now.
And after all this, I watched him fail – film after film. And then Gabbar Singh released to packed houses!
I could feel the excitement that a fan would feel. In my mind, I had softened up to this person who was crusading in his own way to make cinema that would stand out against the tripe that others were making. When I watched the film, I smiled when he came on screen. That he was bashing up people twice his size didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was on screen. And when he looked at the camera and smiled, or danced, I could see why fans would go crazy.
A film star is more than a person who acts in films as a profession.
In Andhra Pradesh, a star has more than just control over the Box Office. The fan culture in Andhra Pradesh is deeply embedded into the lives of the fans due to two main reasons: the huge caste sentiments that still exist in the state, and the fact that acting is a dynastical role that is passed on from one generation to the other.
In some districts in Andhra Pradesh, people kill each other over fights about their favourite star. Since most of the film industry is dominated by producers and actors belonging to higher castes, the communities in the area take up the work of fans as a caste-based activity. Balakrishna commands the loyalty of the upper caste communities in these areas. When I was doing a story about Krishnanagar (the hub of the film industry), I was told by struggling actors and directors that they were denied work simply because of their caste.
For the (I’m cringing here) lower castes, Pavan Kalyan, Chiranjeevi, and his son Ram Charan, are heroes. Supporting their favourite stars is no more about the film – it is an identity that they are proud of. That one of their own has taken on the other lions in their own den.
The second reason that I cited about the dynastical role of the Telugu film industry might not seem like much of a big deal, considering that it permeates most of our film industries. But scratch the surface and you will find that the industry is a feudal zamindari system, with some of the stars of today’s time being the third generation of actors in their families. Most of them can barely act, and without their genes, wouldn’t qualify as actors either based on their looks or their skills. But yet, they are given films, over and over again.
Forefathers are remembered through dialogues, references in the films, posters, and by paying tributes in terms of songs or scenes. Sometimes, the posters and opening credits contain references to their ancestors. Another trend that seems to have caught up these days is to have dialogues that will take potshots at other actors and their clans. It clearly is no more about the film. It is about the persona of the star. It is the manner in which the fans perceive him.
And come to think of it, while we may not all worship idols of our stars with milk before a release, we all allow a certain suspension of disbelief when it comes to our stars. How else can we accept a 45+ Shah Rukh Khan wooing a young Anushka Sharma. How else do we accept Sylvester Stallone winning a bout of boxing, over and over again, with opponents better skilled than him?
There is a string of similarity in the way stars are perceived the world over. They are looked up to, aspired at, and emulated.
It is definitely more than just making movies for a living.
And so when Pavan Kalyan came on screen, his head cocked to the side, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, I smiled.
Thanks to the presence of what we love to call the Multiplex Audience, we can now defragment our films and audiences into two types – the urban, intelligent, seemingly ‘cooler’ films, and the ‘masala’ potboilers that are supposed to be enjoyed ‘while leaving our brains at home’.
Imtiaz Ali has been a hero of the Multiplex Audience. He makes a comeback this time, with a film that is titled ‘Cocktail’, which, if you think about it, only the urban audience can understand the meaning of. The rural audience might mistake the film to be a beastiality blockbuster, involving a tail and a…you get the point.
I read a lot of criticism about the film, and finally got to watch it yesterday. And here are my learnings from the film:
It is quite easy to make multiplex cinema. You just have to strictly follow some formulae, add some songs, stir, and serve chilled. And then chill. Hit hai, boss!
So, here are the rules you need to follow to make a Multiplex film.
1. Cool Boy hero: The Multiplex film is incomplete without the Cool Boy hero. The cool boy hero wears tight T-shirts, cool shades, and hangs out women half his age, you know, because he is Cool Boy. Petty things like what he does for a living, who sponsors his cool shades and tight T-shirts, and how much tax he pays to the government, are minor avoidable details that do not need to be talked about.
Saif Ali Khan plays the Cool Boy hero in Cocktail. It’s a totally fresh approach, something we hadn’t seen in Hum Tum, Kal Ho Na Ho, Salaam Namaste, and Love Aaj Kal.
2. Love Triangle: The Multiplex Audience loves Love Triangles.
This trend is said to have begun since the release of 1985’s Teri Meherbaniyan, a passionate tale of love involving Poonam Dhillon, Jackie Shroff, and a black Labrador (link to a ‘touching’ song from film).
Puppy Love: The Poster of the iconic film.
But before we stray away from the topic, we need to focus.
So, Cocktail has a love triangle too. Cool Boy and Hot Chick and Behenji. Cool Boy, in a shocking move, opts for the Behenji instead of the Hot Chick, totally taking the audience by surprise. The Love Triangle helps make the most obtuse scripts into acute love story, and the writers of the film don’t shy away from using the tested method in ‘Cocktail’.
3. Punjabi Family: We in India love Punjabi families. After all, apne toh apne hote hain.
So, the hero belongs to a Punjabi family. The sole reason for the existence of the Punjabi family of course, is to make people laugh by saying funny things, and doing clumsy stuff. The Punjabi family members will of course, pronounce ‘petrol’ as ‘pay-TROLL’, and ‘sexy’ as ‘SAXY’, because that’s how everyone there pronounces stuff, no?
The women of the Punjabi family will have only aim in their lives – to get their sons and daughter married to a soni kudi and sona munda. Cocktail has Dimple Kapadia playing the Punjabi mother, who cries a lot because she is going through ‘Man-o-poss’, and who wants to see her son married to a cultured Indian kudi.
4. Women will be Women: Women will be subjected to intense introspective questions about their morals, and will have to look at themselves again, and this will be decided by the hero’s choice in women.
The hero’s choice in women, of course, will be the well-dressed, demure, shy girl. Deepika Padukone’s character Veronica, has clearly not watched Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, or Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar. Once Cool Boy hero chooses behenji as his soul mate, she goes through a metamorphosis. “Save me from this world,” she says, as she pleads Cool Boy hero to walk with her into the world of marriage, mother-in-law, and mangalsutra.
Once she sees that Cool Boy has chosen the other one, she changes her dressing, her habits, cooks food at home, and even prays in front of a statue of Krishna. In short, her whole life, turned topsy-turvy, for the guy who was sleeping with her till yesterday, and chose her best friend today. Womens’ Rights, zindabaad!
5. Epiphany Moment: The Law of Multiplex Cinema states that “There will be a moment of Epiphany in the film, where the hero realises that he loves the simple behenji. This moment shall be shot in slow-motion, and with lots of close-ups.”
True to its genre, ‘Cocktail’ also has this moment of epiphany. Saif Ali Khan, who till then has all the charm and emotional maturity of a water buffalo, has his moment of epiphany with the behenji.
Immediately after that, he becomes sensitive, caring, and emotional. He speaks to the woman softly, tells her he could drown in her eyes, and tries to solve her problems. Once you have reached till the Moment of Epiphany, the momentum you have picked up will be enough for the film to roll downhill and crash happily into the…
6. Happy Ending: “All’s well that ends well,” said William Shakespeare, after watching Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge. So naturally, the film happily stumbles on till the Cool Boy hero ends up with the Behenji, after taking the blessings of the Hot Chick. The Hot Chick, however, has not just given her blessings to the couple, she has had her own Moment of Epiphany, and has transformed into a girl of morals and values, as is clear from the fact that she now wears bindis and dresses up in modest clothing.
Bas, add some sufi songs, some foreign locations, a few comic scenes, and you have a heady cocktail, ready to be consumed by the multiple audience.
When Imtiaz Ali made ‘Socha Na Tha’ in 2005, I knew the film didn’t stand a chance.
But I still wanted to watch it for two reasons: 1. I thought it would be interesting to watch another moron coming out of the Deol stable. 2. I had seen Ayesha Takia in Tarzan The Wonder Car and some albums, and…how do I put it, I had two soft corners in my heart for her.
But when I watched the film, I was quite surprised. The film had no melodrama, it was just a film about two normal youngsters falling in love – nothing pathbreaking, but nothing brain-insulting either.
Since then, Imtiaz Ali has made a string of enjoyable films. I liked Jab We Met inspite of what people say about it, Love Aaj Kal was manageable. It was only then that Imtiaz Ali decided to go epic.
Firstly by signing Ranbir Kapoor – easily the largest star among the new crop. Secondly by signing on AR Rahman in a film about music. And finally, and the most important point – by calling it ‘Rockstar’. The third one, according to me, was the biggest blunder.
I know that the film was a huge success, but to me, it was the weakest of Imtiaz Ali’s films. Here’s why:
The Premise: The film begins off with Janardhan being told that he has to experience pain in order to become a great musician. I mean, is the guy a 15 year old or something? Who falls for something like that?
And far from merely believing him, he makes it his life’s ambition. Which ruins the whole point of being a talented musician. I wonder what pains did Udit Narayan have to go through to become a singer (apart from the fact that he married twice). And what trauma would Anu Malik have gone through, listening to his own voice on a daily basis!
When the movie progressed and I realised that the premise was so flimsy, I lost all respect for the protagonist. If you’re going to build your life around some stupid advice given by your college canteen owner, well, you’re not my Rockstar.
Logical Loopholes: ‘Rockstar’ had logical holes the size of meteors. Take for example how the girl he hangs out with gets married in the Czech Republic. In a few months, Jordan is selected to participate in a foreign tour (even though he is not a star). And where should he go for the tour? Take a wild guess? Czech Republic. Bingo!! And then, while over there, the way he randomly bumps into her without an address or phone number, you would think the entire Czech Republic was the size of Sikkim.
And how when Jordan gets arrested for breaking into Heer’s house and comes back, and the entire country’s media is making a huge hue and cry about it. Really, man? I mean, in a country where a woman is raped every 34 minutes, who would give a fuck about some not-famous singer getting sent back to India?
And what about that scene where she spends time with him and we are told that her ‘blood count is improving’. Fuck doctors and medical science, the guy has curing auras around him.
Nitpicking, I am, you say? Well, if I had to stretch my imagination, I could have as well watched ‘Golmaal’ or ‘Rowdy Rathore’, right? Why watch an Imtiaz Ali film?
Pain and angst: for what??
I didn’t understand what was the pain and angst that Jordan was going through. For one, it seemed fake.
Did he expect the girl to cancel her marriage and run away with him? The film would have ended in half an hour. She is married to someone else, you go make out with her, get her pregnant when she is suffering from a terminal illness, and then wail and cry like you have been wronged. Give me a break.
The whole image of the angry, troubled rockstar has been a stereotype for decades now, and no one wants to change it. Can’t we, after all these years, accept a normal, smiling rockstar who is good at what he does, and is not a psycho?
I remember, more than a decade ago, there was a song by Sonu Nigam called ‘Tu’. In the video, Sonu Nigam played some sort of a rockstar. He is shown to be angsty, and rough and tough (even though he went on to play Sunny Deol’s younger sister in Jaani Dushman – Ek Anokhi Kahaani).
Even though he was a lovable host of India’s most popular TV show, I wondered why he had to play a smoking, angry rockstar in the video. Now, I understand.
We need the pain and the angst. How else do we show that the hero is going through a metamorphosis? The cheapest trick in the book, in a country that releases more than a thousand films a year, is to show that the girl caused the guy immeasurable pain and grief.
Not something I’d expect from an Imtiaz Ali film.
And that’s why I thought that Rockstar was a crappy film.
Dibakar Banerjee is among my favourite directors, simply for the way his films stick out among our multi-colour, sappy-sweet three-hour dozefests that pass off as films.
In all the discussions I have had with friends, our understanding of films and their content amuses me. The common saying is, “Film entertaining hai, yaar. Dimaag nahi lagana padta hai.” This is what is entertaining – the Rohit Shettys and Prabhudeva films where Tata Sumos fly and women expose their navels and giggle. On the other end of the spectrum are the films that are supposed to move you to tears, or teach you a moral, or have some deep significance. The kind of films that Bhansali or Bhandarkar churn out regularly.
Dibakar Banerjee, through his films, manages to steer clear of either of the two stereotypes. His films are funny without a fat or dark guy being ridiculed, and they make you think without resorting to melancholic soundtracks and deep, philosophical mumbo-jumbo dialogues.
Those of you haven’t watched Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye and Khosla Ka Ghosla should do it immediately, to get what I mean. The characters have their own quirks and tics. They are funny, the situations are funny, and the detailing permeates to more than just the opulent sets – the detailing lies in the naming, the dialogues, the characters literally breathe their roles.
With Shanghai, Banerjee is going to uncharted territory. The film is dark, gloomy, and hopeless. And even though these should be mere traits of a film, it is considered bad, chiefly because our biggest blockbusters are all colourful and cheerful.
It is also the largest film Banerjee has attempted in terms of scale – his most outrightly political film.
The story is about a small town symbolically called ‘Bharatnagar’, which is all set to transform into a Shanghai – thanks to Special Economic Zone (SEZ) and other investors coming to the town. The whole town is in a state of celebration, when an activist, Dr. Ahmedi visits the town to talk to the people of the evils that await the town. He is no messiah, though. He is manipulative when he wants to be, and doesn’t mind making out with one of his students. But since he has ruffled a few important feathers, he gets bumped off.
What follows is the story of how three people become involved in a murky tale of grime and grease. Abhay Deol is a Tamilian IAS Officer, Emraan Hashmi is a pornographer/photographer, and Kalki Koechlin is one of Dr. Ahmedi’s students who wants justice.
The performances are top notch. While Kalki Koechlin takes some time to sink into her character, Abhay Deol and Hashmi – in my opinion two of the most important actors of the coming generation – are at ease with their roles right from the beginning. You have to watch Hashmi grin with his paan-stained teeth to see how much he has evolved from the guy who would sing a slow and song and seduce anything that moves. Abhay Deol’s accent, like his conscience, keeps slipping and finding its foot, but in no way does it hamper his performance as the IAS officer who wants to avoid being a mere pawn in the hands of ministers.
If the film is still playing in theatres far from you, go ahead and give it a watch. If it’s not, wait for it to come on TV. If you want to piss Kapil Sibal off a little, download it from the internet and watch it.
For it’s a film that deserves a watch. How long do we have to be subjected to no-brainers under the garb of ‘dimaag nahi lagana padta hai’. Since when did not using your brain become equal to having fun? And why don’t these people just sit at home and masturbate then? Us mein mazaa aata hai, aur dimaag bhi nahi lagana padta hai.
The film requires your patience, and some overlooking. It is satisfying, and frustrating. It is slow at times, and frantic in the others. It is silent, yet screams out to be heard.
And honestly, how many films can claim to do that?
I was surfing through the tripe that Times of India chooses to call news one of these days, when I read that an actress had signed out of a film that was being produced by Himesh Reshammiya. I was shocked. Himesh Reshammiya? A producer?? What had happened to the world?
Even though Himesh Reshammiyya is going through some bad times, I will not deny that I was a fan. I genuinely liked his songs in Aashiq Banaya Aapne, Aksar, and those other early films that he gave the music for.
Even though people laugh at him today, Himesh was the first and only cross-national singing superstar. Others had their own segments – Udit Narayan and Kumar Sanu on the rural market or Shaan/KK on the urban market. Himesh was the only artiste whose songs could be heard in the swankiest clubs and also the loudest autos. And though this survey wasn’t exactly done by Ernst & Young, his songs played in the background for almost all MMS clips that were made in India in the last few years. In the truest sense, the voice of our maddening nation. Himesh was the only rockstar to have existed in India.
It was hard to crack the formula that made his songs work. Was it the fast pace of all the songs? Was it the theme of the unfaithful girl, and the honest lover, a theme most Indian men like to live in? Or was it that someone who was not originally a star, had climbed the ladder and was splashed all over the television? No one really nose what the formula was, but it worked.
In an interview on Koffee with Karan, the lyricist Javed Akhtar had this interesting story to reveal about Himesh. When a lyricist wrote the lyrics for a song, Himesh asked him to leave the punchline for him to write. According to him, the punchline was the most catchy, and it is what makes a song.
If you look at his songs, you will realise that most of his songs have punchlines that are repeated, and have easy lyrics, which can be sung by one and all.
I love you O Sayyonee, I love you O Sayyonee, I love you O Sayyonee, Koi Shaq? (What’s up?)
In interviews, Himesh revealed that he has a bank of about 3000 tunes with him, and all he needs to do is churn them out, and he would never run out of hits. “Ever morning when I brush my teeth, I compose a tune,” said the man.
However, Himesh was never able to crack the cream of the market. He made music for films starring Emraan Hashmi, Akshay Kumar, or himself. People like the Chopras, the Johars, the Akhtars, never used his music for their films.
When he himself came on Karan Johar’s show, he expressed his desire to create tunes for A-list films and stars. I was a little scared that he might be alienating his target audience.
As if on cue, Himesh went ahead and got himself a makeover.
Change, they say, is good. But why would you want to change something that works perfectly?
It was doomed from the beginning, I tell you, this makeover ka chakkar. All those who have seen the trailer of Bin Bulaye Baraati would agree with me that sometimes, you just know something is not going to work out when you see it for the first time.
And I’d blame the all-homogenising, all-encompassing nature of the ‘market’ for what was being done to Himesh.
Earlier, he was a rolly-polly, bearded guy. None of the six-pack bullshit that every other actor seems to have. Indians have paunches, they relate to people with paunches. Himesh was the guy who looked uncomfortable and jittery when he was in front of the camera, but once the song began, he was the Main Man. Capable of squeezing emotions out you didn’t know existed in the first place out of you. The bearly beard which invoked the animalistic emotions in one and all. Tears, blood and sweat went into each of the songs. And the cap.
Whose brainwave was it to ask him to get rid of the cap? Are you shitting me? Himesh without the cap is like Che Guevera without his eyes.
Suddenly, there was this suave Himesh Reshammiya on our TV screens. The transformation left him nowhere. Neither was he suave enough for the classes, nor recognisable enough for the masses. A deep connection was left a void vacuum.
His songs, which always had killer punchlines that were catchy and easy to remember, became a mish-mash of a million things, changed beyond recognition.
I think he was going through a dilemma, trying to please everyone. What’s cool for one will never be cool for the other. And anyway, the definition of cool is as vague as Wasim Akram’s commentary. However, there are a few broad pointers that can tell you if you are doing something cool or not. For Himesh’s benefit, I have chosen to present some of those below:
But now, enough is enough, Himesh. Here is something you should know.
If you fit into the conventional, you would be Nadeem-Shravan. We have others, you know.
If we wanted just romantic songs, there is Enrique, who has been constipating on top of the charts for a few years now. If we wanted party songs, there is a lot of bull coming in from this Pitbull fellow. If we wanted peppy Hindi numbers, there are a million music directors. What we truly need is gut-wrenching songs of pain.
Songs of betrayed lovers, and unrequited love, in a country with a sex ratio of 850/1000. We need someone to invoke our banal instincts, our innermost pains. We need you to be you.
To quote another guy who had long hair and sang a bit through his nose, “Come as you are. As you were. As I want you to be.”
The year was 2004, and I first saw the trailer of Swades on the TV.
It seemed like an interesting film, and I was impressed that Shah Rukh Khan would take up the film, something that was totally out of his comfort zone.
He was done playing the Lover Boy in Europe, the Lover Boy with a daughter, the Lover Boy with students, the Lover Boy who dances in a troupe, and the Lover Boy who knows all about loving his family. Quite clearly, he needed to do something different.
It must have been quite a bold decision for him to make. The film wasn’t being made by the Johars, or the Chopras. Ashutosh Gowariker, fresh from the colossal success that was Lagaan, had both directed and produced it. Shah Rukh Khan did not wear colourful clothes that seemed to be stolen from a Gay Pride parade, and he didn’t stretch his hands out in the trailer.
“My name is Khan, but I love playing Jesus Christ”
It was a clear departure from the kind of films he had been churning out for more than a decade. I wondered if he was finally waking up to the fact that he could not dance around trees after reaching the age of 40. That he was looking for more grounded roles, and sensible cinema.
Though I didn’t go in with a lot of expectations, the film managed to capture my interest from the beginning.
It had an interesting premise, that of a NASA employee who comes to visit his childhood maid, and the experience transforms him. While the above description does not sound terribly exciting, it was a charming story.
There were no evil Zamindars, no Ramu Kaka, no weeping mothers with arati plates and the curtains flying. It was a simple story with a heart, and resorted to no gimmicks or unnecessary histrionics to move the story forward.
The biggest surprise of the film was Shah Rukh Khan. Now, whether you love him or hate him, Shah Rukh Khan is in your face throughout the year. Terrible as his choice of films may be, one cannot deny the fact that he has got tremendous screen presence. In Swades, he comes across as genuinely likeable.
Forget Kajol and Rani Mukherjee, the chemistry that SRK shared with the actress Gayatri Joshi (where on earth is she??) is the most I have seen with any actress he has shared screen space with. The two didn’t break into song in Holland or Greece at the drop of a hat, but there was enough in the plot to keep the tension going.
The soundtrack by Rahman is one of those less popular, but superior ones that vanish behind the Jai Ho and Naadaan Parindey.
The film did not have a fight in the climax, and no item numbers, and yet, when the film came to an end, there was a general sense of satisfaction I felt.
But the empty halls and poor reviews told another story. Taran Adarsh, the genius who said Ra.One has ‘soul’, and that ‘Rascals’ is hilarious, used all his film critiquing acumen to say, “The story of SWADES would’ve been ideal for a documentary…”
Even though some of the critics raved about the film, Swades eventually flopped.
Ashutosh Gowarikar took a sabbatical for four long years. And Shah Rukh Khan went back to his Om Shanti Om and Rab Ne Banadi kind of films.
*********************************************
Now, when I see films like Ra.One, or SRK monkeying around at Filmfare awards in a Sheila costume, I wonder if he’d be doing this if Swades had gone on to become a hit?
If one has a walk down memory lane through Indian films, one of the most interesting aspects, is the usage of alcohol. As anyone who comes from a ‘good’ family would know, alcohol is bad for a person, his wife, his children, his village, the society, and mankind in general.
Even though alcohol was established as the cause of all evil, every film used it, because drinking could have strange effects, which would move the story forward. Some of the standard usages of alcohol would be:
The Seduction drink: The heroine drinks, her one eye on the hero, and to make him ‘burn’, she would gobble it and then sing a song and dance in a skimpy dress. At the end of the song, the hero slaps the heroine, and she ‘regains’ her consciousness and her culture, and all’s good. Sometimes, it would be the vamp who does it. Dancing seductively, she would draw the hero to commit the ‘ek hi bhool’ of his life.
The Rape drink: The villan eyes the heroine. He thenpursues her, while there is lightning and thunder outside, after taking a few gulps from the black, evil drink. However, this turns to be his bane, as the hero jumps in at the last minute to save the heroine, or
swears to take revenge for his sister’s izzat, which ultimately proves to be the demise of the villain.
The ‘Dhoka Song‘ drink: This is by far the most interesting one of the lot. The heroine is with another man (mostly the villain). The hero is at the party, and an old
man says “We have Rakesh here, who is a brilliant singer. Mr. Rakesh, why don’t you sing us a song?” The man gulps a few drinks (neat, always!) and then begins to sing the song. The song is about indifelity, and why one should never fall in love.
It must be noted here that the hero being a man of good honour and conduct, drinks only when there is a problem of some sort, not on a regular basis. It must also be noted that the hero does not like to mix Thums Up, add some water, and then order for peanuts. The hero only has his drink neat, thank you.
"Soda is for pussies""Heroes have it neat"
Dhoka songs have always been safe territories for filmmakers. In a country with a population of one billion and a sex ratio of 850/1000, there are bound to be some frustrated men around. With people like Himesh Reshammiya making it a different genre altogether, these songs are immensely popular among the youth. I find it strange
that many of us find it easier to think of girls as unfaithful creatures, rather than as loving people (Girls who are reading this, kindly give me the required brownie points for this remark!)
I have my favourite Dhoka songs as well.
Then there is ‘Aaj rapat jaaye’ from Namak Halal, and Preity Zinta’s act in Koi Mil Gaya which makes your mind wander ‘idhar-udhar’. Then there is Kajol running around drunk in Switzerland in DDLJ, among the few that I can recollect now.
There is ‘Ae kaash kahin aisa hota’ from Mohra, which was my reigning favourite till a few days back. The meaningful lyrics (a rough translation of which is given below)
“Oh how I wish that the human body had two hearts in the chest
Even if one broke in love, there would be no problem in living”
The lyrics made the song easy to relate to. Then there was Raveena Tandon, who puts the ‘oooo’ in ooomph, with her looks. There is Kumar Sanu, pouring out emotions straight from his heart, and through his nose. The song was the ultimate Dhoka song.
But a few days back, a friend brought to my attention another song. This one by Babbu Mann.
Those of you who do not know who Babbu Mann is, may kindly visit his website, where it is clearly mentioned that “Now he is entrenched Punjabi pop singer, composer, lyricist, playback singer and actor as well.” (Mind you, he is not just ‘established’, but ‘entrenched’.)
Mann acquired cult status for his work in the devotional album ‘Singh better than King‘, and the the hush-hush love story, aptly titled ‘Hashar: A love story‘. Lest he be stereotyped into a romantic singer, the website reminds us that “The song “Ek Raat/One Night Stand” shocked many listeners, but nevertheless, the song has a very catchy beat.”
So that was about Babbu Mann. Now about the song, “Dil Ta Pagal Hai.”
The song is the ultimate ‘Dhoka song’ in the universe. It’s difficult to point out just one reason why the song is a chartbuster.
Is it because of the costume, which adds an element of ‘blues’ into the bhangra? Is it the Peter Pettigrew style of covering the girl with flowers (00:46)? Or is it the way the hero comes out of his fantasies? (1:04, 3:42) Or is it the way he grabs the heroine with power, and turns her around, sending her into circles of tizziness (2:23)? The sheer power of the man makes you wonder if the girl is playing ‘Ringa Ringa Roses’ with herself.
But then, there is also pain. There is sadness, and there is alcohol. There is the evil bitch of a heroine, who has ditched our man, there is the melancholic depression, the happy moments in the past, and the hapless bridegroom who has no idea how many ‘guls’ the girl had earlier ‘khilaoed’ with Babbu Mann. He’s the man!
Watch the video, and you have yourself a wonderful week of work!
Remember, if things get bad, there is always the bottle.
It was in the year 2005, when I first saw the bearded man on the television. Mike in hand, and anguish in his face, a new cult of songs was born. I like to call them Emraan Hashmi songs.
Emraan Hashmi is one actor who has done way better than his peers in the same league. Within a few years, he has proved that he can draw audiences to theatres as a solo hero. When his career will be analysed later, one aspect that will never escape the critics is the huge number of hit songs he has had.
Film after film, Hashmi has managed to make even ordinary songs a hit, even though his dancing is limited to swaying his pelvis from left to right. And it is an unignorable fact that most of the songs were sung by Himesh Reshamiyya.
Together, the two of them epitomise something that is intrinsic to us Indians – horniness. We are a very tharki country, saar. Very tharki. Repressed as we are throughout childhood and adolosence, horniness is something that comes naturally to us.
Here is where the Emraan Hashmi songs work. They make every dream imaginable, in two ways. One, that anyone can be a hero. And two, that anyone can sing.
Emraan Hashmi is no Hrithik Roshan. No bicep-flexing, brake dancing, moon-walking crap. Those are for sons of film producers. He is just a guy who walks slowly behind the girl, a perverse smile on his face, singing a slow song, and at the end of the song, he gets hot action. Emraan Hashmi is the tharki Indian’s role model.
The same goes with Himesh songs. They are generally sad in nature – the earlier ones mostly about the girl being bewafaa. The songs talk about broken hearts, and infidelity, our favourite pet themes for songs. Even though his songs were targetted at the urban audiences as well, as can be seen by the lyrics of the song:
“I love you Sayonee, I love you Sayonee, I love you Sayonee.”
“Koi Shaq? What’s up??”
Even though words like ‘What’s up’ make the song appeal to the urban audiences as well, Himesh Reshamiyya was the true voice of India. For years after his cap debuted on Indian television, Himesh’s songs were played in autos, in markets, in clubs, and in films. His song had easy lyrics, mostly with words that repeated themselves over and over, which made it easy to remember as well. Sample this:
“Zara Jhoom Jhoom, Zara Jhoom Jhoom, Zara Jhoom Jhoom Zara Jhoom”
I think you get the point. Himesh made the entire nation sing. Songs of heart-wrenching pain and ‘blood-supplying’ lust. Together, Hashmi-Himesh gave wings to the entire country’s fantasies.
And so when I saw the trailer of Emraan Hashmi’s new film, there was a sense of nostalgia. It was an Emraan Hashmi song.
Hero walking behind heroine, crooning a love song with a slow beat, the unmistakable horny voice, lyrics pregnant with meaning (Tujhe dekhun aaj, tuhmein khoun aaj….), the babe walking ahead of the guy, looking back at him, and Hashmi, smiling, and approaching her….
Director Kabir Khan’s first venture, ‘Kabul Express’ was quite an interesting watch. He had cleverly blended the documentary style with commercial elements. It had its flaws but it was quite watchable. However, in his second outing, Khan chooses a wider canvas – 9/11 and its impact on Muslims.
Omar (Neil Nitin Mukesh) is asked to spy on his former college friend, Sam (John Abraham) because an FBI officer (Irrfan Khan) is convinced that he is involved in terrorist activities. Neil agrees to it hesitantly, but more to prove him wrong. Sam is married to Maya (Katrina) who was Neil’s college crush. He discovers there is more to Sam than meets the eye. You might want to watch the movie to know what happens next.
What works for New York is that it has its heart in the right place. Khan wastes no time to setting up the mood of the film. Supposedly based on actual research, Khan keeps the plot clean from any sub-plots, item numbers, or gimmicks- something that is common in Bollywood these days. But since it is after all a Yashraj film, you have the usual slow-mo of the heroine, the flowers falling from the trees, and the songs in the background.
However, there are large gaping holes of logic in the film. If the FBI has sufficient proof on Sam, why are they willing to wait and watch out for his next move? If Maya works for Human Rights of immigrants, how can she let her hubby blow away thousands of innocent people just because she is waiting for him to “come back to the right path”? If you can ignore these follies, you might find the film somewhat engrossing.
Now the performances. The backbone of the film obviously is Irrfan Khan. He manages to make his role convincing. Neil Nitin Mukesh does a competent job. However, it is the acting of the lead pair Abraham and Kaif that disappoint. You cannot sympathise with the characters because they hardly make you believe it. While Kaif gets to do something different from her usual mad-cap comedy capers, it is John Abraham who disappoints. In what is an author-written role that could have made the difference between an okay and good film, John doesn’t deliver the goods. His acting skills have graduated from wooden to plastic and it is a serious dampener in the film.
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