Friday, March 27, 2009
Videsh+2
Videsh -- Heaven on Earth
Maybe it sounds cruel, but today if a woman (or even a man), puts up with abuse, she (or he) doesn’t get much sympathy. Because—at least in the West—there are ways out.
If made a decade or two ago, Deepa Mehta’s Videsh-- Heaven on Earth may have rung true and had some impact, because there wasn’t so much awareness about domestic violence. Which is not to say that the problem does not exist—but the audience expects more than just a delineation of the issue.
Chand (Preity Zinta), strangely enough, is sent all alone to Canada, to marry a man she has never met. The family she goes into comes across as a greedy, grasping type – they even rent out their beds in the day time, presumably to night shift workers. Chand’s husband Rocky (Vansh Bharadwaj) is under pressure to bring his other brothers to Canada as well, but is a passive Mamma’s boy, who has no sexual interest his wife—or rather no human feelings at all, except anger, which erupts in physical violence. The nasty mother-in-law (Baljinder Johal) gloats, and the family sits and watches, like it were a TV serial.
You expect some expression of anger or shock from Chand (who is an educated, city girl), but she is totally passive too. She recites poetry after every assault, and, despite offers of help and sympathy from a fellow worker at a laundry where she is forced to labour, does nothing at all. At least, in Provoked, also about domestic violence, the woman was not such a robot, and the man not such a one-dimensional, spineless creep.
Mehta then goes into fantasy (or magic realism)—inspired by Girish Karnad’s play Nagamandala, which was based on a folk tale. Needless to say, this blend of harsh reality and colourful legend (where a cobra takes on the form of her husband in loving mode) makes for an uneasy, and quite unwatchable mix. In today’s age, would a woman even agree to go through an ‘agniparikha’ or ‘nagpariskha’ to prove her chastity? Would it even be demanded of her?
To top it all, the film is slow, has inexplicable black and white portions, and is deliberately shot in the ugly suburban dystopia in a manner that induces claustrophobia.
It is up to Preity Zinta to create a believable, sympathetic character, and she gives it all she’s got—especially in the scenes where she is to look weak and stricken. Maybe the film is meant to show the Western viewer a version of Indian middle-class hell—arranged marriages, a phony sense of community and honour, an ugly patriarchy that oppresses women, but also creates heartless men – like Chand’s husband, her weirdly indifferent father-in-law, and a chronically unemployed brother-in-law. For the Indian viewer, it’s saas-bahu déjà vu.
Aa Dekhen Zara
An unemployed photographer inherits a camera from his grandfather. It has the ability to click the future. Cheesy, but workable sc-fi concept, on the lines of Eyes of Laura Mars. What Jehangir Surti makes of it, is another matter.
In Aa Dekhen Zara, Ray (Neil Nitin Mukesh), uses the above-mentioned camera to make a fortune from gambling. However, instead of the income tax people clamping down, he is chased by a mysterious gangster called Captain (Rahul Dev), and a couple of evil Intelligence Bureau types (including a bikini-clad Sophie Choudhry—the cops hire off the ramp, or what?), who claim they want the camera for national security.
Since the film is turned into a rather predictable thriller, there has to be a sidekick, preferably sexy female, and DJ Simi (Bipasha Basu) fills in, so that at a later point in the story when some Oriental goondas order her to dance, she can willingly oblige.
Running from the murderous Captain, and always one step ahead of him, because of the camera, Ray and Simi land up in Bangkok and Vishesh Film territory, where stray cabbies lay down their lives for the hero, and the villain has moles all over the place. The only slightly interesting element is that Ray believes that he is going to die, so all the running around seems a bit futile.
The script is unimaginative, the direction stodgy and the acting… let’s just say Bipasha Basu has done better before, and Neil Nitin Mukesh had better work harder.
Ek The Power of One
He has floppy hair, kohl-ed eyes, and blank face; he could have walked off (or into) one of the many fashion weeks. But he is a hired killer about to be reformed by a large, loving Punjabi family in Hoshiarpur. Not again, you groan? Exactly. Dushman meets Badal meets Jab We Met is not exactly exciting now.
In Sangeeth Sivan’s Ek The Power of One, Bobby Deol plays the kajaled killer Nandu, who, after a hit got wrong meets a garrulous sort in a train, who tells him his whole life story. The chatterbox is killed by a bullet meant for Nandu, and the fugitive ends up impersonating Puran, the long-lost beloved grandson of a village patriarch (Kulbhushan Kharbanda not quite filling Amrish Puri’s shoes).
Back home, a loutish CBI inspector Rane (Nana Patekar), with weird caps, worse accent and offensive lines, is on the trail of the missing killer, who, believe it or not, is traced by his bank account! Do hitmen deposit their ill-gotten gains in nationalized banks?
Nandu is pampered by the family, there’s a childhood sweetheart (Shriya Saran) waiting, plenty of singing and fighting to be done. More painful than watching yet another Punjabi clan with women standing around like over-stuffed sofas, is enduring Nana Patekar trying so hard to be cool.
Apparently, Athadu, the Telugu film on which this is based was a big hit. Sangeeth Sivan just got it all wrong, or maybe, took so long over it, that it lost its flavour, like food left in the fridge for too many days.
Maybe it sounds cruel, but today if a woman (or even a man), puts up with abuse, she (or he) doesn’t get much sympathy. Because—at least in the West—there are ways out.
If made a decade or two ago, Deepa Mehta’s Videsh-- Heaven on Earth may have rung true and had some impact, because there wasn’t so much awareness about domestic violence. Which is not to say that the problem does not exist—but the audience expects more than just a delineation of the issue.
Chand (Preity Zinta), strangely enough, is sent all alone to Canada, to marry a man she has never met. The family she goes into comes across as a greedy, grasping type – they even rent out their beds in the day time, presumably to night shift workers. Chand’s husband Rocky (Vansh Bharadwaj) is under pressure to bring his other brothers to Canada as well, but is a passive Mamma’s boy, who has no sexual interest his wife—or rather no human feelings at all, except anger, which erupts in physical violence. The nasty mother-in-law (Baljinder Johal) gloats, and the family sits and watches, like it were a TV serial.
You expect some expression of anger or shock from Chand (who is an educated, city girl), but she is totally passive too. She recites poetry after every assault, and, despite offers of help and sympathy from a fellow worker at a laundry where she is forced to labour, does nothing at all. At least, in Provoked, also about domestic violence, the woman was not such a robot, and the man not such a one-dimensional, spineless creep.
Mehta then goes into fantasy (or magic realism)—inspired by Girish Karnad’s play Nagamandala, which was based on a folk tale. Needless to say, this blend of harsh reality and colourful legend (where a cobra takes on the form of her husband in loving mode) makes for an uneasy, and quite unwatchable mix. In today’s age, would a woman even agree to go through an ‘agniparikha’ or ‘nagpariskha’ to prove her chastity? Would it even be demanded of her?
To top it all, the film is slow, has inexplicable black and white portions, and is deliberately shot in the ugly suburban dystopia in a manner that induces claustrophobia.
It is up to Preity Zinta to create a believable, sympathetic character, and she gives it all she’s got—especially in the scenes where she is to look weak and stricken. Maybe the film is meant to show the Western viewer a version of Indian middle-class hell—arranged marriages, a phony sense of community and honour, an ugly patriarchy that oppresses women, but also creates heartless men – like Chand’s husband, her weirdly indifferent father-in-law, and a chronically unemployed brother-in-law. For the Indian viewer, it’s saas-bahu déjà vu.
Aa Dekhen Zara
An unemployed photographer inherits a camera from his grandfather. It has the ability to click the future. Cheesy, but workable sc-fi concept, on the lines of Eyes of Laura Mars. What Jehangir Surti makes of it, is another matter.
In Aa Dekhen Zara, Ray (Neil Nitin Mukesh), uses the above-mentioned camera to make a fortune from gambling. However, instead of the income tax people clamping down, he is chased by a mysterious gangster called Captain (Rahul Dev), and a couple of evil Intelligence Bureau types (including a bikini-clad Sophie Choudhry—the cops hire off the ramp, or what?), who claim they want the camera for national security.
Since the film is turned into a rather predictable thriller, there has to be a sidekick, preferably sexy female, and DJ Simi (Bipasha Basu) fills in, so that at a later point in the story when some Oriental goondas order her to dance, she can willingly oblige.
Running from the murderous Captain, and always one step ahead of him, because of the camera, Ray and Simi land up in Bangkok and Vishesh Film territory, where stray cabbies lay down their lives for the hero, and the villain has moles all over the place. The only slightly interesting element is that Ray believes that he is going to die, so all the running around seems a bit futile.
The script is unimaginative, the direction stodgy and the acting… let’s just say Bipasha Basu has done better before, and Neil Nitin Mukesh had better work harder.
Ek The Power of One
He has floppy hair, kohl-ed eyes, and blank face; he could have walked off (or into) one of the many fashion weeks. But he is a hired killer about to be reformed by a large, loving Punjabi family in Hoshiarpur. Not again, you groan? Exactly. Dushman meets Badal meets Jab We Met is not exactly exciting now.
In Sangeeth Sivan’s Ek The Power of One, Bobby Deol plays the kajaled killer Nandu, who, after a hit got wrong meets a garrulous sort in a train, who tells him his whole life story. The chatterbox is killed by a bullet meant for Nandu, and the fugitive ends up impersonating Puran, the long-lost beloved grandson of a village patriarch (Kulbhushan Kharbanda not quite filling Amrish Puri’s shoes).
Back home, a loutish CBI inspector Rane (Nana Patekar), with weird caps, worse accent and offensive lines, is on the trail of the missing killer, who, believe it or not, is traced by his bank account! Do hitmen deposit their ill-gotten gains in nationalized banks?
Nandu is pampered by the family, there’s a childhood sweetheart (Shriya Saran) waiting, plenty of singing and fighting to be done. More painful than watching yet another Punjabi clan with women standing around like over-stuffed sofas, is enduring Nana Patekar trying so hard to be cool.
Apparently, Athadu, the Telugu film on which this is based was a big hit. Sangeeth Sivan just got it all wrong, or maybe, took so long over it, that it lost its flavour, like food left in the fridge for too many days.
Labels: Cinemaah
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Firaaq+3
Firaaq
Nandita Das makes an excellent debut with Firaaq – it is assured and heart-felt filmmaking. Considering the volatile subject matter, it is also remarkably subtle.
The film is set a little after the Gujarat genocide—and there are her characters going through those horrible times, coping in their own way. A submissive housewife (Deepti Naval) appalled at the complicity of her husband (Paresh Rawal) and his brother in the crimes, punishes herself.
There is a Muslim musician (Naseeruddin Shah), who is shielded from the trauma by his servant (Raghuvir Yadav). A young couple (Shahana Goswani-Nowaz) return to their home and find it burnt down; she suspects her best friend (Amruta Subhash) of having done it.
A couple that had an inter-religious marriage (Sanjay Suri-Tisca Chopra) plan to move out of Gujarat. A group of Muslim boys plan revenge and a child (Mohammad Samad) with terror on his face wanders around like a voice of conscience.
However, since the film comes so many years after the horror, these points have been made, the debates of the kind that take place in the film’s upper class drawing room have been exhausted, and what remains, perhaps is a shell of clichés and confused responses that strive to be secular and politically correct.
The way Gujarat is now is more interesting and complex – how the law enforcers, politicians and common people can put it all behind and become, much to everyone’s skepticism a rapidly developing state—and in such a circumstance, what residual emotions spring up. There is no debate about what happened then— words can’t describe the atrocity— so what one sees in the film seems like the anger and shame Das, as a civilized person, has carried with her over the years. And as an audience, one can say, that instead of stating the obvious, one is more interested in a mature filmmakers going below the surface, bringing out hidden or forgotten aspects.
Firaaq is still a brave film, a cry of anguish, and a cautionary note for the future. She has got superb performances from her ensemble cast – there’s Deepti Naval and her tormented eyes, and some whose names one doesn’t know (like the food cart man, who casually says what a lot of people probably only thought); even South star Nasser in a two scene cameo sears the screen.
Straight
It seems a bit odd—a guy in his thirties, who lives in London, owns a restaurant and drives Mercedes, is a total innocent when it comes to matters sexual.
Parvati Balagopalan’s Straight, takes a brave shot at a comedy about a guy who is so unlucky with women that he begins to worry that he is gay. Just that it is hardly funny, and not very edifying when some of scenes involve Vinay Pathak taking his shirt off.
It has been said before and it can be said again, Pathak is a fine actor, but when he is miscast and also shoved into every frame of the film, he isn’t all that watchable. And here his buffoonery tends to get out of hand, so instead of feeling sorry for poor virginal Pinu Patel, you feel exasperated.
His well-meaning aunt (Ketki Dave), uncle (Rasik Dave) and cousin (Sid Makkar) try to get him married, but Pinu is invariably left high and dry at the mandap. So he goes back to running his restaurant called Gaylord, and is seriously alarmed when the ‘Lord’ is dimmed, because he has started fantasizing about his new cook Kamlesh (Anuj Chaudhary), instead of his new rather over-eager cashier Renu (Gul Panag).
In London, where nobody would give a damn if he experimented any which way, Pinu looks goggle eyed or peers, anxiously at himself under his blanket, and generally behaves as if he had cancer in its third stage.
The good thing about the film is that it is not politically incorrect, does not portray gays as ‘pansy’ stereotypes (though there a moment when Pinu literally imagines himself as a pansy, as in the flower).
Anuj Chaudhary as a chef and aspiring stand up comedian, and Sid Makkar as the agony uncle cousin are the only two who don’t overact, and Gul Panag doesn’t act at all, merely looks excited at the sight of Pinu Patel.
Baraah Aana
Raja Menon’s film comes from the same school of thought as Aravind Adiga’s Booker-winning book The White Tiger, and maybe, to some extent, Slumdog Millionaire.
What they all say is that poverty in India is so dehumanizing, that any means are okay to get out of it—even crime.
Shukla (Naseeruddin Shah), a driver, Yadav (Vijay Raaz), a watchman and Aman (Anuj Mathur), a waiter live in the slums, and are, expectedly, always short of money. To top their misery, the silent Shukla’s employer is nasty and accuses him of everything from theft to body odour. Yadav can’t get anyone to lend him money when his son falls ill in the village. Aman’s problem is relatively trivial, he wants to impress a foreigner (Violante Placido) in the hope that she will marry him. He also has a slum woman (Tannishtha Chatterji) making eyes at him, and demanding to be taken to a movie in a multiplex.
Yadav inadvertently commits a crime that leaves him with a windfall, so he cajoles the other two to join in and make a ‘business’ of it. Menon wants the audience to sympathise with these characters, as if there could be any justification for targeting innocent people. The film goes by the simplistic calculation that all rich people are mean-spirited creeps anyway, so the poor should rob them.
That apart, the film is slow, repetitive and maybe has just some interesting bits in the general air of tedium it generates—plus the wildly disparate acting skills of the actors, so that Naseeruddin Shah’s silence is eloquent and Vijay Raaz’s garrulousness grates. Maybe not worth the exorbitant rates of a multiplex ticket. The film’s ads describe it as a comedy… with Amir Khan’s endorsement. Maybe some people are amused when their pockets are picked!
Aloo Chaat
What kind of wimp would not have the courage to own up to his parents that he loves a girl from another community, and then go on to deceive them?
The precedent, as a character in Robby Grewal’s loud sit-com style film says, has been set by Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge.
Nikhil (Aftab Shivdasani), coming back from the US, is pushed into marriage mode by his demented Delhi family—father (Kulbhusban Kharbanda), mother, grandmother and uncle making enough of a racket to wake up the next planet.
He confides in another uncle, a Hakim Tarachand (Manoj Pahwa), who suggests that if he brings a white girl as his intended and gets her to misbehave, his parents will actually be happy to accept a Muslim daughter-in-law.
They hunt out an American living in India (Linda Arsenio), who for some unexplained reason (large sum of money?) agrees to debase herself and her country, so that Aamna (Sharif) can be brought in by the back door.
Americans have no morals, they marry and divorce at whim, they smoke, drink, wear skimpy clothes and sunbathe on terraces in bikinis (the girl is shown a video or Purab Aur Paschim to get the idea— the stereotypes remain decades later); while ‘good’ girls wear voluminous dupattas, take permission to go out and cook instant meals. This is racism in reverse also sexist and old fashioned—it’s just not funny. And between the whole noisy bunch, not one decent performance.
Nandita Das makes an excellent debut with Firaaq – it is assured and heart-felt filmmaking. Considering the volatile subject matter, it is also remarkably subtle.
The film is set a little after the Gujarat genocide—and there are her characters going through those horrible times, coping in their own way. A submissive housewife (Deepti Naval) appalled at the complicity of her husband (Paresh Rawal) and his brother in the crimes, punishes herself.
There is a Muslim musician (Naseeruddin Shah), who is shielded from the trauma by his servant (Raghuvir Yadav). A young couple (Shahana Goswani-Nowaz) return to their home and find it burnt down; she suspects her best friend (Amruta Subhash) of having done it.
A couple that had an inter-religious marriage (Sanjay Suri-Tisca Chopra) plan to move out of Gujarat. A group of Muslim boys plan revenge and a child (Mohammad Samad) with terror on his face wanders around like a voice of conscience.
However, since the film comes so many years after the horror, these points have been made, the debates of the kind that take place in the film’s upper class drawing room have been exhausted, and what remains, perhaps is a shell of clichés and confused responses that strive to be secular and politically correct.
The way Gujarat is now is more interesting and complex – how the law enforcers, politicians and common people can put it all behind and become, much to everyone’s skepticism a rapidly developing state—and in such a circumstance, what residual emotions spring up. There is no debate about what happened then— words can’t describe the atrocity— so what one sees in the film seems like the anger and shame Das, as a civilized person, has carried with her over the years. And as an audience, one can say, that instead of stating the obvious, one is more interested in a mature filmmakers going below the surface, bringing out hidden or forgotten aspects.
Firaaq is still a brave film, a cry of anguish, and a cautionary note for the future. She has got superb performances from her ensemble cast – there’s Deepti Naval and her tormented eyes, and some whose names one doesn’t know (like the food cart man, who casually says what a lot of people probably only thought); even South star Nasser in a two scene cameo sears the screen.
Straight
It seems a bit odd—a guy in his thirties, who lives in London, owns a restaurant and drives Mercedes, is a total innocent when it comes to matters sexual.
Parvati Balagopalan’s Straight, takes a brave shot at a comedy about a guy who is so unlucky with women that he begins to worry that he is gay. Just that it is hardly funny, and not very edifying when some of scenes involve Vinay Pathak taking his shirt off.
It has been said before and it can be said again, Pathak is a fine actor, but when he is miscast and also shoved into every frame of the film, he isn’t all that watchable. And here his buffoonery tends to get out of hand, so instead of feeling sorry for poor virginal Pinu Patel, you feel exasperated.
His well-meaning aunt (Ketki Dave), uncle (Rasik Dave) and cousin (Sid Makkar) try to get him married, but Pinu is invariably left high and dry at the mandap. So he goes back to running his restaurant called Gaylord, and is seriously alarmed when the ‘Lord’ is dimmed, because he has started fantasizing about his new cook Kamlesh (Anuj Chaudhary), instead of his new rather over-eager cashier Renu (Gul Panag).
In London, where nobody would give a damn if he experimented any which way, Pinu looks goggle eyed or peers, anxiously at himself under his blanket, and generally behaves as if he had cancer in its third stage.
The good thing about the film is that it is not politically incorrect, does not portray gays as ‘pansy’ stereotypes (though there a moment when Pinu literally imagines himself as a pansy, as in the flower).
Anuj Chaudhary as a chef and aspiring stand up comedian, and Sid Makkar as the agony uncle cousin are the only two who don’t overact, and Gul Panag doesn’t act at all, merely looks excited at the sight of Pinu Patel.
Baraah Aana
Raja Menon’s film comes from the same school of thought as Aravind Adiga’s Booker-winning book The White Tiger, and maybe, to some extent, Slumdog Millionaire.
What they all say is that poverty in India is so dehumanizing, that any means are okay to get out of it—even crime.
Shukla (Naseeruddin Shah), a driver, Yadav (Vijay Raaz), a watchman and Aman (Anuj Mathur), a waiter live in the slums, and are, expectedly, always short of money. To top their misery, the silent Shukla’s employer is nasty and accuses him of everything from theft to body odour. Yadav can’t get anyone to lend him money when his son falls ill in the village. Aman’s problem is relatively trivial, he wants to impress a foreigner (Violante Placido) in the hope that she will marry him. He also has a slum woman (Tannishtha Chatterji) making eyes at him, and demanding to be taken to a movie in a multiplex.
Yadav inadvertently commits a crime that leaves him with a windfall, so he cajoles the other two to join in and make a ‘business’ of it. Menon wants the audience to sympathise with these characters, as if there could be any justification for targeting innocent people. The film goes by the simplistic calculation that all rich people are mean-spirited creeps anyway, so the poor should rob them.
That apart, the film is slow, repetitive and maybe has just some interesting bits in the general air of tedium it generates—plus the wildly disparate acting skills of the actors, so that Naseeruddin Shah’s silence is eloquent and Vijay Raaz’s garrulousness grates. Maybe not worth the exorbitant rates of a multiplex ticket. The film’s ads describe it as a comedy… with Amir Khan’s endorsement. Maybe some people are amused when their pockets are picked!
Aloo Chaat
What kind of wimp would not have the courage to own up to his parents that he loves a girl from another community, and then go on to deceive them?
The precedent, as a character in Robby Grewal’s loud sit-com style film says, has been set by Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge.
Nikhil (Aftab Shivdasani), coming back from the US, is pushed into marriage mode by his demented Delhi family—father (Kulbhusban Kharbanda), mother, grandmother and uncle making enough of a racket to wake up the next planet.
He confides in another uncle, a Hakim Tarachand (Manoj Pahwa), who suggests that if he brings a white girl as his intended and gets her to misbehave, his parents will actually be happy to accept a Muslim daughter-in-law.
They hunt out an American living in India (Linda Arsenio), who for some unexplained reason (large sum of money?) agrees to debase herself and her country, so that Aamna (Sharif) can be brought in by the back door.
Americans have no morals, they marry and divorce at whim, they smoke, drink, wear skimpy clothes and sunbathe on terraces in bikinis (the girl is shown a video or Purab Aur Paschim to get the idea— the stereotypes remain decades later); while ‘good’ girls wear voluminous dupattas, take permission to go out and cook instant meals. This is racism in reverse also sexist and old fashioned—it’s just not funny. And between the whole noisy bunch, not one decent performance.
Labels: Cinemaah
