cinemaah

Short Kut+Sankat City

2009-07-12T11:37:00.003+05:30

Short Kut - The Con Is On

If Neeraj Vora’s Short Kut - The Con Is On looks like a poor copy of Priyadarshan’s films, it’s probably because it is taken from the Malayalam Udayananu Tharam.

There is a menagerie of ‘chawl-walas’ and an actor who could have been Paresh Rawal if he had dates to spare as the landlord (Siddharth Randeria in Rawal’s Hera Pheri get-up). The original was a hit, but Short Kut - The Con stops just short of unbearable, which goes to show that all copies don't work.

Produced by Anil Kapoor—who should have known better— starring Akshaye Khanna, who is reported to be very ‘choosy’ this film is a ‘kon’ in every department--starting with Anees Bazmee taking credit for the script.

Shekhar (Akshaye Khanna) is an assistant director (to Neeraj Vora, if you please—such vanity!) who wants to make his own film. He lives in a chawl in which every resident is some kind of freak—maybe that was Vora’s idea of humour. A flop actor buddy of his, Raju (Arshad Warsi) comes as an unwelcome guest, and steals Shekhar’s ‘superhit’ script.

He becomes a star overnight, while Shekhar, unable to recover from the betrayal, goes rapidly downhill. To make things worse, his actress girlfriend Mansi (Amrita Rao) runs away from home and insists on marrying him, and Shekhar is can’t bear taunts about living off his wife.

Film people making films about the industry usually get it so wrong. Are films made the way as shown in the film? There seems to be just one white-clad director around—if you don’t count Abbas-Mustan doing an embarrassed cameo to say “cut.”

You expect that a man as wounded as Shekhar would want to take revenge, but when he is forced to make a film (produced by the demented chawl gang!) with the now arrogant Raju, he meekly agrees and puts up with his misbehaviour. You wait for the worm to turn, and that doesn’t happen, even after a Bowfinger-inspired climax.

The drama is non-existent, in the name of comedy, everybody wears weird costumes and shouts. Akshaye Khanna in an unflattering wig, mostly wears one peevish expression, Arshad Warsi hams away; Amrita Rao is in her much-publicised ‘sexy’ makeover, which means she wears very skimpy clothing and acts as badly as she does anyway, squeaky voice and all. A song from the film says it all – Patli gali se nikal bhi ja.

Sankat City

A bunch of people playing passing the parcel with bags of cash, suitcases getting exchanged, landing up in a garbage dump and so on… doesn’t seem like something that could happen only in Mumbai.

Just because there is a crazy gangster in the long list of unsavory characters, you are expected to believe this is Sankat City. This sort of caper has been done often enough to count a tiresome (most recently 99), to give director Pankaj Advani credit, he does lend it a kind of spoofy quality, but spoils the effect by many obvious gags like the lost twins with matching lockets, amnesia and co-incidences galore. If it’s Mumbai, there has to be a film producer, his South Indian assistant, a builder, a chatty cabbie and an anorexic bar dancer doing an item number.

Almost all the actors have put-on accents (South Indian, Punjabi, Marathi, Pahadi and so on) and a loud acting style that announces, “Look at meeee, I’m so funeeee.”

Guru (Kay Kay Menon) is a car thief whose troubles start when he steals a Merc with a bag of cash in the boot. The driver who was to deliver it had gone off to meet his girlfriend, leaving the key in the ignition. Guru’s partner Ganpat (Dilip Prabhawalkar) hides the money and then loses his memory, so Guru has to find another way to return the cash that belongs to a gangster Faujdar (Anupam Kher).

A builder (Yashpal Sharma) who owes money to Faujdar and a producer (Manoj Pahwa), who borrows get caught in the merry-go-round too. Guru teams up with a conwoman (Rimmi Sen) to steal from the builder, and lose the money when the bag gets switched in a bus. They manage to trace it to a garbage tip only to see it crushed by a dumper.

It’s a small world there, where everything connects to the gangster, the same cabbie turns up whenever a taxi is needed, and just one supari killer is conveniently at hand whenever a job is to be done.

This sort of thing is hard to pull off over a full-length feature, when you don’t get the audience to really care for any of the characters and the humour sometimes falls into into gross category – like the Don’s guru’s in a bath tub being scrubbed by acolytes, or the builder’s towel dropping.

It is to Advani’s credit that he mostly keeps things going at a brisk pace and has a few really funny lines punctuating the woozy plot. Of this week’s lot of soggy releases, this one’s most spirited… but that is not saying much. Compared to Short Kut, anything is a masterpiece.

K I

2009-07-04T11:39:00.001+05:30

Kambakkht Ishq

They have the money to sign on Hollywood stars and shoot in the US and Italy; they have the money to blow up on spectacular action sequences and designer wardrobes for the cast; they have the resources to splurge on marketing and promotion. But they don’ have the brains to get a fresh script or to use that money to create a memorable viewing experience.

All the extravagance is just a cover for totally stupid and regressive content, right out of the fifties—like a five-star hotel garnishing leftovers with caviar. It may look good, but it still stinks!

Sabbir Khan’s Kambakkht Ishq is supposed to be about the battle of the sexes—but it is a tirade against women, all of whom in this film are sorely lacking in brains or self-respect. The ‘hero’ Viraj (Akshay Kumar), a Hollywood stuntman, is such a stud, that he is constantly being chased by women, as he beds them and then flings them out of his house, his car, drives over one who has been running after him, and abandons a Hollywood siren (Denise Richards as herself) who wants to make “golden babies” with him, at the alter, without a backward glance. And then, he claims to hate women and marriage!

The man-hating ‘heroine’ Simrita (Kareena Kapoor) models to pay for medical school, and is such a bimbette that she performs surgery with a dangling watch on her wrist and leaves a part of it inside the patient, who happens to be Viraj. The musical ringing of the watch from Viraj’s stomach provides a running gag. Then, to get him back to the hospital and extract the watch, Simrita tries to drug him, dope him, and in desperation, seduce him with a dizzy (she takes the spiked glass meant for him) strip tease, but he—the Punjab ka puttar—doesn’t touch the Indian girl, because she is the kind who can be taken home to mother. Worse, she is a surgeon, but doesn’t realize that the act hasn’t really taken place.

While this moronic and tasteless tale (borrowed from the Kamal Haasan film Pammal K Sammandam by four scriptwriters!) is unfolding, Viraj and Simrita curse and swear at each other, he has a whole ‘eve-teasing’ number in Italy, as she runs about, dressed in increasingly skimpy clothing. She tries to break up the marriage of her equally scatty friend Kamini (Amrita Arora) to Viraj’s buddy Lucky (Aftab Shivdasani), just because she does not believe in marriage. Poor Kamini, constantly referred to as “Kameeni” suffers the indignity of having a man fart in her face as her wedding degenerates into pie-throwing, bottle-breaking mayhem.

Is this funny? No. Thrilling? No. Entertaining? Hardly. Meaningful? Not by a very long shot. In short, a total waste of time and money. Akshay Kumar should stop playing such creepy guys, and Kareena Kapoor deserves better than to be a skinny clotheshorse. And both of them seem to be inordinately proud of this piece of junk. This is the kind of cinema with which ‘Bollywood’ wants to woo the world? This is the kind of film that gets a huge opening? Depressing thought!

NY + 1

2009-06-28T14:19:00.003+05:30

New York

The terrorist attack on World Trade Centre ob September 11, 2001 destroyed peace in the world forever, and divided people in the US into ‘patriots’ and ‘outsiders’. It also put innocent Muslims on the defensive, and that continues years after the cataclysmic event.

A Muslim character in Kabir Khan’s earnest New York tells another that they should now put it behind and get on with life. But Khan doesn’t take his own advice. The film comes a little too late, portraying as it does, the mass arrest and torture of randomly arrested Muslims post 9/11 (done with great power in Khuda Ke Liye) and the revenge planned by a few.

Omar (Neil Nitin Mukesh) is trapped by a FBI officer Roshan (Irrfan) into re-establishing contact with college friends Samir (John Abraham) and Maya (Katrina Kaif). In love with Maya, Omar had been heartbroken when she chose Samir.

Roshan believes Samir heads a terrorist cell, and wants Omar to infiltrate and report on their activities. Omar discovers that Samir had been arrested and tortured after 9/11 and he wants to regain his dignity.

The debate about the right and wrong of such revenge is rather watery and the implications of the act never really explored. What the film does (like Shoot on Sight) recently is point the finger of suspicion at Muslims—they are all potential terrorists, it says, if the provocation is severe enough. It certainly does not serve the cause of peace… its politics are fuzzy, and instead of avoiding jingoism, it inadvertently promotes it.

Khan keeps a tight grip on the narrative, however, and the film is also wonderfully shot. He also gets an unexpected sincere performance from John Abraham. Irrfan provides the meat, Neil Nitin Mukesh the muscle and Katrina Kaif the garnish. It’s a watchable film, but does not either provoke debate or quell it, which seems like an opportunity for raising the issue of understanding and empathy between communities wasted.

Runway

The title Runway, so you expect something to do with airports; then you realize it was probably meant to be ‘runaway,’ as in fugitive.

Anyway, whatever it is called, the film goes nowhere. It is obviously meant to be a showreel for Amarjeet (whose family seems to have produced the film), so within a few minutes, he has strutted about bare-chested, had a song, a fight scene, a shower scene and so on..

The plot, such as it is, is about Allan (Amarjeet), who takes in a contract killing job to save his girlfriend (Deepal Shaw) dying (in full bridal regalia) of a drug-induced illness. He does the job of shooting a “Mister Victor,” and then finds that a killer (Lucky Ali) keeps shooting at him.

There he is, on the run from cops and killer, with just a night-club dancer Shaina (Tulip Joshi) to help him. It doesn’t make much sense, this running all around over Mauritius (where the club dancer sings some Chhapra ka paani kind of number!), and never figuring quite who is doing what and why.

Amarjeet looks like a cross between Emran Hashmi and Harman Baweja and displays no exceptional acting skills. No help from the rest of cast either.

PG and Let's Dance

2009-06-24T20:48:00.001+05:30

Paying Guest

Move 1966 Mumbai to 2009 Bangkok, and you have a remake of Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Biwi Aur Makaan. That film was reportedly a remake of Bengali Jaya Che Kali Boarding and was later made into a Marathi film called Ashi Hi Banwa Banwi by Sachin.

Maybe the men in drag as a comic device needed a fresh plot to make it work. Paritosh Painter’s Paying Guest, may have been based on a successful play, but as a film, it starts off at a disadvantage. The plot is old and totally predictable. The audience’s willingness to see the film, then depends on their curiosity—do they really want to see Jaaved Jaffery and Shreyas Talpade parade around as over-dressed women?

Four friends (Ashish Chauhary and Vatsal Sheth are the other two) live together in Pattaya, and happen to be thrown out of their jobs and rented home on the same day. At the only other paying guest joint (a swanky villa, actually) they can find, the landlords Ballu (Johnny Lever) and his wife (Delnaz Paul) insist that they will rent out rooms only to married men, In desperation, two of them get into drag (hideous) and pretend to be the wives.

It is really lazy scripting then, to include such tired gags as the landlord being the former boss of one of the ‘drag’ guys, and the girlfriend of one of the ‘husbands’ landing up as a friend of the family. If it is still marginally funny, it’s because the actors seem to enjoy the tomfoolery, and some of the lines are witty—one suspects a lot of them ad libbed.

There are the mandatory song-and-dance breaks, for which four leading ladies are duly provided (Neha Dhupia, Celina Jaitly, Riya Sen, Sayali Bhagat)—and not one of them leaves any impression. What do you make of a Gujarati character (Paul), who mangles her English, and a villain (Chunky Pandey) who lisps? Just that the writers and director couldn’t even be bothered with thinking up some fresh material…do they have so much contempt for the audience?

Let’s Dance

A young woman, who loves dancing aspires to be in a music video; and her appearance in one, makes her a ‘star’? Aarif Sheikh’s Let’s Dance may have got a few dance steps right, but everything else is off kilter.

Even if you didn’t know it was a straight lift of Jessica Alba starrer Honey, you’d suspect it’s origins were not entirely local…though it has echoes of Naach, Rangeela and Aaja Nachle.

Suhani (Gayatri Patel) teaches dance to a bunch of street kids (they don’t all look like urchins), fighting to keep her rehearsal space, which the landlord wants to sell. For someone with no regular income and no family (at least none mentioned), she shares a large apartment with a TV reporter friend (Sugandha Garg), who has a profession that is convenient to the script.

Her only desire is to be in a video by RJ (Aquib Afzal), and she miraculously gets the opportunity. While she becomes a ‘star’, she also gets to romance a dhabawala (Ajay Chaudhary) across the street. She tries to get a rude teenager (Aabhaas Yadav) who dances beautifully, to join her class, but the slum boy would rather peddle drugs. And when she does make a breakthrough by springing him out of jail, she is blacklisted for resisting RJ’s advances.

Much too easily (in a city with real estate problems), she is gifted a large hall, where she decides to stage her own dance show, to give the street kids a chance to display their talent. The TV reporter roommate comes in handy to whip up support. And for added melodrama, the rude bloke’s kid brother ends up in hospital in a coma.

Surprisingly, for a film based on dance, the music is not peppy—except for the Taare tod ke la number—and the choreography consists of mostly hip-hop and breakdance moves, with a lot of energy very little grace.

Newcomer Gayatri is earnest and confident, but as she says in the film, she is not Madhuri Dixit—and not even she could do much with a soggy Aaja Nachle kind of script. Aquib Afzal (blinding wardrobe) can’t act, Ajay Chaudhary hasn’t enough to do, the only other bright spot is Aabhas Yadav as the slumdog with attitude.

KKD+2

2009-06-24T20:45:00.000+05:30

Kal Kisne Dekha

Nihal Singh from Chandigarh (that’s how he is referred to all the time), played by newcomer Jackky Bhagnani in Kal Kisne Dekha, comes to Mumbai to study science, in a college with an enormous campus and a building with gigantic Doric columns—which couldn’t possibly be in Mumbai, but that is the least of the film’s problems.

In the only time NS from C, enters a classroom, he asks his physics professor (Rishi Kapoor—why this?), who is teaching post-grads about Newton and the apple, “Why do we dream?”

The rest of the time, he sings, dances, races bikes, chases spoilt rich miss (Misha Vaishali Desai), gets into scraps with college bullies, and generally poses around in various foreign locales, where his father (Vashu Bhagnani), the producer of the film, could afford to splurge on shoots.

When it’s almost interval time, the director Vivek Sharma (or someone else) must have asked, “But where’s the story?” And so, Nihal’s ability to ‘see’ the future is dusted and trotted out, as he tries to prevent some vague terrorists (Rahul Dev and moll) without a cause from blowing up Mumbai. Even as he runs about, with Mumbai’s police force behind him (since when do they go entirely by some college student’s intuition and not their own intelligence?), he pauses to sing, dance etc., at various pretty places, flinging his arms out a la Shah Rukh Khan and trying to look soulful. Meanwhile, the professor grins evilly and a loony don (Riteish Deshmukh) with gay sidekicks does nothing in particular. And there’s Archana Puran Singh, shrieking around too, unrecognizable and not at all a rustic “bebe” type.

If Jackky Bhagnani and the over-made up, badly dressed Vaishali Desai have any talent or star quality, it’s not visible in Kal Kisne Dekha. In fact, if a producer dad wanted to deliberately sabotage his son’s acting career, he couldn’t have done a better job that this.

Karma - Crime, Passion, Reincarnation

The film’s title is a dead give away, and in scene two, if a character sees a ‘ghost’ wandering in the woods, any regular Hindi moviegoer can figure out the rest. Not to mention that the plot of Karma - Crime, Passion, Reincarnation is that of Chetan Anand’s Kudrat with cosmetic changes.

New York based Vikram (Carlucci Veyant), visits his father Ranvir (Vijayendra Ghatge) in Ooty after many years, accompanied by his wife Anna (Alma Saraci). Vikram is angry with his father and wants to go back as soon as possible.

But Anna starts getting visions, and seems to know Ooty well, though she has never been there before. It doesn’t take to figure out that there is reincarnation involved, and that the ‘ghost’ (Claudia Ciesla) is Linda, who was murdered thirty years ago, and has been reborn as Anna.

Vikram does not believe his wife at first, but an internet search (would papers even archive a snippet about the disappearance of a tourist so many years ago?) he also sets about trying to unravel the mystery.

The plot, old though it is, has enough interest to keep the viewer interested, director M.R. Shahjahan has worked in a competent paint-by-number mode, without a touch of freshness or any surprises. If at all there are a few convenient coincidences, like Linda’s friend and compatriot still around in Ooty, after what happened, and not aged a bit in thirty years.

Alma Saraci has an innocent charm that is appealing; the rest of the cast do their parts adequately. Hindi cinema has had so many excellent films on the theme of reincarnation (most of them studded with exquisite songs) that for an Indian viewer, there is absolutely no novelty here, though the film has been making the round of foreign film festivals and even winning awards.

Zor Lagaa Ke Haiya

The heart and mind are in the right place—a film that sends out a ‘Save the Trees’ message—but the script is not.

Zor Lagaa Ke Haiya is just the kind of film the Children’s Film Society used to (and presumably still does) churn out regularly, hoping to uplift kids with moral sermons. Girish Girija Joshi has got together a cast of energetic kids, some well known grown up actors in tiny parts and Amitabh Bachchan to do a voiceover, but his film is long, mostly dreary and, in the end, not even all that moving or inspiring.

Four kids living in a suburban high rise, fight with a homeless beggar (Mithun Chakraborthy—effective get-up) for some flimsy reason, and build a ‘house’ in the only tree in their building, to keep an eye on him; they do so at all hours of the day and night, with no parental intervention. In fact, parents are hardly seen, and the building doesn’t even seem to have a watchman. Helping these kids is Ram (Ashwin Chitale ) the son of a labourer working on a construction site nearby—the unselfconscious friendship between kids from diverse backgrounds is a really nice touch.

Predictably, the villains are a builder (Gulshan Grover) and his henchman (Mahesh Manjrekar), who want to cut down the tree. By now the beggar and the kids have become friends, and they unite to thwart the builder’s axe-wielding underlings.

It’s all very well to get all huffy about one tree, but the idea conveyed is that any random bunch can actually stop any project for eccentric reasons. The kids want to save the tree not for aesthetic or environmental motives, but just because their little wooden look-out is on it. And they manage to save it, not by convincing others that it is important not to cut trees, but by using the ‘religious’ excuse that is so often pulled out to prevent perfectly legit developmental projects. As film meant for children, it just sends out confusing signals.

The film may win awards for its simplistic environment conservation lesson, but is hardly likely to win a kiddie fan following. Which is a pity, because rarely do so many actors (Seema Biswas, Mahesh Manjrekar, Riya Sen, Raj Zutshi) come together just for a cause, and the purpose is not even served.

Anubhav

2009-06-24T20:41:00.000+05:30

Anubhav: An Actor’s Tale

The title of the film makes it sound as if it is about an actor’s experiences in the film industry, but what the eponymous protagonist goes through, can happen to anyone.

Rajeevnath’s Anubhav: An Actor’s Tale is about an actor (Sanjay Suri), who struggles along with his friend Adi (Anoop Menon—also the writer of the film) to get a break, whiling away the time doing inane TV serials.

Because she saw him in a rather tacky production of Macbeth, rich girl Meera (Gul Panag) pursues him relentlessly, till they get married. Adi manages to get a producer for his version of Hamlet, with an item-number, but the moneybags dies before the film can be completed.

Meera gives birth to a child who needs an operation that would cost Rs 20 lakh. The doctor (Mita Vashisht), who admits to being a “bad woman” sends Anubhav to a pimp (Ran Zutshi) who turns him into a highly paid gigolo. Anubhav hides from his wife the fact that their daughter survived and is undergoing treatment, and pretends he has a job when the money starts coming in.

The director makes no attempt to understand the social conditions of a gigolo’s profession, assuming that everyone who sells their body must have a ‘majboori’ behind it, and instead of a look at today’s sexually open lifestyle turns the film into a Laga Chunari Mein Daag kind of melodrama with the genders reversed. At one point Anubhav expresses disgust at the kind of women he has to bed, and even there the director is bit off the mark—women who can afford to pay for a gigolo will hardly have body odour and “dirty necks”. And the women he is seen with look pretty glamorous—including the one (Sudha Chandran) who plays his mother in a serial.

You hardly sympathise with Anubhav’s plight, when helpless husbands thank him for doing a socially important job and then, miraculously, a satisfied client conveniently dies and leaved him a fortune. He becomes a star and starts over with a clean slate. It swings from implausible to simplistic, with just an unsavoury mess in between.

Rajeevnath is a fairly well known director from Kerala, so manages to get stars like Nedumudi Venu, Bharat Gopi and even Jackie Shroff for meaningless cameos, but the most giggle-worthy performances are by Mita Vashisht (who ought to have known better) and Raj Zutshi. Sanjay Suri must have thought he was being very brave doing this role, but it won’t take his career anywhere.

And as strike goes on...

2009-05-25T11:16:00.002+05:30

Detective Naani

The ‘old lady’ detective is a popular genre in fiction—Agatha Christie’s immortal Miss Marple comes immediately to mind – so Romilla Mukherjee can be commended for making a senior citizen the lead in her film Detective Naani, but that’s where the praise ends.

The film is painfully long, mostly boring, has too many needless characters, badly picturised song and a harebrained plot.

Ava Mukhejee plays the 71-year-old Mrs Dutt, known by all as Naani, a chatty, inquisitive woman living in a housing complex full of strange people. One day she happens to notice a little girl’s face in the window of the apartment above hers. More mysterious goings-on follow—a body that falls out of the window and then vanishes, strange phone calls and the sinister couple upstairs (Sanjeev Vatsa, Mahru Sheikh) up to no good.

The cops, lead by Inspector Bhatia (Ankur Nayyar) treat her with polite contempt, but her daughter (Amrita Raichand), grandkids (Zain Khan, Simran Singh) and an assortment of neighbours help her to solve the case.

But while the Naani is trying to figure out what is going on, the film wanders over into unconnected tracks like the romance between two teens (no parents?) next door (Shwata Gulati-Amit Varma), the cops interest in the divorced daughter, and the antics of two detectives given the job of watching the building.

When the case is solved, it turns out to be far-fetched, and the actual villain behind the exposed racket is never even seen. The man in the building who is supposed to be a key baddie, just grumbles about his car being hit by a football. There is no real sense of menace, and the climax has the old device of the Naani being kidnapped and the grandson hiding in the boot of the goons’ car to save her. All the while the smart old lady has a phone in her bag (she calls her daughter), but does not summon the cops.

Detective Naani aims to appeal to all age-groups, but kids will find it very slow, and grow-ups won’t find anything at all to hook them. It’s just a debut gone waste.

Ocean of an Old Man

Rajesh Shera’s first feature Ocean of an Old Man has clearly been made for the festival circuit, where audiences have more patience for slow and abstruse films. But for the multiplex problem, it may never even have found a commercial release in India.

In the tradition of a school ‘art’ films of yore, that believes in a flat, bland, mode of story-telling this one looks like it didn’t even have a script to begin with—just an idea and a location. So the cast and crews must have enjoyed shooting on the pristine, peaceful beaches of the Andamans, and communicated to the viewer just seemingly random collection of images—some of them lyrical, some oddly detached.

An old schoolteacher (Tom Alter) loses his wife, child and many of his students in the terrible tsunami of 2004. The film is about his attempts to cope with the devastation. You care for the old man, because of what he has suffered, but after endless shots of his rowing up and down in a boat, cycling to his forlorn hut, and looking at the empty desks in his rudimentary classroom, you find it hard to stay awake.

There is undoubtedly an audience for this film (like for the equally obscure Frozen, last week), but it is not for everyone. Tom Alter, who has seldom been given film roles worthy of his talent, brings the right amount of pathos and dignity to his performance. For his sake, you wish audiences looking for an offbeat movie experience sample this film, but you also know it is a lost cause.

Suno Na.. Ek Nanhi Aawaz

There is a very annoying kid in Suno Na.. Ek Nanhi Aawaz, and it isn’t even born yet. It keeps whining from its mother’s womb, driving not just her, but the audience nuts.

Amy Thanawala makes her debut as a filmmaker and chooses a mix of Kya Kehna and Look Who’s Talking as a subject—a film dead on arrival. Who’d want to see a wan Miss Anupama Iyer (Tara Sharma) be stupid enough to get pregnant and try to jump off cliff, only to be saved by this irritating voice inside her.

So Anu leaves her family and relocates to Mumbai, where she gets a welcome fit for winning cricketer by her friend Raina (Rinku Patel), as if deciding to be an unwed mother is such a major achievement. She also gets a job easily, and every man she meets seems to fancy her. So the kid inside, gets to choose his Appa (that’s because Miss Nair is South Indian).

The next door neighbour (Avinash Tiwary) turns out to be gay (though they primly never use the word), so he’s out. The boss is a lech, so he is cancelled. That leaves Anupama’s prissy South Indian colleague (Makrand Shukla) and a wimpy professor Dhruv (Dharmendra Gohil), first seen being molested by his students!

The kid picks Dhruv, and he is only to willing to go with Anupama to pre-natal classes and medical check-ups and buy her endless water melons. Thanawala makes it seem as if it’s perfectly normal and socially acceptable for a girl to get pregnant and then pick a partner out of the many suitors, whose family is happy to have a daughter-in-law with someone else’s baby, and get on with life with no hassles.

At least, if the director had been honest enough to see the flip side and mention the problems of unsafe sex and unplanned pregnancies, the film would have served some purpose. As it is now-- long, melodramatic, pedantic, boring and badly acted—it’s enough to put anyone off babies for life!

99

Raj Nidimoru and Krishna DK’s caper comedy 99 has been given that title, because it takes just one more run to make a century in cricket, and the several protagonists of the film are just short of winning.

There is no law against a bunch of friends getting together and creating a script that is a collection of characters and gags that they must have seen and liked in the many such ‘con’ films and making an ‘original’ film. So, in the end, a few of the stand-up comic ‘items’ work, but not the film as a whole.

Like, the name of a Mumbai don – AGM—(Mahesh Manjrekar) is supposed to generate guffaws; there’s a giant of a hitman called Dimple (okay, funny), and a fat sidekick called Zaramud (Cyrus Broacha, not at all funny!)

Sachin (Kunal Khemu) and Zaramud owe money to AGM, so they are sent to Delhi to recover from a defaulter – the luckless but passionate betting man Rahul (Boman Irani). They stay at a grand hotel, where Sachin befriends Pooja (Saif Ali Khan). The two hoods manage to get the money and it is all stolen. So Rahul and the two come up with a fool proof plan to win it all back, and it involves cricket match fixer JC (Vinod Khanna, wandering in the wrong film).

Also in the mess, are a small time crook Kuber (Amit Mistry) and his buddy Dimple, a Bhojpuri film star and Rahul’s disgruntled wife (Simone Singh).

There’s always some kind of activity going on, lots of hits-and-misses, plenty of yelling over phones with bad connections, but none of it hangs together – it’s like a kid trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle with mismatched pieces. For a caper, it has no thrills, and very few genuinely comic moments; but on the plus side are some of the actors who really look like what they are doing made sense to them—Mahesh Manjrekar, Boman Irani, Amit Mistry and Kunal Khemu get the right tone and attitude.

Maybe worth the price of a singleplex ticket and a chai, any more than that spent and it’s a waste of money. And if your friends ask what it is about, you won’t be able to tell them.

Frozen

Shivajee Chandrabhushan, the director of Frozen is a mountaineer, and the film is a heartfelt tribute to the rugged beauty of Ladakh—in gorgeous black and white, shot by Shanker Raman (who also wrote the script).

It must have been made under very difficult circumstances—the terrain is not easy to live in, forget conduct a film shoot—and you must appreciate the passion of the cast and crew. However, for viewers, who couldn’t care less what went into the making if they don’t get their money’s worth, and, moreover, are unused to snail-paced ‘festival films’, it could be very tough to sit through.

Karma (Danny Denzongpa) lives in a remote mountain outpost with his not-all-there daughter Lasya (Gauri) and son Chomo (Skalzang Angchuk Gultuk). It’s a hard life, Karma in debt and there are no takers for the apricot jam he laboriously makes by hand. Modern life is at the doorstep, whether it is in the form of the moneylender’s greed or the lust of a strange man called Romeo who chases after Lasya.

To make it worse, the army arrives and sets up a noisy camp nearby, so the peace and pristine beauty of the place is ruined. The film is not really plot or character driven, but documentary-like in its capture of the stunning landscape, and a bit detached in its narrative style.

Danny’s performance the brave yet battered Karma, and of course the dazzling location makes Frozen worth attempting, but even with sympathy for the people living such bleak lives in place, it could be as laborious as climbing a mountain.

Dash+2

2009-04-22T12:07:00.001+05:30

Dashavtar

Without the gimmick of Kamal Haasan slapping on prosthetic make-up and playing every major role in the film, Dashavtar (the Hindi dubbed version of Tamil Dasavatharam) has quite a standard issue thriller plot.

Govindrajan (Kamal Haasan) a scientist in the US wants to prevent a vial containing a deadly virus from falling into the wrong hands, and escapes with it, with an ex-CIA assassin Fletcher (Kamal again) and his slinky moll (Mallika Sherawat) hot on his heels.

He lands up in India, has the Intelligence team led by a Balaram Naidu (Kamal, yet again) chasing him. At some point, a senile old woman (Kamal too), puts the vial into an idol and her hysterical granddaughter Andal (Asin—not Kamal for a change!) joins Govind on the run.

The film could have been wrapped up in a cool, snappy, 100 minutes, and the ‘ Don’t mess with Nature’ message delivered equally effectively, but because Kamal Haasan wants to play more roles, it extends to a sleep-inducing three hours. He keeps adding needless characters like a Sardar singer, an Afghan giant, a Japanese man, an environmental activist and, quite memorably, George Bush.
The director KS Ravikumar —and script writer Kamal-- keep the film moving, however, from one action/chase sequence to another, with just a few pauses for breath—a comic gag here, a song there.

The most stunning part of the film is the prologue, set in 12 Century Tamil Nadu, where a Vishnu devotee Rangaraja (Kamal, who else?) is tortured by the Shiavite king, strapped to the huge idol of Vishnu and thrown into the sea. How this connects with the present, and the ‘thunderous’ climax takes some frantic connecting of dots—but there is Chaos Theory involved.

Dashavtar is an expensive film, it has some spectacular effects and action scenes, but ultimately, there is the discomfiting thought that it was made to indulge an actor’s vanity. Stunts like Kamal as an American battling Kamal as a Japanese martial arts expert. At the end, you see Kamal Haasan in a make-up chair, getting all that rubber goonk slapped on his face… and not all if it is well done. The assassin, the old woman and the Afghan, in particular, look like hastily stuck on Halloween masks. The best—and the one the actor seems to enjoy most --is the regional chauvinist Naidu.

It could have been a fun ride, but the way is lumbers on, it is like reading a good book for a school assignment—punishing.

Chowrasta: Crossroads of Love

Darjeeling is clearly the star of Anjan Dutta’s Chowrasta: Crossroads of Love, a beautiful hill station that time seems to have left untouched—or at least not severely altered.

It is at Chowrasta in Darjeeling, that a few stories interconnect, with a former tea planter and now writer Jimmy (Victor Bannerjee) with suicide on his mind, meets with some of the most uninteresting characters imaginable (all speaking with weird English accents).

There is an actress Nandana (Rupa Ganguly) with a problem kid Rick(Neil Bose), a whiny ex-husband (Saswata Chatterjee) and a new lover (Arijit Dutta). There’s a couple that has eloped and the screechy, nagging wife (Aparajita) gives her laidback husband Sunny (Naved Aslam) and the audience a really tough time.

There’s a terrorist (Atul Kulkarni), who is in need of money, and happens to kidnap Rick—who is quite happy to be away from his parents and keeps demanding a particular brand of biscuits (paid product placement?), so that you actually start feeling sorry for the inept criminal.

Everybody just talks and talks (typical of Anjan Dutta’s films like Bong Connection and Bow Barracks Forever), and utter some unintentionally hilarious lines. Like Jimmy advising Sunny to serenade his wife, which will get her “panting like an Alsatian.” There is also some faintly obscene car analogy and a particularly gross one about a rhino horn in the backside (this is for the terrorist’s ears). You wonder what kind of writer Jimmy will make, when he also spouts “dancing in the daffodils” kind of words.

At 90 minutes, this one seems too long, and but for the lovely scenery and a stray interesting scene-- like Sunny’s serenade, or Jimmy’s attempt at “flying”-- it would be quite difficult to sit through.

Meri Padosan

Carrying on from the string of duds last week, coming out because of the multiplex-producers fight, is Prakash Saini’s Meri Padosan, that would find it impossible to get a release in normal times; it will still have to struggle for an audience.

It is set mostly in a studio basti, where little bungalows are cheek by jowl, and windows are left tantalizingly devoid of grills or curtains. In this voyeur’s haven lives a grumpy accountant Viju (Sanjay Mishra) and his pretty, dolled up, wife Kavita (Sadhika Randhawa).

Three bachelors move in next door (Sarwar Ahuja, Khayali, Snehal Dabhi) and ogle at the wife. The one of them, an aspiring filmmaker called Shyam Gopal Varma (!), enters a filmmaking contest with a reality-show kind of movie, in which he creates misunderstandings between the couple, so that he can shoot the ensuing fireworks.

It’s expectedly tacky, sexist, and quite unbearable, despite the potential of the plot (borrowed from a foreign film). A couple of the lead actors are just about passable, but some of the others seem to have been picked up from the bottom a particularly muddy talent pool.

2 When the Multiplexes shut down!

2009-04-13T12:11:00.000+05:30

Ek Se Bure Do

This is another one of those long-delayed films that has come out because no major film is releasing due to the multiplex strike.

When Ek Se Bure Do was started, the producers must have thought they had a foolproof comedy—Arshad ‘Circuit’ Warsi and Rajpal Yadav in the lead with TV star Natasha (better known as Anita Hassanandani) and newcomer Tusha, a strong supporting cast of Govind Namdeo, Yashpal Sharma, Virendra Saxena.

By the time, it is released, the film directed by Tarique, has no plusses at all, except for one or two throwaway lines that the actors must have ad-libbed on the shoot.

The complicated crime caper has two petty crooks as the protagonists, two warring dons (Govind Namdeo, Yashpal Sharma), a dacoit, a lookalike of a don, and a hidden treasure, they are all after. The girls live in the house where the treasure is supposedly buried, and find themselves surrounded by imposters. Typical of an indifferently made film then that after all the hullabaloo over it, there is not even a glimpse of this ‘khazana’.

Every once in a while, there is a song-and-dance number with so many semi-clad girls, that the bill for dancers must have exceeded the fee charged by all the ‘stars’.

Not so long ago Warsi had a release like Kisse Pyar Karoon, which made a dent in his star value, and now this. Probably time for him to pray that no other skeletons fall out of long-forgotten cans.

Pal Pal Dil Ke Saath

If released a few years ago, Pal Pal Dil Ke Saath may have earned some audience interest, since it stars two cricketers—Ajay Jadeja and Vinod Kambli.

If it were not for the face-off between producers and multiplexes that prevents any big films from releasing, this one would probably have remained in the cans, and saved the cricketers and now actress-on-the-rise Mahi Gill considerable embarrassment. Why just them, if Sushma Seth and Shah were to see themselves in this film, they wouldn’t be mortified too.

The film looks like it was abandoned by all the actors—which explains the odd dubbing, which sounds like a couple of mimicry artistes did the voices for all of them.

The plot—such as it is— is narrated by Vinod Kambli, to a bunch of kids, who will get him funding for his script if they like it. The story involves a bunch of people trying to get their hands on the fortunes of an elderly lady, Mrs Kapoor (Sushma Seth). These include her grandson Ajay (Jadeja), his girlfriend Dolly (Mahi Gill), a conman called John Abraham (Satish Shah), a lawyer, his girlfriend and a gangster— all non-actors picked up from god-knows-where.

The kids actually listen to the script without booing; all they demand is an item number and Kambli obliges with a dance number by two fat, garishly-dressed people, in the middle of a forest.

It’s not the kind of film that deserves attentive viewing; it doesn’t even offer some unintentional laughs, like a ‘respectable’ bad film is supposed to do. Kambli’s script won’t get the ghost writer very far, and both cricketers ought to drop any acting ambitions that they may have… if they haven’t already

Tasveer

2009-04-04T11:11:00.001+05:30

8x10 Tasveer

You had just about forgiven and forgotten Bombay to Bangkok, when Nagesh Kukunoor springs yet another turkey in the form of 8x10 Tasveer.

Reports said that the director was attempting a Manoj Night Shyamalan kind of supernatural thriller, and to be fair, the idea is interesting, but Kukunoor did not manage to pull it off.

He was also worried about the end leaking out, but he underestimates the moviegoer— a few minutes into the film and anyone who has seen enough Hindi films can easily unravel the plot before the scenes come on.

This was not an Akshay Kumar kind of movie, but then he must have thought if Bruce Willis can do Sixth Sense why can’t he? But then Bruce Willis can manage a bigger range of expressions than blank face and frown.

He plays Jai Puri (who thought up the name?) who has the secret ability of going into a photograph and ‘seeing’ what happened when it was taken. The excursion involves CGI trips through hills, dales and snowscapes that are repeated ad nauseum, and after that Jai is left gasping for air and in severe need of a blood transfusion! Don’t ask why.

He also runs an environment protection agency, and wears a uniform, though it isn’t quite clear what they do, and why a fortune willed to his EPA becomes such a bone of contention.

Jai’s father (Benjamin Gilani), from whom he has been estranged for ‘environmental’ differences, has just died in an accident, and if an obsessive compulsive detective (Jaaved Jaaferi) who called himself “Happi with an I” didn’t turn up to tell him it was murder, he wouldn’t have suspected it.

His investigation means peering into the last photograph which lines up suspects- his mother (Sharmila Tagore), uncles (Girish Karnad-Ananth Mahadevan) and cousin (Rushad Rana)—and trying to figure out who did it. There’s also a girlfriend (Ayesha Takia) floating around.

It’s odd but Jai’s mother and girlfriend do not know of his powers, though neighbourhood folks know and approach him to hunt down missing people.

Even by the suspend-disbelief standards of such movies, this one is quite laughable, loosely scripted and quite weird. Imagine this scene, Jai and the girlfriend break into an uncle’s house. He instructs her to start looking around. For what, she asks. For proof, he replies! As is ‘proof’ is something to be found on the mantelpiece. Later they are chased and almost run down by a black van, but think nothing of it.

The over-long denouement is so chuckle-worthy, because you know that’s what is going to happen and can’t believe that someone can actually use such a hoary plot device.

And for a crime thriller, the film is also slow, repetitive and the mystery, when it unfolds, quite unbelievable.

Thankfully, there aren’t too many song breaks, and no great performances are required from the actors. All one can pray for is that Nagesh Kukunoor regains his form soon. Let lesser directors make half-baked thrillers.

Videsh+2

2009-03-27T19:42:00.000+05:30

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.

Firaaq+3

2009-03-24T12:11:00.001+05:30

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.

Gulaal+Zizou+1

2009-03-14T11:13:00.000+05:30

Gulaal

The death of a young boy in a ragging incident is all over the news right now—and this dark world of uncontrolled machismo is what Anurag Kashyap enters once again in his Gulaal.

It’s an ugly, irredeemable world, and the first hour or so of the film is stunning—visually too-- Kashyap hold on the cinematic medium cannot be faulted. He is confident enough to be quirky— the lead character lives in an abandoned bar in the middle of nowhere, complete with neon signs. A loony character is a John Lennon fan, and has for a companion a mute with body paint conveying ‘ardhnarishwar’ -- half man-half woman.

Here, a bespectacled nerd Dilip (Raj Singh Chaudhary), first brutally ragged, is then thrown into the pit of college politics by the authoritative Dukkey Bana (Kay Kay Menon), who wants to create an army of Rajputs to redress the wrongs done to the community by the post-Independent democratic governments. His foes are a cynical princeling Ransa (Abhimanyu Singh—a revelation), and the former Raja’s illegitimate kids – Karan (Aditya Shrivastav) and Kiran (Ayesha Mohan)

Kashyap convincingly establishes this lawless milieu, where people are casually killed (a cop, too) and nobody bats an eyelid; a college professor (Jesse Randhawa) is stripped and humiliated and does even report it; when Dilip is found severely battered, his father says, it could have been worse. After this the film goes all over the place, with characters floating around without apparent purpose (the professor, or Dukkey’s wife, for instance), and after the tantalizing premise of a Rajput revolt, there isn’t even a payoff for the audience. Unless, of course Kashyap thought of a sequel.

Dukkey Bana’s motives are a bit hazy—it’s not like Bihar’s Ranvir Sena that came up to fight the gains of the lower castes from reservations. All the college level politics is to skim off money coming in for a ‘festival’, which seems like an anti-climax. Even more of a letdown is the typical ‘all fall down’ kind of ending that comes from the writer-director not knowing what to do with the complicated web he has woven, so random violence is the easy way out.

The male actors are marvellous— Abhimanyu Singh, Kay Kay Menon, Aditya Shrivastav, Deepak Dobriyal (as Bana’s henchman) and Piyush Mishra, as the loony – he has also written and composed the excellent songs; the parody of Yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai (which Kashyap credits as his inspiration for this film) is award-worthy. The same can’t be said of the female characters – including the supposedly courageous Kiran, who in one ridiculous scene berates Dilip, whom she has seduced, of making her pregnant! There is Mahi Gill as a nautch girl and Jesse Randhawa, who just hovers around in a daze.

In its attempt to probe a provincial dark hole that parts of North Indian have become, Gulaal is a braver film than Kashyap’s recent Dev D. But at best, is remain vaguely disturbing when it could have been powerfully provocative.

Little Zizou

Sooni Taraporevala may just have made the definitive film on the Parsis—and any Mumbai-ite who knows a Parsi family will appreciate the affection and care with which she has captured her beloved and rapidly dwindling community.

The film, part real, part whimsy and beautifully observed is mainly about two families; on one side is the patriarchal Cyrus II Khodaiji (Sohrab Ardeshir), who is hated by his sons, football fan Xerxes (Jahan Bativala) and graphic artist Artaxerxes (Imaad Shah). On the other side is the Presswala family, the father (Boman Irani) runs a community newspaper, his wife Roxanne (Zenobia Shroff) keeps an eye on her two daughters Liana (Iyana Bativala) and Zenobia (Dilshad Patel) and mothers little Xerxes too.

As a war breaks out between the conservative Khodaiji shouting for racial purity, and the liberal Presswala, Artaxerxes and his buddies are trying to create the cockpit of a jet for a flight simulator, in an old abandoned building. Painted in delicate strokes around them are other Parsi characters like Roxanne’s mother (Mahabanoo Mody Kotwal) keeping her crumbing hotel going in Udwada, Khodaiji’s subservient assistant (Shernaz Patel), the half Italian Tito (Thnow Francorsi) or the confused militant (Kurush Deboo)

Such is Taraporevala’s labour of love, that Parsis like Shiamak Davar, Gary Lawyer, Cyrus Broacha, Farid Currim and the half-Parsi John Abraham make friendly appearances and she gets to capture the old world beauty of Parsi homes.

Little Zizou is charming with its delicate humour, compassion for the community and concern for its future. The performances are wonderful and little Jahan Bativala is an absolute natural. The film may not be commercial, but it is a must-watch for lovers of good cinema.

Jai Veeru

Just how dated in content and look Jai Veeru is, can be seen even more clearly when compared to the week’s other releases – the far superior Little Zizou and Gulaal.

Punit Sira’s film, a sorry remake of a bad Hollywood film Bulletproof (1996) just has nothing going for it, when everybody else is trying to break the formula. Jai Veeru is just so 80s and totally without any surprises.

Veeru (Kunal Khemu), petty crook and car thief befriends Jai (Fardeen Khan), and eventually introduces him to his boss, gangster Tejpal (Arbaaz Khan). Turns out Jai is an undercover cop, and in trying to apprehend Tejpal, he gets shot and Veeru escapes to Bangkok, with Tejpal’s “black book.” In this day and age, a gangster keeps all his contacts in a diary placed for all to see in the backseat of his car, and watches with a puzzled expression as Veeru drives off with it. After Jai recovers from the bullet in his head, he goes after Veeru, chased in turn by Tejpal’s men.

There are two leading ladies too, who turn up when a song-and-dance break is needed, though the heroes get better costumes and more hairstyle changes than the girls.

The combined acting talent of Khan and Khemu is not enough even to keep such a dumb film going, and a villain who speaks chaste Hindi and has a haircut when he is supposed to be kidnapping a girl simply can’t be taken seriously!

13B+2

2009-03-09T11:28:00.000+05:30

13 B

What would happen if a TV serial makes an appearance in just one household, and mirrors what is happening there?

Vikram Kumar uses this ghost-in-the-machine premise to tell a fairly chilling horror tale, the biggest fault of which is its patience-sapping running time. When strange things start happening to Manohar (R Madhavan) after he moves with his joint family to flat 13B in a highrise, he is unable to explain it – why does the lift refuse to work only when he wants to use it, why can't a nail be hammered into a wall, why does the blind neighbour's dog refuse to enter the house?

By and by Manohar figures out that the TV serial Sab Khairiyat Hai, that the women of his household are hooked to, is mirroring exactly what is happening in their own home, and some events that the serial predicts are scary. (How comes the women don't make the connection too? Does TV sap women's brains?)

Repetitive though it is, till the point that Manohar and his cop buddy (Murli Sharma) are tightly wound up with tension and terror, the story is intriguing. Unfortunately the explanation and denouement are convoluted and long-winded.

The director uses all the standard audio and visual (shot by master cinematographer PC Sreeram) tricks of the genre-- creaking doors, rain, power outages – but to his credit, does not overdo them. The scares are real and not cheated at with sudden noises and tawdry special effects.

The film rests almost entirely on Madhavan's (he tends to tip into overacting often) shoulders, with some help from Sharma, Dhritiman Chatterjee as the blind neighbour, and Sachin Khedekar as the family doctor. The other members of the family (Neetu Chandra, Poonam Dhillon, etc) are there just to make cheerful background noises. The film could have done without songs and tighter editing would have made a world of difference. Still, fans of the horror genre will probably enjoy it.

Dhoondte Reh Jaaoge

You don't know whether to commend Umesh Shukla for his taste or berate him for his audacity in stealing the plot from one of the best-loved comedy classics-- The Producers, in which a down on his luck film producer and a creative accountant plan a scam that involves making such a bad film that it flops, so that they can escape with the investors' money.

In the original, a part of the ingenuity lay in making a film so designed to fail that ends up becoming a hit-- the film-within-film called Springtime for Hitler, was a mini comic masterpiece in itself, while in his Dhoondte Reh Jaaoge, Shukla has put together, a juvenile extended skit, knitting together plots from several Hindi films and calling it Solay se L'gaan Tak.

A lot of our directors and actors don't seem to realise that comedy works best if it isn't played out like an exaggerated farce, if actors didn't look as if they were trying too hard to make the audience laugh. In DHR, only Paresh Rawal gets it right. He plays flop producer Raj Chopra, who has creditors at his door and no financier or actor willing to touch him.

Anand Pawar (Kunal Khemu) is a chartered accountant, who gets fed-up of being poor and jobless, so comes up with the scheme of making the ultimate flop. They get a broke hero (Sonu Sood), Anand's homely girlfriend Neha (Soha Ali Khan) to act, an obviously nutty writer (Johny Lever) to script it and Neha's moronic uncle (Dilip Joshi) to direct. Despite their best efforts, the film succeeds.

A few scenes are funny, but most gags are stretched till they sag (like the one involving the hero's broken affair and his duplicates). Can be watched on a really idle day, but certainly not a must-see. Catch the original Mel Brooks' classic instead, not the 2005 musical (from the stage version) remake.

Karma Aur Holi

Karma Aur Holi would do well to market itself as a comedy-- going by the raucous laughter at a preview, it was certainly funnier than this week's 'official' comedy Dhoondte Reh Jaaoge.

What makes the experience of watching it infinitely worse, is that it had been dubbed very badly into Hindi, so even American characters speak stilted Hindi and say stuff like, “Main item se saath jacuzzi mein masti kar raha tha.”

The least the producers and director Manish Gupta could have done, is had some respect for the audience and let the Americans speak English. In any case the target audience for the film is the urban multiplex cinegoer, who understands English.

Cliché ridden though the idea may be, on paper it doesn't sound so bad. A group of disgruntled NRIs with a variety of secrets and problems land up at the mansion of a yuppie couple Meera and Dev (Sushmita Sen-Randeep Hooda) a day before Holi, to celebrate the festival.

There's Meera's hyper older sister (Rati Agnihotri) with her husband (Suresh Oberoi), and troubled teenage son (Chandan Sethi); there's an MCP doctor (Shauvik Kundagami), his subservient wife (Suchita Krishnamoorthy), and her sexy sister (Deepal Shaw); an aspiring Muslim filmmaker (Armin Amiri) with a black girlfriend (Naomi Campbell), a tarot reader, a business partner and so on.

The hosts have financial problems and a marriage straining at the leash, the others have it much worse. So to defuse a potentially explosive situation, the assembled guests get drunk and decide to play Truth or Dare. Out come the hidden traumas, and you know, come Holi, there will be a threatened divorce, a pregnancy or two, one character liberated and another sexually awakened... thankfully no funeral.

Gupta must have aimed at a Monsoon Wedding, but just ends up in a lot of slush. Even with a decent cast, the film is unforgivably trite and amateurish; it tries and fails to bring up several NRI issues (racism, for one), and actually manages to make Sushmita Sen and supermodel Naomi Campbell look dowdy.

Delhi 6

2009-02-21T11:54:00.001+05:30

Delhi 6

Delhi’s Chandni Chowk is waking up to tourism-via-Bollywood potential—Black and White, Chandni Chowk to China and now Delhi 6 in quick succession, take viewers to this fascinating part of old Delhi.

The houses have joint terraces, neighbours become extended families, life is as leisurely as a ride on a cycle rickshaw, kabootarbazi, jalebi breaks and nine-day Ramleelas — charming, more so for foreigners, NRIs and other ‘outsiders’. So when Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra’s hero Roshan (Abhishek Bachchan) brings his dying grandmother (Waheeda Rehman) to her old house in Delhi, and you see this crazy cornucopia through his eyes, it draws you in. You are even amused at the scene in which a cow giving birth in the street stops traffic for miles and makes the collapsed granny get up in a jiffy.

After a while, you begin to realize that it’s all atmosphere and a clutter of characters, but, is there a plot? Among the many people Roshan encounters are an aristocratic Ali Uncle (Rishi Kapoor), two warring brothers (Om Puri-Pawan Malhotra), their families, a retarded odd job man (Atul Kulkarni), a mad fakir, a rude cop (Vijay Raaz), a Muslim Hanuman-devotee (Deepak Dobriyal), an untouchable cleaner (Divya Dutta) and of course the girl next door, Bittu (Sonam Kapoor), who aspires to be on Indian idol.

Punctuating life in Chandni Chowk, and the nightly Ramleela, is the threat of a mysterious Kala Bandar, that is supposedly terrorizing the neighbourhood and driving residents and TV channels hysterical. There is also a cursory romance between Roshan and Bittu, and then a communal conflagration which throws the peaceful lanes and havelis of Chandni Chowk into a tumult. All of which leads to a very obvious ‘brotherhood’ sermon and the NRI conclusion : “India Works.” Indeed?

Roshan (who is he? What does he do?) has a back story that includes his parents' inter-religious marriage, which prevents them from returning, and eventually affects him when he is caught between the Kala Bandar madness and religious fervour on both sides. Some of the characters are wonderfully etched and well enacted (Rishi Kapoor for one), but what are you to make of a heroine who flounces around, preens, giggles and gives up her ambition when the hero confesses his love? Sonam Kapoor just needs to drum up enough cuteness, when she could have been given some more substance. Abhishek Bachchan (accent and all), looks comfortable in his skin, and performs with the ease seen in his recent films like Dostana, but the vague script lets the actors down. However, Binod Pradhan’s cinematography, AR Rahman’s music and Mehra’s feel for the place cannot be faulted.

Still, imagine a director today, showing a scene of his hero having a chat with his deceased grandfather (Amitabh Bachchan) in a white ‘afterlife’ over jalebis. The Village Voice critic wrote something delightfully apt about Delhi 6, that is has “each of Bollywood's four food groups-- corn, cheese, treacle, and nuts-- present and accounted for.” You couldn’t agree more.

Billu+2

2009-02-14T14:16:00.000+05:30

Billu

Judging from the Tamil Kuselan and now Billu, it’s not quite clear what it was about the Malayalam original (Katha Parayumpol) that prompted two big remakes. It has to be the vanity of stars—Rajnikant and Shah Rukh Khan-- who get to play even more exaggerated versions of themselves, pay tribute to their own stardom, so to say.

The story (by Sreenivasan) is a modern-day retelling of the Krishna-Sudama tale, and it is perhaps not so surprising, in Kaliyuga, to see a film star stand in for a God. If there’s a comment there about our celeb crazy times, it’s not at all tongue-in-cheek. The persona of movie star Sahir Khan is larger than larger-than-life (You can see SRK enjoying the space alien bit). Next step must be divinity!

Set in a village that does not exist outside of Priyadarshan’s films— coconut palms in a North Indian setting, people speaking with Marathi accents and wearing South Indian handloom saris, Asrani, Rajpal Yadav, Om Puri, Manoj Joshi in the cast-- it is about Billu (Irrfan Khan) the healthy-looking but desperately poor owner of a hair cutting saloon. His wife (Lara Dutta in tight almost backless cholis) and kids are on the verge of hopelessness when news comes that Sahir Khan is coming to shoot in their village.

It is not very likely that a big ticket adventure movie with huge musical set-pieces and Matrix-like fights would be shot in an Uttar Pradesh village with no infrastructure and not even a vanity van on show, but you just have to believe it; because if Sahir Khan does not descend on the village in a helicopter (a nice shot of people scurrying below), the story would not happen.

Word goes round that Sahir was a childhood buddy of Billu’s and suddenly everyone who mistreated him is now begging for the favour of a meeting with the star. Billu is strangely reluctant, so even his wife and kids sulk.

And it is a one-idea film, the climax hinging on the question of whether Billu really know Sahir or was it a bit of wishful thinking. Without revealing the end (which is not so difficult to guess), it must be said that the film comes together in the last 20 minutes, when stoic Billu shows some emotion and Sahir delivers a teary speech at a school function… and you know why he is a demi-god to the people and why Shah Rukh Khan is a megastar. Takes too long to tell an obvious story and in such a flat manner; this meeting of Glamorous Bollywood (and its star item girls) with middle-of-the-road cinema does not quite ignite any sparks… maybe just a small match flare.

The Stoneman Murders

People from Mumbai, with a good memory would probably recall the gruesome serial killings in the early eighties, by a mysterious person who bashed in the heads of pavement dwellers with a large stone.

It was an unsolved case, and not big enough to be remembered or elicit any curiosity so many years later, but Manish Gupta was intrigued enough to go back to it and recreate a fictional account, and also a probable explanation for what must have happened.

A cop, Sanjay Shelar (Kay Kay Menon) is suspended for a custodial death, but his superior Satam (Vikram Gokhale) tells him to unofficially carry on the investigations of the Stoneman murders. His won’t tell his wife (a miscast Rukhsar) what’s going on, and stalks the streets at night for informer tips and clues.

For a sub-inspector in the eighties, Sanjay seems to have unlimited resources (two flats, a car, a secret work place), and he is smarter that the average cops on the beat—who even at a time of crisis, are completely lackadaisical, either sleeping on the job, cadging free meals or picking up hookers.

By a series of rather improbable (would a cop be stupid enough to pull out a knife from a stabbed man’s body and leave his prints on it?) coincidences, Sanjay leaves a trail that makes his colleagues, led by an already hostile Kedar (Arbaaz Khan) to believe that Sanjay might be the serial killer. (It was rumored that the killer was a cop).

It is an interesting recreation, but despite a ‘item number’ in a bar, and an unnecessary bare-back scene of the wife, the film rather slow and dry—crime serial episodes on TV drum up more pace and thrill. It is, however, nostalgia-inducing— the days of black, coin-operated rotary phones, Fiat cars and jingles of the period—well shot with some good performances (if it looks like a Ram Gopal Varma film, it’s because Gupta is a former protégé and uses many of RGV actors) and a very earnest Kay Kay Menon leading the pack.

Jugaad

Jugaad is a word often heard in Delhi, like “adjust” is in Mumbai. It implies a can-do-if-the-price-is-right approach, pretty much like the hybrid vehicle that bears the name too.

Unfortunately for Anand Kumar’s film, in recent times, there have been genuine ‘Dilli’ films hitting the cinemas regularly (Khosla Ka Ghosla, Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye, Dev D) so Jugaad seems fake and overdone.

Some time back, there was some media coverage of some high end boutiques in Delhi being demolished, because of some illegal extensions, which reportedly inspired this film. Sandeep Kapoor (Manoj Bajpai) finds his ad agency office sealed because he set up an office in a residential area.

His business is ruined (business is hardly dependent on the location of the office!), his staff quit because the new office is a ‘jugaad’ affair in a distant location, with no water or electricity.

His friend Murli (Vijay Raaz) tries to get the seal removed, by bribing the Commissioner (Govind Namdeo), but for some reason he is one of those who takes bribes, and does not get the job done. Quite improbably, he has a twin who is paid just to take the rap for him in case he is caught. Sandeep claims he is against corruption, but thinks it’s okay to have his file stolen by the twin. Neither the problem, nor the ways to the solution are clear or convincing. If Sandeep has bent the law, then why should he not be punished; if he hasn’t then why can’t his lawyer find a way to end his trauma?

There was a human interest story here, of a man beating his head against an apathetic system (like an earlier film called Chai Pani), but Jugaad is neither a funny, not satirical, nor does it manage to get the audience to sympathise with the character or get angry with the way the bureaucracy functions.

It’s just filled with strange characters, hammy actors and Manoj Bajpai looking like he just woke up with a bad hangover.

Dev D + 2

2009-02-08T17:26:00.001+05:30

Dev D

Saratchandra Chattopadhyay, who created Devdas the classic ‘loser’ hero gets no thanks, but there are several nods to Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s film, and Abhay Deol gets credit for ‘concept.’

Anurag Kasyap’s Dev D, a contemporary version of Devdas, departs from the original story on many points, but mainly, his Dev is not a victim of class and strict social norms of the time; he is just a destructive (to himself and to others), a thoughtless, emotionless, spoilt brat, who, far from deserving sympathy, is beneath contempt.

Kashyap’s film owes more to films like Requiem for a Dream and Leaving Las Vegas, than any Indian literary or cinematic tradition. To some extent, he has understood and portrayed well, the rootless nouveau riche life in North India, and its great sexual repression, that ironically gives rise to casual sex… with often disastrous consequences.

However, after establishing life in a Punjab village (during a wedding-- something of a cliché now) with cruel accuracy, Kashyap drifts off into a long, self-indulgent, oddly dispassionate odyssey with his hero, though the booze and drug joints and brothels of Delhi, where he meets hooker Chanda (Kalki Koechlin), whose life was torn apart by an MMS clip.

Earlier on, Kashyap’s Paro (Mahi Gill), is seen as a disheveled, sex-starved Juliet, pining for her Romeo, who discards her when he believes loose local gossip about her sexual adventures. Paro marries another man, adjusts to her life, yet turns up to try and redeem Dev, and ends up washing his clothes. Even in the original Devdas, it was difficult to fathom the love two women bestow on a weak and worthless man, here it is even worse, because this Dev has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Chunni (Dibyendu Bhattacharya) here is a drug dealer and pimp. (The censors have been quite liberal with the language!) There are recognizable real life incidents like the MMS scandal involving a Delhi schoolgirl, and the case of a drunk celeb mowing down pavement dwellers with his car.

Abhay Deol plays Dev with an arrogance that comes with money and entitlement, but without any nuances. The Mahi Gill (resembles Tabu) may turn out to be a find. The casting is well done and there are some good performances by hitherto unknown actors on view.

Kashyap’s film owes more, in spirit, to Slumdog Millionaire (is that why Danny Boyle is thanked?) than to Saratchandra. It is possible to appreciate the craft of the filmmaker, the simple yet luminous beauty that Kalki Koechlin brings to her role, the winning music (too much of it) by Amit Trivedi, yet dislike the film. Dev D may be brutally real, but it revels in darkness, is relentlessly sordid, and sitting through it like a punishing ride through a sewer.

Mere Khwabon Mein Jo Aaye

Even accounting for the fact that fantasies can be totally bizarre, it’s tough to imagine anyone conjuring up a bronzed Randeep Hooda in a white feather boa.

Madureeta Anand’s Mere Khwabon Mein Jo Aaye at least acknowledges that women can have fantasies about other men, when their own husbands are nasty and uncaring, but that’s it. Randeep Hooda in fancy dress camp mode, keeps turning up in Maya’s (Raima Sen) chaste day dreams.

Her life is a suburban nightmare of power failures, cooking, packing dabbas, cleaning, helping with kid’s homework, dowdy nighties, noisy neighbours and a husband (Arbaaz Khan), who doesn’t care for her because he has a carrot-chomping girlfriend hidden away somewhere.

The empty house across the street starts fuelling Maya’s dreams, and she now hopes to do something with her life. But a plump, salwar-kameez clad “Aunty” with no skills except bathroom singing hasn’t much of a chance in this competitive world.

But the fantasy man keeps turning up to encourage, advise and scold. Maya musters the nerve to enter a music contest with her noisy jamming neighbours and finally stands up to her husband.

What the film says is just fine—that women must make the best of their talents and strive to fulfill their aspirations, but the way she goes about it is boring and laughable. Poor Hooda must have thought he is playing a sexy genie, but every time he enters putting on what he could manage of a smouldering look, the audience erupts into sneering laughter… surely not the effect Anand intended.

Mere Khwabon Mein Jo Aaye could have been be a sweet little fairy tale about a woman bravely rising above her problems, but the characters are so colourless, the storytelling so uninspiring, that the film turns out to be unwatchable, in spite of Raima Sen’s sincerity. For film about a band and an aspiring singer, the music is insipid too. A Film’s Division documentary about self-help might serve the purpose better.

Chal Chala Chal

TK Rajeev Kumar’s Chal Chala Chal, remake of some long-forgotten Malayalam film, looks like it has been on the shelf too long.

This poor man’s Priyadarshan film, has Govinda and Rajpal Yadav trying to run a transport business with one decrepit bus, and making a hash of it.

The story, set in some vague Malamaal Weekly-style village seems outdated; maybe in his heyday Govinda could have made it work. But now he looks bored with it all, everybody else shouts at the top of their lungs, and a full length film about a bus and union problems, with a subplot about a rat, seems like a big waste of time and raw stock.

There is an indifferent romantic track (with Reema Sen), but thankfully no dream sequences and item numbers.

Still, at the end of it, there is some point there about honesty and decency and standing up to bullies, which is more than what can be said about so many films being made these days. Not that it is any incentive to see Chal Chala Chal… better run the other way.

LBC & Victory

2009-02-08T17:22:00.002+05:30

Luck By Chance

The ways of showbiz hold those outside in utmost fascination-- fuelled by a star struck media and enough gossip to keep several media buzzing endlessly.

The film industry brings hundreds of hopefuls to Mumbai everyday, most of whom drift into oblivion. There is exploitation, frustration and heartbreak...and then, there are the fairy tale happy endings.

Zoya Akhtar's Luck By Chance tells the story of some people in the industry with humour and compassion. Perhaps to appeal to the audience, many of whom are familiar to Bollywood from what they read and hear, she gives them exactly what they expect to see. There are no secrets, no great insider views, but what there is, seems watchable enough.

Vikram (Farhan Akhtar) is the rich Delhi kid, who comes the acting school route (Saurabh Shukla plays a hilarious acting coach called Nandkishore) to struggle in relative comfort. Sona (Konkana Sen Sharma) is a Kanpur girl, who dreams of the big break, promised by a sleazy producer (Aly Khan). They meet and fall in love during the process of encouraging each other.

Around them, are an old style 'star maker' producer Romy Rolly (Rishi Kapoor), who is aware that the corporate culture coming in might change the way films are made, and the film he is producing, is a make-or-break thing for him. The film is to be made by his brother, a failed actor (Sanjay Kapoor), starring the precocious Niki (Isha Sharvani), daughter of a yesteryear's actress Nina Walia (Dimple Kapadia).

Their hero, Zafar Khan (Hrithik Roshan) slithers out of the film because he gets an offer from Karan Johar. Every other actor (many real stars in cameo) turns him down, which necessitates the search for a new star, and Vikram turns out to be the lucky one--who gets the break by chance, because he happens to be in the right place at the right time, and has that dash of smartness and subterfuge to press his advantage when he gets a toe in the door. His success alienates him from Sona who stood by him when he was struggling.

Luck by Chance is by no means a definitive look at the world of films, but it has enough moments to make it charming, and sudden fine strokes in the midst of the broad ones-- like a quick look at a struggler's worn shoe, or the clothes pegs attached to the backs of the stars' costumes holding them in place. The film is sumptuous to look at, though the struggler's pads look too classy and there isn't a hint of squalor anywhere. That circus dance numbers is better than anything the kind of film she portrays in the film has accomplished so far.

Zoya covers other 'types' like the producer wife (Juhi Chawla), several strugglers, star hangers on, a gossip journalist, a choreographer, a theatre actor who disdains film, a star secretary and more star cameos than one can count.

Her touch is light, she really cares for her characters (even the selfish Zafar and the manipulative Neena), and gets perfect performances from Rishi Kapoor, Dimple Kapadia, and a fine piece of casting in Farhan Akhtar and Konkana Sen Sharma, who give their roles a great deal of sincerity.

It is a somewhat sanitized version of the film industry-- just touching on the grime, but not so deep as to make the viewer uncomfortable; it also portrays the glamour, but not so much as to have to leave the viewer disoriented. The director wants the audience to get a peek behind the scenes, but also leave the cinema with their illusions intact.

Victory

Formulaic elements tend to creep into any sports film, and it takes either great imagination (Lagaan) or really unusual characters (Chak De India) to circumvent the predictability problem.

Ajitpal Mangat may have tried to make a 'different' cricket film, but intention is about where it stops. Unless one is a cricket buff, and is out star spotting, there's not much to appeal-- not the way, say, Lagaan or Iqbal did, at an emotional level too, not just at a game-playing level. In any real match, there is more drama than a regular run-of-the-mill film.

Vijay Shekhawat (Hurman S. Baweja), Jaisalmer boy who wants to be a cricketer, but it isn't easy for him. Still, like many real life cricketers from small towns, he does make it against all odds. Again, like some we know, he loses his head, almost destroys his career and has to fight to regain his glory.

Even if Vijay's rise-fall-and rise is somewhat interesting, the supporting characters are on the dull side-- like the principled father (Anupam Kher), the ever-supportive girlfriend (Amrita Rao), a duplicitous well wisher (Gulshan Grover).

Victory also has a full phalanx of national and international cricket stars like Harbhajan Singh and Brett Lee, but they really don't add anything to the film. One might as well see them on the field, doing what they do best—play.

Despite a reasonably earnest performance from Hurman S Baweja, this film remains an also-ran.

SM and Raaz2

2009-01-23T20:19:00.001+05:30

Slumdog Millionaire

India has a way of accepting second hand from the West, what was our own to begin with. Like yoga, herbal medicine or curry.

Slumdog Millionaire, with its multiple wins and Oscar nominations, just re-packages Ram Gopal Verma and Mahesh Bhatt.. Raj Kapoor and KA Abbas too if we were to go back further, and gives the waiting world a Bollywood film done Angrez style.. the film equivalent of power yoga or pizza with tandoori toppings.

One is not arguing for or against the portrayal of India as a brutal, squalid country— it’s the director’s prerogative what he wants to see and show—and if he sees only filth and evil, it’s his vision.

As a story, there is nothing in it that the Indian audience has not seen before, but it is to Boyle’s credit, that he t ells the same old story with great flair, a breathtaking pace and impeccable production values, set to AR Rahman’s exhilarating score.

Just taking the idea from Vikas Swarup’s modern-day fairy tale of a novel Q & A and bleaching all the colour and goodness out of it, Boyle tells the relentlessly dark tale of a tea boy in a call centre, Jamal Malik (Dev Patel) whose traumatic experience as a child gives him the answers to all the questions asked in a quiz show. The condescending host (Anil Kapoor) is annoyed enough to get Jamal tortured by the cops (Irrfan Khan-Saurabh Shukla).

In the book, the boy was an orphan, here he gets a mother, a brother and a religion—adding a needless communal angle, as his mother is killed in a riot, so he knows that Lord Ram carries a bow and arrow in his right hand!

Jamal, his street smart brother Salim and Latika, a girl they befriend, go through all kinds of awful adventures—like almost being blinded (another child is in a scene that makes the flesh crawl) by a Fagin like beggar mafia leader (Ankur Vikal), and Latika ending up in a brothel.

As Salim (Madhur Mittal) becomes a gangster, Jamal spends his life looking for Latika (Freida Pinto), finally finding her captive in the home of a gangster (Mahesh Manjrekar), where his own brother has sent her.

He participates in the quiz show to reach out to Latika, and the climax is pure Bollywood— emotion, action, sacrifice, redemption and true love dancing at the railway station (to the Oscar nominated Jai Ho).

Boyle does treat the unsavoury material (at one point little Jamal jumps into a puddle of poo to be able to get Amitabh Bachchan’s autograph—a scene that would make anyone nauseous) with humour and unflinching affection, and never lets the narrative pause long enough for his characters or the audience to catch their breath. The performances, particularly by the kids are wonderful, there is an exuberance and vitality to the film that is admirable, but the West’s over-enthusiastic response to Slumdog Millionaire is baffling. Maybe as others (notably Mr Bachchan and the person who sued because of the insulting title) have pointed out, this is perhaps the picture of India the world wants to see, and hence the honours for this very well made but hardly extraordinary film.

Raaz: The Mystery Continues

Like most recent horror films like Phoonk and 1920, Mohit Suri’s Raaz: The Mystery Continues faithfully follows set horror film conventions, but gives some more thought to the plot — maybe inspired by Stigmata, making an uneasy combination with Ganashatru (based on Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People) and of course, elements of The Exorcist.

Nandita (Kangana Ranaut), a model starts showing signs of mysterious attacks by spirits, which irritates her boyfriend Yash (Adhyayan Suman), who hosts a TV show called Andhvishwas, exposing supernatural phenomena as hoaxes and superstition. Nandita is also stalked by a haunted-looking painter Prithvi (Emraan Hashmi), who paints the unpleasant incidents before they occur to her, and can’t figure out the connection.

Two other people have died with the same kind of wounds that show up on Nandita’s body, and the same message written on the wall by their corpses. The secret lies in a hill town called Kalindi where a big religious festival takes place, so Nandita and Prithvi go there to investigate.

The setting up of the suspense fine-- there are some truly spooky scenes, and Suri resists using horror stock in trades like loud, jarring music or black cats and crows; once it’s time for the unraveling of the mystery, that he gets into a inextricable maze of overwritten scenes.. not to give away anything, but Jackie Shroff appears at some point in Heath Ledger like clown make-up.

The reason for why Nandita was being attacked is as odd as the wild bull attack in the middle of nowhere; and the film goes on for far too long than is good for a horror film and there are boring bits in between.

Kangana Ranaut – not looking her best—has to look terrified and emit piercing screams once in a while, which she does adequately. Emraan Hashmi is fine as the freaky painter, but Adhyayan Suman needs a lot of improvement. The songs are already on top of the charts, so no shortfall in that department.

The problem is that films like this tend to-- unfairly -- mock people who don’t believe in the paranormal. The better attitude would perhaps be, to each his own, just tell your story without coming down so hard on rationalism.

CC2C

2009-01-23T20:17:00.000+05:30

Chandni Chowk to China

The intention was right—get Hollywood (Warner) clout to back an Indian masala-meets-Chinese-kung fu spectacle and conquer the world. Maybe because they aimed too high, the fall was equally hard.

A film like Chandni Chowk to China, inspired by the illogical seventies’ style commercial cinema (the kind Manmohan Desai patented), needs a sense of childish abandon, total conviction in its silliness and a don’t-let-them-think pace, which Nikhil Advani simply cannot accomplish. As a result of which the Chinese martial arts portions of the film (like a live-action Kung Fu Panda) work much better that the Bollywood melodrama.

Sidhu (Akshay Kumar), a simple-minded Chandni Chowk cook’s assistant, keeps making the rounds of astrologers and quacks to get rich quick, and getting kicked around (so hard that he flies across the city) by his foster father (Mithun Chakraborty).

Thanks to the deliberate misinterpretation by his Chinese friend Chopstick (Ranvir Shorey), Sidhu is taken to be the reincarnation of legendary warrior Liu Shen and taken to China by two desperate men, who need him to fight the villain Hojo (Gordon Liu), who is oppressing their village.

The villain is a bald, grinning monster, who decapitates people with his bowler hat and goes around with an albino sidekick. Years ago he had tossed a cop Chiang (Roger Yuan) from the Great Wall, as a result of which he lost his memory and was separated from his wife and twin daughters. One of them, Sakhi (Deepika Padukone—bright and beautiful) now lands up in China too, and keeps narrowly missing her twin Meow Meow, who works for Hojo.

All that is well, and very old-style Bollywood, but what is one to make of a film in which the hero worships a potato, just shed tears most of the time, is beaten, spat and pissed upon by the villain, and wails over the death of his Dada, dispatched with the bowler hat.

Too late in the film, he runs into Chiang, the old cop regains his memory and teaches Sidhu kung fu, so that he can finally fight Hojo and his army. Through all this mayhem on and around the Great Wall (the first time a film was allowed to shoot there), the Chinese authorities are blissfully asleep. The film sputters to life when Sidhu trains, but the long-awaited climax is a let down.

There is a lot of weeping and sermonizing, not enough light-hearted fun in CC2C, and even when you are willing to put up with non-stop nonsense—since the promos promised that-- you are hardly ever amused. The script puts in needless complications and many plodding sequences (like one at the opera); instead of pace and humour, you get Akshay Kumar’s tomfoolery of the kind that he overdid in Singh In Kinng plus some cringe-worthy gags and lines.

Maybe the Chinese know something Mumbai filmmakers don’t…so they have a better hit rate in crossover cinema. Advani tries so hard that the strain shows, like the veins standing out on his hero’s forehead. And then there’s the added embarrassment of the film giving the impression abroad (going by the many reviews) that this is what Indian cinema has to offer the world.

Prez & Bad Luck

2009-01-23T20:14:00.000+05:30

The President is Coming

Kunaal Roy Kapoor’s The President is Coming has several pluses—it is based on a contemporary Indian English play by Anuvab Pal, a major Bollywood production company (the Sippys) have put their money (not a lot, but still..) on it and some of Mumbai's best stage actors get to show their talent on screen. George Bush was always a subject ripe for satire, even though this film comes a little too late for throwing a figurative shoe at him.

Since it is in English, the audience is automatically limited, but its wacky humour, and furious one-liners will go down well with young urban multiplex-going crowds, who get to see a film that speaks their tongue and probably expresses some of their thoughts.

Like the sniggers raised at the expense of the ‘vernie’ communal angry man (Satchit Puranik) who has a chip on his shoulder and says “phuck.” Or the Gujju stockbroker (Anand Tiwari), who thinks everything can be bought. The upper crust comes for some battering too, when the airhead heiress (Ira Dubey) is mocked.

These three are part of a group—the others are a snobbish novelist (Konkona Sen Sharma), an accent trainer (Vivek Gomber) and closet-gay IT geek (Namit Das)—who have been chosen to take part in a contest that will pick one, who will get the shake hands with the visiting President Bush, as a representative of the New Indian.

The whole circus is handled by the bossy Samantha Patel (Shernaz Patel) and her ditzy assistant Ritu Johnson (Shivaki Tanksale). The group has to participate in a series of tests—mostly humiliating—but they are all, for reasons of their own, willing to do anything to meet Prez Bush. The quarrel, make fools of themselves and let their worst sides emerge. The film is lampoon of our own insecurity and corruption, using regional stereotypes.

There have been a few alterations made in the play in the attempt to open it out, but it remains a one-location affair, and can’t shake off its staginess and occasional meandering off the point —the humour remains in the lines (by Anuvab Pal) and the actors collectively-- without any attempts at scene-stealing— being their characters alive, clichés and all. For those who haven’t seen the play, worth a look – go see what the fuss was about, and laugh a bit while you are at it.

Bad Luck Govind

In the credits (and the brochure), the characters have names likes Angelic Anu, Hungree Hussain, Krazee Kripalani, Troubled Talpade, and so on… and the wit in Varun Khanna’s Bad Luck Govind ends right there.

The thought of watching yet another Mumbai gangster film is not in the least encouraging, but the title suggested a comedy, so hopes were raised a bit… and dashed soon enough.

A skinny and sad-looking, jug-eared Govind (Gaurav Kapur) believes he brings bad luck wherever he goes… a very unlikely series of errors, leads to his leaving Delhi for Mumbai, and having his luggage stolen on the train.

At a hospital (where he goes to try make some money as a sperm donor), he meets aspiring actor Vishal (Amit Mistry--earnest), who gives the hapless fellow shelter in his chawl room.

The chawl has two sets of warring gangsters – Kapoor (Parmeet Sethi) and gang on one side, and Talpade (Ganesh Yadav) on the other. Mostly they just yell insults across the yard, but there is some complicated betting involving the imprisonment of a don Mahalkar’s (Govind Namdeo) nephew, causing ego clashes between the two sides.

By the time the entire cast of characters is introduced, speaking Bambaiya slang (or what filmmakers imagine they do), you are already yawning out of boredom. Govind (called names like Sukha Bombil by his raucous neighbours) tries to tell Vishal of his bad luck, Kapoor’s henchman Hussain (Vrajesh Hirjee) overhears, and they get the idea of having Govind hovering on the other side, so his misfortune rubs off on the enemy. For a while it does, then Govind starts feeling guilty and lands up in hospital (with some bones broken by Hussain), where he falls for the Doctor Anu Fernandes (Hrishitaa Bhatt). Anu, it is established earlier, has Buddhist inclinations and believes in a positive thinking chant.

The plot goes nowhere, Govind must be the most irritatingly passive and ineffectual ‘hero’ of all time, and the pace—for a comedy—is fatally slow. If there is a small hint of humour it is in the exaggerated reaction of a man (Zakir Hussain), whose muscle-building pills are substituted by female hormones by the enemy camp.

It’s unfortunate that the film turned out to be such a dud, there was a cool idea there, and films about innocents in big bad Bombay (okay, Mumbai) have always appealed to audiences. Director Varun Khanna has made the hard-hitting Beyond Honour earlier (and also the unremarkable American Blend) , but what can say to this no-brainer, but better luck next time.

Ghajini

2008-12-29T12:29:00.002+05:30

With Aamir Khan putting all the weight of his star power behind Ghajini, he will draw the crowds. But it is precisely because Khan is in the film, that it is disappointing. With all that talk of perfectionism and quality cinema, one expected the star to do a superior film – in content that is, not just style. Why a remake of a successful but not particularly outstanding Tamil film?

But for the idea of the hero's memory loss (taken from Christopher Nolan's Memento) , Ghajini is just another revenge-action drama that so many stars have done through the eighties and nineties. In fact, it is the lack of sophisticated action that is most alarming about the film. Let's not even talk about lapses in logic—some extra cinematic license is always granted to mainstream cinema. When Sanjay (Aamir Khan) is first seen he is beating up a man and finally plunges a tap through his stomach (one can imagine the censors cutting what followed—blood coming out it) —and all the while, he has a gun.

Sanjay is the owner of a major mobile phone company, and now he suffers from a form of memory loss that leaves him unable to remember anything for more than 15 minutes. So he lives in a dark den with notes stuck or written all over, carries a Polaroid camera to take snapshots that he instantly labels and the most important info he has tattooed on his body – and what is of significance is that a man called Ghajini (Pradeep Rawat) has to be killed.

Through the medium of an outsider reading his diaries—first a cop and then an over-eager medical student Sunita (Jiah Khan), the story of his tragedy is reconstructed. A small time model Kalpana (Asin) pretends that the phone tycoon Sanjay is her boyfriend, in order to get better work from her agency. She does not know what he looks like, so Sanjay pretends to be an aspiring model Sachin. He falls in love with her innocence and constant willingness to help others. (She must be also particularly dumb—today a simple Google search would show up details about any famous person!)

Kalpana stumbles on a major human organ fresh trading racket, which could expose an important man. Typically in films, people rush off into imminent danger without bothering to call the cops. Sanjay comes to Kalpana's rescue too – and a cell phone honcho doesn't think of back-up—and while she is killed, he is battered on the head and left to die.

The enemy, this Ghajini is supposedly the owner of a pharmaceuticals company, but runs around with his thugs, bashing people's heads in with rods—guns are not that hard to come by. Sanjay is celebrity but there seems to be no media interest or follow up of his case. After the incident he lives in the suburban flat he bought for Kalpana, travels around in buses and autos… and uses physical force to beat Ghajini's men.

But for the actor's hard work-- not to mention vanity and publicity potential of the Body Building and Head Shaving, there was no need for that WWF rough stuff. The real trauma of the man lies in coping with memory loss and trying to go ahead with his mission despite the handicap. The only time you feel the enormity of the loss is when Ghajini and his men come and wreck his house with its painstaking collection of reminders and cover his tattoos. The problem is solved in no time, since the medical student has wandered into his house stealing his diaries and photos, so that she can conveniently give them to him.

The romance is sunny and sweet– though Asin's chirpiness grates after a point-- but the violence is crude, distasteful and completely gratuitous. Aamir Khan (wearing odd shirts with puff sleeves as the tycoon!) is actually far more effective in the role of a bemused suitor than he is as the muscleman. Asin also excels in the dramatic portions. But the weakest link here is the villain who simply cannot carry the cumbersome burden of having a film named after him!

Wafaa

2008-12-29T12:27:00.002+05:30

Watching this pathetic movie, who'd guess that Rajesh Khanna was once a huge star—for whom the term 'superstar' was coined? Today, you see him in Wafaa, in awful clothes, straw hair, idiotic glasses, stripping to show his flabby body, and wonder what made him subject himself to this indignity.

Director Rakesh Sawant has not brought the forgotten superstar to this era, he has gone back to his age, but sadly for Khanna, times have changed and cinema is no longer what it used to be in his time. However bad some of his films were, because of his loyal fan-following he could get away with clumsy wardrobe, gawky dance steps and hammy acting. Now the minute he appears on screen in tacky monogrammed role, white plastic sunglasses and wooden air rifle, trying to look all slick and macho, you smother a giggle.

He plays Amrit (a nostalgic name, the title of one of his hit films) a rich Bangkok-based businessman, married to a young woman Beena (Laila Khan). They live in a furniture-packed house that looks like a godown in Chor Bazaar; there are enormous carved sofas, plastic fruit bowls, fake flowers everywhere, antique brass rotary phone, ancient chandeliers and garish upholstery, plus a grand piano and a 'gold' cage in which a parrot stands for Beena's helpless state. She has riches and "naukar chaakar" as the husband points out, though none is visible except a driver, but the desi Madame Bovary is lonely. So talk to the parrot and play with Tommy the pet dog, says the husband as he goes off to make "1000 million crore deals that will get him into Fortune 500."

But Beena's problem is not her garish make-up and 1970 wardrobe, it's the sad fact of her husband getting an asthma attack every time she tries to get intimate. Meanwhile the driver Raj (unknown hunk) bathes in the mansion's pool in John Abraham trunks, so Beena throws herself at him, and then in The Postman Always Rings Twice fashion, they plan to kill the husband. After the funeral is done, and Beena and Raj finish their dancing with joy, Amrit turns up very much alive in the same white plastic sunglasses that he is so fond of sporting. Cops Tinu Anand and a Sudesh Berry as Inspector Hairy (sic) try and try to prove that the man's an imposter but can't find a chink in his armour.

Those who have seen Hollywood's Chase a Crooked Shadow (1958) and Bollywood's Dhuan (1981) would know what's coming. Everything about the film is dated and shoddy from the sets, to the song picturisations, to the hilarious sight of the hero swigging Black Label from the bottle. Most actors in the film – apart from the over-painted leading lady and the driver, there is a sister from "Umrika" and her boyfriend—all look like they were picked up from some struggler's camp in suburban Mumbai.

Some Rajesh Khanna fans, out of some misplaced nostalgia, might go in to see the film… and wipe out their memories of the superstar.

Rab Ne Bana D Jodi

2008-12-13T11:04:00.001+05:30

There was a time when audiences were as innocent as cinema technique was primitive. Filmmakers relied on the audience's total suspension of disbelief as they drew them into an emotional web and kept them hooked till the end. When they came out they were all teary-eyed or goofy-grinned—slightly embarrassed at being so easily manipulated.

Aditya Chopra's Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi is that kind of film. Look for a new plot, fresh idea or zingy style and it's not there. But there is romance, emotion, simplicity and a performance from Shah Rukh Khan that would make any actor dizzy with envy.

As the geeky, introverted minor bureaucrat Surinder Sahni, Khan gives an amazingly astute and well-observed performance (the right accent, even the right nerdy shoes), plus a lack of vanity, so that looking at him, nobody could tell that he is a major star. Tragic circumstance end up in his marriage to young Taani (Ansukha Sharma), who says right at the start that she will try to be a good wife, but won't be able to love him. The already besotted Surinder humbly accepts crumbs, because he feels he doesn't deserve any better. A dabba packed by her for his lunch is enough to send him into paroxysms of joy.

Taani wants to participate in a dance competition, and with the help of a flamboyant friend Bobby (Vinay Pathak), Surinder gets a makeover and turns himself into the crude, flirty Raj Kapoor, Taani's dance partner. Now comes the suspension of disbelief— with those eyes, that nose, those lips and that Adam's apple, she does not see that Surinder and Raj are the same man.

Surinder gets into the Golmaal-like schizophrenic situation—boring Surinder by day and funky Raj by night. Even with her resistance Taani falls in love with Raj—there is a cute dream sequence that pays tribute to the old stars and their songs. Without really underlining it, Aditya Chopra (in the tradition of films like Love in Simla and Chhotisi Baat), makes a comment on the superficiality of judging people by their looks. But the film—with some excellent lines—keeps it simple, the story is just about these two very ordinary people and it takes some doing to convince an audience that Shah Rukh Khan is ordinary.

The casting of a non-glamorous, pudgy-faced Anushka Sharma as Taani helps emphasize Chopra's point that even homely and plain people are deserving of great love—if God wills it. Love turns the frog into a Prince or the ugly duckling into a swan. Movies and fairy tales have been saying this for ages… mostly it's the women who have been transforming themselves to bag the prince, here, for a change the man does.

Then, after saying this, and wringing some tears, Chopra has funny end-credits about Mr and Mrs Sahni's honeymoon. If Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi with its cliché-ridden plot is still so watchable it's because of Shah Rukh Khan's near-magical performance, showing that he is always capable of throwing a surprise even when he is playing yet another Romantic Raj--naam to suna hoga, he says, one of the many nods to the director's own DDLJ, a bit too much patting of his own back. Or admitting that DDLJ will forever be a benchmark for his career, and then lowering his own sights.

4 this week

2008-12-06T14:21:00.001+05:30

Dil Kabaddi

It’s about educated, upper class Indians, who live in catalogue perfect homes, hang out at hip joints, have careers (not just jobs).. and are resolutely, unapologetically in the pursuit of happiness. You’d like to see more such people in the movies, from whose windows you can see the Mumbai landscape not New York or Miami.

Too bad that Anil Senior’s Dil Kabaddi characters come out of a Woody Allen film (Husbands and Wives). But with Indian coyness added to them. People who have been married for years talk like this: Wife: Let’s do it. Husband: Do what? Wife (with a shrug) You know. (Oh grow up!)

Dil Kabaddi is about the impact one broken marriage has on another, and a few other people who come into the path of the whirlwind. Samit (Irrfan Khan) and Mita (Soha Ali Khan) decide to separate, and break it to their friends Rishi (Rahul Bose) and Simi (Konkana Sen Sharma) suddenly over a drink. It gets Rishi and Simi to start examining their own marriage. At least sexual incompatibility comes out of the closet.

Samit gets involved with a ditzy aerobics instructor Kaya (Payal Rohatgi), Mita starts ‘dating’ (haranguing, mostly) Veer (Rahul Khanna); Simi flirts with Veer too, and Rishi with his student Raga (Saba), who seems to be more sexually experienced than him.

The men seem just silly, while the women – Mita and Simi—come across as dominating, manipulative and, as Samit keeps complaining, “cold.” They all talk as if they were reading lines out of a script, accompanied by much shrugging, pursing of lips and raising of eyebrows. And in between their spats, give frank interviews about their feelings—talking straight into a camera to a hidden and persistent interviewer.

If Anil Senior has indeed tried to delve into what goes on behind closed doors in an Indian marriage, the film would have been really brave. But these characters are transposed here from an American film—so they live in a universe free of in-laws and children, with divorce, partner-swapping, pre-and-extra marital sex treated very casually. Not a tear shed or a heart broken.

It is funny in places, but tries too hard—Kaya’s aerobics scene at a party, for instance. The actors, however, are completely at ease with the situations and with one another; Irrfan Khan does all the ridiculous ‘Kaya’ scenes, without a trace of awkwardness, and young Saba is quite a find. For a film that talks a lot about sex, there is remarkably little vulgarity. The production values and camerawork are of a high quality, and film, just may be worth a look. Or maybe see the Woody Allen original, nobody does urban angst and neuroses better than him.

Meerabai Not Out

Has to be seen to be believed… Mandira Bedi has been deglamorised to oily plait, geek glasses, and churidar-kurtas that could have been picked up at Dadar market, sensible footwear, a cheap bag with umbrella sticking out. She is converted to Shivaji Park's Meera Achrekar—maths teacher and cricket fanatic. (For those outside Mumbai, Dadar and Shivaji Park are traditional Maharashtrian-majority areas of the city.)

In Chandrakant Kulkarni's Meerabai Not Out (reminiscent of Hrishikesh Mukherjee's Guddi), the heroine has a secret crush on Anil Kumble (who appears as himself) and a penchant for gully cricket with the boys.

Her mother (Vandana Gupte—perfect casting), brother (Mahesh Manjrekar--unrecognisable) and sweet-natured sis-in-law (Pratiksha Lonkar) worry about her single status, and her fellow teachers at the school bitch about her, since she is a favourite with the students.

Mills & Boon ought not to have intruded into this modak-and-poha idyll, but it does, in the form of Dr Arjun Awasthi (Eijaz Khan), who is bowled over by Miss Achrekar. She is soon converted to contact lenses and trendy hairstyle, but her passion for cricket is not dimmed, and that proves to be her undoing in the eyes of Awasthi Sr. (Anupam Kher). When she fails to turn up at her own engagement because a match is on, he reasons that some people are just not meant for the mundane duties of domesticity.

If a film really has the courage to even debate this line of thinking, one will stand up and applaud, but no, having the heroine stay single, weepy and apologetic won't do, and how the 'problem' is solved is so far-fetched as to be ridiculous.

Director Kulkarni (coming via the route of theatre and Marathi films) is obviously quite comfortable with the middle-class Maharashtrian milieu and this is portrayed with accuracy and affection. But instead of coming across as independent minded his heroine Meera turns out as childish and eccentric— Guddi (of the 1971 film) had a redeeming feature, she was a school kid, while Meerabai is a grown woman, who ought to know the difference between reality and fantasy; or at least have the ability to stand her ground, for whatever it's worth. Odd too, that Meera's cricket team has no girls—indirectly the film says that it is a man's world, women have to eventually return to the kitchen.

Still the film has some nice scenes, like the cricket duel between the brother and the boyfriend. Mandira Bedi is utterly likeable as Meera and makes no attempt to let her glam image intrude ("I wear more clothes," she yells at someone who comments that she looks like Mandira). But the film won't last an over on the multiplex pitch.

Maharathi

One look at the set of Maharathi, and its theatrical origin is given away. Uttam Gada’s play, inspired by Sleuth, has the twisting-turning kind of plot that was popular in stage thrillers once, and the play was a big hit.

About a quarter of century later, Shivam Nair brings the play to the screen, casts some of the finest actors, and wastes all but Paresh Rawal. The other parts simply did not require the combined prodigious talents of Naseeruddin Shah, Boman Irani and Om Puri-- it is a Paresh Rawal show all the way. (One can see why Rawal was so keen to get the play converted to film.)

Shah plays an alcoholic, once powerful filmmaker Jaisingh Adenwala, who lives in a huge, shabby, overstuffed bungalow that looks like bad stage set. He has a young, virago of a wife, Mallika (Neha Dhupia—shouting out her lines), and a shifty lawyer Merchant (Boman Irani).

One day, a small time crook Subhash (Paresh Rawal) saves Adenwala’s life after a drunken car crash, and insinuates himself into the household. Ill, in debt and sick of his wife, Adenwala decides to commit suicide, so that Mallika cannot get her hands on his Rs 24 crore insurance policy, unless she can prove it was murder.

The wily Subhash convinces her to put the body in a large freezer that just happens to be around, and weaves a complicated scheme, by which they can prove that Adenwala was murdered and split the booty. To have an alibi on hand, they hire a housekeeper Swati (Tara Sharma).

Of course the plan starts going wrong, and it takes all of Subash’s guts and brains to stay ahead of the game—not to mention acting skills that enable him to wring out tears when needed, and look all helpless when he is actually putting his adversary into a tight spot.
Despite all its cleverness, the plot is contrived and quite implausible, and since most of the film is set in one house, the action is mostly static. The acting style also borders on the theatrical, and it looks like the investigating cop’s (Om Puri) role was curtailed to keep running time in check.

Paresh Rawal is quite capable of holding a film all by himself, and despite some overacting he does—but if he emerges as the ‘hero’ here, it’s because the writer handed him all the right moves on a platter. And what a pity to have Naseeruddin Shah locked in a freezer for most of the film. It would have been fun to see Rawal and Shah in an acting duel. That would have made Maharathi a worthwhile watch; now it’s comme ci comme ca.

Oh, My God!

Vinay Pathak is beginning to specialize in roles that require him to play the simple-minded, generally clueless ‘common man’ –he has his ticks and mannerisms, and can pass off rather well as the ordinary bloke.

The point is, can the audience take so many ordinary bloke films? And do they want to? Oh, My God, directed by first-timer Sourabh Shrivastav, is an unpretentious one-idea film, that you might sit down and watch on an HBO-like channel on TV. Spend multiplex big bucks? Not likely. And to see Saurabh Shukla play God? Take a vote on that.

Rajendra Dubey (Pathak) and his wife Suman (Divya Dutta) live a comfortable life, but he dreams of being Ambani, and takes the idiotic route of a pyramid scheme (where one person invests, and gets his money multiplied if he gets others to invest too) to achieve his dreams of wealth.

His constant spiel on the scheme not just bugs his friends and colleagues, it starts annoying the audience too. His wife prays hard for help and God arrives in the form of the constantly munching Saurabh Shukla in a white suit. Now, what’s with Shukla and food (he ate huge quantities in Dasvidaniya too), and God in white suits—Amitabh Bachchan (God Tussi Great Ho) and Rishi Kapoor (Thoda Pyaar Thoda Magic) wore them too.

God tries hard to help Dubey, but his honesty and middle-class caution come in the way of taking easy money. In fact, the film’s tag line “Bhagwan deta par Dubey nahin leta” sort of gives the film away.

Oh, My God! has some understated humour (when Dubey goes to the temple, even God panics), some poignant moments, but nothing really adds up to an appealing whole. A decent enough first effort, but, unfortunately quite missable.