Friday, July 16, 2010
3 This Week
Tere Bin Laden
Unusual for an Indian film to be set in Pakistan, but a story like Tere Bin Laden could only have taken place there (though shot in Hyderabad). Low budget and tacky, this Abhishek Sharma film makes up for lack of production values with its cheeky humour.
Ali (Ali Zafar) TV reporter for a third rate channel is obsessed with the idea of going to America, but can’t get a visa. While shooting a cock crowing competition in a sleepy village, he discovers an Osama Bin Laden lookalike.
Noora (Pradhuman Singh) is an eccentric poultry farmer, who is conned into recording a threatening message to America. Ali and his sidekick (Nikhil Ratnaparkhi) sell the video to their own skinflint boss (Piyush Mishra). The release of this ‘breaking news’ footage creates a sensation and sends a posse of paranoid American agents, led by the buffoonish Ted Wood (Barry John) to Pakistan.
It is a terrific idea, and the film is peppered with loads of wit, and barbs at American warmongering, but it fails to rise up to its true potential as a political satire like Wag The Dog or the recent Brit comedy In The Loop—it is content to remain at the level of school boy farce.
Still, it entertains, it has its own innocent charm, the actors are all peppy and enthusiastic—Chirag Vora as the meek editor of the video, Sunanda Garg as the make-up expert and Rahul Singh as the voice artist. But Ali Zafar and Pradhuman Singh really fuel this madcap comedy. The latter is a real find, and deserves to be ‘discovered’ by mainstream Bollywood.
Tere Bin Laden, despite its shortcomings, is just the kind of impish film that should be coming up more often on the indie circuit.
Udaan
Vikramaditya Motwane’s debut film Udaan, about a young boy’s rebellion against a monster dad is realistic and has moments of power, but still leaves you with mixed feelings.
Seventeen-year-old Rohan and his friends are expelled from boarding school from running off to watch a porn film. Rohan goes home after eight years, to find that he had a six-year-old half brother Arjun (Aayan Boradia) and his father (Ronit Roy) mistreats the child.
The father wants to make a “man” out of Rohan, his idea of discipline is cruelty, emotional deprivation and complete control. The suggestion is that he was treated thus by his own father, and this is how he thinks he should treat his sons.
However, sympathy often swings away from Rohan, because he is hardly a model son—he steals, sneaks off to drink and hang out with pals, flunks exams and does not, till the situation goes out of hand, have the courage to do the right thing. The end also seems too easy and idealistic.
The relationship between Rohan and his perpetually terrified kid brother is tender, but the father’s weird character remains unexplained and somewhat incomplete. Still, Udaan portrays a side of the Great Indian Family that is at odds with what if fed to audiences through television and mainstream cinema. Ronit Roy makes the best of his unidimensional part and Ram Kapoor as his genial brother makes a good foil to his relentless grimness. Rohan Barmecha has the vulnerability required for the role, but little Aayan Boradia’s haunted eyes say a lot more about what lies behind the walls of so many ordinary homes.
Lamhaa
Rahul Dholakia's last film Parzania, against the backdrop if the Gujarat riots was hard-hitting and dare to take a contentious stand. His new film Lamhaa declares that it tells the untold story of Kashmir, and you expect--and hope for-- a piece of cinema that goes beyond Bollywood cliches.
Dholakia has shot in Kashmir and it is stunningly beautiful. He has also used a documentary style to capture the streets, by lanes and everyday life in the state. No fake cheery visuals of flowers-laden shikaras on Dal Lake, and rosy-cheeked girls in phirans. He captures the grimy reality of a state reeling under terror and the lack of a political will to solve the terrible problems afflicting the people.
But he also ends up falling into the Bollywood trap and makes a film full of the usual politicians-are-the-baddies cliches. Nothing that the audience doesn't already know. Sanjay Dutt plays Vikram an Intelligence man who is sent undercover to find out about a brewing plot. He walks conspicuously around the city, a keffiyeh flamboyantly wrapped around his neck asking questions and, surprisingly, gets correct answers. If it were that easy, Kashmir would not have been such a trouble zone.
The theory that Dholakia keeps repeating is that various groups have turned Kashmir into a "company" and profit by it. He comes up the notion that militancy is stoked in Kashmir because it ensures large budgets for the ministry concerned. Ultimately, it is one politician (Anupam Kher), who is behind it all. As if the huge terrorism issue is one of his little backyard and not an international headache, as it was once famously described.
Bipasha Basu is miscast as a Kashmiri women's activist, while Kunal Kapoor does well as an aspiring politician. Sporadically the film gives a small hint of something it might have turned out to be, were it not tied up with star glamour -- the track about the half-widows of Kashmir, and the innocent kids indoctrinated with hate and sacrificed. (The implanting bombs in human bodies bit, shamelessly lifted from Hurt Locker).
The one hair-raising scene, of Bipasha being attacked by burqa-clad women in the street, does not any impact on the plot later, so is merely used as an ‘item.’ A sun-plot of Kashmiri girls forced into prostitution is abandoned after one hurried scene. In fact, it looks like the film wanted to say a lot more, but hesitated—either due to the hassles the director faced while shooting, or a desire to remain non-controversial. If everything is trivalised, then nobody will take a film seriously enough to protest and picket theatres. Even so, it has been banned in a few Islamic countries, which goes to show how intolerant we are getting to be.
Except for the brisk pace and camerawork, nothing much to recommend in this disappointing film.
Unusual for an Indian film to be set in Pakistan, but a story like Tere Bin Laden could only have taken place there (though shot in Hyderabad). Low budget and tacky, this Abhishek Sharma film makes up for lack of production values with its cheeky humour.
Ali (Ali Zafar) TV reporter for a third rate channel is obsessed with the idea of going to America, but can’t get a visa. While shooting a cock crowing competition in a sleepy village, he discovers an Osama Bin Laden lookalike.
Noora (Pradhuman Singh) is an eccentric poultry farmer, who is conned into recording a threatening message to America. Ali and his sidekick (Nikhil Ratnaparkhi) sell the video to their own skinflint boss (Piyush Mishra). The release of this ‘breaking news’ footage creates a sensation and sends a posse of paranoid American agents, led by the buffoonish Ted Wood (Barry John) to Pakistan.
It is a terrific idea, and the film is peppered with loads of wit, and barbs at American warmongering, but it fails to rise up to its true potential as a political satire like Wag The Dog or the recent Brit comedy In The Loop—it is content to remain at the level of school boy farce.
Still, it entertains, it has its own innocent charm, the actors are all peppy and enthusiastic—Chirag Vora as the meek editor of the video, Sunanda Garg as the make-up expert and Rahul Singh as the voice artist. But Ali Zafar and Pradhuman Singh really fuel this madcap comedy. The latter is a real find, and deserves to be ‘discovered’ by mainstream Bollywood.
Tere Bin Laden, despite its shortcomings, is just the kind of impish film that should be coming up more often on the indie circuit.
Udaan
Vikramaditya Motwane’s debut film Udaan, about a young boy’s rebellion against a monster dad is realistic and has moments of power, but still leaves you with mixed feelings.
Seventeen-year-old Rohan and his friends are expelled from boarding school from running off to watch a porn film. Rohan goes home after eight years, to find that he had a six-year-old half brother Arjun (Aayan Boradia) and his father (Ronit Roy) mistreats the child.
The father wants to make a “man” out of Rohan, his idea of discipline is cruelty, emotional deprivation and complete control. The suggestion is that he was treated thus by his own father, and this is how he thinks he should treat his sons.
However, sympathy often swings away from Rohan, because he is hardly a model son—he steals, sneaks off to drink and hang out with pals, flunks exams and does not, till the situation goes out of hand, have the courage to do the right thing. The end also seems too easy and idealistic.
The relationship between Rohan and his perpetually terrified kid brother is tender, but the father’s weird character remains unexplained and somewhat incomplete. Still, Udaan portrays a side of the Great Indian Family that is at odds with what if fed to audiences through television and mainstream cinema. Ronit Roy makes the best of his unidimensional part and Ram Kapoor as his genial brother makes a good foil to his relentless grimness. Rohan Barmecha has the vulnerability required for the role, but little Aayan Boradia’s haunted eyes say a lot more about what lies behind the walls of so many ordinary homes.
Lamhaa
Rahul Dholakia's last film Parzania, against the backdrop if the Gujarat riots was hard-hitting and dare to take a contentious stand. His new film Lamhaa declares that it tells the untold story of Kashmir, and you expect--and hope for-- a piece of cinema that goes beyond Bollywood cliches.
Dholakia has shot in Kashmir and it is stunningly beautiful. He has also used a documentary style to capture the streets, by lanes and everyday life in the state. No fake cheery visuals of flowers-laden shikaras on Dal Lake, and rosy-cheeked girls in phirans. He captures the grimy reality of a state reeling under terror and the lack of a political will to solve the terrible problems afflicting the people.
But he also ends up falling into the Bollywood trap and makes a film full of the usual politicians-are-the-baddies cliches. Nothing that the audience doesn't already know. Sanjay Dutt plays Vikram an Intelligence man who is sent undercover to find out about a brewing plot. He walks conspicuously around the city, a keffiyeh flamboyantly wrapped around his neck asking questions and, surprisingly, gets correct answers. If it were that easy, Kashmir would not have been such a trouble zone.
The theory that Dholakia keeps repeating is that various groups have turned Kashmir into a "company" and profit by it. He comes up the notion that militancy is stoked in Kashmir because it ensures large budgets for the ministry concerned. Ultimately, it is one politician (Anupam Kher), who is behind it all. As if the huge terrorism issue is one of his little backyard and not an international headache, as it was once famously described.
Bipasha Basu is miscast as a Kashmiri women's activist, while Kunal Kapoor does well as an aspiring politician. Sporadically the film gives a small hint of something it might have turned out to be, were it not tied up with star glamour -- the track about the half-widows of Kashmir, and the innocent kids indoctrinated with hate and sacrificed. (The implanting bombs in human bodies bit, shamelessly lifted from Hurt Locker).
The one hair-raising scene, of Bipasha being attacked by burqa-clad women in the street, does not any impact on the plot later, so is merely used as an ‘item.’ A sun-plot of Kashmiri girls forced into prostitution is abandoned after one hurried scene. In fact, it looks like the film wanted to say a lot more, but hesitated—either due to the hassles the director faced while shooting, or a desire to remain non-controversial. If everything is trivalised, then nobody will take a film seriously enough to protest and picket theatres. Even so, it has been banned in a few Islamic countries, which goes to show how intolerant we are getting to be.
Except for the brisk pace and camerawork, nothing much to recommend in this disappointing film.
Labels: Cinemaah
MM
Milenge Milenge
It doesn’t seem so long ago, but there was life without Google and Facebook. There were also typically silly Bollywood films, where a girl could fall love with a boy, propose to him (“I want to grow old with you”) without even knowing his full name. That was the time, when actors and actresses weren’t ‘styled’ within an inch of glossy perfection. But there was still an innocence to those films, which you can’t find in today’s paint-by-number, made-for-NRIs movies.
Satish Kaushik’s Milenge Milenge, merrily ripped off charming Hollywood romance Serendipity, with no threat of a lawsuit, has been in the making for about five years-- started when its lead pair Kareena Kapoor and Shahid Kapoor were dating in real life. But when you see the garish and clunky film, you realize with a little shock that our films have altered beyond recognition in the interim; not so much in content, much of which is still ripped of foreign movies, but in the look. Everything and everybody now looks sleek and stylish.
If Kareena saw her own bleached blond hair and awful costumes today, she would sink into the seat in mortification; so would Shahid if he saw how gauche he looked and how badly he acted.
Priya (Kareena Kapoor) and Immy (Shahid Kapoor) meet in Bangkok, and she falls in love believing in a clairvoyant’s prediction that he’s the one for her. He pretends to be the ‘One’ by reading her diary and doing whatever she likes. She finds out, is heartbroken and deals with his pleas that they are destined for each other by writing his number on a currency note and her own on a book, and casting them away. If they are destined to meet, she says coldly, they will come across each other’s numbers. (Odd that in Delhi she is not harassed by crank calls!)
Three years later, both are engaged to other people and on the verge of getting married, but realize with a sudden jolt that they ought to have given destiny a hand and looked for their soul mate. Today, it would be a matter of searching on the net but back then, it involves a tedious (for then and for us) process of tracking each other down, using the inadequate bits of information they have—and she doesn’t even know his real name.
So, through most of the post-interval part of the film, the two don’t meet. He accompanied by a weird-looking friend scours the market for the book; and she, with her friend in tow, goes hunting for him. There are the usual close brushes meant to create dramatic tension, when they almost meet, but of course, that has to wait till the last scene.
If the film had better music, a less ridiculous supporting cast, a bit more humour, some more drama, it could still have worked, despite being so dated. Now you just see it and marvel how much Kareena and Shahid have changed.
It doesn’t seem so long ago, but there was life without Google and Facebook. There were also typically silly Bollywood films, where a girl could fall love with a boy, propose to him (“I want to grow old with you”) without even knowing his full name. That was the time, when actors and actresses weren’t ‘styled’ within an inch of glossy perfection. But there was still an innocence to those films, which you can’t find in today’s paint-by-number, made-for-NRIs movies.
Satish Kaushik’s Milenge Milenge, merrily ripped off charming Hollywood romance Serendipity, with no threat of a lawsuit, has been in the making for about five years-- started when its lead pair Kareena Kapoor and Shahid Kapoor were dating in real life. But when you see the garish and clunky film, you realize with a little shock that our films have altered beyond recognition in the interim; not so much in content, much of which is still ripped of foreign movies, but in the look. Everything and everybody now looks sleek and stylish.
If Kareena saw her own bleached blond hair and awful costumes today, she would sink into the seat in mortification; so would Shahid if he saw how gauche he looked and how badly he acted.
Priya (Kareena Kapoor) and Immy (Shahid Kapoor) meet in Bangkok, and she falls in love believing in a clairvoyant’s prediction that he’s the one for her. He pretends to be the ‘One’ by reading her diary and doing whatever she likes. She finds out, is heartbroken and deals with his pleas that they are destined for each other by writing his number on a currency note and her own on a book, and casting them away. If they are destined to meet, she says coldly, they will come across each other’s numbers. (Odd that in Delhi she is not harassed by crank calls!)
Three years later, both are engaged to other people and on the verge of getting married, but realize with a sudden jolt that they ought to have given destiny a hand and looked for their soul mate. Today, it would be a matter of searching on the net but back then, it involves a tedious (for then and for us) process of tracking each other down, using the inadequate bits of information they have—and she doesn’t even know his real name.
So, through most of the post-interval part of the film, the two don’t meet. He accompanied by a weird-looking friend scours the market for the book; and she, with her friend in tow, goes hunting for him. There are the usual close brushes meant to create dramatic tension, when they almost meet, but of course, that has to wait till the last scene.
If the film had better music, a less ridiculous supporting cast, a bit more humour, some more drama, it could still have worked, despite being so dated. Now you just see it and marvel how much Kareena and Shahid have changed.
Labels: Cinemaah
IHLS
I Hate Luv Storys
I Hate Luv Storys
It’s a cheeky idea… how does industry kid Punit Malhotra disguise the fact that his idea of love stories is confined to Dharma and YRF candy floss romances? He designs his film I Hate Luv Storys as a spoof on Bollywood love stories. The odd spelling is probably meant to appeal to the limited language skills of today’s teens, the prime target for such films with young, trendily dressed stars. Their costumes alone could fund a small budget film.
How to spoof Bollywood romances without sounding boring? After all these films have overcooked the formula anyway—how many films do not end with a scene of the besotted lover running after a train or into an airport? Malhotra sets the film against a filmmaking backdrop, and to make it more ‘haha’ takes the most digs at producer Karan Johar’s films; followed by Aditya Chopra and Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s films.
The autocratic and eccentric director in the film, Veer (Samir Soni) is supposed to be modelled on Bhansali—look for barbs at Devdas, Saawariya and Black. The love story- hating hero Jai (Imran Khan) works as an assistant to Veer and the love story-adoring heroine Simran (Sonam Kapoor) is a production designer.
Jai—who likes to be thought of as cool and pronounces his name as ‘Jay’ hates romance, ostensibly because his parents spilt up. Pop psychology anyone? He makes fun of Simran (the name of the DDLJ heroine, get it?) because she is in love with a boring banker called Raj (the name of the DDLJ hero), who gives her white flowers (is it for a funeral, quips Jai) and wears shirts colour-coordinated with her dresses.
There is no substance to the fluffy plot—Simran falls for Jai, he rejects her; then he falls for her and she rejects him. Then all his friends and acquaintances conspire to get them together, after the predictable airport scene—this is not a spoiler, hardly anybody has thought of a more imaginative ending!
The other characters vary between silly (the leading man of the film within the film, played by Aamir Ali) and very irritating, the mandatory fat best friend and his fat girlfriend.
So in effect, what Malhotra does is make a very clichéd Bollywood love story, while pretending to be lampooning such films. Maybe he meant it as a tribute, because what the film also seems to say in the end is that these films dictate how real life romances go, and that maybe so in the narrow world view of a Bollywood filmmaker.
IHLS is okay for a few giggles, but is hardly likely to make it to the list of trend-setting date flicks, despite of the presence of its attractive and reasonably talented lead pair. Still, spoof or not, you expect some emotional pay-off from a love story, and quote frankly, no one could do the metrosexual weeping-moping- gazing moonily thing as well as Shah Rukh Khan. And he has grown-up now. What a pity!
I Hate Luv Storys
It’s a cheeky idea… how does industry kid Punit Malhotra disguise the fact that his idea of love stories is confined to Dharma and YRF candy floss romances? He designs his film I Hate Luv Storys as a spoof on Bollywood love stories. The odd spelling is probably meant to appeal to the limited language skills of today’s teens, the prime target for such films with young, trendily dressed stars. Their costumes alone could fund a small budget film.
How to spoof Bollywood romances without sounding boring? After all these films have overcooked the formula anyway—how many films do not end with a scene of the besotted lover running after a train or into an airport? Malhotra sets the film against a filmmaking backdrop, and to make it more ‘haha’ takes the most digs at producer Karan Johar’s films; followed by Aditya Chopra and Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s films.
The autocratic and eccentric director in the film, Veer (Samir Soni) is supposed to be modelled on Bhansali—look for barbs at Devdas, Saawariya and Black. The love story- hating hero Jai (Imran Khan) works as an assistant to Veer and the love story-adoring heroine Simran (Sonam Kapoor) is a production designer.
Jai—who likes to be thought of as cool and pronounces his name as ‘Jay’ hates romance, ostensibly because his parents spilt up. Pop psychology anyone? He makes fun of Simran (the name of the DDLJ heroine, get it?) because she is in love with a boring banker called Raj (the name of the DDLJ hero), who gives her white flowers (is it for a funeral, quips Jai) and wears shirts colour-coordinated with her dresses.
There is no substance to the fluffy plot—Simran falls for Jai, he rejects her; then he falls for her and she rejects him. Then all his friends and acquaintances conspire to get them together, after the predictable airport scene—this is not a spoiler, hardly anybody has thought of a more imaginative ending!
The other characters vary between silly (the leading man of the film within the film, played by Aamir Ali) and very irritating, the mandatory fat best friend and his fat girlfriend.
So in effect, what Malhotra does is make a very clichéd Bollywood love story, while pretending to be lampooning such films. Maybe he meant it as a tribute, because what the film also seems to say in the end is that these films dictate how real life romances go, and that maybe so in the narrow world view of a Bollywood filmmaker.
IHLS is okay for a few giggles, but is hardly likely to make it to the list of trend-setting date flicks, despite of the presence of its attractive and reasonably talented lead pair. Still, spoof or not, you expect some emotional pay-off from a love story, and quote frankly, no one could do the metrosexual weeping-moping- gazing moonily thing as well as Shah Rukh Khan. And he has grown-up now. What a pity!
Labels: Cinemaah
