This Time, Dirty is Good

Vidya Balan has pulled out all the stops in The Dirty Picture and that in itself is a pleasure to watch, at least in the entertaining first half of the movie.

For a Kerala Iyer girl from a traditional, if not conservative, family, the role of Silk must have taken some doing for Vidya to play it right. What you realise as you watch TDP is that Vidya is certainly one of the best actresses (not to be confused with star) in Bollywood.

Though Vidya undergoes as much of a physical transformation here as in ‘No One Killed Jessica’, her body language in TDP (though always in your face) is not as effective as in ‘Jessica’. In this movie, you always know that Vidya is putting on an act – the cleavage working overtime, the mouth and tongue engaged in seductive acrobatics, the right eye ever ready to wink. One may argue that Silk herself is putting on an act for the entertainment of her audience. True, but she comes to believe in and identify with her image. This bit of transformational truth is not reflected in Vidya’s body language.

One of Vidya’s biggest drawbacks is her lack of dancing skills. Silk Smitha, on whom Silk is apparently based, was first and foremost a film cabaret dancer. A role inspired by her needed a good dancer. Vidya is evidently ill at ease in the song ‘Honeymoon ki Raat’, which is a throwback to the old Bollywood device of the competitive party song-n-dance. This song, like in the 50s and 60s, should have been the highlight of the movie, but isn’t.

Why I have already spent four paragraphs of this review on Vidya Balan is simple. The Dirty Picture is all about Vidya Balan; not even Naseeruddin Shah manages to steal her limelight. I, like most of her on-screen audience, watched the first half open-mouthed, not so much at the skin show as at the sheer fun Vidya was having playing the role of Reshma/Silk, vamping it up all through.

Vidya also deserves credit for carrying off all that weight so lightly. There is a cringe-worthy scene where a failing, overweight Silk is trying to button her jeans around a hanging paunch. No top Bollywood heroine will dare do that on screen.

If you forget this film is even remotely about Silk Smitha, Vidya’s performance is credible though never true to life. The moment you imagine Silk Smitha, Vidya pales in comparison. Vidya has none of the smouldering sexiness that was Silk Smitha’s hallmark, or the droopy bedroom eyes, or thick drool lips, or the coy girlie voice. I wish Vidya had used more of her eyes, like the original Silk used to (Silk Smitha was actually a good actress, a fact overwhelmingly overlooked).

But if this movie was even covertly about Silk Smitha, then TDP has done a disservice to the late actress. There is no real attempt to look at the grime behind the scenes, the circumstances that gave birth to Silk, her exploitation in the industry and the eventual downfall. The decline of Vidya’s Silk is shown to be spurred by her mother’s rejection of her, her romantic failures and her failing fortunes. Was that all there was to it? Till today, no one knows what really killed Silk Smitha.

I wish TDP had gone a little deeper into the travails of an actress who ended up a cabaret dancer and soft-porn heroine.

Director Milan Luthria, like in ‘Once Upon a Time in Mumbai’, successfully recreates the period (1980s) as captured in films. The opening negative-celluloid scenes, the grand outdoors song (helped in no small measure by a vintage Bappi-da), the party song-n-dance, the backscreen driving, the taali-waala dialogues are all a pleasure to watch all over again. But that doesn’t make TDP as good a movie as his mafia saga.

The second half is especially disappointing. The belated romance between Silk and failed director-turned-hero Abraham feels like an appendage. There is no build-up to Silk’s final desperation and her tragic end. It feels like the director suddenly grew aware of the need to end the film within a given time.

But despite the shortcomings, TDP is worth a watch or two. It’s not every day that a movie like TDP is made in Bollywood and an actress like Vidya Balan lays it all out for all to see (read, her courageous performance).

I give TDP an 8 on 10. Must watch.

Rockstar Doesn’t Rock

 What do you take home from a show of Rockstar? The long-boned but angelic beauty of Nargis Fakhri, the earnestness of Ranbir Kapoor and the songs ‘Kun Faya Kun’, ‘Tum ho’ and ‘Jo Bhi Main’.

Imtiaz Ali’s latest film fails to live up to all the hype that has preceded it. It is ironic that the most memorable songs from a movie based on a rock star are not rock numbers. That kind of sums up Rockstar’s unfulfilled biopic intentions.

The first half keeps you engaged with its campus shenanigans, and the young Heer and Janardhan’s discovery of each other’s quirky selves. The film is most effective when showing the tender romantic moments between the young couple and their silly escapades.

What’s unbelievable is the lack of sexual tension between a robust young man and his impossibly beautiful friend when they are that close. Sooner rather than later, a relationship like that is bound to combust. But not in this movie. What a waste of such a good-looking lead pair?

Rockstar’s weakest link is its story. The events in Jordan’s life never appear traumatic enough to unleash the original artiste in him. Falling out with the family and trying to make his way up literally from the pavement is convincing enough. But the immature relationship with Heer that is consummated only a marriage and a few years later is highly improbable. And the girl’s sudden discovery of righteousness is equally unconvincing.

Where is the pain that a man and a woman feel for each other when circumstances decide to separate them? Where is the pining for lost love? Where is the dam-bursting outflow of emotion when they finally meet again?

And what’s director Imtiaz Ali’s fascination for depressive, ailing heroines? Remember Geet (played by Kareena Kapoor) in Jab We Met, who falls into a funk after falling out with her fiance and losing her friend/boyfriend Aditya (Shahid Kapoor). It takes Aditya to finally bring Geet out of her morose shell. Pretty much the same thing happens in Rockstar, only this time the ailment is more serious and the attempts at a turnaround are unconvincing.

This movie needed a lot more research into the making of a bona fide rock star. One reason why the film stumbles on this basic plot point is perhaps the lack of a rock culture in India.

Imtiaz appears to be losing the plot progressively; his Love Aaj Kal was a couple of notches lower than the excellent Jab We Met and now Rockstar has fallen even lower (a good bit lower) than Love Aaj Kal. This is not to forget Socha Na Tha, easily the best of Imtiaz’s movies till date and tellingly, his first.

The music, the fulcrum of Rockstar, strangely doesn’t live up to expectations, especially since it brings together the tried and tested combination of A R Rahman and Mohit Chauhan. The songs that actually stay with you after the film is over are not rock numbers. The spiritual ‘Kun Faya Kun’ is the most moving, followed by the romantic ‘Tum Ho’.

Ranbir bravely tries to live the life of Janardhan Jakhar but is let down by a weak screenplay. Nargis Fakhri, for a newcomer, does admirably well but is clearly unable to find the depths of emotion needed for the more intense scenes. (Imtiaz is clearly in love with Geet, for we see more than shades of her in Heer) No matter what, she is a delight to look at. And if she sticks around, Nargis will be an actress to watch out for.

Shammi Kapoor in a brief role, as Ustad Jameel Khan, shines through. The sparkle is his eyes is unmistakable. Old is truly gold. The beautiful Aditi Rao Hydari is wasted in a walk-on role. And the talented Piyush Mishra, as the record label owner, is reduced to an ’80s style Bollywood buffoon.

The biopic trope of a docudrama that is used in Rockstar, at least initially, is lost soon after the film begins. Why? The narrative style is never consistent and the editing is sometimes confusing, like in the Jordan meets Heer’s family sequence. What a hotchpotch? Was there a projection glitch at the theatre or was that the way it was edited?

And the length! Why can’t our directors slash a film down to its bare essentials? Watch out for the inane Lucknow street scene where Jordan’s manager gives him a lecture amid a patently fake adoring crowd. Perhaps, this is a case of a very ambitious project conceived too soon; a broth that needed a lot more cooking.

Whatever the case, watch Rockstar for the beautiful people in it and the couple of numbers that still showcase the memorable Rahman. Rockstar scores a 7 on 10.

No real poetry in this Bengali film

It is difficult to understand how to react to ‘22e Shraban’ (Baishe Shraban) other than at the gut level, which says it is a hugely clichéd film that belies the promise of a potentially refreshing treatment.

On the face of it, director Srijit Mukherji’s second movie is a pretty slick product, with impressive production values and fairly good performances. But look a little deeper, and you see the same old characters – the victimised prostitute, the disillusioned poet, the young and promising police officer, his independent and modern girlfriend, the girlfriend’s sacrificing ‘boyfriend’, the supportive senior colleague, and last but not the least, the brilliant but rebellious police officer who gets sacked/suspended and, not to forget, his faithful servant.

How many times have we seen these characters before? I lose count.

The saving grace of the film is the production quality and the performances, especially by that now reliable warhorse Prosenjit. But if the Tollywood superstar was looking to break new ground, the character of Prabir Roy Choudhury was certainly not the right choice. It simply repackages the star (who we know by now is a terrific actor too), and gives him gritty dialogues peppered with common abuse words (the ‘Delhi Belly’ effect?). That perhaps is 22e Shraban’s only noticeable contribution.

Veteran filmmaker Gautam Ghose is the surprise element. A man who has resolutely stayed behind the camera shows he is equally good in front of it. The interesting character of the arsonist-poet hopeful, however, is marred by ill-conceived scenes where he is shown rambling and quoting poetry in a deserted night-time railway station. Boring! (The film is dedicated to failed poets!)

Ditto the scenes between Amrita and her standby ‘boyfriend’ Surjo. I mean, can a young man who secretly hopes to bed his ravishing, childhood girlfriend manage to keep his hands off her. A desperate failed attempt to force a kiss on her would have made all the difference.

The film’s misplaced focus on young officer Abhijit’s strained relationship with Amrita blunts the impact of the real story – that of Prabir and his return to active detecting on the trail of a serial killer. I wish there was more of Prabir and his story in the film. The scene in court where the top cop typically loses his cool, however, could have been left out; also, the genius officer playing chess all by himself (more clichés). Why not have Prabir solve Sudokus instead?

The screaming background score is a royal pain. Has Bengali cinema lost its subtlety? The songs ‘Ei srabon’ and ‘Ekbar bol’ are a face-saver though they don’t go with a serial killer story. Given the dark subject, there is hardly any grimness in the film. And the penultimate scenes of cops chasing a suspect down Kolkata’s alleyways are amateurish. Why can’t a cop in disguise trail the suspect instead?

And the set-piece in the finale, which establishes the film’s true intention of repackaging Prosenjit, the superstar, is a little too stretched. A brief, brutal climax would have served the purpose better.

This is a movie that could have been so much better if more thought and innovativeness (I’m not talking originality; how much more original can we be?) had gone into the scripting.

Watch 22e Shraban only if you are a diehard Prosenjit fan and want to ogle Raima Sen. It scores 6 on 10.

This Force Will Be With You

‘Force’ is aptly named. This is a movie that packs a sledgehammer punch, which is made evident from the title scene when the name ‘Force’ comes up with a terrific boom and the striking opening scene.

It runs along at a comfortable clip until the last 30 minutes or so when the director’s attempt to spread out the romantic drama alongside the unfolding guts-n-gore saga begins to jar.

The romance should have been wrapped up earlier, like in ‘Ghajini’, where once the heroine is killed, it is an all-out game of revenge. That helped ‘Ghajini’ focus on its ultimate goal – the elimination of the loathsome, murderous villain.

The comparisons, however, run deeper than that. Both are remakes of Tamil superhits (in the case of ‘Force’, the original is the 2003 film ‘Kaakha, Kaakha’); both are revenge stories, both have southern heroines (Asin and Genelia D’Souza), both have supermuscular heroes, and both have despicable villains.

But this is also where ‘Force’ scores heavily over ‘Ghajini’. Vishnu, the antagonist, marks the return of the supervillain of Bollywood, not seen since Gulshan Grover turned a character actor and Shakti Kapoor traded his evil grimace for laughs. The audience cheers for this villain when he slays his business rivals and displays awesome physical prowess. But best of all, unlike the older, not-so-menacing Ghajini, Vishnu is a match for his muscular foe, supercop Yashvardhan. This is a match of equals, like in the days when Amjad Khan or Amrish Puri took on Amitabh Bachchan or Anil Kapoor.

Vidyut Jamwal, in his Bollywood debut, impresses with the deadly precision of his portrayal of a heartless killing machine, hell-bent on avenging his druglord brother’s murder. His action sequences can put most action stars to shame. This is an actor to watch out for.

Talking of action, ‘Force’ is perhaps the first Bollywood movie that is unabashed in its use of violence, sometimes relentless and thankfully not the wire variety made famous by Ang Lee. Fisticuffs, hand-to-hand combat, good old fashioned dishum-dishum is finally back in vogue (with just a sprinkle of martial arts pyrotechnics). The difference is the bone-crunching, blood-splashing quality of the fights. Beware! This movie is strictly for hardcore-action addicts. The shootouts are numerous and almost like song-and-dance sequences once used to be – huge, stunning and never-ending.

John Abraham may just have found his forte with ‘Force’. He was never a bad actor and has only matured into a better actor. His portrayal of the focused, unromantic, almost laconic supercop (but with a soft spot for wife and friends) is just right. The cheers and whistles for ACP Yash when he purposefully struts down passageways or pulverizes villains with his bare hands are indication enough that the audience accepts John as a true-blue action hero. Salman Khan and Ajay Devgn have competition.

Genelia leaves an impression as the sweet, straightforward and sensuous Maya. Her dialogues that are so life-like remind us of the Tamil origin of ‘Force’. We need to see more of this actress.

‘Force’, however, has its flaws. If only it had been 15-20 minutes shorter, audience’s attention wouldn’t begin to wander every now and then. The attempt to make Yash’s lady love, Maya, the pivot of the drama doesn’t work. When finally she meets her fate, it fails to deliver the 420 volts that it should have (unlike Asin’s fate in ‘Ghajini). Remember, how Mani Ratnam had pulled off a similar situation in ‘Nayakan’.

Director Nishikant Kamat, however, has set a new benchmark in Bollywood violence, a violence that is stripped of the comical artificiality of most potboilers and is infused with a visceral rawness that makes you flinch.

I say watch ‘Force’, but only if you have the stomach for blood and gore.

I give this movie an 8 on 10, a MUST WATCH. 

Go watch, and listen to ‘Bol’

‘Bol’ is a film that should have been made in India, not because it could have been made better (may be with more finesse) but because we needed a message-driven movie so much more.

The problems highlighted in Bol (female infanticide, violence against women, prostitution, illiteracy, poor population control, persecution of gays and eunuchs, religious fundamentalism, brute patriarchy) are as much India’s bane as they are of Pakistan’s, perhaps even more so for us as we have a thriving middle class that doesn’t seem to have helped mitigate these sores of our misguided customs.

It is astounding that the Pakistan film industry, which till only a few years ago was considered primitive and a dirt-poor cousin of Bollywood, should churn out such a hard-hitting movie that almost effortlessly melds entertainment with a social message. Bol almost harks back to the socially-relevant films of B R Chopra from the 1950s. Even the filmic treatment and characterisations are reminiscent of that bygone era.

This doesn’t mean Bol is a resurrected dinosaur. It isn’t. It’s a movie that makes you forget which side of the border you are on, both geographically and socially. Scenes in Lahore could so easily be mistaken for Delhi or the family as an Indian one (which, in a way, it is). The protagonist family are mohajirs and hail from pre-Partition India (Lucknow, to be precise).

The patriarch of the family (Manzar Sehbai as Hakim sahib) is a casteist brute, fundamentalist, wife-beater and son-lover but never once do you feel unqualified hatred for the man. Even his most brutal acts fail to force you to condemn him. He comes across as much a victim of the society and traditions he has grown up in as his hapless wife and retinue of daughters. Recall, Hakim sahib’s nostalgia about his father who too had brought up a large family but with much more financial ease.

His final debasement happens after he turns to Saqa Kanjar, a lowlife (played with infectious relish by Shafqat Cheema), for a job teaching children so that he can continue to feed his large family of women. Saqa finally gets Hakim sahib to sleep with the in-house courtesan Meena (Iman Ali in a sensuous take on the long-lost Bolly tawaif) to produce a girl child. Strangely, it is this baby girl who brings about a change of heart in the pitiless Hakim sahib and the climax.

The grim story is leavened by unexpected doses of humour (like the cricket match scene, brother Saifi’s cuddling of Mustafa, and Meena’s unabashed use of Pakeezah’s famous ‘aap ke paiyr’ dialogue – director Shoaib Mansoor’s tribute to Bolly – or her ‘Lucknavi’ interactions with Hakim sahib) and songs, which are mainly a concession to the young audience.

The performances are almost uniformly excellent. Manzar Sehbai’s is a stunning turn that almost reminds one of Emil Jannings in ‘The Blue Angel’. And Humaima Malick (as the rebellious eldest daughter Zainub) is an eye-opener. Never once do we feel that she is in real life a glamour model. A bravura performance. Pakistan, please give us Humaima Malick. We need actors like her.

Atif Aslam, in his film debut, looks very much at ease in front of the camera as he is in front of the mike. The innocent-looking Amr Kashmiri, as the hermaphrodite brother, leaves a lump in the throat. And Mahira Khan, as the beautiful Ayesha, is a breath of fresh air. The rest of the cast, including the long-suffering mother Suraiya (Zaib Rehman), lends able support.

The penultimate scene where Zainub makes an impassioned plea to people through the media is melodramatic but in a way that recalls Ritwik Ghatak’s ‘Meghe Dhaka Tara’ (where the dying Neeta cries out loud for a new life). ‘Bol’, with a more restrained approach and less pandering to the mainstream, might have been a modern classic for the guts its has shown in raising questions and highlighting evils we turn our eyes from every day.

I won’t rate Shoaib Mansoor’s film like I do other movies. I can only say, Go Watch ‘Bol’.

Got a Delhi Belly, go watch

Shit happens! It really does in Delhi Belly. More like toilet humour, literally.

There are several scenes in a dirty, dry, rundown Delhi toilet (beginning with the opening credits) and growling tummy and farting and blasts of wind and actual goo on the table!  

I haven’t seen a movie that is so obsessed with the nether parts of the body and how it acts and what it produces. Most viewers will obsess over Delhi Belly’s colourful language but those toilet scenes are what I recall the most. (It’s like a poor song that you hum and then gets stuck in your head and you can’t shake it off) They come at regular intervals, like it would for a man who has good digestion and envious bowel movement (these days, constipation is more the norm, I would believe).

And the man who provides all this sound and action is a Nitin Berry. Kunaal Roy Kapoor, who plays Nitin, is the liveliest thing about Delhi Belly (and this is minus his toilet antics). It’s his Delhi Belly (is there such an affliction?) that kicks off the ‘misplacement’ drama and eventually brings it to something like a closure. Kunaal belongs to one filmi family -- his elder brother being UTV Motion Pictures’ CEO and younger a Bollywood actor on the rise. But Kunaal is who I look forward to seeing more of.

Talking of toilets, many viewers might find this a great put-off, as I did while watching. But would Nitin have had a role to play, otherwise?

Delhi Belly is neither a bad nor a great movie. Going by box-office statistics peddled by the media, it’s a hit and the general opinion seems to be it’s a cult little movie. I disagree. Delhi Belly won’t stand the test of time.

The plot is thin, as thin as Nitin Berry’s stomach for the deadly pakodas of Delhi. What saves the day for DB are the performances, the underlying humour (though mostly uneven and sometimes crass), the music, the mix of English and Hindi (Hinglish, if you please) and the colourful language. Akshat Verma is lucky that his script found such great sponsorship and packaging.

The audience at the single-screen theatre where I watched DB was overwhelmingly 18- to 25-year-old. Most of them responded most vociferously to the abuse words, though these were not half as scandalous as the media made them out to be. Terms of ‘endearment’ like D K Bose have been used earlier in Bolly films, and stronger ones like M**** C**** or B*** C*** are conspicuously missing. So why is everybody going nuts about Delhi Belly’s language, or the lack of it?

What’s striking is the frequency of the ‘F’ word. I remember a woman colleague who used ‘F’ liberally at work. I often wondered if she had the inclination then to actually do it.

What works best in DB, contrary though it sounds, are the dialogues. This is actually the way youngsters of a certain age and milieu speak. But for that very reason, Delhi Belly will remain a niche film.

Though it is yet another in the recent series of Delhi-centric films, DB fails to capture the soul of the national capital. There was a moment during the screening, while the heroic trio and the heroine were making their great escape through the city’s bylanes, when I desperately tried to remember where the film was based. Thank god, it’s called Delhi Belly. I almost forgot.

The music deserves a mention. Ram Sampath, after that copyright row with the Roshans, has finally hit the big time. His D K Bose, of course, has become anthemic but the ’80s spoof song, ‘I hate you like I love you’, though apparently downmarket, is infinitely more catchy. The mock Saigal, ‘Duniya me’ (by Chetan Shashital) should give remixers some ideas (Imagine Saigal remixed for the 21st century). The background music is heavily jazz, as evident in the climax shootout. Hope to hear more of Sampath, or more from Sampath.

It is good to see the talented Vijay Raaz back in action and thankfully not in a crassly comic, sidekick role.

And Aamir Khan Productions’ obsession with the ‘phoren’ heroine is evident yet again in DB (after Monica Dogra of Dhobi Ghat). Los Angeles-based and Tunisia-born Poorna Jagannathan is a refreshing change from the busty, ceramic skinned, silken haired Hindi film heroine. She has the most mischievous pair of eyes seen in Bolly in a long time. And the passionate kiss (strangely, both times in a car, and the fake humping in the hotel) only adds to her sensuous charm. Not to forget, she was 37 when she romanced the almost-decade younger Imran Khan. But Poorna doesn’t look a day older than 25. (Madhur Bhandarkar should perhaps cast her as his ‘Heroine’)

If Delhi Belly is remembered in the long run, it would be in no small measure for the chances it has taken -- in using foul language unabashedly, using Hinglish without apologies, using a soundtrack that is overtly rock and jazz, not having a dominant hero, using an unconventional heroine and making toilet humour unavoidable.

So what the f***? Go watch Delhi Belly for the 8 on 10 it is worth.

Better be Ready for this

‘Ready’ is a strange concoction that harks back to many of the staples of ’70s and ’80s Bollywood (like flying vehicles and villains, the character in coma, black-as-black antagonists, the slapstick fights). It’s a movie that in the hands of a director with more sense of history would have turned out to be a terrific package of remixed Bollywood. But Anees Bazmee manages to make the satiric ‘Ready’just another of his loud and crowded comedies that has its funny moments but never rises to showcase its elusive promise.

The script, however, is clear about the plot, no matter how confusing the viewer may find it trying to figure out who Sanjana, the heroine and niece of villainous uncles, is actually supposed to marry. But none of this matters; everything is just an excuse for the hero to show off his wooing, fighting and comic skills.

Salman Khan is, in fact, the brightest thing about Ready. Remove him and the film will fall flat, despite able support from Mahesh Manjrekar (as Salman’s forgetful father and Paresh Rawal as the accountant turned uncle. Rawal though is hugely underutilised). This is not what you expect from Sultan Salman (I can call him that, can’t I, if SRK is Badshah!) after the terrific ‘Wanted’ and the smashing ‘Dabangg’, but Salman is Salman.

Director Anees Bazmee, however, manages to get Salman to poke huge fun at all his iconic films (Maine Pyar Kiya, Hum Aapke Hain Kaun, No Entry to Dabangg) and Salman is a sport to do it all with a straight face, enjoying it all the while. And he is called Prem! Even Aamir Khan’s Ghajini is not spared -- a nod to Aamir’s heroine from that film, Asin.

Asin (as Sanjana) is sweet, like in Ghajini but not half as convincing, and very often Sridevi-like. But you can watch her without tiring, unlike a Priyanka Chopra who can get tedious sometimes. Her wardrobe and hairdo, however, needed some serious work. What’s with the styling department? Even Salman was looking worn-out in some frames.

Now, for the soundtrack by Pritam. I won’t debate the originality of it because I don’t know if it’s original or not (except ‘Dhinkachika’, which Salman says is borrowed from a southern film), but it is certainly peppy and hummable. ‘Character dheela’, for instance, is a firecracker. But couldn’t that song have come somewhere towards the middle of the movie? I thought the filmmakers exposed their ace way too early.

Zarin Khan is a luscious – although a little clunky – presence in the ‘Character dheela’ song. It’s unfair of the entertainment media to compare her to Katrina Kaif. If Zarin were to work on her dance steps more vigorously, she would be an absolute showstopper. Looking forward to seeing more of her.

‘Ready’ comes close to leaving the viewer cold with its stock of clichés but escapes the cold-shoulder because of Salman and some of the character actors, including the comedian Sudesh Lehri.

I say ‘Ready’ is certainly good for one viewing and if you are a Salman fan, then once more. I give it a 7 on 10 in my review ratings.

Enjoy.

A Family Experience

The best thing about ‘Life Goes On’ is that it’s a family drama. It has been a long time since a sensible family drama has come along. The genre has been long forgotten both in Bollywood and the Bengali film industry, which once thrived on such movies.

The film by Sangeeta Datta, a London-based Bengali from Kolkata, is very evidently the work of a Bengali. It is replete with references to Bengali culture, including the opening sequence of a dance performance at Trafalgar Square, Rabindrasangeet (both in Bengali and Hindi), folk song, and poetry by Jibanananda Das (‘Bonolata Sen’). It’s all very well but there was really no need for the film to wear the ‘Bangaliana’ (Bengaliness) on its sleeve. The ‘cultural’ excess makes for a cloying watch. And it seems a bit shallow when you realize that the Non-Resident Bengali characters speak so little of their mother tongue.

LGO was perhaps best made in Bengali, at least predominantly, with liberal use of English (as befits the story based in London) and Hindi. At least the poetry could have been recited in the original Bengali. The target audience is evidently the Bengali community in the UK and at home.

This is not to demean the film, which after a somewhat pretentious start, begins to pick up momentum once the protagonist couple’s (Sharmila Tagore and Girish Karnad) three daughters begin interacting in the aftermath of their mother’s death. Though sometimes laboured, compounded by the attempt to weave in numerous references – to partition of India and Bengal, terrorism, Hindu-Muslim strife, religious discrimination, patriotism, cultural identity and cultural clash, sexual mores and preferences – LGO is an entertaining watch. (But this entertainment has nothing to do with the Bollywood variety).

What adds to the clunkiness are the very obvious parallels to King Lear. The rehearsals by Soha (who plays Cordelia in the play within the film) are an example. LGO could simply have been an Indianised version or adaptation of Lear, without stating the obvious by introducing the rehearsal scenes and the final staging of the play.

It’s interesting to note that director Sangeeta Datta’s first choice to play Dr Sanjay Banerjee was Soumitra Chatterjee. The role went to Girish Karnad because the veteran Bengali actor was ill. But this was a role tailormade for Soumitra.

Karnad, however, bravely attempts to turn in an impressive performance, in patches, despite the obvious language hurdle. He evens manages to mouth a bit of Bengali convincingly. Just shows how little we use these powerhouse talents of the New Wave era. Om Puri, in a sketchy role, still manages to leave an easy impression as Alok Mathur.

What’s sad is the limited use of Sharmila Tagore. The veteran actor is an all-pervading but shadowy presence when she should have been more truly life-and-blood. The dark secret from Manju’s past could have lent itself to some terrific cinematic moments. But the revelation, which comes at the very end, is dealt with dismissively.

The Sharmila-Karnad chemistry is old fashioned but solid. There should have been more domestic scenes between the two. Soumitra-Sharmila would have been even better, given the obvious parallels that would be drawn to the young Apu and his girl bride from the Ray classic ‘Apur Sansar’. Sharmila and Karnad are paired together a second time after Nagesh Kukunoor’s facile ‘Tasveer’.

Of their three daughters, Dia (Soha Ali Khan) gets the most footage and perhaps the best scenes. But Mukulika Banerjee (as the suffering Lolita) and Neerja Naik (as the fiery, homosexual second daughter Tuli) leave a strong impression.

What’s even more interesting about the cast is the cameo by economist Lord Meghnad Desai (a known film buff) and Mukulika Banerjee, who is also an anthropologist. And both are from London School of Economics.

LGO has its poignant moments, like when the three daughters pore over a video of song and dance from their parents’ marriage anniversary and smile and cry at the same time. Again, one daughter says – the day after their mother’s death – how she feels their mother Manju (Sharmila) has gone shopping and would be back soon.

The confrontation between the father and youngest daughter is another highlight of the film. His objection to Dia’s Bangladeshi Muslim lover is a delicious irony, given that Soha (who plays Dia) is the daughter of a Muslim father and a Hindu mother.

The ending is predictable but you don't really expect anything different from a movie that sticks to the tried and tested. It's certainly worth a worth, especially for family viewing, and gets an 8 on 10 on my review meter.

And then, let life go on.

Well-arranged But Not Picture Perfect

‘Tanu Weds Manu’ is a romance woven around the time-bound Indian tradition of bride hunting. An interesting premise and an interesting take-off (watch Manu’s first meeting with Tanu), however, don’t materialize into a closer look at the whole tiring exercise of an arranged marriage – the numerous meetings, the endless snacks and tea/coffee/cold drinks, the repetitive ritual of discussions, and the incessant travel.

The film quickly focuses on one girl, Kanpur-based Tanuja Trivedi, and falls into the old track of boy meets girl and thereafter. The simple, straightforward treatment of the subject keeps the proceedings interesting until the first jarring note is struck by the change of scene to Kapurthala.

TWM’s excuse to shift to Punjab, apparently for the wedding of the hero’s best friend, appears tenuous. It seems more like a reason to enforce a shift of gears so that Bhangra-driven song and dance sequences can be introduced and the proceedings made more lively.

There lies the basic problem with TWM, which despite its no-frills, down to earth storytelling, ends up being too sedate for the average film lover’s appetite. For a movie that’s essentially a love story between two young, modern people, there are not enough emotional fireworks or outbursts, especially between the lead pair. It almost ends up reminding us of the 1960s Muslim socials, where the hero and heroine strictly adhere to ‘adaab’.

A good example is the sudden mellowing of the spunky, in-your-face Tanuja (Tanu), played enthusiastically by Kangna Ranaut. Instead of Tanu giving Manu a piece of her mind for concealing his love for her, she makes a passionate plea to him to come clean. How boring!

And I wish Manu had finally done something out of the box when faced with ruffian Raja Awasthi’s (Jimmy Shergill) determination to get married to Tanu. In true Bollywood ishtyle, Manu could have eloped with Tanu (in a bike sequence with Tanu in the driver’s seat) and got married in Delhi, or something. An almost similar sequence is there in the film but in a different context.

What distinguishes TWM is its attempt to retain a semblance of real life and real characters while trying to capture small-town India. In this last aim, the film falters as it keeps changing scene from Kanpur to Delhi to Kapurthala and to and fro, not allowing the milieu of any one place to dominate. I wish the film was based in Kanpur and Delhi/Lucknow.

R Madhavan, as Manoj Sharma/Manu, comes up with a superbly underplayed performance (watch him confessing his love for Tanu) and Kangna plays the perfect foil by going the other way – the young, bored, smoking, rum-swigging, parent-hating and philandering fiancée-to-be. It’s a treat watching Kangna sing and dance to the Asha-Shamshad classic ‘Kajra Mohabbatwala’ (for once, not remixed). You know how good an actress she is when you realize that this was a role that could have easily gone over the top. But Kangna never overacts even while remaining in character throughout the film. Unfortunately, her performance gets diluted by the sudden mellowing towards the end. But it’s not her fault. The director should have taken inspiration from Shruti Kakkar (Anushka Sharma) of ‘Band, Baaja, Baaraat’.

More unfortunate is the waste of a powerhouse of talent in the forms of the splendid K K Raina, the flamboyant Ravi Kissen (he should have played Raja, not Jimmy) and the very talented Rajinder Tiwari. They end up being no more than extras.

The music, despite some impressive numbers, doesn’t seem to register while watching the movie. (But listen to the album, and the music is captivating. The Wadali brothers’ ‘Ay rangrez mere’, for instance, is refreshing). At the end, you do take home memories of the classic ‘Kajra Mohabbatwala’, ‘Sadi Gali’ and ‘Jugni’. Good work, Krsna – who happens to be the music director from Siliguri, Bengal.

TWM is a movie that’s definitely worth a watch – for the refreshing pairing of Madhavan and Kangna, the fleeting glimpses of small-town India, the attempt to make a grounded romance, and for some memorable moments (watch Manu’s friend Pappi introduce himself to a nubile Punjabi called Komal). TWM deserves an 8 on 10.

PS: I wonder if some songs were snipped out by the time I watched TWM in the third week of its release? Or are some songs available only on the album?

Kills Time, Just About

7 Khoon Maaf leaves you with a sense of dissatisfaction and disappointment. Despite all the attempts at good acting, the striking imagery, a couple of lovely songs, you go home neither shaken nor stirred. Why is it that such a promising venture fails to haunt you after the deed is done?

Perhaps the fault lies in the script itself. It’s a straight, almost linear presentation of a series of six murders (the seventh, you must guess), most of which you don’t empathise with because there is not enough build-up to the gory act. The tormentor husbands of Susanna Anna Maria Johannes (Priyanka Chopra) are not around long enough for you to loath them, for you to want to get rid of them. How long can you spend in the build-up when you have to show six murders in a span of 2 to 2.5 hours?

And when the men do get bumped off, it’s done summarily. The murders don’t give you the chills. What’s a murder if your blood doesn’t curdle at the sight of it?

If black comedy was the aim, director Vishal Bhardwaj should have taken inspiration from Charlie Chaplin, whose ‘Monsieur Verdoux’ is a masterpiece of the genre. And from Hitchcock’s ‘Frenzy’, for its many nailbiting murderous moments.

The only episode long enough (and humorous enough) in 7KM to draw you in is that of Inspector Kimatlal (Annu Kapoor). Annu memorably brings alive the character of the bumbling young policeman turned elderly and wily Intelligence Bureau sleuth. But do you bump off a man who has a voracious, Viagra-driven appetite for sex despite his advancing age? A better reason, not clearly enunciated, is his knowledge of Susanna’s guilt. The best thing about this episode is Annu himself, who has been returned to the big screen by Vishal in a befitting role. SHOWS HOW LITTLE WE NOW MAKE USE OF THESE BRILLIANT ACTORS FROM THE NEW WAVE ERA.

Irrfan Khan hardly gets time to live out the perversity of his character, the romantic-by-day and sadistic-by-night poet Wasiullah Khan. His could have been a truly scary characterization if only the role had been better fleshed out. Before you discover the depths of his depravity, Wasiullah is gone. Now, think Irrfan of ‘Maqbool’.

Like Irrfan, Naseeruddin Shah hardly gets to play out the role of Dr Madhusudan Tarafdar, whose expertise in poisonous medicinal items could have been a great excuse to etch out a cold blooded character. But then, Tarafdar would have needed an entire film to himself.

The role of Jimmy Stetsun (Jamshedji Rathore), played by John Abraham, needed a truly no-holds-barred performance. But John comes up short. Imagine Saif Ali Khan as the choirboy turned rocker turned womanizing and cross-dressing, delusional junkie. Poor casting, Mr Bhardwaj.

Talking of casting, how I wish Tabu had played Susanna. Her smouldering intensity would have been perfect for the character. Priyanka does make a brave attempt but she is no Tabu. The usually glamorous Priyanka works very hard to etch out the role of an orphaned, unlucky in love and finally, troubled woman. Watch her breaking down after her first traumatic night with Wasiullah, and when she tries to blow her head off with a gun. But really, I missed Tabu in 7KM.

Neil Nitin Mukesh succeeds to some extent in etching out the jealous, frustrated, maimed and impotent Major Edwin Rodrigues. But his dialogue delivery sorely needed a kick in the pants.

The Russian diplomat’s story is forgettable and could have been left out. The actor is so deadpan that there is no reaction when Susanna’s aides reveal her murderous spree to him. This could have been a really chilling scene but for the misplaced song and dance presentation. It ends up being unintentionally funny. The Russian actor’s only saving grace is his attempt to speak bombastic Hindi and imitate Bachchan from ‘Deewar’.

The music, always Vishal Bhardwaj’s strong point, is mostly below par in 7KM. Another big let-down. The notable exceptions are ‘Bekaraan’ and ‘Darling’. If the first is haunting, the second (marking Usha Uthup’s return to film playback) is infectiously energetic. The rock songs, ‘Dil Dil Hai’ and ‘O Mama’ were best NOT composed. ‘O Mama’, however, works as a ballad.

Overall, an unexpected disappointing attempt from Vishal Bhardwaj. Hope he regains the effectiveness of his ‘Maqbool’ and ‘Omkara’ in his new ventures.

But this should not stop you from watching ‘7 Khoon Maaf’. It’s worth one watch. It gets a 6 on 10.

Wash your Bollywood sins at this Dhobi Ghat

Aamir Khan Productions’ Dhobi Ghat had a strange effect on the audience in the theatre where I watched it in the third week of its release (very late, I admit). No one moved as the end credits started and went on rolling. Someone even said, as the lights came on, that you never know with this kind of film if there is more to it. Silly comment, great film.

In the normal course, my rating for Dhobi Ghat should have come at the end of this review. But what the heck. I give Kiran Rao’s directorial debut a 9 on 10. If you also love movies outside the strict potboiler bracket, then GO WATCH or you are missing something.

What do I say, where do I begin about a film that’s so beautifully structured. I would dearly like to ask Kiran Rao how long she took with the script. For, it has been written with care. And has she never made a movie before Dhobi Ghat? I find that hard to believe. Where does such self-assuredness come from in a first film?

The movie, however, begins in a very arty way, reminiscent of the European classic school of filmmaking. There are at the beginning shades of the New Wave of Indian cinema too. Your antenna springs up, waiting for that slip that will inevitably rip the façade off the charade. But the slip never comes.

Instead, Dhobi Ghat moves from strength to strength, with a striking blend of four main characters and two stories, one of which is told through digicam recordings. Mumbai, as Kiran has said in the media, is the fifth character. Maximum City has never quite been seen like this. A smoky, hulking mass in the twilight; a gridlock of new constructions, shanties and ramshackle buildings, and the parade of old Bollywood regulars – Marine Drive, Gateway of India and Juhu beach. The Mumbai rain too becomes a recurring atmospheric element in the film, which is apparently a new feature for a Bollywood film if you discount the rain songs and the Mumbai floods-based ‘Tum Mile’. (Not to forget, this Mumbai movie is also a welcome break from Bollywood’s recent Delhi fixation)

If Kiran’s filmmaking flair may be attributed, selfishly and somewhat parochially, to her Calcutta upbringing, then there is a true-blue Calcuttan whose camera skills bring Mumbai alive in Dhobi Ghat. Tushar Kanti Ray’s camera-work, mostly handheld, gives the movie its slightly edgy, documentary feel, which appears annoying at first but gradually steadies into a comfortable, unnoticeable rhythm.

None of this really comes together without the unobtrusive but quietly captivating background score by Argentine composer Gustavo Santaolalla. His music effortlessly strings together the different strands of the movie into a composite whole. Santaolalla was a stranger for me before I watched Dhobi Ghat. Then I found he is twice an Oscar and Bafta winner, and was nominated for the Golden Globe.

The casting is so good, it’s half the job done. Kiran did say somewhere that she never intended to cast Aamir. It’s true any other competent actor, suited to the character of artist Arun, could have filled in. Aamir, one of the finest actors of the Hindi film industry today, doesn’t really have much to do (like he did in a 'Rang De Basanti') but he is the quiet anchor in the narrative. So, casting a 24-karat star actor is a masterstroke by Kiran. But nowhere does Aamir come across as the star he is; he simply blends into the film’s beautiful tapestry.

Monica Dogra (of the band Shaa’ir+func) is so apt in the New York-based banker’s role that she hardly ever puts a foot wrong in her entire screen time. It’s difficult to believe she is facing the big-screen camera for the first time. For many, Monica might be a popular singer first. But for me, she will remain Shai, the cosmopolitan Parsi girl whose journey through Mumbai makes up the core of the film.

Prateik’s turn as Munna, the migrant Bihari dhobi, is not an easy act to judge. This is a young actor who is evidently still feeling his way through Bollywood. He has a pleasant screen presence and, given his acting lineage, promises to be a good actor. But somewhere, somehow, the feel of Munna is not right. Is it Prateik’s natural urbanity, his hunky good looks, his costumes or his non-stereotypical Bihari migrant act… I don’t know. This is not to say Prateik will not one day be a terrific actor and star. His potential is certainly yet to be tapped.

But the actor who, for me, is the best thing about Dhobi Ghat is Kriti Malhotra. The movie begins with her voice-over; we see her first some way into the film and then she never leaves your mind. I don’t remember her as an MTV Roadie and good luck I never watched this reality TV show back in 2003. Kriti’s sheer sincerity of performance as a young, simple Malihabad (UP) wife who is lonely and lost in big, bad Mumbai is striking. What’s interesting is that she is a character in a ‘movie’ within the movie. As Yasmin Noor, Kriti has left an indelible mark.

There are moments that are deeply moving and gripping as the film approaches its climax (Yasmin’s fate, in particular, is poignant). The rising expectations of the denouement in one’s heart are palpable. Rarely has a Bollywood film’s climax managed to rouse a mix of emotions and anxiety.

But the question is: Is this really a Bollywood film? No, it’s not. Because Dhobi Ghat has been made despite Bollywood. And because it’s only around 90 minutes long and that too without an interval or lip-synched songs. Aamir has gone on record, saying it’s not your regular Hindi film and not made for the usual Bollywood film lover. But its claim to Bollywood fame is its makers, Kiran Rao, a product of the Hindi film industry, and Aamir. There won’t likely be another Dhobi Ghat or anything similar from any other Bollywood denizen.

And precisely for that reason, film lovers should not miss Dhobi Ghat. It’s good to have only fruits and fruit juices or water on occasions while skipping the rice-roti lunch and dinner. Dhobi Ghat is fruit, good for the film buff’s cinematic health that is abused by Bollywood junk food.

Don’t miss.

A Brand New Band Baaja

This is perhaps the first time that we have a film with an upmarket-looking heroine and an aspirational hero but who have a very desi feel to them. No pharratedaar English, no western outfits for the heroine (if you don’t count T-shirt and jeans as western), no convent or overseas education to boast off. Band Baaja Baaraat kicks off on the right footing.

The first 10 or 15 minutes you are not sure which way the film is headed, though you are never put off. Then, before you know it, you are swept up into the engrossing life story of Delhi youngsters Shruti Kakkar and Bittoo Sharma.

One of the film’s strong points is the performance. Anushka Sharma as Shruti Kakkar is a revelation. From Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi’s silent and strong type, she has metamorphosed into a mooh-phat, very vocal, Dilli ki kudi. What’s revealing is the vulnerability she has thrown into the heady mix that is Shruti Kakkar. A bravura act. Truly, band bajaa ke rakh diya. This is an actress to watch out for. 

And not to forget, certainly not, Ranveer Singh. Some newspaper wrote that he has made the most self-assured debut among newcomers in a long time. Very true. All the bitching about his father’s bank balance getting him the Yash Raj lead role is just that – bitching.

Acting is difficult and acting for the very first time in a big budget, big daddy producer’s film (and opposite a pataka – no disrespect meant – actress) is even more so. Ranveer doesn’t make it look difficult even for a moment. He looks, sounds and acts like the typical Dilli ka launda. Funny, because self-confessedly he’s a Mumbai boy. I was looking for and wishing for him to trip in the emotional scenes where he confronts Shruti Kakkar with his feelings for her, but he doesn’t. I watched out for stock mannerisms or an imitation of a senior actor, there was none. Great going, boy. Keep it up.

As for the story, wedding planning is a new profession and a new premise to base a film on but not really, if you look harder. Weddings have never let Hindi filmdom down. From Hum Aapke Hain Kaun to Vivah to Monsoon Wedding, the great Indian shaadi has never failed. It works this time too. What’s refreshing is the perspective.

That brings us to the writer and the director. I read about Habib Faisal recently. An electronic media man turned scriptwriter and director, Faisal’s Band screenplay is an honest, life-like look at the life of two youngsters in Delhi populated by very believable people. A good example is Shruti’s father – what a wonderful piece of casting. Or her flower supplier Maqsoodbhai (Neeraj Sood) – so believable but nevertheless derived in some way from ‘P K Dubey’ of Monsoon Wedding. The dialogues, as the numerous reviews don’t fail to point out, are sooo real that you just go with the flow. Dialogues really do make a film, be they bombastic (remember Big B’s Coolie) or real.  

Now, who is Maneesh Sharma? Wish I knew more about this guy whose first film most certainly doesn’t look like one. What a self-assured, deft touch. We need more such directors who are willing to bet on refreshing new scripts and actors. Hope to see more good work from you, Maneesh.  

And Dilli is fast becoming a favourite story-setting for Bollywood. Monsoon Wedding may have started it off but it has taken the better part of a decade for filmmakers to finally explore Delhi a little more closely, in films such as Rang De Basanti, Delhi-6, Do Dooni Chaar. You don’t need to be a pucca Dilliwala to enjoy the Dilliness of this movie. Anybody who has spent some time in Delhi (like I did) will find Band Baaja a joyous, vibrant look at the bright side of a city that is not always so charming.

The music by Salim-Sulaiman matches pulse for pulse the energy of the lead actors and the Delhi that is shown in the movie. ‘Tarkeebein’ and ‘Ainvayi Ainvayi’ stand out. Strange, I don’t hear more of these songs on FM radio or on TV countdowns. ‘Ainvayi’, for instance, is streets ahead of ‘Sheila ki jawani’.

Not to forget the Shruti-Bittoo kiss, at first tentative and then increasingly adventurous. This in itself is a first for a Hindi film and never once does the entire lovemaking scene look vulgar.

Altogether, a mast mast, must, must movie for the jaded palate of Bollywood lovers.

I give Band Baaja an 8 on 10.

I say, GO, WATCH. (And don’t worry if you feel like a second helping)

A film with a Heart, and a Gun

Rajkumar Gupta’s No One Killed Jessica (NOKJ) is yet another in a series of Delhi-centric films being churned out by Bollywood. This time, however, the focus is on the seamier side of the national capital, one that I mentioned in passing in my review of Tees Maar Khan.

Jessica Lall, a model turned celebrity bartender-for-a-night, was shot dead in late 1999 and the final verdict came in 2006 (following an appeal against a lower court’s acquittal of the killer) after a huge public outcry, the likes of which had perhaps not been seen before. Since then, candlelight activism has become integral to protest calendars. This aspect is amply highlighted in the film, to the extent that it grates on your nerves. Ten minutes or more is spent on the whole business, underscoring the strangely arid and hasty second half, full of a media campaign that takes some tips from real-life concealed-camera journalism.

What’s interesting is spotting real-life people like Bina Ramani, Malini Ramani and Shayan Munshi in the screen characters.

The first half, though, manages to touch a chord with its focus on the emotional drama. Vidya Balan, as Sabrina, underplays her role to the correct pitch, stealing the show right from under the nose of the super-aggro Rani Mukherjee as Mallika Jaitley. Why does an ambitious, give-it-back-as-good-as-she gets urban woman have to be always shown having a free sex life, liberally using the F-word, resorting to dramatics to get her way, and living away from her parents. Mallika would perhaps have been more believable if Rani had toned down the aggression. Wonder which real-life journalist she based her performance on! Where’s that wonderful actress from Yuva or Bunty aur Babli?

Vidya changes her body language and expressions to bring alive Sabrina. This is not to overlook her off-key, ever-so-slightly hysterical act at the very beginning. Overall, another creditable performance to add to Vidya’s impressive repertoire.

And the director could have spared us Rani’s preachy speech to Vidya towards the end of the film. All the time wasted on such superficial stuff could have been well-spent on detailing the machinations, the coercion and the threats by political bigwigs that led to the acquittals in the case. The portrayal of the seamier side of Delhi politics ends up being sketchy.

The music, by DevD man Amit Trivedi, doesn’t really capture the manic energy or sheer, stunning innovativeness of the Anurag Kashyap film’s soundtrack. The theme song, ‘Dilli, Dilli’, however, comes close and sticks in your head after the movie is over.

The treatment of the film is strictly pedestrian. There is no innovativeness here expected of a movie with such a hard-hitting theme. The disco scenes (obviously a concession to the masala-loving public though necessary), the interactions between sisters Jessica and Sabrina, even the showdown between Jessica and her killer, the (muted) venting of anger by Sabrina, her ever-sobbing mother, the journalist’s portrayal – it’s a long cache of clichés. This is where some fictional additions could have done wonders.

Rani’s voice-over is another cliché, a narrative device that belonged in 1930s/40s Hollywood and 40s/50s Bollywood. I personally feel the voice-over is best left alone unless the film is an autobiographical account, which NOKJ is not.

Where Gupta has shown real spark is in his court scenes. Veering far away from standard Bollywood courtroom drama, Gupta has focused instead on close-ups and medium shots and sharp dialogues to keep the court procedure gripping. Bravo!

One must also commend Gupta for not forgetting humour in telling a grim tale. The scene where Sabrina’s defence lawyer urges a witness to ‘come down from the chhath (ab to chhath se niche aaja mere bhai)’ and Sabrina’s amused reaction are indeed funny. Equally funny (despite the typecasting of Sikhs) is the group of Sardarjis who repeat “Justice for” instead of following up their leader’s exhortation with “Jessica”. Or the politician’s wife, who keeps appearing every now and then and wants her killer-son ‘Manu back’.

And who is Myra, the debutante actress? She is a spitting image of Jessica Lall as pictured in photographs.

Not to forget Calcutta’s Rajesh Sharma, who plays the investigating police officer. He doesn’t have much to do by way of histrionics but in the little time he is on screen, Sharma shows why he is such a good actor. We need to see more of him in Bollywood.

Despite all the shortcomings, NOKJ is certainly worth a watch, if only because few movies are made on contemporary, controversial events. I won’t be surprised if NOKJ’s real success lies in opening the doors for more films on similar topics. So many are waiting – from the Nitish Katara killing to Ruchika Girhotra’s molestation to Aarushi Talwar’s murder.

NOKJ deserves an 8 on 10, if only for making a brave attempt to bring alive a controversial incident, for a generation that is quick to forget its villains and equally quick to overlook the unforgivable misdeeds of the nation’s gatekeepers.

Do watch NOKJ in tribute to Jessica Lall.

Maar Dala Tees Maar Khan

You leave the theatre with a sense of disappointment after Tees Maar Khan not because it's as bad as the reviews say it is but because it could have been so much better with a little more effort at a proper storyline. Sad because it's a film by Farah Khan, who has spun such rollicking yarns before like Om Shanti Om and Main Hoon Na.

Whatever else they may not have been, those earlier movies were certainly not boring despite being fanciful. TMK is certainly fanciful but borders (I repeat, borders) on the boring. I'm sure many would love to disagree and go the whole hog and junk it.
There are scenes where conman Tees Maar Khan is tearing his hair out to explain to his actors what to enact in his fake movie. I guess that’s scriptwriter Shirish Kunder putting a little bit of himself in the script.

The biggest failure of TMK is its casting, not because they don’t perform but because an Akshay Kumar or a Katrina Kaif was simply not needed. This movie would have perhaps worked much better with non-stars or lesser known stars like Ranvir Shorey or Vinay Pathak or a Rajpal Yadav. What was the point of casting Akshay-Katrina if you were not going to give them a love story to enact. The hottest pair of the last decade was absolutely wasted. And why cast a talented actor like Akshaye Khanna in a role that demands so little? And what a waste of a gifted comic actor like Ali Asgar.

That’s the story of TMK – all-round waste of everything. A potentially good story squandered, good actors misused, an item number that’s like lunch before breakfast (what a waste of Sheila ki jawani) and a complete massacre of that Mahendra Kapoor-Manoj Kumar classic, ‘Mere desh ki dharti’. The use of the song in TMK does raise laughs but it also makes you sad at the inappropriate usage. Would somebody do that to Rafi’s immortal ‘Ab tumhare hawale watan sathiyon’ from Haqeeqat? I doubt it.

And this is the first time that a Farah Khan film has such indifferent music. Vishal-Shekhar disappoints. Even ‘Sheila ki jawani’ is an average song, saved only by Katrina’s belly pyrotechnics. She has worked her abs off for the number but for what. There is none of Sheila’s spunk in the rest of Anya, the character Katrina plays.

TMK relies entirely on Akshay’s broad shoulders to carry it. And Akshay is to blame to a great extent. What’s he doing producing such a movie? His choice of films of late have been seriously suspect but now his choice of productions too are… Hopefully, Khiladi Kumar will pull himself back before it’s too late.

The script sets out to spoof 1970s potboilers, with the birth of the hero in a hospital ward, his delayed and suspenseful introduction, the ma-beta-honewali bahu camaraderie. If only TMK had not outright spoofed but played it straight like a retro movie (like Om Shanti Om or Once Upon A Time in Mumbai), it would have worked.

The cops and robber theme, the police conference (both staples of ’70s cinema), the group song in the ‘khet’ (from the ’60s), the over-the-top ‘chor’ hero, the resurrection of the Muslim milieu (although fake) that is full of green tubelights, a studio set, the gaudy shirt, the skull cap, the kohl-eyed heroine in ghagra-kurti (remember Amar Akbar Anthony) – all this could have added up to something truly entertaining.

The plethora of supposedly gay characters was an absolute put-off. An apparently gay village trio is addressed ‘girls’ by Katrina’s character. And Tees Maar Khan’s three henchmen act queer. Weird! Or is this a reflection of Bollywood reality?

In the final assessment, this is a con job on the movie-loving public and the filmmakers can’t even pull a fast one. But I would still give it 6 on 10, which is worth one viewing, if only for Sheila ki jawani and Akshay’s valiant but misplaced act to pull off a non-starter, and the Oscar-winning-spree spoof as the end-credits roll. That last bit is really telling.