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Janam Safal ho Jaaye....( * * * *)

Disclaimer : One scene description. No story elements revealed.

Guru (Kay Kay) and Mona (Rimi) enter the Deonar dumping grounds on the outskirts of Bombay. They hope to find a bag, a typical one you can find being sold on railway foot-over bridges, in the huge area covered with the surreal yesterday-uses of a city priding itself on shine and spirit. They let their eye-corners breathe this filthy visual, and Mona, surprising Guru and even herself, asks a bearded half-crazy man, who was always on the top of a kachra mound, 'Versova ka kachra kidhar milega?' The crazy man, supposedly holding an AK-47 (he shouts from the top, waving his 'toy' gun - "Yahaan sab milta hai!") starts counting the mounds ("ek time par sab yaad tha..." he says) and assigning one area to one mound, sometimes two mounds.

Guru looks in half-awe, half-disbelief as Mona joins this game of counting mounds and moving left (from Goregaon to Amboli to Andheri to Versova) – the counters finally resting their eyes on the mound which has their bag. Guru and Mona make a dash towards the bag - the cash in which could save their lives and loved ones, but a crushing-crane's hand pushes them back before they could pick it. They are not giving up, they run again, but this time, almost 'Transformers' like- a bulldozer moves ahead. The tightly-filled bag about to be crushed, we see Guru and Mona. Possibly overcome with this surreal location, or their own surreal place in this dumping ground, they don’t even look when the bulldozer goes over the bag – making it blast like a water-filled balloon – currency notes flying out like humming-birds off their nest.

One Crore rupees – floating over wastes of a milling city, and the dumping ground kids running towards the flying currency, Guru and Mona still comprehending their fate, and the crazy-man on the top of mound firing in air from his AK-47 (we now realize, that was a real!) He laughs aloud, keeps up his firing, Guru and Mona try to catch whatever comes their way, and a city in Sankat.

(There’s still a pay-off shot in the end, something that would give Gulzar Saab’s poetry of 40-years a rare visual reference, but that you have to see in the cinema hall.)

P.S. – There has NEVER been an Indian film of this genre (a very-black-very-comedy) done so perfectly. Hats-off Pankaj Advani for putting the soul back in Cinema, and tragedy back in comedy.

This review made you go:

Total : 9

Kya bakwaas hai? (What goat-crap!)
4

Aisa kya? (Really?)
0

Apun pahile ichh bola tha! (I knew it!)
1

Abhi dekh ke aata hoon! (Can't wait!)
3

Saala emosanal kar diya! (Hit me again.)
1

Posted by varungrover

07-11-2009 23:17

Not worth your bucks

Modern cities, a recent article in ‘The Economist’ suggested, are like Wikipedia. Open for all, editable (habitable) by all, and having increasing faith as the numbers increase. I also feel that the classic socialist model of class-conflict doesn’t fit well on the current city structure, especially for bigger cities like Mumbai. There is no institutional, industrial routine being followed, no fixed sources of income and expenditure, and no moral hang-ups, or limitations. Of course, the conflicts exist, but on a more personal level, and for more personal reasons. There is no more ‘Us vs Them’, and that’s why, it’s a surprise and major let-down to see such a wide-eyed, ‘Eureka’ look Raja Menon’s ‘Barah Aanna’ casts on the people who make up one-half of our city.

Burdened with clich?d writing, and bordering on look-at-my-NGO-spirit, the film ends just when it actually had begun! The banal detailing of 3 characters from city’s ‘underbelly’ (guess, that’s the ‘in’ word right now, thank you Danny Boyle!) gives a feeling that writer-director Raja Menon spent most of his life without ever meeting a watchman, driver, or waiter, and seems too guilt-ridden and amused by the fact that even they could dream, or even wear black goggles. Each scene, from maudlin to cheerful, is repeated thrice to nail the fact that how sad, thankless, and yet hopeful life these ‘others’ live. Story, for the lack of a better word, progresses as slowly as Indo-Pak Track 2 talks, and consists of justifications for the ‘underbelly’ to kidnap the ‘overbelly’ folks. And well, that’s about it.

Off the cast, Arjun Mathur could join the leagues of ‘As Wood As It Gets’, and Naseer, though silent for the most part, does bring in some visual relief with his unspent angst. Vijay Raaz, as the watchman who turns kidnapper, is the sole high-point of the film, and carries the bat in spite of some very ordinary and repetitive lines.

And here’s a grouse. Why do directors, when co-writing a film with another set of writers, tend to poach the credits by announcing ‘Written and Directed by:’ in the credit rolls. That clearly is a misguiding, if not mischievous or downright dishonest, statement. If the film has another writer, and you have a separate writing credit list where you have already taken the credits, why the big ego-boost and a clear thumbs-down to the writer, by restating ‘written and directed by’? I have seen that with Vidhu Vinod Chopra and many big names, but ‘Barah Aanna’ went one step ahead, by crediting Raj Kumar Gupta as ‘Dialogues (Hindi)’, which is meant to say that he just ‘translated’ the whole thing? (I remember ‘Water’ had similar credit for Anurag Kashyap, and ‘Raincoat’ tops the list by giving Sameer Sharma credits for ‘language inputs’, when he had actually written the Hindi dialogues.) Ridiculous, to say the least, as most of the lines by the principal characters in ‘Barah Aana’ have an Awadhi or Bhojpuri twang, and in any case, degrading the ‘translations’ is like degrading both the languages involved.

In the end, Barah Aanna, a rare Indie film, just shows us the glimpse of what it could have been, had it not fallen into the trap of chest-beating, all-justifying, spoon-feeding, character-development and focused on some more novel craziness our cities inhabit, among the same set of characters. Or is it like asking for too much? May be.

Rate this review

Total : 4

Can't believe you dissed this film?
0

Over-intellectualizing, aren't you?
0

Yeah...I also felt so.
0

Insightful, to the point, and novel.
4

Made me comment, and start a discussion.
0

Posted by varungrover

04-04-2009 22:46

Death by Ideas (* * 1/2)

We all know Gandhi was an emotional-blackmailer who was killed because, among other things, he had a soft corner for Pakistan. We all know love is the greatest emotion, something worth living and dying for. We all know Nehru had very bad state policies, his NAM was a sissy, almost suicidal venture, and most of the problems we face today, including China and nepotism, are his legacy. We all know those who love, are pure, divine, and honest. We all know Sardar Patel was the best PM we never had, the iron-man who was given cold-shoulder by Gandhi, when ‘the moment’ came, and we would have been as ‘developed’ as USA, had he lived on a few more years.

Urban legends? Theories? Perspective? Call them whatever but they have been a constant among chaai-shop, hostel-room, and bijli-cut discussions in India for as long as we have come into political existence. Information, through mandatory intellectual friends’ monologues, pop-media representations, our own desires, is getting skewed by the minute, and we live in a world half-fantastical, aiming to achieve the ideas, we have been told, are great. ,

Great premise, some good characters, now if only ‘Gulaal’ could have been edgier and more focused.

Gulaal’s world is surreal, studded with psychedelic pubs in the middle of Rajasthan, a 4-seater train that drops you home, a mad-poet and his mate, a few pervert men, and a femme fatale. We are served Indian Rajput history, ragging visuals, a half-convincing plot about two Rajputs, (one revolutionary , one illegitimate) staking a lot on University elections, and a bespectacled ‘common man’ at the receiving end of every idea he believed to be great ? love, power, revolution, i.e. Amidst all this, there’s still scope for a local dancer who looks like Tabu, a very virile His Highness (how true!), a right-hand man who grows on you, and a Jesse Randhawa who looks great in saaris! ‘Gulaal’, as you would have guessed by now, doesn’t believe in minimalism for getting its point through.

The film comes back to its core every time we have Dileep (Raj Singh Chaudhary), Dukey Bana (Kay Kay), or Kiran (Ayesha Mohan) take the centre-stage, but invests a lot in building up an atmosphere of political and moral hollowness. In a rare case of over-reach in Cinema, the music appears closer to the soul of the film’s idea. Piyush Mishra’s explosive poetry, more than anything else, reveals the chinks in Gulaal’s treatment. While the poetry and music talk about human race, its flaws and mobilization, invoking ancient texts and greatest poets, the film remains a personal and almost mediocre journey of its principal characters in a place we barely come to care for.

But then here’s the catch. Or call it boon. Anurag Kashyap, probably driven by his self-admitted angst, writes some of the most powerful lines for some of the most magical characters in recent times. Dukey Bana’s opening speech, Bhaati’s (Deepak Dobriyal) cold nods, Ranasa’s (Abhimanyu Singh) candid admissions, and Kiran’s matter-of-fact curtness, made me do a rethink on a personal theory, that Kashyap is a better director than writer. The lingo, the inflection, the half-said winkish lines, and false machoism seeping through Dukey Bana, and Jadwal, reminded me of Anurag’s yet unreleased ‘Paanch’, another of his jinxed labor of love.

‘Gulaal’ is a kind of film you want to love, a film that holds the promise of sucking you in, in its world of charged-up politics and poetry, a rare (very rare) occasion in Hindi cinema where Rashmi Rathi is recited as organically as ‘bhonsdi ke’, but sadly it falters by trying too hard. And all you are left with are a few haunting lines by Piyush Mishra, lines that will outlive any idea worth dying for ? Ae bujhte huye chand baasi chiraagon, tumhaare yeh kaale iraadon ki duniya!

Rate this review

Total : 13

It was more confusing than the film: 1/5
2

Made some sense, but only some: 2/5
2

Good insights, and analysis: 3/5
2

Makes me feel like watching Gulaal: 4/5
1

Almost perfect: 4.99/5
6

Posted by varungrover

04-03-2009 00:34

Comments (1)

From Mala-D to Dev D

In our homes, in the early 90’s, DD was the only channel and watching the 8:30 pm Hindi news was a rule we kids loved. The only irritant ? the sing-along ‘Condom/Mala-D/NassBandi’ ad campaigns that preceded the Salma Sultana aunty’s broadcast. During those 40-seconds, our TV was muted (a tough task, doing it, without a remote), presence of other family members denied with a thoughtful look at the ceiling or a quick urgent walk to the kitchen, followed by an awkward coming back to life as the ‘Headlines’ started rolling.

I felt a similar awkwardness somewhere deep inside, in that frozen corner of my pre-liberalization heart, as Dev asked an on-the-verge Paro ? ‘are you touching yourself?’ And irrespective of Paro’s answer, a new set of rules were being drafted for India’s most popular medium’s boundaries. Sex, the word that sells, the word that once got Karishma Kapoor in trouble and Mahesh Bhatt in business, floated like smoke mid-air and gave Anurag Kashyap’s latest venture a leitmotif that is as hard to ignore on-screen as it’s to accept off it.

Dev D comes loaded with all the taboos we have grown up desisting ? free sex, alcohol, smoking, and prostitutes, and a few more symbols of middle-class India’s collective hypocrisy ? promiscuous girls, firangs, and rich brats. Tiptoeing around this graffiti of peripheries, is the story of Dev ? a feudal misogynist anti-hero swinging between Paro and Chanda. He “wants to love” Paro, but is too immature to understand or accept her sexuality, and he wants to feel his worth by counseling Chanda, but is too hurt to know that she might be stronger than him.

A story or versions of which we all know, right? But set in an unnamed sugarcane town of Punjab, and surreal, at times overdone, lanes of night-time Paharganj in Delhi ? Dev D tells us a version that comes closest to the reality of sex and sexes in modern times. Though the film’s scope is essentially internal world of its prime characters, the shadows of outer world’s hypocrisy do fall through the three fathers, each indicating society’s response to the taboos listed above. Dev’s Industrialist father, though unable to stand being called by his name (Dev calls him ‘Sattu’!), is not too concerned about his son’s drinking or drug problems. Lenny’s (later Chanda) Diplomat father is ‘forward’ enough to marry a firang but feudal enough to accuse the daughter and kill himself over a perceived social-stigma. And Paro’s father doesn’t mind setting up a guy to talk about how she can break beds during orgasms, as long as he gets his way in her sexual choices.

And then, there are the female characters of the film. Paro, the jatti from Punjab who lays a 4 by 6 mattress in the fields to be on top of Dev, the rejected lover who dances crazy on her own wedding, the married woman who comes back to Dev and treats him like a child, washing his clothes, and the vengeful slut who knows the strength of her sex and uses it to pay it back to Dev ? this is a role as powerful as any in Hindi Cinema. And Mahi Gill, the debutante goes for the kill from shot one.

Paro’s contrast in the original novel, Chanda here comes across as more of a corollary. Left cornered by her close-ones, she makes a choice and comes to terms with it. A role-playing “CSW (commercial sex worker)”, phone-sex operator, and a regular collegian ? another debutante Kalki Koechelin leaves you breathless every time she even contemplates to emote. (You almost believe her when she tells Dev that she has really moved on after the sex-scandal that ruined her life.) Playing Indian cinema’s one of the most-abused characters, she adds an attitude (check out her ‘slut’ usage), that reminded me of Kate Winslet at best of the times and Madhuri Dixit at worst.

But then, here’s the problem. Paro and Chanda’s presence in film, as in Dev’s life, is so overbearing that one gets a feeling of Dev’s character being under-developed or too uninteresting to follow. And may be that’s why, sometime in second half (precisely just after Paro leaves him frustrated), we too let go of Dev. Rejected by Paro and unworthy of Chanda, he goes on a self-discovery trip that would have been absolutely futile had it not been for the amazing music accompanying him. Abhay Deol’s lazy charm, an asset to his character till now, suddenly becomes a liability. So much so, that when he is being beaten by that monster of a Jaat in a local Theka, we enjoy it. The finale, a subtle twist in Sarat Babu’s excuse of a novel, does get the marbles back on table, but the feeling is of a delayed celebration.

Also, the events and music are so jam-packed at places, and characters too suppressed that I was wishing for a long conversation, a ‘Bhansali scene’ to come by and give me some chew break. Chanda and Dev, much like Paro and Dev, rarely get to sit together and jam. They enter each other’s lives Gautam Gambhir like, two steps into the delivery.

Like in his last outing, No Smoking (review here), Anurag Kashyap makes some brilliant use of colors (red and blue for Dev’s trips), props (hand-pump for Paro, juggling for Chanda), and music (Amit Trivedi and Amitabh) to add metaphors and style. Though the background score does get too noisy at times, the songs make up for every other glitch in the whole journey. ‘Pardesi’, ‘Yahi meri zindagi hai’, and ‘Paayaliya’ are the most hummable while ‘Emosanal Atyaachar’ needs only this mention that it was the first time ever, I saw a multiplex audience cheering the opening notes, applauding throughout and syncing with the catch-phrase of a song. If Dev D goes on to become a hit, the biggest credit may easily be given to this rage of a song.

And before we finish, one related academic debate lying unanswered through all the previous versions of Devdas. Was Dev a spineless bastard or a self-pitying idealist lover? Well, as per Dev D writers Anurag and Vikramaditya, Dev might well have been a helpless recluse. Too brash for societal rules and too immature to handle a mini-world of his own. In one of the most original scenes of the film, and probably the only one where he ‘interacts’ with outside world, Dev in a Delhi local bus is getting a moral lecture from a stranger aunty sitting next to him. While the old lady goes on about the perils of drinking at this age, Dev responds in a manner which is as harmless as it’s helpless. And it’s Dev’s helplessness that stays with you.

**************

Rate this review

Total : 28

Hope you burn in hell for this shit.
4

Are you serious? This review sucks.
1

Ahh...you can do better boy.
0

Nice one. And some good insights.
17

Paisa vasool !
6

Posted by varungrover

02-09-2009 08:27

Comments (6)

A Goodbye Worth Remembering

1. Contains spoilers.

2. Originally published on PassionForCinema

I do start with the obvious disadvantage to objectivity ? of having known all the key people related with the film (Shashant, Arshad, and Vinay) and hence will try my best to calibrate the words accordingly. (And that's why, no ratings too - just my views.)

To start with ? three questions. Have you ever walked into a regular doctor’s clinic and been scared or put off by those ugly ‘public service’ posters with the picture of a rotting lung or a beyond-repair ulcer? Do you have a parent (or set of) who is irritating, embarrassing, may be almost senile, and you still love her/him/them. And do you see the subtle humor in such situations, characters, and details of life? It is the keen sense of observations like these that make Dasvidaniya the special film it is.

The story, in one line, is of a 37-year old Amar Kaul making a list of some things to do before he dies, and like his ordinary life, his ambitions are also pretty ordinary, but engrossing and revealing at the same time. (Ok! That was a pretty long line.)

Dasvidaniya, on the face of it, is a pretty simple straightforward film with almost a template like story ? and neither the director nor the writer makes any effort to ‘hide’ the story from you. You always know where it’s going, you know the mood, heck you know the whole list. But still, and in fact, in spite of yourself, you love the way it proceeds because of the Seinfeld-ian world it creates and the cameos it employs to lift each little ‘chapter’ in Amar Kaul’s life. A guitar-teacher who doesn’t think Vodka is right since it’s white, a mother who loves her TV but can’t stand the complex remotes, a Russian prostitute who loves Dev Anand songs, and a stuck-in-a-time-warp philosophy-spouting lukhha (Ranvir’s cameo) are among the various episodes of Amar’s list. And then, there is this crazy, almost tangential hat-tip to the 80’s cinema with a reference to Gunmaster G-9 and “Maa mandir gayi hai” line.

Ensemble cast, as expected, is bang-on. Joy Fernandez (reminiscent of Javed Jaferrey’s Mac character from Timepass), Neha Dhupia (and her decoding dumb-C scene will make you go ‘where am I? What is she drinking? Is it the same Julie?’), Sarita Joshi (check out her happiness in the car-scene) and Gaurav Gera stand-out, while Ranvir and Suresh Menon could have been better used. (Though both get the chuckles going in their super-mini roles.) The only part which can leave you a bit cold or make you go ‘why oh why?’ is the use of Amar’s ‘antar-aatma’ and his conversations with the dying man. In addition to being repetitive, the part looked too convenient at places.

But then, the film has too many things going for it, and the best among them is ? Vinay Pathak. Coming off ‘Bheja Fry’, this was a tough ask ? to perform a common Joe, unwanted, forced into (hiding) emotions; and still doing it as differently from his earlier role as Sachin’s straight drive is from Dada’s square cut. Vinay adds (a word surely vague and fancy but so true that I can’t resist using it) ‘honesty’ in huge dollops and makes Amar Kaul a man who could make us smile just by smiling himself. It is because of him that the film never reaches a point where you ‘sympathize’ with Amar Kaul…and lose the bigger ironies of this stupid world.

In the end, it doesn’t claim to be a life-changing-experience, nor does it try to push some magic philosophy down your throats ? all it does is, to walk with Amar Kaul a few blocks and get his to-do list done. And it does that well.

Rate this review

Total : 16

1/5
2

2/5
1

3/5
1

4/5
7

5/5
5

Posted by varungrover

11-17-2008 00:29

Comments (3)

Mumbai walks through.... (* * * *)

1. May contain unintentional spoilers

2. Long article.

Prejudice does strange things to us. Last year, just a day after another of mind-numbing blasts in an otherwise calm Indian city, I mulled over whether it was right to carry Mirza Ghalib’s book in my bag for my early morning flight out of Mumbai. Something irrational kept ticking inside me while the airport ‘security’ perused my bag and gave a fleeting look to Ghalib’s emotionless face on the book’s cover. I was not questioned, but many uncomfortable questions remained.

Modern cities, thanks to the twin Gods of liberalization and globalization, have become pilgrims of collective achievement and individual pain. Cultures, or as we know them - the ‘divides’, appear and disappear like ghosts. Beneath the silences of hurt lies bitterness so loud, that nothing less than a shake-up would do. And in times like these, prejudice becomes a very personal expression of our being, almost an assertion of our existence.

Nishikaant Kamat’s Hindi debut Mumbai Meri Jaan tests these very theories with five different tracks ? but unfortunately, with varying degrees of competence.

The conflicts are all placed around the synchronized Mumbai train blasts of 7/11/2006 ? and most of the characters enter the story with a well-established background or milieu. There’s a coffee anna, cycling through the city and selling coffee and tea while observing the city with an icy angst, there’s a TV news reporter who sees nothing wrong in sensationalizing as long as she does it well, there’s a group of semi-employed Hindu young men who discuss sports and politics at an Irani caf? and see a communal angle all around them, there’s a married corporate neat with a first class pass for his daily routine, and there are two cops ? one about to retire, another presumably a new recruit.

It won’t be wrong to say that MMJ is a documentary about these individuals, their bustling or moving life before the blast and their silences or madness after it. The stories move parallel, rarely crossing each other in physical sense, but thematically they do cross at every plot point. Coffee Anna’s bitterness for rich people buying “strong” perfumes in the mall-next-door finds a perfect parallel in one of the boys’ prejudice against Muslims. Similarly, about-to-retire Hawaldar Tukaram Patil’s sense of failure after serving 36-years and never catching a ‘bada aadmi’ reflects news anchor Rupali’s stunned silence when she finds herself at the other end of the microphone. Apart from the said-aloud tracks ? of dealing with duty, fears, prejudice, and soft-targets in the times of trouble, MMJ goes a step ahead and peeps into the lives of people that make a city. Small details, but all adding value to the film, and done well too.

Like the way the new recruit Hawaldaar Kadam goes about his job ? swinging between idealistic zeal and the frustration of his honeymoon leave getting canceled, both the situations leading him to beat (innocent) people up. Or the way Suresh, a computer dealer, has a memory for political trivia (He refers to the lady who killed Rajiv Gandhi as well as to the Muslim-related unrest in France!) which he uses to justify his fear of the religion he doesn’t want even business relations with.

But then, at the same time, MMJ is riddled with too little progression in terms of story and theme after a point. Once the conflicts are laid out and characters marooned inside their respective theories, the resolution takes too long in coming. And it does come at a bargain in some of the tracks ? too incidental in corporate guy’s track and a touch bit too unreal in Anna’s case. How I wish, the film could hold on to its silences and still move ahead post interval. May be it’s a bit too much to ask, but to use the dreaded word in all its Hollywood purity, what MMJ missed at places was a sense of ‘drama’.

But what almost covers up for this minor unfulfilled wish is a cast as perfect as it comes. In fact, it will be difficult to find a Hindi movie as well cast as this one. And yes, I mean any Hindi movie from any era. If Kay Kay Menon as a sharp but rudderless youth stuns you with his fast-track hatred, Madhavan as an ideal citizen living his private limited life makes his character a part of our daily struggle. Soha, perhaps the weakest link here, fits well as the hot-shot reporter and even her bad accent inadvertently comments on the standards of reporting in today’s media. Though the background score of 90’s type ‘aalaap’ tried very well to spoil her emotional scenes, she holds her own there too. Vijay Maurya, the always undiscovered mine of talent, again swims against the tide and chooses a role with very few ‘lines’ and too many subtleties. He does them well is a given. But will he still be ‘discovered’? We can only hope.

But standing tall among equals are Irrfan Khan (can he still surprise us?) and Paresh Rawal (washing his Priyadarshan-infested sins?). While Khan (guess, we can now count him among THEM) lets his eyes speak most of the times (this time in Tamil!), Rawal looks every bit a man resigned to fate and still finding solace in now-cheap, now-insightful humor. Look for Irrfan’s last interaction with the cops and Rawal’s one word gaali to the man who asks him when the terrorists will be caught. No doubt, Paresh’s part is a better written one ? full of one liners and earthy wisdom, almost a ‘taali-maar’ performance, but still, to see a new Paresh Rawal after all these years is a delight unexpected.

And complimenting these performances is cinematography as insightful as these characters. Using lots of reflections, smooth pans and easy track-ins ? camera does set the mood for an inspection into the psyche and times. Background score, as pointed above too, was jarring at places and probably the only technical spoilsport in the whole enterprise. Even the single song was a bit of a Hrithik’s thumb.

But let these minor glitches not stop you. ‘Mumbai Meri Jaan’ is cinema of superior quality, full of uncomfortable questions and few answers. The questions may be different for everybody, answers even more so, and thankfully, that’s how the film intended it to be.

Rate this review.

Total : 20

1/5
0

2/5
0

3/5
0

4/5
4

5/5
16

Posted by varungrover

08-22-2008 08:28

The downfall continues (* *)

I know there’s a Bob Dylan song to the similar effect but I will still go ahead and manufacture a corny alternative ? How many popcorns should we pop before RGV makes his always-round-the-corner comeback? The reluctant ‘Godfather’ of new-generation storytellers and writers (not to mention ‘unconventionally sexy’ starlets), and the once-alleged symbol of changing Bollywood, Ramu had generated enough media-hype (though there’s never enough) for this casting-coup cum sequel of sorts ? ‘Sarkar Raj’. Sarkar (Part I), as we all remember, was about the adventures of Subhash Nagare’s family into Puzowaadi via Coppolabaad.

The sequel of course is another chapter in Nagare family so no real connection to the last part or, let me bite the Crocin, to anything worth having a connection with - namely logic, research, character unity, or screenplay coherence. Sarkar Raj, my friends and RGV well-wishers, is as dud as they come with only a few flashes of brilliance here and there.

The flashes first. In this simmering political atmosphere of India, with Nandigram and Singur on one side, a reluctant Finance Minister with his 200 SEZs on another, and a shooting-in-the-dark-and-hitting-well Raj Thakarey somewhere in the middle ? mainstream cinema needed a time-stamp on the reflections of these issues. Add an American power-plant in Maharashtra being wooed by an over-enterprising Gujarati minister, and an Anna-Hazaare inspired Gandhian mentor to Nagare, and you had more plot-points than one could possibly handle in a tilted frame. And that’s what exactly happens with Sarkar Raj.

Starting-off with a screeching sound of an instrument (or was it Kailash Kher?), we enter the fortress of Nagare to see that the tea-cup has been passed successfully to the younger son, Shankar (Abhishek). An American power project, helmed by power-dressed Anita Rajan (Aishwarya) comes to the town and Shankar feels that “Maharashtra” needs this project. The project, as it turns out over thousands of drums and cymbals crashing Khali-like into one another for the rest of the film, is a fa?ade for a much larger and evil plan by enemies of “Sarkaar ki soch”. How Sarkar and his grown-up son deal with these oh-so-evil forces makes up for the rest of drum-sitar-train-whistle-cow-mooing-madonna-like orchestra festival.

The sub-tracks, like Anita’s father and her irrationally growing closeness to Shankar, Chandar’s betrayal, Raj-Thakarey like grassroots-rhetoric shouting Somji (Rajesh Shringrapure) and Sarkar’s final analysis to nail-down the kingpin, are all opened and closed at whims and conveniences now legendary of Uttar Pradesh police. The very-very-tight frames, the lo-ek-aur-dialogue-suno fetish, the lo-ek-aur-performance-dekho misconception (Sayaji Shinde outdoes himself in every faculty), the half-baked plot-twists, the shock-laga-kya murders (check out the torch-lit dead body with a broken-chashma), and are-you-still-alive background score add up to the long-list of grouses you take back from almost-dead house of Subhash Nagare. (Though Aishwarya does ask for ‘chaai’ in the last-shot, signaling a chance of another sequel! Shudder.)

Though it is intended to be a political game of chess, as is clear with various issues and players involved, but Sarkar Raj never comes close to even a game of cat-and-mouse. What we get instead, thanks to a massive-stereotyping operation by everyone involved, is Ludo at best ? laboriously, predictably, and to nobody’s joy, reaching the last box with a ‘haayein’ throw of dice.

Off the performances, Abhishek broods and simmers in the heat of khichdi around him, and does well to reserve his smile for two relatively better moments in the film ? one where his wife (yes, Tanisha is there!) tells him that she is due, and second when he holds Anita’s hand (romantically, yes) and tells her that he is safe now. Aishwarya looks good, looks the part (except when she speaks Hindi-from-Lucknow) but has dismally little to add to the film. And once she starts crying Niles in the second half, you pity her as much as you pity yourself. Big B is strictly good but time is painfully due for him to reinvent himself (I hope he reads it and bashes me in his blog!) lest we should stop believing in his brand value. The villain party ? Sayaji Shinde, Govind Namdeo, an unidentifiable Vora (not Hora!), and a pair of gloved-fingers (go figure!), is the biggest aargh here, with each of them flogging their ham-strings as if it’s laughter challenge on TV.

Support cast is stellar though. Dilip Prabhavalkar as Nagare’s mentor Rao-saab, Ravi Kale as man-Friday Chandar, and Raj Thakarey inspired Shrigarpure (brilliant!) add the much needed touch of balance this film so needed. But then, as Arun Lal would have said gleefully, too few Citi-Moments of success here!

Camera is perennially tilted and sun-rays peep out of every possible hole in human figure. Editing, sound, and production design do add to the gloom and ‘mechanical annihilations mean politics’ theme of the enterprise.

And yes, now to a question everybody must be asking ? is it as bad as RGV ki Aag? Well, no and yes. No because, as a film it’s not too bad. It has a premise, a (skewed) theme, some decent performances, and a sense of completion. But yes, because it fails on as many counts as any bad film would, and the biggest of them is ? the promise. RGV, Bachchan family, an established (though not great) prequel, and a very contemporary setting for the sequel ? and yet, all you leave the hall with are the nailed-in-your-brain sound-effects and a sad looking Big B walking away from Aishwarya, his shadow getting longer as he goes farther.

The magic is fading. And fading fast.

***********************************

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Total : 12

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3

2/5
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1

5/5
4

Posted by varungrover

06-07-2008 00:11

A Test Match With No Result ( * * 1/2 )

Just like in Cricket, where quick, ballistic and innovative T-20 is the new name of the game, Indian cinema is undergoing a phase-change too. More and more smaller budget films with 2-hour durations and out-of-the-box story-lines are making box-office debuts. But then, just like in Cricket, it is hard to kick the purists out; test matches are still the best assessment grounds for a genius; and so are the costume epics in Bollywood.

When Ashutosh Gowarikar, with much fanfare, announced the filming of Jodhaa Akbar in 2006, he knew what he was getting into ? a fierce scrutiny of every shred of history depicted or extrapolated, in addition to his handling of cinema of such large proportions. He has not failed hopelessly on either counts, but unfortunately, he has not succeeded doubtlessly too.

The film starts, hilariously for the informed, with a caption stating ? “All the animals used in the film have been treated with utmost love, care and affection” (courtesy, Maneka Gandhi, I suppose). But as the story of a young, gold-hearted, elephant-controller Akbar agreeing to marry the sword-swinging Rajput Princess Jodha progresses, one realizes that the same can’t be said about the huge cast of side actors, most of whom tend to either go on a melo-drive (Ila Arun as Mahaam Anga, Nikitan Dheer as Shareefuddin) or are too wooden (Poonam “Khaamosh” Sinha as Mom-Akbar, and Shaji Chaudhary as Adham Khan) to believe that they are standing in front of a camera. But then, that’s only the tip of the iceberg, the real problem lies with the story itself, which has a huge scale, a great Mughaliya background and some oddities worth exploring (like a Hindu-Muslim arranged match, an impossibility in today’s time) but with conflicts and resolutions that are, well, almost juvenile if not non-existent. During the course of the film, Akbar and Jodha get married but stay aloof, Akbar falls prey to internal family politics, sends Jodha back to her maayka, sword-fights cum foreplays to win her back, plays audience to two great songs, second one looking more like a Roman-era Olympics opening ceremony, and finally gets into a hand-combat with the main villain. How unspectacular! There is nothing that could pull the weight of Akbar’s towering persona or Jodhaa-Baai’s gold jewellery past the finish line.

But then, like any test match with two-innings and multiple opportunities, Jodhaa-Akbar redeems itself through its protagonists ? the sweet simple tale of a libidinous King and her touch-me-not-till-you-win-me princess. Right from their first brush, from across a Neeta Lulla curtain, to the scene where Akbar is mesmerized by her love for Lord Krishna, to their sword-fight, to Jodhaa’s comeback in the middle of the Olympics song, the undercurrents of a mystic relationship are very well crafted and executed. And to their credit, Hrithik and Aishwarya have risen to the occasion, giving the much needed spin of royal arrogance to the two characters. Though Hrithik’s swagger and smirk still gives you a feeling that he just might break into whistling and dancing, Dhoom?2 style, Aishwarya limits herself smartly and, ahem, actually makes you wait for her next appearance. (Yes, I said that!)

Off the rest of the cast, Sonu Sood (as Jodhaa’s brother Soojamal) deserves special mention for looking so much like Amitabh in Desh-Premi (moustache, frown and straight-hair) and acting so much within himself. Rajesh Vivek (as Chughtain Khan), Kulbhushan Kharbanda (as Raja Bharmal) and Pramod Moutho (as Akbar’s Ratna Todarmal) play their parts well, but again, most of the supporting cast and thousands of extras are ill-at-ease or badly managed, and that is a huge eye-sore.

And as for the history bit, AG himself has gone on record saying that it’s 30 percent history and 70 percent fiction (though Karni Sena in Rajasthan refuses to believe). But yes, the costumes, locations and sets by Nitin Desai, do create a very impressive image of Mughals’ greatest period this side of Chenaab. Historically, historicals and biopics are two of the most difficult genres to attempt, and here, Ashutosh was dealing with both. He would have done better, if he had stuck to his main leads, but then, he probably wouldn’t have made this film at all.

In the end, it just feels like a regular test match ? some nice bowling, batting, fielding, and some grave umpiring errors. And yes, no result.

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Total : 20

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8

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Posted by varungrover

02-20-2008 13:18

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