Desicritics Author: Aditya Pant

Movie Review: Saawariya

Aditya Pant — Sat, 10 Nov 2007 00:37:12 EST

It must have happened something like this. Sanjay Leela Bhansali is watching Raj Kapoor's Awaara from his private DVD collection…the 'ghar aaya mera pardesi' song comes up and a flash appears in his mind…"Why can’t I make a film on this?... I've just read a short story where the heroine is waiting for her pardesi to come home… I can ask my art director to come up with a bizarre, dream-like set, complete with the enormous Nataraj head that occupied centre stage in the Awaara song… I have Raj Kapoor's grandson as my assistant, so he can be the hero with the name same as his illustrious grandfather… I know Raj Kapoor’s oeuvre like the back of my hand, so sprinkling the scenario with references should not be a problem… Come on let's make a tribute to Raj Kapoor".

Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Saawariya is probably the first true blue (pun intended) tribute to the man called Raj Kapoor. Only, it makes it so obvious it starts to grate on one's senses after a while…subtlety has never been SLB's forte anyway. The film opens in a bar called the RK bar, with the title written in the manner of the unmistakable RK banner. Nice, you think. Then we see the vagabond-ish hero – that's Awaara for you. He rents a room from a matronly Christian lady who starts loving him like her son – Anari…. Got it Mr. Bhansali, but can we move ahead? Not yet my dear, don't you wanna see the 'junglee' scene from Awaara, or the classic Barsaat pose that went on to become the trademark of RK films, or the references to the pyar hua iqraar hua song from Shree 420, complete with rain and an umbrella….why stop at the great showman, you also get his father in a scene from Mughal-e-Azam, Ranbir referencing dear daddy in Karz, trying the dancing style of his granduncles – Shammi Kapoor and Shashi Kapoor – and giving an accidental peek of his butt much like his father in Bobby….Phew! Why did SLB have to make this simple love story into the most expensive promotion vehicle for the Kapoor khandaan? And does he realize that he missed out Ranbir's uncles and cousins....or was Rani Mukherji's character meant to evoke memories of Kareena's Chameli?

Now that I have my biggest grouse with the film out of the way, I can move on…

If there is anything that strikes you about Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Saawariya, it's the opening credit sequence. One can't help but appreciate the director's honesty in crediting his source of inspiration – Fyodor Dostoevsky’s short story White Nights.

When was the last time you saw a film that did that? The plot of Dostoevsky's story doesn't naturally lend itself to adaptation on celluloid. A 'dreamer's' narration of his meeting with an enigmatic girl over four nights doesn't have the necessary twists and the drama we have come to expect in a Hindi mainstream film. It is just for this reason that the film seems so monotonous. Not as in boring, but as in musically i.e. having a sameness of tone.

I always see Bhansali's films as a bandish (musical composition), which starts with a slightly unstructured alaap and quickly moves through the jod to its crescendo with an intricately structured jhaala and gat. Through his characteristic use of melodrama he creates complex rhythmic patterns that go out of sync with the taal at times, only to emerge harmoniously in the final moments. For Saawariya, the story that SLB chooses does not have the breadth where he could demonstrate his virtuosity as a 'composer'. He could have easily gone his usual way and provided multiple dramatic twists to the plot, but he resists the temptation and creates a composition that uses the most basic notes of the mandra saptak (lowest octave) and pretty much remains at the alaap all through. That is something that worked well for me. The story demanded a slow and static feel, which SLB provides it with. He has managed to remain fairly faithful to the original story (except for a completely unnecessary addition) and created a vision that is uniquely his own.

But hang on, simplicity and Bhansali don’t go hand in hand. If the tale and the narration is simple, SLB lets his Art Director (Omung Kumar) go completely over the top to create a setting that looks straight out of a fairy tale. You get an architecture that's a curious mix of all possible schools of architecture you can think of, and the use of a palette with an overabundance of colours blue and green gives the setting of the film a surreal painting-like character . This is where the problem with the film lies - a simple story gets completely lost amid SLB's trademark larger-than-life scale and visual opulence that has no place in a tale like this.

This setting would have worked well had the director not introduced the completely unnecessary angle I talked about earlier. Dostoevsky’s narrator was the protagonist himself - a 'dreamer'. Obviously, his narration would have a dream-like quality. In Saawariya, SLB gives the part of the narrator to a completely superfluous character called Gulaabji, a streetwalker (who is always walking the streets but we never get to see even a single customer) with what else but a 'heart of gold'. Although Rani Mukherji does complete justice to the character, it is completely unnecessary.

On the other hand, if one were to compare Saawariya with the director's earlier work, it is obvious that this is probably the director's most subtle work yet. Melodrama is kept at a minimum and the emotions of the lead character - Ranbir - never go ballistic as in SLB's earlier films. But as I mentioned earlier, subtlety doesn't come naturally to the director and it shows in a few scenes. Like the one where the Raj accompanies Sakina to her home....we see a lane full of potholes...anyone with even the most average IQ would guess what it means, especially when you see that these potholes are designed and crafted so painstakingly that is is obvious they're meant to convey a message. But, no, SLB wants to spell it out by giving Ranbir some heavy-duty dialogue to mouth about zindagi ke raaste...

Music has always been the high point of SLB's films. In Saawariya, you again get some nice compositions but they fall a trifle short of being great. You sorely miss the intricate compoitions of Ismail Darbar here. I have never understood why someone like SLB who always projects a picture of being an aesthete would settle for a lyricist like Sameer, who pens words that are adequate but don't do complete justice to SLB's vision. In my opinion, only Gulzar's abstract words would have gelled well with the abstruse backdrop of the film. Only Gulzar could have added more layers of depth to this film.

Saawariya being the launch vehicle for Ranbir Kapoor and Sonam Kapoor, everyone is curious to know if they have it in them to make it big in this industry. I can't say much about Sonam, for she is very pretty but just an average actress. Moreover she gets a terribly underwritten and ambiguous part. Ranbir, on the other hand, shows tremendous promise. He has the meatiest part in the film, and despite a few raw edges his performance is of a fairly high standard - he shows the spark...watch out for him!

Movie Review: No Smoking - Arrogance Isn't Such a Bad Thing

Aditya Pant — Thu, 1 Nov 2007 09:12:32 EDT

Why this floccinaucinihilipilification of Anurag Kashyap's phantasmagorical expression in the form of incongruous juxtaposition of surreal images that beat comprehension?

Exactly.

Anything that beats comprehension at first glance is invariably dismissed by others as worthless. No surprise then that Anurag Kashyap's No Smoking has met with universal rejection.

Let me come back to the very first sentence above.

What do you make of that sentence? It is without doubt self-indulgent, meant to flaunt one's vocabulary (which probably doesn't come naturally), and definitely contrived to sound complicated. If you have a good vocabulary, you will find that it is actually a very simple statement. Alternatively, you could flip the pages of the dictionary only to realize that the effort wasn't really worth it (you might not find one of the words in some dictionaries). But for a moment, just forget the meaning, go over each word slowly and try to grasp the inherent rhythm and rhyme contained within the sentence.

Why this floccinau…
Cinihiliplification
Of Anurag Kashyap's
Phantasmagorical expression
In the form of
Incongruous juxtaposition
Of surreal images
That beat comprehension

Get it?

If you do, you have the key for enjoying and appreciating Anurag Kashyap's No Smoking.

The film opens with a brilliantly conceived sequence, which is so bizarre that you know it has to be a dream (nightmare would be a better word). Desolate landscape of Siberia, a trapped man watching himself on TV, Russian soldiers, Vodka, a bath tub in the middle of nowhere, a cigarette packet out in the snow, chase, shoot... Smoking Kills! What else would a smoker dream of if he is constantly been asked to quit smoking by all and sundry? But why Siberia, Russian, bath tub? Does it really matter? Do dreams ever make complete sense? If they did, Freud would be out of business. All of us who have dreams can relate to the fact that dreams have this intrinsic quality where seemingly disparate elements from the subconscious get uncannily juxtaposed. There's just no point in trying to find a cohesive thread through a dream.

The protagonist (Mr. K, an obvious reference to Kafka's protagonist) wakes up from his nightmare, and we, the audience, expect the regular sequential narrative to take over from there. But no, the director is in no mood to oblige. He structures pretty much the entire movie in exactly the same fashion - surreal, jumpy, lacking a cohesive thread. That can be very taxing for a viewer to bear for a duration of 2 hours plus. Well, not if you choose to get into the intrinsic rhythm of the film and refrain from applying logic or finding a reason for everything that unfolds on the screen. See it as a dream, try to get into the protagonists head. Even seemingly illogical things might start making sense then. I cannot claim that I have still 'understood' the entire film. It's been 4 days since I watched it, and I'm still trying to decipher the finer elements and unravel the narrative, but it has been an intellectually stimulating experience. For me, the film was thoroughly engrossing, and even though I had a momentary feeling of being cheated by the open-ended closing, I came out of the theatre supremely satisfied.

During those 140 minutes, Anurag Kashyap took me on an intense round of mental calisthenics, after which I emerged exhausted - not tedium but a euphoric state of intense hang-over. Did I just come out after watching a Hindi Film? If this is not the quintessential 'hat ke' film, then what is?

The feeling I had was just like the one I had when I watched Pink Floyd's The Wall (directed by Alan Parker) for the first time. While The Wall was all about the protagonist's insecurities and shadows from the past, No Smoking goes a step further than just being a surrealistic dream. It is metaphorical – with smoking being a metaphor for freedom and independence. That makes this a very personal film for Anurag Kashyap (as he mentions in his blog), and in way pardons the self-indulgent texture of the film, which most people have found annoying.

Of course, the film is unashamedly self-indulgent. In complete disregard of the audience, Anurag Kashyap films what he wants to, how he wants to. He eschews any possibility of providing any pointers that might help the audience share his vision. He simply leaves it for the audience to use their own interpretative skills to make sense out of the film. That, in my opinion, opens up a plethora of possibilities. In a way, that's the freedom the director metaphorically depicts in the film. You're free to interpret what unfolds on film just the way you can, or want to. There's no handholding, no spoon-feeding, no explanations – almost like a swimming instructor who push you in deep waters so that you learn on your own. Learn without being taught. Obviously, such arrogance (if one can call it that) on the part of the director will not be taken positively by an audience that has been dumbed down for ages by most of our filmmakers, who believe that everything needs to be hammered down the heads of the audiences order to make them understand.

I talked about flaunting one's vocabulary a while ago….I got that feeling while watching No Smoking. There are so many references to other films that it almost seems like the director is boasting about his knowledge of world cinema. Not a problem for me, as I derived great pleasure in catching those references. However, some of the in-jokes seem very forced and contrived. What does one make of a dialogue like "Beedi Jalaile ke Vishal desh mein cigar Gulzar"? Of course I get this in-joke, but it is definitely contrived. But again, as I said, the key lies in ignoring the 'vocabulary' and getting into the flow and rhythm of the film.

On the whole, I found myself completely immersed in the flow of No Smoking, so much so that I brought a lot of it along even after leaving the theatre. That is my yardstick of a good film. And that's a film that would find a prominent place in my DVD collection.

((The 'on the whole' bit is my feeble attempt at an in-joke, which only people who have been following the debate on this film on a particular website will understand)

Talking of arrogance, I'm reminded of an arrogant verse….

न सताइश की तमन्ना न सिले की परवा
गर नहीं हैं मेरे अश`आर में म`नी न सही

Neither a longing for praise, nor a care for reward
if there's no meaning in my verses, then so be it
(Translation by Frances W. Pritchett)

Immortal words of an arrogant man, a man who didn't care two hoots for appreciation from others, a man who believed his thoughts were way beyond anyone's comprehension, a man who toed the line sometimes but largely remained fiercely independent , a man we now consider a genius – Mirza Asadullah Khan 'Ghalib'.

With No Smoking, Anurag Kashyap tries to follow the same path. Whether he will be considered a genius at some point later is debatable, but he surely shares the same attitude. Don't get me wrong here….I'm not putting Anurag Kashyap on the same pedestal as Ghalib, for that would be blasphemous…just trying to say that arrogance isn't such a bad thing afterall.

My Personal Pancham Favourites

Aditya Pant — Wed, 27 Jun 2007 14:08:52 EDT

Today is Rahul Dev Burman’s 68th birthday. I wouldn’t say that RDB is my favourite Hindi film composer, for no one can displace Madan Mohan from that exalted position in my mind. However, I have always found myself drawn towards his compositions.

There is something about RDB’s compositions that is distinctly unique – deceptively simple tunes embellished with truly innovative arrangements. I can’t think of any other music composer who would have experimented as much with a wide variety of sounds and genres; a composer for whom pushing the envelope became second nature.

On his 10th death anniversary 4 years back, I had tried to put together a list of my top 25 RDB compositions. This seems to be a good time to reproduce that list.

For a composer who produced musical gems with alarming regularity, picking 25 top compositions is quite an arduous task. Yet I tried to put together a list of some of my personal favourites (in no particular order). They might not be the most popular RD songs, but to me they represent RD’s amazing range as a composer. I must add that my personal bias in favour of Lata Mangeshkar (12 songs) and Gulzar (9 songs) may be evident in this list.

Ghar Aaja Ghir Aaye (Chhote Nawab): RD’s first film as an independent composer had this gem by Lata Mangeshkar. Based on Raag Malgunji, this song clearly exemplifies RD’s mastery over classical music.
Thodi Si Zameen (Sitara): A beautiful duet with amusing lyrics by Gulzar . The way Lata Mangeshkar sings the line baajre ke kheton mein kauve uraenge, especially the child-like amusement she expresses while saying the word Kauve, makes me want to listen to this song again and again.
Aapki Aankhon Mein (Ghar): RD adapted Raag Kedar to come up with one of the most evocative romantic duets by Lata and Kishore. With her trademark expression, Lata Mangeshkar adds coquettish charm to the word badmaashiyon.
Is Mod Se Jate Hain (Aandhi): Songs from Aandhi have to figure in my list of RD favourites. This was clearly the best to come from the RD-Gulzar combination.
Roz Roz Aankhon Tale (Jeeva): A great song utterly wasted in an eminently forgettable film.
Chura Liya Hai (Yaadon Ki Baraat): A classic in its own right. Innovative orchestration and great vocals make this song so popular even today.
Do Lafzon Ki Hai (The Great Gambler): Romance at its best. The visuals of Amitabh Bachchan and Zeenat Aman romancing on a gondola in Venice still remain fresh in my memory
Mera Kuchh Samaan (Ijaazat): Undoubtedly Asha’s best song with RD. The fact that RD could compose such a beautiful melody around free verse is a clear indication of his mastery.
Khamosh Sa Afsana (Libaas): Sad that this film never got a proper theatrical release. The soundtrack boasts of four Lata gems, each better than the other
Pal Do Pal Ka Saath Hamara (The Burning Train): RD composed many qawwalis which were more popular than this one, but this one is my favourite for its unique orchestration and Sahir’s wonderful words.
Humein Tumse Pyar Kitna (Kudrat): I prefer the semi-classical version by Parveen Sultana than the more popular one by Kishore.
Bhini Bhini Bhor Aayi (Dil Padosi Hai): Just listen to this wonderful composition in Mian Ki Todi, and visuals of dawn break come up instantly. The visuals you associate with most film songs are the director’s vision, but being a non-film song it is RD’s music that paints the visuals in this song.
Saawan ke Jhoole Pade (Jurmana): Set to the melodic strains of Raag Pahadi, this is one of my favourite Lata songs.
Chingari Koi Bhadke (Amar Prem): All the songs from Amar Prem were masterpieces, but the evocative visuals
Kuchh Na Kaho (1942 A Love Story): RD did not live to savour the resurgence of success, but this soundtrack will always figure among his best scores.
Chaandni Re Jhoom (Naukar): A delightfully melodious Lori by Lata and Kishore, did not get its due.
Huzoor Is Qadar (Masoom): One of the best male duets ever.
Duniya Mein Logon Ko (Apna Desh): How can this list not have a song sung by RD himself.
Suraj Ka Jo Kiran Se Nata (Hungama): A rare Lata-Mukesh melody, which never got its due. Few people have heard it even today.
Tumne Mujhe Dekha (Teesri Manzil): Although RD’s association with Kishore Kumar was more fruitful, this song saw the RD-Rafi combination at its best.
Main Shayar Badnaam (Namak Haram): The pathos in this song is unrivalled. It moistens my eyes each time I hear it.
Kya Jaanoon Sajan (Baharon Ke Sapne): RD made innovative use of the multi-track singing in this song, giving an impression of two voices overlapping. This effect was used again in Qatra Qatra in Ijaazat.
Kahin Karti Hogi (Phir Kab Milogi): Anamika’s horrific version of this song might have been more popular, but just listen to the original for its simple yet timeless melody.
Jaane Kya Baat Hai (Sunny): I’ve always felt that RD gave his best melodies to Lata than Asha. Check this one out.

Movie Review: Jhoom Barabar Jhoom - Guilty Pleasure?

Aditya Pant — Sun, 17 Jun 2007 00:32:09 EDT

There was a time, not very long back, when screen lovers in mainstream Hindi films would suddenly find themselves amid the verdant Swiss valleys and Alpine surroundings, singing the mandatory love ballad. As time progressed the locations became more global - Australia, New Zealand, Canada, et al. What did not change was the fact that our protagonists, though quintessential desis, would fantasize about singing and dancing in distant foreign locales. A dream, after all, reflects one's aspiration, not reality. You dream of something that is...well, distant.

Now, have you ever thought about where NRIs would dream of singing their love ballad? Well, India of course. They would dream of traveling on Indian Railways, meeting at the Old Delhi Railway station, navigating their way through the busy by lanes on Chandni Chowk on cycle rickshaws, wandering up and down the steps of an exotic step-well somewhere in Rajasthan, and of course serenading at the Taj. In other words - all that India stands for in the eyes of a foreigner: exotica.

The lovebirds in Shaad Ali's Jhoom Barabar Jhoom do precisely that. Doesn't matter if one of them is not really an Indian, and perhaps Lahore would be a better choice for her as a 'dream destination'.

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom has many such moments, which fall well within the conventions of Hindi films, but have a delightfully 'different' treatment. First and foremost - the melodrama is completely gotten rid of, save for some brief moments towards the climax. Secondly, the film has virtually no plot, which is very true of most mainstream Hindi films. But unlike other films, Shaad Ali seems to know this very well and Jhoom Barabar Jhoom doesn't pretend to be anything else.

This plotless, have-fun-while-it-lasts flick actually elevates thematic vacuousness to the level of a virtue. It is the non-existent storyline and an absence of 'dramatic conflict' that makes Jhoom Barabar Jhoom such fun to watch. What a sharp contrast from Ta Ra Rum Pum , the last film from the same Production House that tried so hard to be 'meaningful' but ended up getting nowhere.

The entire first half of the film is about two strangers meeting at London's Waterloo railway station and narrating the stories of their respective love lives to kill time. The stories they narrate are bizarre and outrageous, but presented in a delightfully different manner. OK, not so different but not commonplace either.

The narration of these stories has the same chutzpah and tongue-in-cheek quality that Sai Paranjpe presented so hilariously in Chashme Baddoor. Remember the scenes in Chashme Baddoor where Ravi Baswani and Rakesh Bedi try to cover up their failure in wooing Deepti Naval and take inspiration from the Hindi films they have seen to spin interesting yarns about their escapades?

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom pays homage to a number of Hindi films (many of them classics). So when the lovers are at the Taj, Jo Waada Kiya from Taj Mahal plays in the background. A prostitute named Laila gets her introduction with the Laila song from Qurbani. Ye Dosti accentuates the scene where Abhishek and Bobby are riding on a scooter with a sidecar, just like the way their fathers did in Sholay. A bit corny, yes. But what the heck, it's meant to be fun.

The reason I liked Jhoom Barabar Jhoom was that it never takes itself too seriously. The humour, though corny at times, comes across quite effortlessly. Just try to think about the lines you might have used to inject humour in your regular conversations with friends. At that moment it would have seemed very funny, but take it to a different setting and it would appear completely inane. That's a quality the team of Jhoom Barabar Jhoom - the writers, director, actors - manages to infuse in the film quite successfully.

My true LOL moment in the film was when Piyush Mishra is quite annoyed having to wait for his kababs to be served and shouts "...kya bakra kaatne gaya hai?" and the shop owner shouts at his cook using the exact same words. I realize that this doesn't sound funny when I write it down, but in the film this scene had me in splits.

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom relies a lot on Shankar Ehsaan Loy's high-octane music and brilliant choreography by Vaibhavi Merchant to get its unique fun feel. The conceptualization of the Kiss of Love is imaginative and very Broadway-ish. Gulzar's rustic lyrics add to the charm of the song and dance routines, though at times you wonder if the characters in the film would have in their vocabulary the words he gives them to mouth. But the die-hard Gulzar fan like me would not complain, because his distinctive touch stays intact in his songs, not to mention his fascination for the moon and the new imagery he associates with the moon and moonlight. A few examples:

- आजा चाँदनी कूटेँगे आसमान को लूटेँगे, चल धुआँ उड़ा के झूम
- यहीं कहीं शब काटेंगे, चिलम चटाई बाँटेंगे, चल धुआँ उड़ा के झूम
- मक्की की रोटी गुड़ रख के, मिसरी से मीठे लब चख के, तन्दूर जला के झूम
- खीसे खुलने लगे हैं, हीरे तुलने लगे हैं...
- चाँद की उतार ली हैं दोनों बालियाँ...
- ये चाँद का चिकना साबुन कुछ देर में घुल जायेगा...
- धागे तोड़ लाओ चाँदनी से नूर के...

I know that I belong to the rare breed of people who actually enjoyed Jhoom Barabar Jhoom. It's been panned universally by critics and I'm yet to hear a positive comment from anyone who has seen the film. I don't understand why, but there have been many times when my views have not matched with others.

For one, I saw many good points even in the now forgotten Umrao Jaan when others found none. At first I used to be very defensive about my views, but not anymore. Jhoom Barabar Jhoom is my guilty pleasure. Actually not - I don't feel embarrassed to admit that I loved it. If others didn't it's not my problem!

Movie Review: Pirates of the Caribbean - At World's End

Aditya Pant — Sun, 3 Jun 2007 06:36:35 EDT

If you haven't watched the first two installments of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, and you decide to watch this one (if not for anything else, just to find out what the fuss is all about), it is very likely that you will not follow what's going on. You might even start cursing yourself for not taking a quick refresher course of the first two films before venturing for the third. But don't worry. Even Pirates veterans - a category I would like to put me in - find themselves in exactly the same situation. Whether you're experienced or a first-timer, your thoughts will exactly be the same - what the hell's going on?

A coherent plot is not a virtue even the hugely entertaining first film - The Curse of the Black Pearl - can boast of. What worked there was Johnny Depp's outstanding portrayal of the quirky Captain Jack Sparrow. Through an Academy Award nominated performance, he created an iconic character that was instantly loved by one and all.

The second film - Dead Man's Chest - went a step ahead. It included a lot more convoluted plot elements that were difficult to follow. Again, Captain Jack Sparrow's persona rescued the film from mediocrity. Not to mention the plot device that added a delicious pun in the film's title - a live, beating heart kept in a 'dead man's chest', body part, chest, box - get it?

Now comes At World's End - a perfect exemplification of the law of diminishing returns. Emboldened by the enormous box-office success of the second film, the filmmakers try to make this one bigger - in terms of scale, plot, characters, SFX, what have you. But it doesn't come even close to the funny brilliance of the first, or even the second. By virtue of an over-crowded plot, what you finally get is an incoherent, convoluted, over-plotted mishmash. You might start with the good intentions of wanting to follow the plot, but it's just too much to warrant any comprehension. I, for one, gave up after the very disappointing first 30 minutes. It just wasn't worth it.

After a while, what was happening on the screen didn't really matter. I just longed for Jack Sparrow to make an appearance and redeem the show. The wait was quite agonizing because it seemed that Jack - at the behest of the screenwriters, of course - was in no mood to grace us with his appearance just yet. And when he did, we saw not one, not two, but tens of Jack Sparrow on screen. Fantastic, I thought. It's party time now!

Not really. My excitement was terribly short-lived. Despite the fact that the film is agonizingly long, the screen time given to Jack Sparrow is unpardonably short. Let me put it another way, the length is agonizing because Jack Sparrow is criminally neglected. What were the filmmakers thinking? It's outright blasphemy! I mean, how could they even think of sidelining a character who is the only reason for the franchise to have worked thus far?

On the whole, At World's End is boring! I think someone should make a version where everything else but Jack Sparrow is edited out of the film. It might be a disjointed and plot-less 'short film', but infinitely more watchable and engrossing than this over-plotted exercise in tedium.

Movie Review: Spider-Man 3 - Where's Our Beloved Hero

Aditya Pant — Mon, 14 May 2007 01:21:40 EDT

After his tiring and not so successful first encounter with Sandman, Peter Parker/Spider-Man sits on a parapet of a building and makes a purportedly funny observation - "Where do all these guys come from?" Exactly.

Rather, the more relevant question is "Why" instead of "Where". Sam Raimi's third installment of the Spider-Man franchise is peopled with so many characters - specifically bad guys - that you wonder what the filmmakers were trying to do here. Did they really believe that more is better? How much can you cramp in a 140 minute movie anyway? Especially when you want to emphasize - rather overemphasize - the humanization and the emotions that worked so wonderfully in Spider-Man 2.

The problem actually is not there are too many characters, it's just that in order to do some sort of justice to the multitude of characters, the film gets overburdened with too many plot elements, some penned so perfunctorily that it almost seems like the work of an out-of-work Hindi film screenwriter from the 80s.

Consider this: a love triangle, a son's vow of revenge; friends turned foes; temporary loss of memory; a last minute revelation that makes foe turn friend again only to sacrifice his life for his 'friend'. That's just one side of the story. Then you have this funny track of a Ma�tre d' that underscores a poignant moment, or the back stories of the bad guys - Sandman and Venom. All this is classic Hindi film formula. Pack everything you can in one film...

Before you get me wrong, let me clarify that I'm not trying to be dismissive of Hindi films (how can I, when I'm so addicted to them?). My point is that you need almost a juggler's skill to pull off such diverse elements in a single film. Hindi film makers have mastered this skill and elevated it to the level of art. Hollywood, however, is not very adept at it. And this is fairly obvious in Spider-Man 3.

In some ways Spider-Man 3 reminded me of Krrish. Both were meant to be - at least promoted as - superhero films, but the emphasis on other side-plots in both the films is a wee bit too much. I'm all for humanizing superheroes (the reason why I like Spider-Man 2 and Superman Returns more than any other superhero flick), but after a point it's good old superhero stuff that one expects and looks forward to in these films. That's what Krrish lacked, and that's where Spider-Man 3 lags behind.

There's nothing heroic about Spider-Man in this film. Except for saving Gwen Stacy (a dramatic departure from the original Marvel character) from a disaster early on in the film, there's not even a single heroic moment that Peter Parker can be proud of (as he keeps claiming proudly - "people like me'). This is particularly unpardonable given the fact that there is not one but three adversaries (or is it 4, if one were to count the symbiote?) our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man confronts in this film. Couldn't they think of even one heroic moment for our hero? Just one?

It's not that this film is a complete downer. There are moments of individual brilliance - like the initial chase between Spidey and the New Goblin, or the sequence where Flint Marko transforms into Sandman, or the delightful and bang-on portrayal of the editor by J.K Simmons.

Sadly, all these get lost in the convoluted web that the screenwriters spin so incompetently.

Movie Review: Ta Ra Rum Pum - A Confused Film

Aditya Pant — Mon, 7 May 2007 00:39:09 EDT

Siddharth Anand's Ta Ra Rum Pum could've been a traditional old-school love story with a contemporary twist, where a rich girl falls in love with a not-so-rich guy but faces severe opposition from her dad who is not concerned so much about the guy's financial status, but his lack of decent education and 'intellect'. I don't recall 'intellect' being the cause of conflict in many Hindi films.

It could've been a film addressing a genuine contemporary problem - that materialism and lack of prudent financial planning finds many young couples caught in a vicious debt trap. We all know how banks and credit card companies make their money!

It could've been a simple feel-good underdog film, where the protagonist reaches his pinnacle only to go downhill thanks to the 'cruel games of destiny'; and then fights against all odds to come back right at the top. We always have a thing for underdogs, don't we?

It could've been one of those 60s tearjerkers where a family struggles with poverty and the children take it upon themselves to ease the sufferings of their parents. Or a sensitive tale of poor parents shielding their children from harsh reality by putting on a charade.

It could even have been a revenge saga, where the protagonist loses a car race thanks to the evil machinations of another competitor, and vows to avenge his defeat by giving him the same treatment in the climax. OK...Saif doesn't quite vow revenge, but the climax does smack of tit-for-tat!

The truth is: Ta Ra Rum Pum is none of these, yet has elements of all. It's almost as if pieces from several different films have been loosely put together to create a one-size-fits-all film. Unfortunately, what we end up with is a thoroughly confused film that doesn't seem to know where it's going.

This is formulaic film-making working overtime. I have nothing against formulas; on the contrary I do enjoy formula films. But in Ta Ra Rum Pum the formula itself is wrongly put together.

First of all, what's with the title? It has no relation to the film except for a song that tries hard - very hard indeed - to relate four animated characters (Ta, Ra, Ma & Pa) to the main characters in the film (Saif, Rani and the children). The film that I think has the most nonsensical film title of all time - Shin Shinaki Boobla Boo - had lead characters with those names, so it wasn't so nonsensical after all. Couldn't Aditya Chopra or Siddharth Anand, or whoever wrote the script do something as simple as naming the two children with Ta and Ra (with Rani and Saif obviously being Ma and Pa)? That would've made some sense at least.

Then, what was the need to have that whole back story about Saif and Rani falling in love? Agreed, we like love stories and the songs that come along with that. But here the love story is extremely dull and uninteresting, and the songs insipid.

I really don't want to trash this film, because it does have some interesting bits. Sadly, these interesting elements just hang in there incoherently. They provide just momentary glimpses into what this film could have been, but is not!

Movie Review - Bheja Fry - An Idiot Comes to Dinner

Aditya Pant — Sun, 6 May 2007 01:07:28 EDT

Sagar Ballary's Bheja Fry reminded me of the title of the Academy Award winning 1967 film - Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. Mind you, it only reminded me of the title and not the film itself. The Spencer Tracy-Katherine Hepburn-Sidney Portier starrer was an attempt at debunking racial stereotypes, through a tale of interracial marriage. The story of Bheja Fry doesn't have anything even remotely racist about it (except one small bit which I found highly objectionable - I'll come to that). It's just the 'dinner' bit that's common.

If you really look at it closely, there's another small bit of similarity between the two films. The dinner invitees in both the films are clearly not what the other dinner hosts might have expected of them. Sidney Poitier in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner is an African American who goes against the image one had of a typical black person in the US in the 60s - he is highly educated and 'civilized'. In Bheja Fry, Bharat Bhushan is supposedly an 'idiot' called over for a dinner so that others could have fun at his expense. But by the time the film gets over, his host realizes that he is certainly not the harmless 'idiot' he expected him to be. Rather, his idiocy leads to completely unanticipated turn of events.

But the inspiration behind Bheja Fry lies elsewhere - it is based on a French movie, Le D�ner de cons (English Title: The Dinner Game), which in turn was based on a stage play.

The director (Sagar Ballary) has openly admitted this inspiration, but why did the filmmakers have to conveniently ignore this in the credits. They could've easily avoided the accusation of plagiarism simply by putting a line in the credits - "inspired by..." (I watched the credits carefully, but if I missed it, I take back these words)

Plagiarism or inspiration - Bheja Fry is hilarious and thoroughly entertaining. It's not the kind of movie where you get impressed by technical virtuosity on display or 'cool' directorial touches. It's not meant to be. Most of the movie takes place in the living room, giving it a stage-play kind of feel, and there's no room for flashy cinematography or glitzy editing. It's by sheer power of the written word that this film succeeds; and how!

It's been a while since I had such a hearty laugh at the movies. All the so-called comedies one has watched in the last few years tried to extract a few laughs from the audience through crude slapstick or downright vulgarity. Bheja Fry is so brilliantly written, that not even once does one see an 'effort' to make the audiences laugh. It is naturally funny. And so true to life! I'm sure everyone has met a character like Bharat Bhushan at some point or the other.

A lot of why the film works is due to Vinay Pathak. Who would've thought that by his sheer comic talent, he could carry a film entirely on his shoulders? I can't think of any other actor who could've carried off this role of an 'idiot' with so much conviction and believability. Through his idiosuncratic mannerisms, expressions and dialogue delivery, he gets completely under the skin of the character he portrays.

Vinay Pathak's Bharat Bhushan is a 'singer' who is completely obsessed with Hindi film music. There are some subtle touches in his character that everyone would not be able to see. When Bharat Bhushan sings 'Aadmi Musafir Hai' from Apnapan (1977) while traveling on a bus, I could see more than just the thematic applicability of that song to the situation. The original song is also picturized on a bus.

Then there is this truly funny moment when Bharat Bhushan boasts of his knowledge of the number of time the word 'Aayega' appears in the song 'Aayega Aanewala' or the word 'Chalte' in Pakeezah's 'Chalte Chalte'. This was a very personal moment for me, because my obsession with Hindi Films has manifested itself in things equally 'outrageous' (believe it or not, I have actually counted this).

If one were to look carefully, one would find many flaws in the film but who cares for them when the film keeps you thoroughly entertained all through its 90 minutes duration. But there is still one thing that the film could've done without. It's the character played by Ranvir Shorey - an Indian Muslim who supports Pakistan in India-Pakistan cricket matches. It seeks to carry forward a stereotype of Indian Muslims that the Hindu fundamentalists have been perpetuating for some time. I found it objectionable, offensive and completely unnecessary. What's more, Ranvir Shorey's portrayal of this character is surprisingly over the top and utterly un-funny.

Movie Review: The Namesake

Aditya Pant — Sun, 8 Apr 2007 01:02:04 EDT

There's a scene in Mira Nair's The Namesake, where Ashoke Ganguli tells his teenage son Gogol, "We all came out of Gogol's overcoat". This seemingly simple utterance resonates with profound meaning in light of the theme of the film. This is a very famous quotation that has been attributed to a number a Russian authors including Dostoveysky and Tolstoy, and highlights the fact that Nikolai Gogol's short story The Overcoat has played a defining role in influencing the course of Russian literature.

When uttered by Ashoke in the film, it takes on a completely different meaning. It underscores the reason of conflict in young Gogol's mind, it justifies the title. At the point when this scene appears in the film, we do not know (unless we've already read Jhumpa Lahiri's eponymous book) what Ashoke means till a crucial scene between the father and son in the car much later. Suddenly, we know the reason behind Gogol's name - it's just not what you (as well as the protagonist, Gogol, in the film) thought all along - his daaknaam (pet name) is Gogol not simply because Nikolai Gogol is his father's favorite author.

Jhumpa Lahiri's Gogol Ganguli suffers from a strange identity crisis because "not only does (he) have a pet name turned good name, but a last name turned first name". Mira Nair's Gogol has the same crisis, but we don't witness that as explicitly. In Mira Nair's world we don't see Gogol's parents having a tough time trying to explain to his teacher why he should be called by his bhalonaam (good name) in school; we get only a brief glimpse into his frustration when he finds out that his namesake almost fits the definition of a 'loser'; and we don't see the delightful moment when the adolescent Gogol first introduces himself to a girl by his 'good name', which infuses in him a curious sense of courage to experience his first kiss.

The beauty, however, is that though Mira Nair had to omit a lot of events from the book and change a few, she has brilliantly captured the spirit of the book, thereby making her version as heart warming as the book.

Scriptwriters Sooni Taraporewala and Mira Nair deserve the credit for writing a screenplay that falls into that so-very-rare category of adaptations that do complete justice to the original book. I would go a step further and declare that the film is slightly better than the book. If the book was primarily about Gogol, the film is about the Ganguli family. One gets so involved in the trials and tribulations of the Ganguli family that one doesn't mind the length of the film. In fact, one almost wishes that the film could go on a bit more so that we could see what happens next in Gogols' life, or Ashima's or Sonia's.

Yes, it wasn't possible for Mira or Sooni to capture the entire book on film. So you do have some things that are omitted, or presented cursorily in the film. In one of the scenes early on, Ashima is shown preparing a snack by mixing some peanuts, salt and chilly powder with rice crispies. It's an interesting scene, but we miss an important aspect that what she is preparing is "a humble approximation of the snack sold pennies on Calcutta sidewalks..." that is, Jhaalmuri. The line in quotes is from the book. How does one translate that on screen?

And yes, there are also some minor changes. One that works wonderfully is the scene where Gogol gets his head shaved off after his father's death. The barber dances to rap music while shaving Gogol's hair. This accentuates the theme of culture clash that runs all though the film. For the barber it's a sort of fashion statement, whereas for Gogol it's a life changing moment - "his atonement". In the book, Gogol doesn't shave his head. The other significant change is the setting of the film itself - changed from Boston to New York for purely cinematic reason. New York's Queensboro bridge, when contrasted with Kolkata's Howrah bridge, symbolizes Ashima's quest for settlement in a foreign land.

As Mira has herself admitted, this is her most personal film. And that, in my opinion, makes this her most accomplished film yet. Since she could herself relate to the story and the characters of the book, she has successfully captured the essence of the book on film. Also, she has been able to lend some extremely fine directorial touches by adding the scenes with small elements that do not necessarily appear in the book but add more weight to the depiction of cultural differences. For example, the uncomfortable twitch that glides through Ashima's face when Gogol's girlfriend, Maxine, addresses her by her first name. Or when during Ashoke's eleventh day mourning ceremony, Maxine dressed in black stands in stark contrast amidst all other mourners who are dressed in white.

What makes The Namesake work is not only the script or Mira Nair's warm direction, but also the strong performances by the main actors. Irrfan Khan as Ashoke Ganguly gets under the skin of his character and it's difficult to imagine that he's not a Bengali, so perfect is his accent and body language. Tabu struggles a bit with the Bengali accent, but her knock-out performance more than makes up for it. In my opinion, it's a truly Oscar-worthy performance. Watch her in the scene where she finds out about her husband's death - absolutely heartbreaking! Kal Penn as Gogol is a revelation. So far one has only seen him in some goofy, eminently forgettable role in utterly forgettable comic films. This is the film that gives him an opportunity to show his dramatic side, and that side, mind you, looks quite promising.

What I found most interesting was the point the book (and also the film) alludes to quite subtly: that cultural affinity is not enough for a relationship to work. Gogol marriage to Moushumi - a Bengali - collapses, while his sister Sonia finds an almost perfect partner in Ben - a half-Jewish, half-Chinese. This by itself can be the theme for a whole new book and a film. Will Jhumpa Lahiri and Mira Nair oblige?

P.S.: How can I resist from my usual nit-picking? In the scene at the Kolkata railway station in 1974, a hoarding of IndusInd Bank sneaks into the frame from behind the luggage on the coolie's head. Isn't it true that IndusInd Bank started exactly two decades later in 1994?

Movie Review: Nishabd

Aditya Pant — Sun, 4 Mar 2007 00:15:19 EST

People think I'm crazy when I name my favourite Ram Gopal Varma film. It's not Shiva (the original), not Satya, not Sarkar, not Company, not even Rangeela or Bhoot...but Naach - a film that tanked so badly at the box-office that nobody even remembers when it was released. Even though this puts me in the company of maybe just around half a dozen people on this planet, I still stand by that movie. I've never come across a Hindi film so simple in terms of storyline, yet so complex and nuanced in terms of its texture and treatment. The relationship between the protagonists and their interaction is so cleverly and realistically unstructured that it doesn't seem like a film at all...

What the hell am I doing praising Naach, when I should be writing about Nishabd? Well, I see a lot of similarities between the two flicks. They don't seem to belong to the typical RGV genre (if there is any such thing); both the films are thin on plot and focus primarily on the relationships between the protagonists.

Most significantly, they both defy convention - either through the character of Rewa in Naach, or the storyline itself in Nishabd. Yet, Nishabd fails to dislodge Naach from the top of my list of RGV films.

That's not to say that Nishabd is a bad film - not at all. In fact, I really liked the film. But while RGV, like his Howard Roarkian protagonist Rewa, stayed clear of any form of compromise in Naach, he seems to have compromised a lot in Nishabd - something one doesn't expect from a maverick like him. I'll get to the compromises later.

In my opinion, Nishabd is a fairly well-made film. RGV tackles an unconventional theme - I won't call it bold, at least not bold enough - with remarkable ease. The director uses his signature style of very tight close-ups to great effect. Of course, the camera cannot enter the minds of the characters, but it comes very close. Through every minute expression, every twitch of the facial muscles, it shows you what the characters are thinking and feeling. And if you have an actor like Amitabh Bachchan, that only heightens the impact.

The absence of a plot actually works to the film's advantage. The film moves forth in a languorous fashion, which can be irritating to some viewers, but for me it worked well. It gave me all the time to witness and reflect upon the events as they lazily unfolded themselves. It gave me the time to savour the subtle directorial touches.

Yes, it also gave me enough opportunity to think about what could have been done differently. But that's precisely what I expect from a fulfilling movie-going experience - an opportunity to watch a movie at an emotional as well as a rational level: from the heart as well as the head.

The director opts for blue as the predominant color in the palette he uses to paint his vision of a May-November romance between his lead characters Vijay (Amitabh Bachchan) and Jiah (Jiah Khan). Each and every scene, even when it captures the breathtakingly beautiful and lush locales of Munnar, is bathed in a blue hue. Now that's an interesting color for a tale like this.

At the most obvious level, blue stands for romance and in that respect seems completely harmonious with the theme. If we really get into various kinds of symbolisms, blue also stands for virtues like truth, honesty and fidelity. And that's a delightful contrast from what we see in the relationship between Vijay and Amrita (Revathy). I can't say what RGV's real idea behind using this colour was, maybe I'm seeing too much into a device used merely to present a pretty picture, but to me it opens up a number of interesting possibilities.

Interestingly, elements of incongruity crop up in other areas as well - whether it's the quirky camera movement or the very out-of-character background music. While the story itself moves at a leisurely pace, the camera moves all over the place almost in an intrusive fashion. Ditto for the brilliant background music by Amar Mohile - the hammering, thriller-like background score is in perpetual conflict with the sensitivity of romance on the screen.

I don't take these incongruities as faults, though I must admit they were quite distracting at times. I thought that the very fact that they were in stark contrast with the film itself was an interesting way to depict the inner conflict of the characters. Rules of conventional filmmaking would say that the camera movements and music should be in tune with what's being depicted on film, but when has RGV followed rules or conventions?

Now for the compromises - RGV clearly shies away from including any sexual angle to this unusual love story. Given the way the unashamedly voyeuristic camera (and to an extent the writing) has a field day presenting Jiah Khan as a sex object - the extra-short dresses, the wet scene (ah, this predilection of Hindi commercial filmmakers for showing heroines getting wet in a white saree!! Only, the white saree gets replace by a white shirt worn over an almost non existent pair of shorts), over-emphasis on showing her naked legs, and Jiah Khan's defiantly sexual demeanour - it is certain that the director had all the intentions of showing lust as the trigger for the relationship, but probably had to compromise on that aspect because of the demigod status of his lead actor.

This is one area where the disconnect between the technique and the content works to the film's detriment. The story would have been much more interesting and realistic if this aspect had been adequately explored. Much as I am in absolute awe of Amitabh Bachchan and think that his performance in Nishabd is one of his finest, I can't help admitting that his presence in the film dilutes the impact of the film. RGV clearly develops cold feet and refrains from adding any dirty thoughts into his male protagonist's mind; yet his camera is not quite convinced and continues to explore the baser emotions.

The other big compromise that RGV had to make also stems from trying to show Vijay in a more favorable light. There was no reason to add that monologue justifying/ rationalizing the attraction between a 60 year old man and an 18 year old kid - "an old man gets attracted to a young girl because he wants to hold on to his youth" - Phew!. I strongly believe that love, even when it is triggered by lust, does not always have a straight-forward reason, but is in fact a very complex psychological thing that cannot always be rationalized.

It is here that you just can't help thinking that the film definitely needed to take its title seriously: some things are better left unsaid - Nishabd.