When The Lights Go Out

I was at the cinemas again last night. Imtiaz Ali's Highway was being much talked about. It wouldn't matter if it weren't, by the way. You will find me at the cinemas on a Friday night in any case. When I walked out of the film, I was hardly wondering whether it was a good film or not. One hundred film critics have usually done their job before we are allowed to form an independent opinion about a film anyway.
I was not even utterly disappointed by the fact that some people uninterested in the movie felt it was within their due right to ruin the movie-watching experience for people seated around them. It was not the first or last time such an incident occurred, so no surprises there. In fact, I have lately been bordering on paranoia every time I enter a hall. Will the person sitting behind me be kind enough not to kick my seat? Is there a chance a conference call will not occur during the movie? Will the attention-deficient be willing to take their antics out on the street instead?
Last night was no exception. The expected phone call and the ensuing conversation started pronto. These were followed by lewd comments at the actress, giggles and yes, those regular kicks in others' seats. Polite resistance was met with vehement defiance, and the cycle continued as anticipated. This could have been dismissed as a routine affair until we arrived at a reference by the filmmaker to child abuse. A long monologue by the victim on her trauma as an abused child was returned with louder giggles and more tasteless remarks. Hapless, serious movie-watchers threatened the miscreants with an official complaint.
"But chill no, this is such a bakwaas movie. Why so serious?" - Seriously. This explanation is offered. At some level, I sympathize with the people who say this. But an alternate argument is that you do not deserve quality cinema in the first place. Cinema, like any other form of art, involves art and passion, and you are free to hate what you are dished out. But a possible solution to your misery is "Stay clear of the multiplexes."
"Kya maal hai." - Child sexual abuse is not unheard of. We all know about it. The trouble is, knowing about it is not the same as understanding it. When we know about it, we know that we must write about it on the social network, condemn the most recent rape at the next cocktail party we are at, and if time permits stage a dharna at India Gate in a show of solidarity. That will ensure we have our holier-than-thou image all sorted. Then we can go to the movies with a clean conscience, wait for the lights to go out, and then express what we really feel about matters that matter. The answer I gathered from yesterday's experience was "Sahi maal hai."
"But the Indian mentality will not change." Exactly. Slim chance. But the real reason is, we are the Indian mentality. You and I, who exercise their right to entertainment at the cost of several others who have coughed up the same cost for a movie ticket. Or a seat in a train. Or the painted walls of our housing society. Today we have a party wielding a broom. Tomorrow we might have one that wields a magic wand. Rest assured, our dilemma will always be that we are, indeed, the dirt that we want cleaned up.
So the next time you feel the urge to lament over the sorry state of affairs around you, make sure you wait for the lights to go out. What lies beneath that face hidden in the dark will be the answer you are looking for.

Little thrills, Mama!



It doesn't come easy for makers of horror films. How many plot devices, after all, can one use to scare people? A vindictive ghostess, a spooky folk legend, or Sherlyn Chopra's Playboy photoshoot at the most. (In Vikram Bhatt's films you can add two extra angles: custard-smeared faces and Vikram Bhatt himself). Mama, on the other hand, has an interesting if recycled storyline. But the mediocrity of the thrills in the film leaves a lot to be desired.
The first of the film's positives is that it doesn't indulge in typical horror foreplay such as phony dream sequences and eerie stares from strangers on the road. Five minutes into the film, you get the first glimpse of the spirit in question. Also, the story centres around two orphaned girls who could really impart some ace acting skills to that overacting beach-ball shaped kid of Bhootnath. They hold fort with their innocent lisps as well as with their cold, empty gazes at the scariest moments on the film. Unfortunately, that's the best this film has to offer.
Mama is symbolic of the spirit of a mentally challenged woman who takes over the custody of two orphaned sisters after their bankrupt father leaves them in the woods to die. Their uncle Lucas (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) and his rocker girlfriend Anabel (Jessica Chastain who is even hotter than her tat sleeve) find them in terribly mutated conditions five years later and take them home. The rest of the story is as simplistic as one can fear: Mama still wants her babies. So she makes weird lullaby noises throughout the film, scares the hell out of poor Anabel, deals Lucas a coma, and bumps off a clueless doctor. Worst, the film ends in such a bizarre fashion you are only left contemplating why the girls' father waited five years before visiting his brother in a dream, asking him to rescue the same daughters he had himself once tried to kill.

 

 



Of flashy cars and tasteless jokes

This is bad. You walk in to the film expecting certain class, style and a script. Actually no, haha, this is Abbas-Mastan, the Surf Excel duo who made Akshay Kumar go "Do you think I am a male prostitute?" in Aitraaz. Hahahaha, class is ruled out. Style could well be ruled out too, basis those tasteless fruity jokes in the first edition of the Race franchise. But a script? How difficult was it to be "loosely inspired" by Dachimawa Lee or something (who knows, maybe it is) and then label it as new age cinema with "a script that demanded skin show"? But, no. The Surf Excel men decided to make Race-2, which has nothing to do with any race, by the way - except an unnecessarily thrown in race course scene which makes no sense. So here's what Race 2 is all about (I think):
Street fighter turned casino kingpin Armaan Malik (John Abraham) owns some crazy number of casinos where he gambles all day long. His half-sister Elena (Deepika Padukone) plays naughty by putting on some damn rare glasses that help change the cards her brother is dealing, or something like that. Not important. Somewhere in the lobby, thief-cum-random-fencing-player Omisha (Jacqueline Fernandez) is picking people's pockets (again not relevant). In comes mean boy Ranveer (Saif) whose profession we know nothing about because he drives Lamborghinis and dons Gucci glares, so it's all fine. The "Race" begins when Ranveer asks old friend RD (Anil Kapoor) and his arm-candy Cherry (Amisha Patel) to help him con Armaan because he wants revenge for the death of his woman.
And then come the unnecessary twists. Elena has a one-night stand with Ranveer (reason not explained). Ranveer gladly obliges in the name of revenge (convenient). Omisha promises to side with Ranveer but sides with Armaan instead. Armaan knows Ranveer's plans but pretends he doesn't know. Ranveer knows Armaan knows his plans but pretends he doesn't know that Armaan knows. Armaan tries blowing up Ranveer's car with, ahem, a speed-sensor bomb (which indeed, Ranveer detaches from the speeding car and it still doesn't blow up in his divine hands). Elena tells Ranveer that bomb was to blow her up and not Ranveer, because actually Armaan wants to kill his half-sister as well. Elena sides with Ranveer, then sides with Armaan again. < Also, insert one random wrestling bout and ten thousand cheap jokes on fruits between RD and Cherry >. By the time the climax is unfolding, you are left with only one question: WHAT PLANE HAS SUCH SHITTY WINDOWS THAT SHATTER WHEN A SEAT BAR HITS THEM?
The good news is the movie finally ended. The bad news is the closing line hinted at yet another possible sequel. I just hope it doesn't make it to the 100-crore club. It could shatter the dreams of a million hopeful storytellers in the country.

Table Number Wobbly

Table No. 21

Cast: Rajeev Khandelwal, Tena Desae, Paresh Rawal, and a man who just won't speak
Direction: Aditya Datt

A financially distressed couple wins a jackpot holiday to Fiji, they get so excited with all the unexpected luxury that they lose their minds and find themselves in trouble when a resort owner invites them to play the randomest game ever on the face of the earth and they find nothing odd in it.
The nice part about this movie is that it doesn't stretch into the third hour. The sad part is that it is a movie in the first place.
Vivaan (Rajeev Khandelwal) and Siya (Tena Desae) are holidaying pretty in Fiji when they learn of a surprise lunch at an exotic resort as part of their package. The resort's owner Khan (poor Paresh Rawal) invites them to play a game that will go live on his website that is apparently very popular and keeps getting a million hits just like that. And because our lead actors are so smart, they just don't think it important to consider shady secrets of the game - what's the name of the website? Where do you get that crazy amount of money to hand over to your winners? WHAT'S YOUR REAL PROFESSION, BOSS? Because hey, there is an insane number of crores to be won. In a game that has no sponsors, only the resort owner, his mute assistant, and a handful of resort staff. Also, Khan has a very weird hairstyle; some sort of snake on his head. Mental side-effects of hosting such a crazy game, maybe.
What starts as a fun game turns into living hell when our innocent participants realize post intermission that their host is some sort of lunatic, because that was totally not evident to us already. Eight childish Roadiesesque tasks and countless cheap imitations of The Hunger Games later, we also get a social message in the end that has us in tears - because we can't stand the film any more.
Boring and sloppy, this film doesn't even have performances to boast of. Rajeev Khandelwal looks bored. Tena Desae looks as fresh as she did in The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and that's the best compliment one can give her. As for Paresh Rawal, as an ardent fan I can only say, "Oh My God!"

Agent, V NO Decode This Randomness!

Film: Agent Vinod
Cast: Saif Ali Khan, Kareena Kapoor and a badass camel
Direction: Sriram Raghavan
Rating: 1/5

Bang! Boom! Sandstorm. Camels. Unrealistic fight sequences with an army of Afghan soldiers. More camels. Cheesy dialogue exchange in the middle of a tense, life-threatening scenario. Camels galore. One cool, glib spy outclasses every bad guy within a hundred-mile radius of him. Cut to Russia. Repeat sequence.
If you have held on to your nerves until this point, you are set for a few good laughs (obviously unintentional) through the length of this supposed action thriller. It all begins with a Bihari officer (Ravi Kishen) trying to go undercover as a Russian bodyguard...anyway.
Agent Vinod (Saif Ali Khan), a RAW officer, is country-hopping to bust an apparent global nuclear conspiracy. Needless to say, he is so cool that he saunters across high-security hotel lobbies without letting the conspirators sitting right in front of him get a whiff of the shenanigans he is up to. Also, he is so awesome that he can bump off rifle-toting gangsters with hairpins while playing poker in a pub. En route this painfully long journey, he meets Iram (Kareena Kapoor), a bomber-cum-Pakistani intelligence officer-cum-wannabe doctor (it doesn't matter till the very end what she really was). Iram, despite being completely uncertain of Vinod's motives, and despite certainly being aware that he is a RAW agent, is nice enough to take him sight-seeing in Morocco. When they are done with all the frivolity, she tells him she is "on his side" and is looking for exactly the same thing as he is - the detonator to a nuclear bomb. Half-a-dozen exotic locales and scores of unexplained killings later, we see that the nuclear bomb, in fact, is something that looks like a classical Punjabi hand pump that needs a password to be disarmed. Never mind that. If you are optimistic enough, there is still a ray of desperate hope that the director will do a Johnny Gaddaar and give you a delectable twist on the motive and the masterminds of the entire conspiracy. Sadly, the unraveling is the most contrived and over-exploited plot point you'd have seen in recent times.
To add to your misery, you have those moments of coolness which don't make sense at all - Mr. Agent asking for a chilled beer as his death wish, Mr. Agent landing on a nuptial bed with Ms. Agent during a chase sequence and asking her to marry him, and corny one liners like kuch paane ke liye kuch khaana padta hai. A pity, this. If only half the wit used in the dialogue department were used to craft a logical story, we'd have had a thing or two to look forward to.

Agneepath - Great roast, could've been crispier

Film: Agneepath
Cast: Hrithik Roshan, Sanjay Dutt, Rishi Kapoor, Priyanka Chopra, Zarina Wahab
Direction: Karan Malhotra
Value: 3.5/5

Firstly, if the question 'But is he even a patch on Amitabh Bachchan?' is playing on your mind, you probably want to leave this page. Such comparisons are unfair and silly. For everyone else, Agneepath is a smooth, intelligent revival of its 1990 version with minor modifications such as the regrettable absence of the Krishnan Iyer character.
Vijay Chauhan (Hrithik Roshan), who plays Zarina Wahab's estranged son, has been plotting to get even with his father's killer Kancha Cheena (Sanjay Dutt) for the last fifteen years. And he hatches a smart plan to do so, using Mumbai's dreaded slumlord and flesh-trader Rauf Lala (Rishi Kapoor) as a pawn. In the midst of the entire mire of the drug world he gets into, Vijay finds solace in his childhood companion Kaali (Priyanka Chopra) and an unsolicited-advice-doling godfather in ACP Gaitonde.
In what would otherwise have been a trite revenge saga, what stands out is probably the best performance I've ever seen Rishi Kapoor deliver. Despite the fact that he can't help looking like a cute teddy bear, he manages to make you hate him alright, and with flair. Sanjay Dutt sans the Desi Shrek look is what you have most certainly seen before of him, and he might have shone as much as his pate in the film if it weren't for a far superior act by Rishi Kapoor. And of course, Hrithik Roshan essays the "nice bad guy" role effortlessly and brilliantly too.
Of course, there are some things I am still seeking an honest explanation for. How does a brown-eyed twelve year-old turn into a green-eyed twenty-seven year old? If there is a science behind the phenomenon, I now know why I never understood biology as a subject. Also, Deven Bhojani is completely wasted as the mute child of Rauf Lala, for think about it - you didn't really need that character, did you? Or maybe you did, if you at least showed an angle of Vijay's brotherly love towards the younger Lala and his resulting angst while plotting against Lala Senior. Sadly, the Bhojani angle vanished without a trace, leaving one wondering about its purpose in the first place.
Beyond the minor goof-ups, the film also has a painfully slow climax, giving you the kind of feeling that you are stuck in an upward-bound elevator that stops at every floor. Don't even begin to analyze where Vijay Chauhan gets his energy to heave up a beach-ball sized Sanjay Dutt up the banyan tree when he has been stabbed repeatedly with a butcher's knife. Total Mahindra Bolero type of toughness, what.
But here's the final word: Agneepath is a fast-paced action flick with an entertainment quotient that should hopefully set the mood right for cinema in 2012. And if you don't concur, I have only two words for you: Chikni Chameli.

J. Edgar - A deft sketch

Film: J. Edgar
Cast: Leonardo DiCaprio, Armie Hammer, Judy Dench, Naomi Watts
Direction: Clint Eastwood
Value: 4/5

Just how much creative flexibility can a writer or a filmmaker exercise while attempting a biopic? (Without getting incredibly boring, like say, Milk?) Limited, if any. But an apt pace and reasonably comprehensible screenplay can still manage to rivet your attention. Just like Clint Eastwood does with J. Edgar.
The story of FBI's founder, J. Edgar Hoover, talks of his maverick ways with the institution and in his dealings with crime during The Great Depression and beyond, with flair. The story flits smoothly between an aged FBI chief narrating "his version" of the story of FBI's coming into its own, and the past journey of a lonely, asocial officer into a chief determined to safeguard the very existence of an institution.
Beautiful. Also, it is very exciting to know that Leonardo DiCaprio has after long essayed a character that does not lose his mental balance right through the end of the film. That is impressive indeed. I call that a "daringly different role". Also, the homosexual tension between Edgar (Leonardo DiCaprio) and Clyde (Armie Hammer) has been depicted subtly (thank God) without unnecessary Bhandarkarizations and jelly jokes. But the scenes that really take your heart away are the ones between Edgar and his mother (Judy Dench). A simple, oft repeated phrase, "Yes, mother" speaks enough about the equation between a disciplinarian mother and an obedient son. Add to that a charming sequence where a mother who fears her son's wavering sexual tendencies teaches him how to dance with women.
The major question is: What was Naomi Watts doing in the film? I mean, yes, there might have been a Helen Gandy, but Naomi Watts? To open doors and make phone calls to usher a doctor in? There is an obvious misfit there. Also, who was the old Clyde's make-up artist please? I almost thought you were making fun of the film with that makeover.