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Archive for bollywood
August 18, 2007 at 6:39 pm · Filed under bollywood
Chak De India is, what SRK could call, a masterstroke.
Forget the whole patriotism thing it has going for itself, this is a movie that raises the bar for other flicks that try. This is work worthy of praise by the guy who gave us Ab Tak Chappan, and it doesn’t try too hard to be artistic, or mainstream. It’s just there, it’s an honest narrative and it proves a point: a good story when told well can entertain, period, without really the need for bikini-clad sex-Sherawats as fillers.
Kabir Khan (SRK) is the captain of the national hockey side, and oops - he misses a penalty stroke against Pakistan in an all-important final. The media manufacture treason, and Khan is soon under the microscope. Eventually, he’s tagged a traitor, and it’s done oh-so-filmi - chalked on the Khan’s residence - before he leaves in a tearless farewell.
We fast-forward seven years. Khan is back, applying for the God-forsaken post of the women’s hockey team coach. Why? To regain the lost pride, etc. No major motivational speech to rope Khan in, mercifully, as he puts forward his case. The women’s hockey board, of course, have nothing to lose, having little faith in their team’s ability. That leaves Khan and his new beard in the company of sixteen girls from around the country, literally, as he begins his harsh mentorship. Sadly for the girls, this isn’t a coach, it’s an authoritarian, a dictator - King Khan at his stringent best - as he makes them toil hard, both mentally and physically, instilling them with confidence and inspiring them with the pep-talk.
Yes, it does get shaky, but Khan prevails, taking the team into the World Championship, not before they had to play a match against their male counterparts to prove their worth. The World Championship, of course, is the big showdown, as Khan guides them nicely with victory after victory, and in the ‘bharatiya nari running around in knickers for their win’, Kabir Khan tries to win the hearts of people. Again.
Unfortunately for director Shimit Amin, when you do decide on a sports flick, something of this nature, you have to compromise on a lot. The end is all too obvious, and rather predictable, but the journey throughout was more than enjoyable, and that’s where he scores. The final moments of Chak De India actually grip you, although you know the end result at the back of your mind. More than anything, I loved this flick for the honesty - there is no real overdone masala talk, no item tracks, no I’m-going-through-a-depression parallel narratives, absolutely no dilution of the sort. It figures - at just over two and a half hours running time, it’s made an impact. The girls do their bits pretty well, and although not all of them hog the screen, there are a few prominent players, namely Chitrashi Rawat as Komal Chautala, Shilpa Shukla as Bindia Naik and Sagarika Ghatge as Preeti Sabarwal. Did I mention Sagarika’s hot? Nope? Okay, here goes - she is.
But, hello, this is a welcome surprise, a Yash Raj flick with no lover boy Khan? And wow, I mean wow, King Khan can act. Disarmingly so convincing, that even those witty one-liners which ought to have had no place in the script is delivered with such precision. Chak De doesn’t try too hard to remain subtle throughout, and there are flaws and the clichés, but he makes them all believable, and proves yet again why he ought to do more roles like these and Swades.
Oh, and the most important factor that deserves mention, either Khan puts up a real phenomenal act or he really loves hockey, or both - because it shows on-screen. The bloke belongs to the field.
So if you haven’t watched it yet, buck up. Best film around patriotism in theaters this year, and a Bible for Indian film-makers who want to make sportflicks.
*****
August 4, 2007 at 6:25 pm · Filed under bollywood
Cash is for the contemporary - period.
It’s got everything that metro guys would drool over - cars, gadgets, bikes, skateboards, muscle. The fact that the women aren’t exactly overclothed - and they pack a punch because these are chicks that kick, and kick hard - you’d think there’s incentive to sit through this after all.
Tell you what - in the process of making this super-sleek and extra-trendy, they kinda over-peppered this with stunts that evoke a half-wow, without really focusing on the execution. Not that the idea is very original - we’ve seen enough heist movies to last a lifetime - but Cash actually had potential, because it’s got a half-decent cast.
For some strange reason, the flick regularly switches to animation, whether it’s introducing the main characters or some oh-so-deadly stunts. Yeah, probably that’s it - perhaps the stunts were too tough to be filmed, so the folks pushed in an animation or two. Either ways, it’s a tad irritating when overdone, and let’s not even get into the fact that Riteish Deskmukh’s animated counterpart is blonde. Go figure.
That isn’t it - there are a number of chunks of idiocy. Forget the fact that the names of the characters include ‘Doctor’ and ‘Uncle’, how the hell are we expected to believe a near Z-level security not firing at a thief, but instead, running behind him (and occasionally, beside him) like Tom would after Jerry? Silly, really, and the only difference was that T&J entertained. Cash, pitifully, doesn’t.
Did I mention errors? There really are loopholes - for instance, what does the protagonist do when his girlfriend’s car is rigged to blow, and she’s about to leave home? Anyone sane would think that he’d buzz her and ask her to stay put - but heck, no, dude in question decides to race past downtown traffic and park his butt right next to the aforementioned mobile-bomb before screaming a huge ‘No!’.
… er, hello?
But this is a review, not a documented version of Cash’s flaws. Although it beats me - why in the world would such a fast movie had to be forced through scenes that just drag? One moment, there are a couple of Z-series BMWs drifting, screeching and screaming past like a bullet, the next moment, Dia Mirza sobs in the parking lot - she sniffs and goes, ‘I trusted you’, while I stifle a yawn and the audience goes berserk with laughter. The movie, of course, comes to a full-stop. It’s like a Merc went past you at over 100 and just braked ahead of you on a freeway.
And trust me, when you cry on-screen and when the audience laughs at that, something must be wrong somewhere, Miss Asia Pacific.
Stupidly, I had expectations from the second half, only to be shattered miserably. There’s no real method to the madness, it gets predictable, the ’suspense’ factor is pretty much missing, and the dialogue is overmouthed with a rather lame attempt at evoking laughter. Even Riteish Deshmukh’s kabadi act is done to death, and that really sums up the flick - overdone.
Personally, I think Cash tried to get alarmingly close to an insatiable combination of some of Hollywood’s top heist flicks. It’s a smart movie - there’s an attempt at wit (an attempt, I repeat), the plot makes sense, the cops are armed with snipers, the cars are contemporary, the stunts are awesome, and even the traffic signals get hacked - not that we should be drawing comparisons to The Italian Job. The performances, unfortunately, aren’t worthy of mention. The cars did more, seriously.
Like I said, if you’re the kind of guy who drools over BMWs and a generous skin-show of the lead women (and that is more than worthy a mention) then you might just like this flick. Apart from the hot bods - in particular, the well-toned pair of legs that holds Shamita Shetty’s sexier frame, a pair for which I awarded an extra star - there really wasn’t much in this movie that I’d smile about.
Barring the music, of course. I usually twitch when I hear a Hinglish soundtrack, but then again, I’m a Vishal Shekhar loyalist - sue me - and the title track is catchy. It gets your feet tapping, if not moving, no question.
Interestingly, this flick is actually a narrative in-person to an airline passenger that has a cute face and a sexy body that contradicts it. ‘Bubbly’ is what she is, and her surname sounds like a pillow. Pity she isn’t even mentioned in the credits, and that’s a crime in itself.
So what do you do? Go watch ‘Gandhi, my father’ of course. Because Cash isn’t worth it.
*****
August 1, 2007 at 12:21 pm · Filed under bollywood, debates, movies
First, the facts out of the way, shall we? I love Aamir Khan, I’m a big fan, and I think he’s the nation’s best actor, coming second only to B. The other Khans (Sallu, SRK), and the Khanlets (Fardeen, Zayed), and even the nanokhans (Arbaaz, Sohail, Jiya?) can take a walk in the park. This is the real performer. Don’t mess, enough said.
Aamir’s blog is him unplugged. And the bloke makes sense, loads of it. However, I tend to disagree with a couple, and exactly a couple of points here.
The market strength that I get from a film like FANAA allows me to do this (make films where he conveys a message from his heart). Plus I enjoyed doing FANAA. I am walking this balance and I am enjoying this journey.
Balance? I call it dilution, when you - as a star performer - ought to invest your time and effort entirely, and entirely, into producing quality cinema. If indeed, your dream is to make movies like Mangal Pandey, then go ahead and have the guts to do it. So what, if it wasn’t a success? You aren’t living on crumbs are you? I sense in him the fact that he’s taken it for granted - mainstream cinema ropes in the moolah.
With that attitude - coming from the best performer around - the gap between mainstream and art will never be bridged. Black tried. Parzania tried. Omkara tried. Why, even Morning Raaga tried.
His other comment on mainstream media made me think as well.
In my opinion the PRIMARY responsibility of cinema is to entertain.
Absofreakinlutely, but hello - there is serious potential in those very three hours of entertainment that you can use, that you can exploit, to rid the nation of it’s problems. Yes, people forget all their worries and come to watch a flick. They laugh and cry. But what happens after that? Where’s the impact? Where’s the footprint? Hit-and-run flicks will get us nowhere except for boosting popcorn sales, Aamir. Bollywood can change the way the country thinks, and they know it.
So, does this mean I like him less now? On the contrary, my respect for this great individual just shot up. Why? Okay, I’ll let you answer this: how many celebrities do you know actually sit and blog, and talk to their fans directly on a forum such as this?
Even the nanokhans wouldn’t.
July 6, 2007 at 10:42 pm · Filed under bollywood
Himesh has potential to revolutionize Indian cinema forever.
Why?
Because movies like Aap Kaa Surroor can actually provoke the audience to sue — and perhaps then, Bollywood will start showering us with entertainment, and hopefully cease to dump waste into the cinematic backyard.
Let me put it this way — when the villain points a revolver at the hero, and when the hero snatches it and points it back — and when *that* is the climax in today’s day and age — something went dreadfully wrong with the execution. Seriously.
Hence, I’m terribly disappointed with the ‘Real Love Story’ — on all three counts. Himesh, for starters, is as close to being ‘real’ as he is to being president. And the love? — sigh, romance was forced down the throat like pills on a reluctant patient. Oh — and the story — I’d be damned if I find it.
So where do we begin? The flick’s protagonist — HR (Himesh Reshammiya as himself, Lord have mercy) — a rock star whose face is pretty much accustomed to an extended I-smell-shit frown. He’s the ‘epitome of cool’, as the movie insists by making him touch his right year to indicate his displeasure at the crowd’s subdued response — before they erupt in hysteria. Yes, like every other ‘normal’ human being, he has his share of ups and downs — but luckily for him, he has Sravan (Sravan), best friend and business associate.
At the end of that concert, however, HR is arrested on charges of having murdered Nadia, a German journalist. While in jail — he looks away from the camera (as he does so often in the movie) and we’re presented with the flashback — 15 days back in time.
HR is in Germany for a few shows handled by the Khurana & Ruby. The filthy-rich Khurana (Darshan Jariwala) repeatedly verbalizes his philosophy — ‘paisa bolta hai’ (money talks), while Ruby (Mallika Sherawat) makes an entry in an outfit that showcases her USP. The duo is pleased to have HR and his partner in Germany, and are quite hospitable — in fact Ruby goes one step forward and suggests that HR can buzz her should he need anything at ‘any time of the day, or night’. Though Khurana says she’s Germany’s best Lawyer, we wonder — at that statement — if she’s doubles up as the nation’s best escort too. Khurana is hoping to get HR for a World Tour with his firm, but the latter declines as he’s already signed a contract. Even the sultry Ruby can’t seduce him into breaking his commitment. And stupidly, HR, who was quite pricey to admit that he’s in love with Riaa to his langoti-yaar Sravan, stands up and casually informs Ruby — ‘main Riaa se pyaar karta hoon’.
And with a straight face, he rubs in the emotional devastation, by adding: ’saccha pyaar!’. Wham! — flat trauma right through our heads.
While Sravan is a sucker for the opposite sex, Himesh is subtly sad — until he bumps into Riaa (Hansika Motwani), apparently the kind of girl that makes you recall the Gayatri Mantra, moreso as it’s her ringtone. So what if she’s dressed in a deep-neck pink outfit — HR visualizes her in a Salwaar-Khameez, and is bowled over. So what, if the on-screen chemistry is missing? Their eyes meet, they’re in love. So what, if their emotional bond seems as fake as the war in Iraq? So what if Riaa’s father objects to the relationship? They want to tie the knot, and that’s what matters. Eventually, the sane father (Sachin Khadekar) gives up.
Interestingly, ‘rock star’ HR doesn’t booze. Sravan, a fish in these matters, insists on just one drink to celebrate success, nearly doing a gay-pride act with a few hundred ‘tujhe meri kasam’s before HR gives in to the alcoholic. One becomes many, and HR is soon sloshed and can barely walk back home. That’s when Nadia enters his residence for the interview. The door closes — she screams, it’s the interval and I went to refill the popcorn pack, while mustering up the balls to stay on for a terrible second half.
– a half that’s best forgotten, because it’s just plain silly. Ruby sensibly offers to get HR out on bail, but the baseball-cap hero escapes — breaks out of a German jail with an ex-cop, steals a car — the works. He’s still convinced that he’s innocent, and tries to hunt down whoever framed him. This, while Riaa’s still-sensible father decides on her marriage elsewhere, giving HR a 24-hour deadline within which to prove his innocence. Nostradamus Reshammiya replies, oozing with confidence — ‘mujhe yakeen hai ke 24 ghante mein main apne aap ko beqasoor saabith karunga’ and walks away, the frown still stuck on his face, just like the cap on his head.
It gets sillier — for instance, the confused soul suddenly ‘trusts his gut-feeling’ to take Ruby into confidence. The pre-showdown has Himesh holding the real murderer’s weapon, the sole piece of evidence (a revolver) in the case. The murderer holds Riaa hostage, and gets Himesh to lose the gun, which he does so innocently by chucking it into the river. And Mr. Murderer is immediately convinced and lets Riaa go — no questions asked, no doubts whatsoever. Whew, that is some trust.
And yet, there are flaws I can’t cover in this review.
As far as the performances go, they all suck horribly, barring Sravan. Mallika does what she does best — speak less, reveal more, and Sravan offers something to giggle for in this methodless madness. If you mute out the nasals, the music is actually lovely, and I’m hoping some day that HR arranges a few high-bass peppy tracks. The lyrics, as is so common with Himesh, are redundant throughout the song — we get to hear Assalaam-Walaikum about a zillion times before he puts us out of our misery and the track ends.
And concluding with HR — he can only get better after this movie. In other words, this has got to be the worst Himesh we’ve ever seen. On the other hand, I hope he acts more often, that ought to reduce the rhinalgia he inflicts upon us.
One lone star for Mallika’s Mehbooba outfit — emerald green, leaving little to the imagination, and a slit as long as the Nile. Give this moviee — this near-abusive insult to cinema — one huge miss.
If you’ve seen it already, er — welcome to the after-life. Did you hang yourself too?
*****
June 20, 2007 at 10:40 pm · Filed under bollywood
Q: What’s worse than wasting 90 bucks on an awful work of cinema?
A: Living through the trauma.
Because, really, this is a joke. I was mistaken — thought YRF couldn’t get worse after Neal ‘N’ Nikki. Oops — they can.
It isn’t funny. It isn’t emotional. It’s silly, and it’s not even slapstick — just plain silly. Two-odd hours of absolute wastage, where cinema, art and entertainment are assassinated to a horrific death. The story is missing, and if it wasn’t for a recognizable cast, the execution would’ve gone begging too. The designer looks like he had a ball — with the costumes plummeting down from the heights of creativity to the depths of absurdity. Lime green shoes, for Pete’s sake?
Oh, the ‘plot’ (for lack of a better word). Ricky Thakural (AB Jr.) is a fun-loving Punjabi to his fingernails. Just that, we aren’t convinced, which is why we’re forced to consume a Punjabi-coated ‘Blimey’ every minute or so. And oh-so-coincidentally, he consistently bumps into Alvira Khan (Preity Zinta), before finally sharing a table at a London tube stop. He tries to sweet-talk — she thinks he’s a flirt, and shows him a ring.
‘Listen, I’m already engaged.’ in an accent that would do Posh Spice proud. But like everything else about JBJ, it’s damn artificial, and it’s bloody flawed.
And the Brit-wannabe follows suit, before they get into their respective narrations, on how they met their soul mates — and the works. Ricky starts with his fiancé, Anaida (Lara Dutta) — French, plastic and dressed in little. Hotel Manager at the Ritz. A song is thrown in, Ticket to Hollywood — and it makes you cry in anguish. Sign numero uno of bunking the rest of the flick. I had guts and coffee for company — I stayed back.
And just when sanity was restored, Alvira starts off with her tale. Steve Singh (Bobby Deol) — a lawyer who saves her from a Superman statue that nearlly fell and creamed her at Madame Tussaud’s. She sues, they win — and predictably, they’re together in love. Another song, ‘Kiss of Love’, and while I wonder what other emotion deserves a kiss, there’s a hint or two in the lyrics:
‘Oh teri aankhon mein jab bhi jhaakun
Mein saaans atak jati hai
Oye band karle oye bandkar yaara
daka dalti di aankhein
Kiss of love, Kiss of love, Stay away from the Kiss of love’
(damn right — we should’ve just stayed away — but I stayed on)
Post-interval, JBJ crashes to absolute crap. Because, oops — spoiler warning — Ricky and Alvira fall for each other. And they try and work it out. Just that, they got to lose their — another spoiler — fabricated partners.
And that’s what JBJ is all about. Fabrication. Nothing substantial, really, because this isn’t a movie. It isn’t. Maybe it’s an extended ramp-walk of four stars, the costumes having enough colors to fill an all-time Wikipedia list. And they’re mixed and matched like never before. Or maybe, JBJ is a showcase for Big B’s refreshing and rather ridiculously bizarre get-up (albeit pleasant — in the context, mind you).
But a movie, it’s not, and for the very reason, deserves more than a miss. AB Jr. makes the ride somewhat acceptable until the first half, and Bobby Deol in the second was passable. Preity does what is expected of her — act silly, while Lara’s just about eye-candy. The support cast hang around for a bit — but there isn’t anything with substance.
The music by SEL, shockingly, is awful, barring the title track. Perhaps, the filmmakers realized this — and the song was played oh-so-many times, reused and abused until we puked and screamed ‘mercy!’. And honestly, somehow I felt Daler Mehndi should’ve sung it after all.
In the closing moments, we got Big B laughing like a madman, looking at newspapers, comics and correlating them with the ‘plot’. And it hits him, he laughs like a madman. At wit’s end, really — like the rest of us.
Worst movie thing in theatres this year, and heck, I’d be damned if it deserves a single star. Hate-mail is welcome, indeed.
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