Outlook is debating if it is India's worst year yet. NDTV is calling it a year best forgotten. India Today has put a splash of blood on its year-end special. On a lighter note, Radio Mirchi is calling it Do hazaar-Vaat!
Clearly, 2008 is a year every one is waiting for to end. And take the blood & gore with it.
I see 2008 as The Year Trust Died.
We thought Sensex can only go up. We thought Lehmann Brothers employed some of the smartest business minds of world. We thought the Taj lobby was the poshest and safest place in the entire country. We thought Citi never sleeps. We thought our employers will never fire us. Hell, we even thought Rahul Dravid will never fail.
And each one of our symbols of faith crumbled. And if they didn't, they looked suspiciously susceptible.
This year, I did some unexpected - but eagerly awaited - things.
I did not participate in one of the best quiz shows on television - Bollywood Ka Boss. But that's because I contributed questions to it!
I wrote the end-notes for the English translation of two Satyajit Ray books, published under the Puffin imprint. Do take a look if you spot the books.
I visited the homes of Shakespeare, Holmes and Cricket.
And I watched my son going from a cute one-year old to a devilish two-year old.
But to keep a two-year tradition (thank god, I did not call it heritage!) going, I will try to collate my favourites from the year... in no particular order, in no particular category. Just to remember them later.
The Blaft Anthology of Tamil Pulp Fiction had a picture of a gun-toting, cleavage-baring damsel on its cover. It totally lived up to its promise. Detective couples. Past lives. Corrupt politicians. Drug rackets in colleges. Office romance. If you liked 1970s Bollywood, you will love the book.
Jhumpa Lahiri wrote about the same stories yet again. But like the way we never tire of listening to the same stories about very good friends, I remained hooked on to Unaccustomed Earth till the very end.
We Are Like That Only (Rama Bijapurkar) and India After Gandhi (Ramachandra Guha) were two 'academic' books but totally readable! Actually, they were released earlier but I read them in '08.
Just added: The Tehalka Year-End Fiction Special is fantastic. Grab it at the next book stall.
Question of the Year: We are castigating a Punjabi girl for not being able to recognise her husband when he undergoes a makeover. But, even a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist fails to recognise her boyfriend when he takes off his glasses and wears his undies over his pants.
Did a lot of self-debating before awarding the Best Film award to Rock On! For a fabulous soundtrack on a totally satisfying film. Anybody doubting the power of the soundtrack should see my two-year old son go Na-na-na-na-na-na the moment Pichhle saat dinon mein comes on!
Coming in as joint second are two brilliant films, but unfortunately largely unseen.
A Wednesday deserved to get a large audience without the 26/11 baggage. One of the tautest thrillers, it had Naseeruddin Shah maintaining his usual standards and Anupam Kher rising beyond C Kompany.
Oye Lucky! Lucky Oye! is going to become - like Andaz Apna Apna - one of the highest selling DVDs in India. Once people realise what a sansani-khez movie they missed out on, they will have to come in droves and pick it up. The maker of Khosla Ka Ghosla deserves it!
Question of the Year: What is unusual about someone who loses his memory every 15 minutes? Wasn't it said that we will anyways be remembered for only 15 minutes?
Most of my favourite bloggers slowed down to almost a grinding halt (8, 7, 3) though some of the old favourites have kept up the good work.
Some wonderful posts happened in my other favourites. Some new blogs were discovered - though it is entirely my tragic slowness to blame that it took me so long.
* Bollywood's charm winds into the unlikeliest of places. And for strangest of reasons!
* Even the worst Hindi films have one memorable dialogue that stays with you for a long time. But when you forget, where do you go to relive them? Here.
* One-liners are really difficult to generate. But these have a series of them on the most obvious of comparisons, but...
* A short poem. Which 'touches the g-spot of the mind'.
* Everybody in Tinseltown blogs nowadays. But he manages to have point of view. Whether you agree or not.
* What is the correct etiquette for a public loo (male)? What Emily Post never touched upon, he did.
Before I end, I am putting together a series of clues to remind me of the posts that I must do in 2009. Something like a series of Ghajini tattoos...
9820189743. Naaz, Meenakshi, Mithila. 55 x 18 = 990.
Can you figure what they will be about?
Calcutta Chromosome wishes all its readers a fantastic 2009.
As a toast goes, "In the New Year, may your hand always be extended in friendship and never in want."
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
2008, Signing Off
Monday, December 29, 2008
To Boldly Write What No One Has Written Before
(Published in Zeitgeist, The New Indian Express, dated 27th December 2008)
The only question that's more annoying than "What plans for Valentine's Day?" is, according to the results of a survey of men who have never worn shiny T-shirts or 'Kool' chains, women who have never cried at Shahrukh Khan movies and assorted organisms that recognised 'Rang de Basanti' as the unfortunate lovechild of 'Contra' and Boyzone, is "What plans for New Year?"
Aside from the fact that recession and terrorists have hit hard enough to mute down celebrations, there's also the question "what exactly turns new?" One of my brothers, who was born on January 1st, 1988, thanks to a collusion between nature's forces and his attention-seeking genes, obligingly turns a year older on the day, sort of putting a dampener on my current quest. Of course, it was a while before he realised he would spend most of his life running to the phone on his birthday to be told "Hi!!!!!!!!!!!! Happy New Year! Now…is your dad around?" It was longer before he realised that, until his voice broke (and for a few years after), the voices in the phone would say, "Hi, Nandini!!!!!!!!!! Happy New Year! Now…is your dad around?", ensuring he had a wicked childhood and miserable youth which would leave him scarred for life.
That little diversion done with, let's think about it – there's an Academic Year, which goes from June to April, or September to July, or February to October, or August to May, depending on where you live. So the few months no one in the world moves up a class, watches one's classmates move up a class, changes schools, gets done with a grade, heads off on holiday or turns a graduate are January, March, November and December. Then, there's the Financial Year, which ends in March, and thanks to its having begun in April the previous year, no one has holidays left for the winter months. One would surmise the Germans (something about 'March' makes you think it was them, though 'April' could be dressed in a shiny pink leotard and tap dance to Right Said Fred in Paris) did that to spite the Romans, really, though they needn't have bothered. The Romans apparently messed up the solar year with their kings' fancies so much, that by the end of 47 BC, the Roman calendar was about three months ahead of where it should have been.
That means, essentially, January is the last of three months during which you have just about nothing to celebrate academically or financially, and are sweating out the wait for your appraisal (which, in 2009, may not happen). November and December don't particularly count, given the Deepavalis and Eids and Christmases and Hanukkahs that keep you busy eating and going at crackers (in whichever sense you choose to interpret the word), to culminate in the Marghazhi Music Festival in Chennai.
Perhaps the month does deserve due distinction, because, if nothing else, January has chronicled the failures of the human race remarkably well. (Note: this is not a snide reference to my parents or brother). The late nineties were a period of frantic waiting-with-bated-breath for the culmination of Nostradamus' prediction. Five hundred years of anticipation and we were the generation privileged to see it. The scientifically-inclined of the superstitious saw it coming with the Y2K bug – flights crash landing across the world, businesses going bankrupt, the Swiss losing track of how much no-questions-asked money they held, students killing themselves after messed-up SAT scores, God's timekeepers getting all muddled up and programming Kalki's horse to get carnivorous…there were plenty of delectable possibilities. Unfortunately, the day passed in disappointment for the depressed, and failure for Nostradamus. January is also traditionally that time of year people get back from honeymoons that followed winter weddings, and figure out what they married. This January, we will all realise how much we truly miss Bushspeak (and some standup comedians will go out of business). Surveys have shown most people failed to keep up their New Year resolutions to quit smoking, several times in their lifetimes. But if you really think about it, the biggest failure of all – and a universal one – in January is…one's inability, despite years of practice, to break out of putting down the previous year when one attempts to write the date for the first time that year.
The only question that's more annoying than "What plans for Valentine's Day?" is, according to the results of a survey of men who have never worn shiny T-shirts or 'Kool' chains, women who have never cried at Shahrukh Khan movies and assorted organisms that recognised 'Rang de Basanti' as the unfortunate lovechild of 'Contra' and Boyzone, is "What plans for New Year?"
Aside from the fact that recession and terrorists have hit hard enough to mute down celebrations, there's also the question "what exactly turns new?" One of my brothers, who was born on January 1st, 1988, thanks to a collusion between nature's forces and his attention-seeking genes, obligingly turns a year older on the day, sort of putting a dampener on my current quest. Of course, it was a while before he realised he would spend most of his life running to the phone on his birthday to be told "Hi!!!!!!!!!!!! Happy New Year! Now…is your dad around?" It was longer before he realised that, until his voice broke (and for a few years after), the voices in the phone would say, "Hi, Nandini!!!!!!!!!! Happy New Year! Now…is your dad around?", ensuring he had a wicked childhood and miserable youth which would leave him scarred for life.
That little diversion done with, let's think about it – there's an Academic Year, which goes from June to April, or September to July, or February to October, or August to May, depending on where you live. So the few months no one in the world moves up a class, watches one's classmates move up a class, changes schools, gets done with a grade, heads off on holiday or turns a graduate are January, March, November and December. Then, there's the Financial Year, which ends in March, and thanks to its having begun in April the previous year, no one has holidays left for the winter months. One would surmise the Germans (something about 'March' makes you think it was them, though 'April' could be dressed in a shiny pink leotard and tap dance to Right Said Fred in Paris) did that to spite the Romans, really, though they needn't have bothered. The Romans apparently messed up the solar year with their kings' fancies so much, that by the end of 47 BC, the Roman calendar was about three months ahead of where it should have been.
That means, essentially, January is the last of three months during which you have just about nothing to celebrate academically or financially, and are sweating out the wait for your appraisal (which, in 2009, may not happen). November and December don't particularly count, given the Deepavalis and Eids and Christmases and Hanukkahs that keep you busy eating and going at crackers (in whichever sense you choose to interpret the word), to culminate in the Marghazhi Music Festival in Chennai.
Perhaps the month does deserve due distinction, because, if nothing else, January has chronicled the failures of the human race remarkably well. (Note: this is not a snide reference to my parents or brother). The late nineties were a period of frantic waiting-with-bated-breath for the culmination of Nostradamus' prediction. Five hundred years of anticipation and we were the generation privileged to see it. The scientifically-inclined of the superstitious saw it coming with the Y2K bug – flights crash landing across the world, businesses going bankrupt, the Swiss losing track of how much no-questions-asked money they held, students killing themselves after messed-up SAT scores, God's timekeepers getting all muddled up and programming Kalki's horse to get carnivorous…there were plenty of delectable possibilities. Unfortunately, the day passed in disappointment for the depressed, and failure for Nostradamus. January is also traditionally that time of year people get back from honeymoons that followed winter weddings, and figure out what they married. This January, we will all realise how much we truly miss Bushspeak (and some standup comedians will go out of business). Surveys have shown most people failed to keep up their New Year resolutions to quit smoking, several times in their lifetimes. But if you really think about it, the biggest failure of all – and a universal one – in January is…one's inability, despite years of practice, to break out of putting down the previous year when one attempts to write the date for the first time that year.
The Beats Behind Bond
(Published in The New Indian Express, dated 14th December, 2008)
Pete Lockett has arranged and recorded all the ethnic percussion for the five Bond films Quantum of Solace, Casino Royale, Die Another Day, Tomorrow Never Dies and The World is Not Enough. City of Angels , The Insider,The Bone Collector, Snatch and Moulin Rouge are among his credits. He has worked with musicians including Björk, Peter Gabriel, Robert Plant, Vikku Vinayakram, Ustad Zakir Hussain, The Verve, Mandolin U Shrinivas, Mandolin Rajesh, Bickram Ghosh, Vanessa-Mae, Pet Shop Boys, Hariharan, A R Rahman, the BBC concert orchestra and Sinead O'Connor. He was voted #1 BEST LIVE PERCUSSIONIST 2005 by readers of Rhythm & best live percussionist 2005 on international drum site, mikedolbear.com.
Let's start off with 'Quantum of Solace'. Did you like the film?
You know, I haven't seen it yet. Of course, I've seen the snippets I've played for. I've been on tour here for a while now. We were planning to see it in Calcutta, but no, that didn't work out, and so I've not seen it yet. But it seems to have a lot of great action, and seems quite exciting, really.
How much do you get to see of a Bond movie before you compose for it? Is it the entire film, or just the snippets you compose for? And does it make a difference?
Well, obviously the composer gets to see the whole film, but with us musicians, it depends. With a couple of the films I've worked for, I've seen them through before I start working on them. Mostly, it's just snippets, and the terminology is still what it was when they were shooting it. So you're looking at your Reel 1, and Reel 2 and Reel 3. And no, I don't think it makes any difference at all. The music compliments a scene, and most scenes tend to be self-explanatory. Whether it's an action scene, or a love scene, or a terror scene, they have their own import…and you've got to get the right approach to it, when director and composer work hand-in-hand.
The percussion in 'Quantum of Solace' was a lot more muted than in 'Casino Royale'. Any reasons you took that particular approach?
To be honest, it's in the hands of the director what goes out in the final mix. For movies like Bond, you have two teams – the sound design team, which gets your sound effects and gun shots in, and the music team. And it's the director's call which gets heard more – so sometimes, the music can completely outrun the sound effects, and sometimes the sound effects outrun the music. So when you're a musician, you play and you hope the music outruns everything else! (laughing)
In 'Casino Royale', the nine-minute chase on the construction site, where the only music is percussion, was your 'moment'. Did you have a moment in this film?
Well, this one, I worked on all through, you know, and I did a lot more on 'Quantum of Solace' than I did on 'Casino Royale'. I did stuff right across the film really, do I don't think any particular scene stands out – though, of course, the action scenes were wonderful, and you really enjoy working on those because they allow you to really explore your rhythm.
You've worked with two Bonds – Pierce Brosnan and Daniel Craig – and I'm sure each of their characters and what they bring to Bond alters the music you make for them…so what is Pierce Brosnan's music and what is Daniel Craig's?
I wouldn't say each of them has their own music. You tend to approach each film differently and bring a bit of your own self, your own experiences into the work. I've worked with Middle Eastern music, North Indian and South Indian music, African rhythms…all over the world, really, and I try to bring some of that into every Bond film.Q: But then again, the music for Bond movies is a decades-old framework, and everyone wants to hear the music and know it's Bond. How difficult is it to innovate within those confines?A: Well, music's music. And one has to find ways to innovate, to bring in different approaches for different scenarios. Like this album I'm doing with Bickram Ghosh, 'Kingdom of Rhythms'. You've got your sound design, and your beats and electronic rhythms, and each of us brings something into it. We've got a whole lot of songs here, where you have a basic tabla and then the mood of a song might need a melodious groove, and another one might need blindingly fast fills and licks. So when you have a framework, you work within it, look at the scenes afresh…and the mood carries you.
You've composed for films as varied as 'Snatch' and 'City of Angels'. And some of them offer a lot more to a percussionist, with thrilling chases and whatnot. So which movie would you describe as your personal Everest? The one that was most challenging and which you enjoyed the most?
Well, I don't know if I can think of one Everest. You go in with an open mind, and you try to create percussion that says a certain thing. Film percussion is rarely very complicated and it's less of a technical challenge than a creative one. You need to look at what's suitable, what's appropriate, what fits into the film. Having said that, I've worked on five Bond movies, and I think that was the most challenging part. You're constantly searching for something new, and that can get quite challenging, especially when you get to the third and the fourth! (laughs)
You spoke a while earlier about how it's the situation and not an actor who demands a certain kind of music. But you've worked on Sivaji. You've been to Chennai often enough to know how huge Rajnikanth is. So tell us about that – making music for an actor, more than a movie.
Oh, wow! That project involved working with A R Rahman, who of course, was the building block for the score. And he's so enthusiastic and so involved, he gives you that creative freedom to explore. And you know, I'm always thinking of music, whether it's driving down the motorway or on board a plane or in a train. There are all these textural layers of rhythmic sound, and you can play around with them later. I got to do that a lot for Sivaji, and it was a tremendous experience.
I've heard a lot of your music, and there's something uncontained about it…like something which speaks to the universe. Where does control come in? At what point does the musician in you get tamed by the composer in you?
It's not about being tamed, really, because as you play, you begin to know intuitively what's right and what's wrong. Younger players could get carried away doing all these complex rhythms, sort of really exploring, without setting themselves limits. But after a while, you tend to know when you strike a balance, find something appropriate, something musical. Sometimes it's really simple, and sometimes really complicated. Your experience tells you what fits, and that's when you rein in.
You've been working on an album with Bickram Ghosh and Mandolin Rajesh. Tell us more about that, and more about the collaborative work you've been doing.
Oh, yes, that's 'Journeys with the Master Drummers of India'. Mahesh Vinayakram is in on it too. I've been really sort of looking at music from all over the world, and this is an attempt to fuse South Indian ideas and North Indian music, and bring it into a different arena, a much more modern climate, but the integrity of the music has to stay intact. So you bring in all the elements of traditional music, and look at it in a different way. All of our musician friends love how it's come out. And this new independent label, India Beat, is coming out with 'Kingdom of Rhythm', a collaboration with Bickram Ghosh. That should be out in January. That's going to be a Tour de France of music with tribal chants and all of that. We've also brought in Kai Eckhard, who used to play bass with Jon McLoughlin. And there's 'Made in Chennai', with Umashankar Vinayakram and Vinayaka.
You've been working in combinations of two percussionists and another instrumentalist…mandolin, bass…that's quite unique. How did you make that decision?
Well, it seemed a natural combination to me. You know, in Indian classical, you have the vocal component and then you play around so much with the instrumental component. What I wanted to do here was to make a journey where you have Indian classical music, and then you play that with electronics and drums, orchestra and drums. Of course, we were a bit nervous about how it would come out, but it's been fantastic, and it sounds great!
Your book – 'Indian rhythms on the drum set' – was published recently. It's a pretty complex subject. How long did it take you to write it?
Oh, that was a big write! It was about three years' work. Of course, I wasn't writing everyday, but it comprises a journey of that long or more. It's the first book of its kind, which looks at Indian rhythms specifically on percussion. It's primarily South Indian, Carnatic, music, but there are also components of North Indian music, and both Carnatic and Hindustani are so complex and developed a Westerner can't even get a foot in the door, you know, unless you've come here and studied it extensively. Now that I've made that journey, I want more people around the world to understand this music…I wanted to put down a solid, jargon-free introduction to Indian music, orchestrated on Indian rhythms.
You've got so many types of music within India – there's Carnatic, there's Hindustani and then you have Rabindra Sangeet. And then, you have Indian performers of Western instruments like the piano and saxophone and guitar. But while these systems were separate entities until recently, we see an increasing number of collaborations these days…
Exactly! I think we're moving in that direction, where music is not bifurcated into North and South Indian rhythms. Music breaks barriers within society and religions and people. You know, we musicians are all like brothers together, we make music together and we respect each other. It's a model platform, that it would be nice if politicians followed! (laughs)
Your website www.petelockett.com, has lessons put up regularly, and you don't charge for them. What is the philosophy behind that, at a time when artistes all over the world are struggling with internet piracy?
I see it as my way of giving back. I suppose I could charge five bucks a lesson, but I don't need to, because I make enough doing the work I do. Some people tend to retain everything, but then it dies out if you do. Some people make it very difficult for other people to learn from them, but I want to see more people getting out there and making good music. It was very hard for me when I started out, in the pre-Google, pre-YouTube days. Hard to source information and get what you need. Now it's much easier, and I want to make a contribution. I want to see people playing bongos the right way. You know, you walk into a club sometimes, and you see this guy or girl sort of going at a bongo in a casual way, accompanying the DJ, and you think they could do so much more if they knew how to play it, instead of just mucking around…and you wish you could hear that.
You play so many instruments, and I'm sure you have a special touch with each of them. And to know them, you need to practise often, keep in touch. So where do you find the time, how do you play all of them regularly?
Oh, that's quite hard, especially when you're away. I've been here in India for the best part of two weeks now. And after getting back, I'm going to be doing a tour of Europe. So, yeah, it's pretty difficult. I've got one or two specific routines, where you just limber up with your instruments. And you'd be surprised at how much that puts you back in touch. And sometimes, you know, playing one instrument can get you in touch with all of them. For example, the kanjira, it's not that different from playing the tabla, because you're touching those notes on the scale, you're articulating. So playing one instrument, it's like playing all of them, in a bizarre and unlikely way!
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Mumbai Terror Attack: Of Campaigns and Candlelight Vigils
(Published in Zeitgeist, The New Indian Express, dated 13th December 2008)
Maybe it was Rang de Basanti that started it all. But research has indicated the sale of candles has gone up dramatically in the past couple of years. Little wonder, when one thinks of the wonderful opportunities that have been created over the past thirty months for people to swarm out with candles and semi-forgotten, also-ran-a-few-yards erstwhile movie stars to make their voices heard and faces seen on national media. To say nothing of the campaigns that have been taken up with loud echoes all over the country, and the chain mails that have been circulated.
The strangest of these, though, was a picture someone forwarded on a social networking site, calling for everyone to tag their own names against it. The picture was one of commandoes climbing out of Nariman House after the operations, and the general public that had watched the terror strike like some sort of thriller on national television was supposed to express solidarity with the men who had risked their lives by, guess what, tagging our names on their faces.
“Why haven’t you tagged yourself on it?” an acquaintance of mine asked.
“What’s the idea?”
“We’re trying to show we’re all out there.”
Those are the magic words. ‘We’re all out there’. We must ‘be the change’. On top of it all, chain mails have turned into our Dandi March.
“Terror has hit all of us. We’re not going to wait for the politicians anymore. I’M going to fight!” said a group mail doing the rounds.
“You’re right!” a reply it solicited proclaimed, “it’s time we stopped taking a backseat!”
And so they were going to sign their names on to campaign placards and walk about on candlelight vigils. Some others are not going to pay taxes anymore, and others think they should pay the security forces instead.
Just as quickly as the terrified face of a man pleading for mercy became the face of the Gujarat riots of 2002, Baby Moshe has become the face of the Mumbai terror attacks. Channels have been appealing to viewers to “Cry for Moshe”. True, the picture of a baby in its green clothes, holding on to a ball and looking back with a tear-stained face, could arouse maternal instincts even in someone who has a lower quantum of those instincts than animals that eat their own young. But at some point, we seem to have lulled ourselves into the belief that crying, burning candles, signing cards and putting our names down on virtual space amounts to ‘being out there’.
Perhaps it is the comfort of having cushy jobs, roofs over our heads and high-flying lifestyles, where one can intellectually dissect what caused the recession over a meal at a five-star hotel, which has given these exercises in burning about twenty calories, the veneer of proactive frenzy.
One wonders what would have happened if those people who fought for Independence did the same thing. If M K Gandhi had called up Jawaharlal Nehru and said, “let’s hold a candlelight vigil outside the East India Company day after. We should be able to get to Calcutta in a couple of days by train.” Or if Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukh Dev had decided they should sign a placard outside a police station, protesting against Saunders hitting Lala Lajpat Rai with his baton. Or if Subhas Chandra Bose had decided he would cry for the futility of the freedom struggle.
I’m not suggesting we should go around walking in lines up to terrorist camps and daring them to shoot us, or go around shooting people or start training at counter-terror camps. But perhaps, we should admit at first that we’re in a state of suspended disbelief, and the situation hasn’t changed much since the Mumbai train bombings or the serial blasts in Jaipur, Ahmedabad, Delhi, Bangalore and Guwahati, or the siege in Mumbai. Perhaps we should realise holding these vigils does not amount to much more than our leaders ‘condemning’ the attacks.
Maybe it was Rang de Basanti that started it all. But research has indicated the sale of candles has gone up dramatically in the past couple of years. Little wonder, when one thinks of the wonderful opportunities that have been created over the past thirty months for people to swarm out with candles and semi-forgotten, also-ran-a-few-yards erstwhile movie stars to make their voices heard and faces seen on national media. To say nothing of the campaigns that have been taken up with loud echoes all over the country, and the chain mails that have been circulated.
The strangest of these, though, was a picture someone forwarded on a social networking site, calling for everyone to tag their own names against it. The picture was one of commandoes climbing out of Nariman House after the operations, and the general public that had watched the terror strike like some sort of thriller on national television was supposed to express solidarity with the men who had risked their lives by, guess what, tagging our names on their faces.
“Why haven’t you tagged yourself on it?” an acquaintance of mine asked.
“What’s the idea?”
“We’re trying to show we’re all out there.”
Those are the magic words. ‘We’re all out there’. We must ‘be the change’. On top of it all, chain mails have turned into our Dandi March.
“Terror has hit all of us. We’re not going to wait for the politicians anymore. I’M going to fight!” said a group mail doing the rounds.
“You’re right!” a reply it solicited proclaimed, “it’s time we stopped taking a backseat!”
And so they were going to sign their names on to campaign placards and walk about on candlelight vigils. Some others are not going to pay taxes anymore, and others think they should pay the security forces instead.
Just as quickly as the terrified face of a man pleading for mercy became the face of the Gujarat riots of 2002, Baby Moshe has become the face of the Mumbai terror attacks. Channels have been appealing to viewers to “Cry for Moshe”. True, the picture of a baby in its green clothes, holding on to a ball and looking back with a tear-stained face, could arouse maternal instincts even in someone who has a lower quantum of those instincts than animals that eat their own young. But at some point, we seem to have lulled ourselves into the belief that crying, burning candles, signing cards and putting our names down on virtual space amounts to ‘being out there’.
Perhaps it is the comfort of having cushy jobs, roofs over our heads and high-flying lifestyles, where one can intellectually dissect what caused the recession over a meal at a five-star hotel, which has given these exercises in burning about twenty calories, the veneer of proactive frenzy.
One wonders what would have happened if those people who fought for Independence did the same thing. If M K Gandhi had called up Jawaharlal Nehru and said, “let’s hold a candlelight vigil outside the East India Company day after. We should be able to get to Calcutta in a couple of days by train.” Or if Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukh Dev had decided they should sign a placard outside a police station, protesting against Saunders hitting Lala Lajpat Rai with his baton. Or if Subhas Chandra Bose had decided he would cry for the futility of the freedom struggle.
I’m not suggesting we should go around walking in lines up to terrorist camps and daring them to shoot us, or go around shooting people or start training at counter-terror camps. But perhaps, we should admit at first that we’re in a state of suspended disbelief, and the situation hasn’t changed much since the Mumbai train bombings or the serial blasts in Jaipur, Ahmedabad, Delhi, Bangalore and Guwahati, or the siege in Mumbai. Perhaps we should realise holding these vigils does not amount to much more than our leaders ‘condemning’ the attacks.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Timeo Danaos...
I have received something called a Premio Dardos Award from Goofy Mumma. This rewards bloggers for "their efforts to transmit cultural, ethical, literary and personal values every day".
Cultural values? Check.
Ethical values? Check.
Literary values? Check.
Personal values? Check.
Thank you, GM.
Why the title? Three reasons.
1. It sounds a bit like the award itself.
2. It is the name of Jeffrey Archer story and somehow, I wanted to use it for a post. Never got the chance.
3. Me - for a 'values' award? I am looking at GM with a lot of suspicion!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Movie Review: Burn After Reading
When a movie opens with Google Earth and a cross between percussion beats and gunshots, one has a feeling the opening scene will be in Russia, possibly in the KGB. Well, the movie opens at a rather different locale, and has dialogue in English...a bit of a disappointment for the fanciful who expected guttural Russian. It is some time into the film that one gets it is a spoof on the CIA. At least, my excuse is that I didn't know the tagline was 'Intelligence is Relative' - a rather ironic coincidence, in the light of my revelation.
The Coen brothers' latest release is a comedy of errors of intelligence, in every sense. It is also a sardonic peek at what effect movies about cool agents blackmailing each other, and dramatisations of the Deep Throat Watergate interactions could have on the layman's aspirations. The movie does a good job of satirising the lure of cosmetic surgery, FBI sunglasses, the gun culture, internet dating, detective agencies, vulture-like divorce lawyers, conjugal pretensions and techno-incompetence. The irony of timing, of mistaken identities and the reality of being as paranoid as we have been since the turn of the millennium make for interesting subtexts.
John Malkovich does a non-hammed version of Jack Nicholson in One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. He carries off Osbourne Cox's character pretty well. Tilda Swinton is not just tight-assed, but tight-arsed as the very British Mrs. Cox, while George Clooney's ADHD-ridden Harry Pfarrer is quite a show. After his last trippy appearance as Daniel Ocean, Clooney has brought a whole new set of characteristics into the former treasury agent he plays. A few minutes of watching him look around and try to make conversation with five different people on about twenty different topics had me craving a midnight snack.
Now, Brad Pitt, though...I'd like to get my claws into him, and that does not indicate carnal inclinations of any sort. I do rate him as an actor, but perhaps it is his duties as the co-founder of a domestic United Nations that has kept him too busy to sharpen his character in this movie. But Chad the Gym Guy is a lesson in hamming. Saying "shit" a million times and chewing gum all the time could work well with intentional hamming, but with a couple of scenes where the Brad Pitt of 'Snatch' and 'Meeting Joe Black' seems to temporarily revisit the body he abandoned a while ago, he seems rather lost in transition.
Academy Award-winner Frances McDermond steals the show. As the quintessential single woman with an unattractive face, unattractive body, unattractive dress sense and unattractive job, Linda Litzke proves to be a tough cookie, and is possibly the only one in the movie who gets what she wants in the end. McDermond's ability to cast herself aside and take on absolutely any character without concern for her image, at a time when the most ordinary people want to avoid compromising on their looks, if nothing else, ensures the character comes alive.
The casting, with the possible exception of Brad Pitt (even Ashton Kutcher might have done a better job), is quite perfect. The smaller characters, such as Elizabeth Marvel's Sandy Pfarrer, and Richard Jenkins' Ted Traffon, are quite convincing. Ted Traffon as the quiet gym manager with a secret crush on Linda Litzke, which he tries his best to reveal to her but chooses the worst times, is the perfect candidate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The music in the film does a smooth transition from pop to rock to country, and the beats are addictive. The closing song, 'CIA Man' is quite a trip, and my favourite couplet is 'Who can take sugar from a sack, put it in his tea and put it back, Fuckin' A Man, CIA Man'.
Watch if: you like spoofs, want a good laugh, are intrigued at how plastic surgery and internet dating could screw the brains of the CIA, are into music, like blitzy films, find blank expressions funny, are curious about George Clooney's contraption (no euphemisms here, he actually invents something.)
Do Not Watch if: you are a fan of Brad Pitt, are from the CIA and don't find this sort of thing funny, do not like spoofs, find swearing offensive, find dildos offensive.
The Coen brothers' latest release is a comedy of errors of intelligence, in every sense. It is also a sardonic peek at what effect movies about cool agents blackmailing each other, and dramatisations of the Deep Throat Watergate interactions could have on the layman's aspirations. The movie does a good job of satirising the lure of cosmetic surgery, FBI sunglasses, the gun culture, internet dating, detective agencies, vulture-like divorce lawyers, conjugal pretensions and techno-incompetence. The irony of timing, of mistaken identities and the reality of being as paranoid as we have been since the turn of the millennium make for interesting subtexts.
John Malkovich does a non-hammed version of Jack Nicholson in One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. He carries off Osbourne Cox's character pretty well. Tilda Swinton is not just tight-assed, but tight-arsed as the very British Mrs. Cox, while George Clooney's ADHD-ridden Harry Pfarrer is quite a show. After his last trippy appearance as Daniel Ocean, Clooney has brought a whole new set of characteristics into the former treasury agent he plays. A few minutes of watching him look around and try to make conversation with five different people on about twenty different topics had me craving a midnight snack.
Now, Brad Pitt, though...I'd like to get my claws into him, and that does not indicate carnal inclinations of any sort. I do rate him as an actor, but perhaps it is his duties as the co-founder of a domestic United Nations that has kept him too busy to sharpen his character in this movie. But Chad the Gym Guy is a lesson in hamming. Saying "shit" a million times and chewing gum all the time could work well with intentional hamming, but with a couple of scenes where the Brad Pitt of 'Snatch' and 'Meeting Joe Black' seems to temporarily revisit the body he abandoned a while ago, he seems rather lost in transition.
Academy Award-winner Frances McDermond steals the show. As the quintessential single woman with an unattractive face, unattractive body, unattractive dress sense and unattractive job, Linda Litzke proves to be a tough cookie, and is possibly the only one in the movie who gets what she wants in the end. McDermond's ability to cast herself aside and take on absolutely any character without concern for her image, at a time when the most ordinary people want to avoid compromising on their looks, if nothing else, ensures the character comes alive.
The casting, with the possible exception of Brad Pitt (even Ashton Kutcher might have done a better job), is quite perfect. The smaller characters, such as Elizabeth Marvel's Sandy Pfarrer, and Richard Jenkins' Ted Traffon, are quite convincing. Ted Traffon as the quiet gym manager with a secret crush on Linda Litzke, which he tries his best to reveal to her but chooses the worst times, is the perfect candidate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The music in the film does a smooth transition from pop to rock to country, and the beats are addictive. The closing song, 'CIA Man' is quite a trip, and my favourite couplet is 'Who can take sugar from a sack, put it in his tea and put it back, Fuckin' A Man, CIA Man'.
Watch if: you like spoofs, want a good laugh, are intrigued at how plastic surgery and internet dating could screw the brains of the CIA, are into music, like blitzy films, find blank expressions funny, are curious about George Clooney's contraption (no euphemisms here, he actually invents something.)
Do Not Watch if: you are a fan of Brad Pitt, are from the CIA and don't find this sort of thing funny, do not like spoofs, find swearing offensive, find dildos offensive.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Teen Deviyaan
While doing my previous post on Hum, I reminisced about Kimi Katkar and her films.
A certified starlet in the late 80s, she was one of several (minor) deities worshiped at the altar of teenage hormones. She came in - like the others - with a bang and then did a series of indistinguishable movies before settling down into happy matrimony.
They were never contenders for the No. 1 position but made up the numbers that make India the largest film-producing nation of the world. But they drew huge applause and commanded a reasonable fan-following among teenagers who were suitably impressed by their ability to change and drop clothes at frequent intervals.
This is the first instalment (in a series, that will hopefully be taken up by Nilendu) of Teen Queens.
Kimi Katkar
Kimi made her debut in Tarzan opposite Hemant Birje - a man who gave new meanings to the words 'wooden' and 'guttural'. But as 'Jane', Kimi played her role to sultry and sexy perfection. Tarzan, my Tarzan / Aaja tujhe sikha doon pyar kaise ho was a rage then and it would be again if somebody just released the damn video with Kimi in it!
Kimi's voluptuous figure made her a shoo-in for all the bold-heroine parts in the 80-90s style cut-price multi-starrers (read more about them here). These films needed an asexual heroine (sub-plot of having seen murder / widowed at young age / domesticated) and a sexy in-your-face one (sub-plot of country liquor bar owner / dancer due to family compulsions or spoilt rich brat in 'modern' clothes).
She ran a country bar in Kaala Baazar. She was the college shrew in Rama O Rama. In villain Ranjeet's directorial debut (Karnaama), she had a series of 'bold' scenes with Vinod Khanna. And in the last film (and biggest hit) of her career, she was Jummalina Gonsalves - a dancer in a dockyard beer bar. Only in Vardi do I remember her breaking the mould and appearing in a white lab coat as Dr Sonam.
Keeping with her image, she was usually called Bijli. She acted many times opposite Anil Kapoor, who was a shoo-in for tapori roles himself. Her boldness was quite well-known. In one interview, she claimed that a kissing scene with Shatrughan Sinha (I forget the name of the film) had to be scrapped because the actor chickened out!
Eventually, she fell in love with fashion photographer Shantanu Sheorey and left films to marry him. There were rumours of her return but they died down completely within a few months.
She is probably settled in the USA right now and occasionally, a mid-30s Indian techie would see her walking down a supermarket aisle and wonder where he had seen this good-looking housewife before.
Sonam
Sonam was the niece of Raza Murad (he of the Baritone Bigger than Big B!). Her real name is Bakhtawar (a name usually reserved for really cruel villains in Hindi cinema). Despite these two major shortcomings, she came to become synonymous with bikini roles in Hindi cinema between 1985 to 1995.
She kicked off with Yash Chopra's Vijay - in which she acted opposite Rishi Kapoor. Vijay was a sandwich between Yash's earlier Angry Young Man films (which gained him a formidable reputation) and his later Sweet Mushy Romantic films (which got him serious money). Nobody really remembers it. But aficionados would remember the petite Sonam in a yellow bikini being wooed by the voluminous Rishi.
Subsequently, Sonam flitted between a million skimpily-clad roles, which incorporated at least one swimming pool / sea-beach song each. In the notoriously prudish early 90s, she was not beyond a kiss or two (in the real sense of the act and not in the flower-touching style of Bollywood). In Ajooba, she even popped Rishi Kapoor down her blouse to hide him after he had shrunk to Liliputian dimensions, thanks to a magic potion.
I recall her screen-name being Sonam in more than one movie.
Her biggest hit was Tridev - which had our then national anthem Oye Oye - opposite Naseeruddin Shah, who did a fab job of acting really badly so that we are not distracted from Sonam's see-through harem pants! She also acted in the spiritual sequel - Vishwatma - again opposite Naseer in the most inconsequential role of the film, where she remained fully clothed while Divya Bharti stole the thunder with her thighs. This was probably because the director - Rajeev Rai - was in love with her by then and had no wish to expose his fiancee.
She married Rajeev Rai and eventually moved abroad (London?) because of Abu Salem's attempts to extort money and kill the director.
Neelam
Neelam Kothari was never known by her full name. Probably because in the late 80s, the surname Kothari brought images of Pan Parag and therefore, bad teeth.
Her debut film - Love 86 (released in 1986, for those who are interested) - opposite Govinda was a massive hit and set her towards stardom. In the next few years, she acted in quite a few films opposite Govinda - most notably Khudgarz (which had Jeetendra and Shatrughan Sinha fighting each other in a loose copy of Kane And Abel) and Hatya (which finally marked Govinda's emergence as star).
Neelam's USP was cuteness. She was always seen in a pony-tail, wearing dungarees and t-shirt in college scenes or salwar-kameezes in family scenes. She was usually the daughter (Tanuja in Love 86) or sister (Amitabh in Agneepath) of an authoritarian figure. Her boyfriend was usually a tapori kind and her primary duty would be to playfully frown and pout at his antics. She has popped it a couple of times for the authoritarian figures to avenge her death (Indrajeet). In multi-starrers, she was the perfect foil to Kimi Katkar-style boisterous exposure and was the docile heroine. Though - for the life of me - I cannot recall any films of them together.
Much later, Neelam played herself in the biggest hit of her career. Unfortunately, Kuch Kuch Hota Hain was not about her, even though she had an eponymous TV show in the film. Neither was Hum Saath Saath Hain, in which she was the sister to the main leads and had to make do with Mahesh Thakur (known for being the father in millions of toothpaste and insurance ads) as her husband.
I don't know much about her marriage except that she married an NRI and there was opposition from the boy's side on having an actress daughter-in-law.
No one can pretend that any of these starlets would be getting a Lifetime Achievement Award. Their movies were strictly forgettable and mostly identical. Their acting was limited, which they were probably aware of. They lasted in the industry for approximately a decade each, acting in about 50 movies or so. They were never credited for their hits and remained in the news for the flitting affair or the bold cover picture.
Despite that, teenagers loved them, fantasised about them and their pictures adorned several hostel walls across the country. Thanks to our billion-strong film-crazy population, they commanded a fan following - though fleetingly - that would be higher than most Hollywood actresses at their peaks.
Even in such depressing times, when you think about Kimi Katkar dropping a coin inside her bra and challenging Amitabh to take it out, it brings a smile to your lips. And this is about two decades after she had acted in her last film.
This also has a value. This is also a social contribution. Infinitely better than our holier-than-thou politicians, at any rate.
Other similar starlets - that I can think of - are Farah, Shilpa Shirodkar, Divya Bharti, Raveena Tandon, and Mamta Kulkarni. They also deserve to be written about. Watch this space.
A certified starlet in the late 80s, she was one of several (minor) deities worshiped at the altar of teenage hormones. She came in - like the others - with a bang and then did a series of indistinguishable movies before settling down into happy matrimony.
They were never contenders for the No. 1 position but made up the numbers that make India the largest film-producing nation of the world. But they drew huge applause and commanded a reasonable fan-following among teenagers who were suitably impressed by their ability to change and drop clothes at frequent intervals.
This is the first instalment (in a series, that will hopefully be taken up by Nilendu) of Teen Queens.
Kimi Katkar
Kimi made her debut in Tarzan opposite Hemant Birje - a man who gave new meanings to the words 'wooden' and 'guttural'. But as 'Jane', Kimi played her role to sultry and sexy perfection. Tarzan, my Tarzan / Aaja tujhe sikha doon pyar kaise ho was a rage then and it would be again if somebody just released the damn video with Kimi in it!
Kimi's voluptuous figure made her a shoo-in for all the bold-heroine parts in the 80-90s style cut-price multi-starrers (read more about them here). These films needed an asexual heroine (sub-plot of having seen murder / widowed at young age / domesticated) and a sexy in-your-face one (sub-plot of country liquor bar owner / dancer due to family compulsions or spoilt rich brat in 'modern' clothes).
She ran a country bar in Kaala Baazar. She was the college shrew in Rama O Rama. In villain Ranjeet's directorial debut (Karnaama), she had a series of 'bold' scenes with Vinod Khanna. And in the last film (and biggest hit) of her career, she was Jummalina Gonsalves - a dancer in a dockyard beer bar. Only in Vardi do I remember her breaking the mould and appearing in a white lab coat as Dr Sonam.
Keeping with her image, she was usually called Bijli. She acted many times opposite Anil Kapoor, who was a shoo-in for tapori roles himself. Her boldness was quite well-known. In one interview, she claimed that a kissing scene with Shatrughan Sinha (I forget the name of the film) had to be scrapped because the actor chickened out!
Eventually, she fell in love with fashion photographer Shantanu Sheorey and left films to marry him. There were rumours of her return but they died down completely within a few months.
She is probably settled in the USA right now and occasionally, a mid-30s Indian techie would see her walking down a supermarket aisle and wonder where he had seen this good-looking housewife before.
Sonam
Sonam was the niece of Raza Murad (he of the Baritone Bigger than Big B!). Her real name is Bakhtawar (a name usually reserved for really cruel villains in Hindi cinema). Despite these two major shortcomings, she came to become synonymous with bikini roles in Hindi cinema between 1985 to 1995.
She kicked off with Yash Chopra's Vijay - in which she acted opposite Rishi Kapoor. Vijay was a sandwich between Yash's earlier Angry Young Man films (which gained him a formidable reputation) and his later Sweet Mushy Romantic films (which got him serious money). Nobody really remembers it. But aficionados would remember the petite Sonam in a yellow bikini being wooed by the voluminous Rishi.
Subsequently, Sonam flitted between a million skimpily-clad roles, which incorporated at least one swimming pool / sea-beach song each. In the notoriously prudish early 90s, she was not beyond a kiss or two (in the real sense of the act and not in the flower-touching style of Bollywood). In Ajooba, she even popped Rishi Kapoor down her blouse to hide him after he had shrunk to Liliputian dimensions, thanks to a magic potion.
I recall her screen-name being Sonam in more than one movie.
Her biggest hit was Tridev - which had our then national anthem Oye Oye - opposite Naseeruddin Shah, who did a fab job of acting really badly so that we are not distracted from Sonam's see-through harem pants! She also acted in the spiritual sequel - Vishwatma - again opposite Naseer in the most inconsequential role of the film, where she remained fully clothed while Divya Bharti stole the thunder with her thighs. This was probably because the director - Rajeev Rai - was in love with her by then and had no wish to expose his fiancee.
She married Rajeev Rai and eventually moved abroad (London?) because of Abu Salem's attempts to extort money and kill the director.
Neelam
Neelam Kothari was never known by her full name. Probably because in the late 80s, the surname Kothari brought images of Pan Parag and therefore, bad teeth.
Her debut film - Love 86 (released in 1986, for those who are interested) - opposite Govinda was a massive hit and set her towards stardom. In the next few years, she acted in quite a few films opposite Govinda - most notably Khudgarz (which had Jeetendra and Shatrughan Sinha fighting each other in a loose copy of Kane And Abel) and Hatya (which finally marked Govinda's emergence as star).
Neelam's USP was cuteness. She was always seen in a pony-tail, wearing dungarees and t-shirt in college scenes or salwar-kameezes in family scenes. She was usually the daughter (Tanuja in Love 86) or sister (Amitabh in Agneepath) of an authoritarian figure. Her boyfriend was usually a tapori kind and her primary duty would be to playfully frown and pout at his antics. She has popped it a couple of times for the authoritarian figures to avenge her death (Indrajeet). In multi-starrers, she was the perfect foil to Kimi Katkar-style boisterous exposure and was the docile heroine. Though - for the life of me - I cannot recall any films of them together.
Much later, Neelam played herself in the biggest hit of her career. Unfortunately, Kuch Kuch Hota Hain was not about her, even though she had an eponymous TV show in the film. Neither was Hum Saath Saath Hain, in which she was the sister to the main leads and had to make do with Mahesh Thakur (known for being the father in millions of toothpaste and insurance ads) as her husband.
I don't know much about her marriage except that she married an NRI and there was opposition from the boy's side on having an actress daughter-in-law.
No one can pretend that any of these starlets would be getting a Lifetime Achievement Award. Their movies were strictly forgettable and mostly identical. Their acting was limited, which they were probably aware of. They lasted in the industry for approximately a decade each, acting in about 50 movies or so. They were never credited for their hits and remained in the news for the flitting affair or the bold cover picture.
Despite that, teenagers loved them, fantasised about them and their pictures adorned several hostel walls across the country. Thanks to our billion-strong film-crazy population, they commanded a fan following - though fleetingly - that would be higher than most Hollywood actresses at their peaks.
Even in such depressing times, when you think about Kimi Katkar dropping a coin inside her bra and challenging Amitabh to take it out, it brings a smile to your lips. And this is about two decades after she had acted in her last film.
This also has a value. This is also a social contribution. Infinitely better than our holier-than-thou politicians, at any rate.
Other similar starlets - that I can think of - are Farah, Shilpa Shirodkar, Divya Bharti, Raveena Tandon, and Mamta Kulkarni. They also deserve to be written about. Watch this space.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Random Movies I Like: Hum
When Mad Momma proposes a motion, the entire blogosphere takes sides. And when the topic is the hottest movie of the 1990s, it is like Yuvraj against Chris Broad - mayhem!
Hum released on 1st February 1991 across 400+ screens across the country. For teenagers who don't get surprised at Singh is Kinng's 800 screens would do well to understand that 400 screens = 400 theatres of 1000+ seats each and not 80 piddly multiplexes of 5 screens each.
To the best of my memory, Hum was the first Bollywood movie to have tremendous pre-release publicity and hype.
About a year before its release, the 'item song' - Jumma Chumma De De - was previewed at a Filmfare awards telecast on TV. And since then, India could not talk of anything else. The budget. The pairing (a nearing-50 Amitabh with nearing-25 Kimi Katkar). The tune of the Jumma Chumma song being lifted from an English (a guy called Mory Kante or some such) number. Bappi Lahiri lifting the same tune for another film (Thanedaar) around the same time. Etc etc.
But these are not the reasons I like the film, actually love the film.
* It had Amitabh's best entry in years.
A union leader - known only by his surname, Gonsalves (producer Romesh Sharma) - tries to rise against Bhaktawar (main villain, Danny) but is hung from a chain and about to be dropped into an acid vat. As the pulley gradually unfurls and he goes down with a martyr-ish look on his face, a man runs over and manages to latch on to the chain that suspends him. I remember screaming and jumping up (along with the rest of the hall) on to my seat. The man proceeded to pull out a bottle of rum, open the cap with his teeth and take a swig. Then he fought off the army of goons, all the while hanging on to the chain. Stupendous!
* It had Rajnikanth and Govinda in delightfully comical action roles.
As Amitabh's two younger (step) brothers - the police-officer and the college loafer - they provided perfect foil to Amitabh's old-worldly stardom by doing all sorts of crazy stuff. Effortlessly. In the most famous scene, Rajni says, "Bey-te lal, yek se bhale do aur do se bhale teen..." as he and Govinda beat up an army of goons led by one Captain Zatack (whose signature line was 'mere paison pe attack?' - yes, I am coming to that!) to the tune of a Batman soundtrack.
In fact, I first realised Govinda's star power when in a particular scene, the hall lustily cheered one of his dialogues. Somebody else being cheered in an Amitabh film was a definite first for me.
* It had a whole army of villains. Literally.
There was Danny, who was the first villain. He ruled a dockyard with the help of his red-kerchiefed army, led by Pratap (Amitabh's father, played by Deepak Shirke).
He was double-crossed by corrupt police officer, Anupam Kher. After Anupam burned Danny's family alive, Danny became bit of a tragic villain.
Famous dialogue: Iss duniya mein teen tareeke ke log hote hain. Dusro ke upar zulm karne wala Atyassaari. (Shot of Danny, running away.) Uske zulm ke khilaf awaaz uthane wala Krantikaari. (Shot of Amitabh, chasing Danny.) Aur in dono ke jung ka faida uthane wala - mere jaisa - Vyappaari!
There was the aforementioned Captain Zatack (and his band of merry men), who were corrupt officers of the Indian army and were trying to get kickbacks by buying battle tanks.
In the massive climax, Amitabh, Rajni and Govinda fought off all these guys in a battle involving tanks, helicopters (Amitabh hanging from it), bazookas and blood-curdling cries.
* It had millions of sub-plots.
Amitabh and Kimi's unrequited love story. Amitabh's sacrifice to bring up his step-brothers. Govinda's love story with Shilpa Shirodkar, in the face of her General father's (Kader Khan) opposition. Anupam Kher trying to sell shady tanks to the aforementioned General. A nautanki artiste (Kader Khan in a double role) being brought in to replace the General. Danny trying to take revenge for his dead family, mistakenly believing Amitabh to be responsible.
I must have forgotten the rest!
* It had Amitabh in a drunken scene, after ages.
For several years after the film, I knew the entire monologue involving gandi naali ka keeda and samaj ke gandagi se nikalne wala keeda by heart.
* It had Jumma Chumma De De.
Long before Pappu, we all knew Amitabh can't dance. He had a few quaint steps involving careful placement of hands and feet, which were religiously copied. But in those days, people copied everything of Amitabh.
But in the Jumma song, Amitabh danced like Elvis on Energizer batteries. Kimi Katkar (playing Jummalina Gonsalves) was the object of his osculatory ambitions and she matched him step for step, getting sprayed with beer an screaming her lines in the high-pitched voice of Kavita Krishnamurthy.
And in an even better reprise (Jumma Chumma Le Le), Amitabh and Kimi try to reach each other wading through a sea of people (Jumma had become a film star) to the tune of the song and in the climax, they embrace.
Apart from all of the above, I love the film because I saw it on Day One of release in Priya cinema of Calcutta (I have preserved the ticket to prove it!) - along with some fifteen classmates. We danced. We screamed. We whistled. We cheered. We booed. We laughed. We cried. We embraced each other because it was as if we were part of the same religion.
And at the end of day, we are faster friends because of Hum.
Hum released on 1st February 1991 across 400+ screens across the country. For teenagers who don't get surprised at Singh is Kinng's 800 screens would do well to understand that 400 screens = 400 theatres of 1000+ seats each and not 80 piddly multiplexes of 5 screens each.
To the best of my memory, Hum was the first Bollywood movie to have tremendous pre-release publicity and hype.
About a year before its release, the 'item song' - Jumma Chumma De De - was previewed at a Filmfare awards telecast on TV. And since then, India could not talk of anything else. The budget. The pairing (a nearing-50 Amitabh with nearing-25 Kimi Katkar). The tune of the Jumma Chumma song being lifted from an English (a guy called Mory Kante or some such) number. Bappi Lahiri lifting the same tune for another film (Thanedaar) around the same time. Etc etc.
But these are not the reasons I like the film, actually love the film.
* It had Amitabh's best entry in years.
A union leader - known only by his surname, Gonsalves (producer Romesh Sharma) - tries to rise against Bhaktawar (main villain, Danny) but is hung from a chain and about to be dropped into an acid vat. As the pulley gradually unfurls and he goes down with a martyr-ish look on his face, a man runs over and manages to latch on to the chain that suspends him. I remember screaming and jumping up (along with the rest of the hall) on to my seat. The man proceeded to pull out a bottle of rum, open the cap with his teeth and take a swig. Then he fought off the army of goons, all the while hanging on to the chain. Stupendous!
* It had Rajnikanth and Govinda in delightfully comical action roles.
As Amitabh's two younger (step) brothers - the police-officer and the college loafer - they provided perfect foil to Amitabh's old-worldly stardom by doing all sorts of crazy stuff. Effortlessly. In the most famous scene, Rajni says, "Bey-te lal, yek se bhale do aur do se bhale teen..." as he and Govinda beat up an army of goons led by one Captain Zatack (whose signature line was 'mere paison pe attack?' - yes, I am coming to that!) to the tune of a Batman soundtrack.
In fact, I first realised Govinda's star power when in a particular scene, the hall lustily cheered one of his dialogues. Somebody else being cheered in an Amitabh film was a definite first for me.
* It had a whole army of villains. Literally.
There was Danny, who was the first villain. He ruled a dockyard with the help of his red-kerchiefed army, led by Pratap (Amitabh's father, played by Deepak Shirke).
He was double-crossed by corrupt police officer, Anupam Kher. After Anupam burned Danny's family alive, Danny became bit of a tragic villain.
Famous dialogue: Iss duniya mein teen tareeke ke log hote hain. Dusro ke upar zulm karne wala Atyassaari. (Shot of Danny, running away.) Uske zulm ke khilaf awaaz uthane wala Krantikaari. (Shot of Amitabh, chasing Danny.) Aur in dono ke jung ka faida uthane wala - mere jaisa - Vyappaari!
There was the aforementioned Captain Zatack (and his band of merry men), who were corrupt officers of the Indian army and were trying to get kickbacks by buying battle tanks.
In the massive climax, Amitabh, Rajni and Govinda fought off all these guys in a battle involving tanks, helicopters (Amitabh hanging from it), bazookas and blood-curdling cries.
* It had millions of sub-plots.
Amitabh and Kimi's unrequited love story. Amitabh's sacrifice to bring up his step-brothers. Govinda's love story with Shilpa Shirodkar, in the face of her General father's (Kader Khan) opposition. Anupam Kher trying to sell shady tanks to the aforementioned General. A nautanki artiste (Kader Khan in a double role) being brought in to replace the General. Danny trying to take revenge for his dead family, mistakenly believing Amitabh to be responsible.
I must have forgotten the rest!
* It had Amitabh in a drunken scene, after ages.
For several years after the film, I knew the entire monologue involving gandi naali ka keeda and samaj ke gandagi se nikalne wala keeda by heart.
* It had Jumma Chumma De De.
Long before Pappu, we all knew Amitabh can't dance. He had a few quaint steps involving careful placement of hands and feet, which were religiously copied. But in those days, people copied everything of Amitabh.
But in the Jumma song, Amitabh danced like Elvis on Energizer batteries. Kimi Katkar (playing Jummalina Gonsalves) was the object of his osculatory ambitions and she matched him step for step, getting sprayed with beer an screaming her lines in the high-pitched voice of Kavita Krishnamurthy.
And in an even better reprise (Jumma Chumma Le Le), Amitabh and Kimi try to reach each other wading through a sea of people (Jumma had become a film star) to the tune of the song and in the climax, they embrace.
Apart from all of the above, I love the film because I saw it on Day One of release in Priya cinema of Calcutta (I have preserved the ticket to prove it!) - along with some fifteen classmates. We danced. We screamed. We whistled. We cheered. We booed. We laughed. We cried. We embraced each other because it was as if we were part of the same religion.
And at the end of day, we are faster friends because of Hum.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Incognito
After hanging around in jungles for twelve years, the Famous Five and Droppy had to meet the final condition - stay undiscovered from Duryodhan's cronies for another year (Agyatobash). Getting discovered meant having to repeat the twelve years once again. Now, thanks to this, Yudi managed to wangle a boon from his foster father that they would remain unrecognised by everybody in that year even without disguise.
Once in the 12 years, Arjun had pushed off to the heavens to get hold of some special weapons... As you can see, the second and third Paandavs were using the 13 years of exile to prepare for what they thought was the inevitable war. While in the heavens, apsara Urvashi tried to seduce him and he refused. Not used to being spurned, Urvashi cursed Arjun that he since he behaved like a eunuch, he would be one for one year of his life!
The five brothers decided that they would spend the last year in the courts of King Viraat. Viraat had a son by the name of Uttar and a daughter named Uttara. He was a generally harmless, ineffective king whose kingdom was run by his brother-in-law - a rather dangerous sort of chap called Kichak.
They went to a forest near the kingdom, put all their weapons into a bundle made to look like a corpse and hung it onto a tree. After that, they separated and reached the kingdom from different directions.
Yudhisthir landed up at the court of the good king and declared that he was a brahmin by the name of Kanka. He claimed to be an expert at harmless gambling and expected to be employed by the king. And he was.
Within a couple of hours, Bheem landed up. He said he was an excellent cook by the name of Ballabh. He wanted to be tried out in the royal kitchens. By way of extra-currics, he claimed to be an amateur wrestler and offered to do an exhibition bout or two. Employed.
Nakul and Sahadev landed up at the royal stable and cowshed respectively, claiming knowledge of horses and cattle. As Granthik and Tantipal, they too were employed without much ado.
Mr Arjun, who - thanks to Urvashi's curse - was now Ms Arjun reached the royal court and introduced himself as Brihannala, a dancer par excellence. (S)he was immediately appointed as Princess Uttara's teacher. In an interesting piece of detail, it is noted that Arjun had scars on his forearms due to his bowstrings grazing him there and as Brihannala, he was able to hide them under bangles (s)he wore.
Mrs P landed up at the Queen's palace as Sairindhri and wanted to be taken into her entourage as a hairdresser / makeup-artist / eye-candy. Of course, the Queen got totally flustered at her beauty and said (I quote), "Your thighs are close to each other. Your navel, voice and behaviour are subdued. Your breasts, buttocks and nose are elevated. Yours hands, feet and lips are scarlet. You are as beautiful as a Kashmiri mare. You deserve to have an entourage of your own. I would be lucky if the King did not take a fancy for you." But she took her on nevertheless.
Interesting to note here that five strikingly handsome men and one excessively beautiful woman landed up at King Viraat's court on the same day (which also happens to be the day when the five Paandavs and Draupadi were supposed to start their agyatobash) and nobody connected the dots. Duryodhan was supposed to have spies all over the country and in any case, the entire country knew about the incognito thingie but this remained unnoticed.
Not really the sharpest knives in the kitchen...
So, the Bros. & Babe happily got initiated into the daily routine of the palace and hoped to spend this one year in relative boredom.
In addition to the names mentioned above, the five brothers had taken an additional set of code names (But why Sir? Generally!) - Jay, Jayanta, Vijay, Jayatsen, Jayatdal.
But then, the Queen's thoughts about the king taking a fancy for Sairindhri turned out to be prophetic in a different sort of way.
Her brother - Kichak - was the de facto ruler of the kingdom. He was a very capable warrior and protected the kingdom. Since the king depended on him, he did everything that caught his fancy and Sairindhri caught his fancy like Jonty Rhodes caught a cricket ball. He badgered his sis to set him up with this new babe. The Queen - having a bit of a soft corner for dear bro - tried to broker the (d)alliance but Sairindhri vehemently junked the idea.
Eventually, Horny Kichak could not take it any more and jumped the babe. The babe - having practiced the routine with Duhsashan earlier - ran into the king's court where all the five brothers were generally hanging about. They did nothing - having practiced earlier as well - so as not to give away their identities.
King Viraat managed to pull his bro-in-law off but he threatened the babe that if she did not come to him willingly, he would come back at her.
Bheem, who was gritting his teeth all this while, decided to do what he did best. Take matters in his own hands.
A plan was hatched. Sairindhri passed a mesage to Kichak that she could not accept him publicly (having done so much nakhra) but if he came to a secret meeting spot at night, she promised a lot of hanky panky. Kichak, who had a hard-on from here to Ludhiana, agreed. He would have ageed to anything!
At the appointed hour and spot, Kichak landed up and was overjoyed to see a figure covered in a saree. On more intimate inspection, the figure turned out to be the cook Ballabh, who had claimed to be a decent wrestler. The decent wrestler managed to tear Kichak limb to limb without raising a din and vanished without even leaving a fingerprint.
The next morning, of course, was chaos and mayhem at the discovery and the subsequent realisation that without the mighty Kichak, the kingdom was at considerable risk with a wimpy King and a teenaged Prince Uttar.
Duryodhan's spy network had drawn a nought till now about the Paandavs - but they did relay back the news of Kichak's death. So, the Kaurav clan thought while they are waiting for the Paandavs to surface, they might as well attack Viraat's kingdom and make off with his riches.
And in no time, there were a 100 bloodthirsty bandit brothers (assisted by their weapons prof) standing right outside the kingdom.
Viraat - who never lifted a finger himself - kinda shat in his dhoti when he heard the news of this invasion. Strangely, dance teacher Brihannala cleared his throat and revealed that (s)he was also a trained charioteer. If (s)he was given a chance to steer the valiant Prince Uttar into battle, the young Prince would mow down the Kauravs. Uttar was had neither a sense of warfare nor a sense of reality. He readily agreed and his parents - not far removed from fanstasy themselves - agreed too.
Jumpcut to the battle field.
Drunk on false praise, Uttar came to his senses when he heard the commotion created by the Kaurav army. When he realised that the entire horizon was obstructed by the army and he was in it all alone, he felt it wise to instruct Brihannala to turn the chariot around as he needed to use the latrine pronto! Brihannala - on the other hand - assured that only about one-tenth the army was visible and it was a Kshatriya's greatest honour to take an arrow on his chest and die a glorious death. Uttar - at this point - jumped off the chariot and ran in the direction of the forest. An exasperated Brihannala checked out the position of the sun and decided that it was time to make an entry...
He turned the chariot around, picked up the cowering prince, went to the tree in the nearby forest where a 'corpse' was tied and asked him to bring it down. The prince forgot about fearing for his life and feared for losing his religion by touching a 'corpse'. The eunuch - in the meanwhile - took off his bangles, adjusted his clothing to a more battle-friendly and handled the innards of the corpse with a large degree of confidence. When he learnt the true identity of the Dancing Queen, he was infused with a large degree of relief.
And then, Arjun asked Prince Uttar to become the charioteer, twanged the bowstring of Gandeev and sounded his conch.
Some distance away, Dronacharya was intrigued to hear the signature twang. Could his favourite student be in the vicinity? His happiness permeated manifold among the Kauravs because they felt that Arjun had revealed himself before the one year of agyatobash was up and that meant an encore.
Drona, who had far more faith in Arjun than anybody else, did a few astronomical calculations himself and quietened the clan. It was a few moments since the thirteen years being up. Arjun was not a fool to have made an appearance before that.
At this point, two arrows from Arjun came and landed in front of Drona's chariot. And two more whizzed past his ears.
Did Arjun miss? Not exactly.
With the first two arrows, he symbolically touched his guru's feet. And with the next two, he asked about his well-being having met him after 13 years.
These are the cute details which elevate Mahabharat from a great epic to the greatest epic!
Of course, a pitched battle ensued. Of course, Arjun beat the shit out of the Kauravs and sent them back. But of course, the Incognito Year ended on a victorious note.
And it queered the pitch for the Mother of All Battles - Kurukshetra!
Once in the 12 years, Arjun had pushed off to the heavens to get hold of some special weapons... As you can see, the second and third Paandavs were using the 13 years of exile to prepare for what they thought was the inevitable war. While in the heavens, apsara Urvashi tried to seduce him and he refused. Not used to being spurned, Urvashi cursed Arjun that he since he behaved like a eunuch, he would be one for one year of his life!
The five brothers decided that they would spend the last year in the courts of King Viraat. Viraat had a son by the name of Uttar and a daughter named Uttara. He was a generally harmless, ineffective king whose kingdom was run by his brother-in-law - a rather dangerous sort of chap called Kichak.
They went to a forest near the kingdom, put all their weapons into a bundle made to look like a corpse and hung it onto a tree. After that, they separated and reached the kingdom from different directions.
Yudhisthir landed up at the court of the good king and declared that he was a brahmin by the name of Kanka. He claimed to be an expert at harmless gambling and expected to be employed by the king. And he was.
Within a couple of hours, Bheem landed up. He said he was an excellent cook by the name of Ballabh. He wanted to be tried out in the royal kitchens. By way of extra-currics, he claimed to be an amateur wrestler and offered to do an exhibition bout or two. Employed.
Nakul and Sahadev landed up at the royal stable and cowshed respectively, claiming knowledge of horses and cattle. As Granthik and Tantipal, they too were employed without much ado.
Mr Arjun, who - thanks to Urvashi's curse - was now Ms Arjun reached the royal court and introduced himself as Brihannala, a dancer par excellence. (S)he was immediately appointed as Princess Uttara's teacher. In an interesting piece of detail, it is noted that Arjun had scars on his forearms due to his bowstrings grazing him there and as Brihannala, he was able to hide them under bangles (s)he wore.
Mrs P landed up at the Queen's palace as Sairindhri and wanted to be taken into her entourage as a hairdresser / makeup-artist / eye-candy. Of course, the Queen got totally flustered at her beauty and said (I quote), "Your thighs are close to each other. Your navel, voice and behaviour are subdued. Your breasts, buttocks and nose are elevated. Yours hands, feet and lips are scarlet. You are as beautiful as a Kashmiri mare. You deserve to have an entourage of your own. I would be lucky if the King did not take a fancy for you." But she took her on nevertheless.
Interesting to note here that five strikingly handsome men and one excessively beautiful woman landed up at King Viraat's court on the same day (which also happens to be the day when the five Paandavs and Draupadi were supposed to start their agyatobash) and nobody connected the dots. Duryodhan was supposed to have spies all over the country and in any case, the entire country knew about the incognito thingie but this remained unnoticed.
Not really the sharpest knives in the kitchen...
So, the Bros. & Babe happily got initiated into the daily routine of the palace and hoped to spend this one year in relative boredom.
In addition to the names mentioned above, the five brothers had taken an additional set of code names (But why Sir? Generally!) - Jay, Jayanta, Vijay, Jayatsen, Jayatdal.
But then, the Queen's thoughts about the king taking a fancy for Sairindhri turned out to be prophetic in a different sort of way.
Her brother - Kichak - was the de facto ruler of the kingdom. He was a very capable warrior and protected the kingdom. Since the king depended on him, he did everything that caught his fancy and Sairindhri caught his fancy like Jonty Rhodes caught a cricket ball. He badgered his sis to set him up with this new babe. The Queen - having a bit of a soft corner for dear bro - tried to broker the (d)alliance but Sairindhri vehemently junked the idea.
Eventually, Horny Kichak could not take it any more and jumped the babe. The babe - having practiced the routine with Duhsashan earlier - ran into the king's court where all the five brothers were generally hanging about. They did nothing - having practiced earlier as well - so as not to give away their identities.
King Viraat managed to pull his bro-in-law off but he threatened the babe that if she did not come to him willingly, he would come back at her.
Bheem, who was gritting his teeth all this while, decided to do what he did best. Take matters in his own hands.
A plan was hatched. Sairindhri passed a mesage to Kichak that she could not accept him publicly (having done so much nakhra) but if he came to a secret meeting spot at night, she promised a lot of hanky panky. Kichak, who had a hard-on from here to Ludhiana, agreed. He would have ageed to anything!
At the appointed hour and spot, Kichak landed up and was overjoyed to see a figure covered in a saree. On more intimate inspection, the figure turned out to be the cook Ballabh, who had claimed to be a decent wrestler. The decent wrestler managed to tear Kichak limb to limb without raising a din and vanished without even leaving a fingerprint.
The next morning, of course, was chaos and mayhem at the discovery and the subsequent realisation that without the mighty Kichak, the kingdom was at considerable risk with a wimpy King and a teenaged Prince Uttar.
Duryodhan's spy network had drawn a nought till now about the Paandavs - but they did relay back the news of Kichak's death. So, the Kaurav clan thought while they are waiting for the Paandavs to surface, they might as well attack Viraat's kingdom and make off with his riches.
And in no time, there were a 100 bloodthirsty bandit brothers (assisted by their weapons prof) standing right outside the kingdom.
Viraat - who never lifted a finger himself - kinda shat in his dhoti when he heard the news of this invasion. Strangely, dance teacher Brihannala cleared his throat and revealed that (s)he was also a trained charioteer. If (s)he was given a chance to steer the valiant Prince Uttar into battle, the young Prince would mow down the Kauravs. Uttar was had neither a sense of warfare nor a sense of reality. He readily agreed and his parents - not far removed from fanstasy themselves - agreed too.
Jumpcut to the battle field.
Drunk on false praise, Uttar came to his senses when he heard the commotion created by the Kaurav army. When he realised that the entire horizon was obstructed by the army and he was in it all alone, he felt it wise to instruct Brihannala to turn the chariot around as he needed to use the latrine pronto! Brihannala - on the other hand - assured that only about one-tenth the army was visible and it was a Kshatriya's greatest honour to take an arrow on his chest and die a glorious death. Uttar - at this point - jumped off the chariot and ran in the direction of the forest. An exasperated Brihannala checked out the position of the sun and decided that it was time to make an entry...
He turned the chariot around, picked up the cowering prince, went to the tree in the nearby forest where a 'corpse' was tied and asked him to bring it down. The prince forgot about fearing for his life and feared for losing his religion by touching a 'corpse'. The eunuch - in the meanwhile - took off his bangles, adjusted his clothing to a more battle-friendly and handled the innards of the corpse with a large degree of confidence. When he learnt the true identity of the Dancing Queen, he was infused with a large degree of relief.
And then, Arjun asked Prince Uttar to become the charioteer, twanged the bowstring of Gandeev and sounded his conch.
Some distance away, Dronacharya was intrigued to hear the signature twang. Could his favourite student be in the vicinity? His happiness permeated manifold among the Kauravs because they felt that Arjun had revealed himself before the one year of agyatobash was up and that meant an encore.
Drona, who had far more faith in Arjun than anybody else, did a few astronomical calculations himself and quietened the clan. It was a few moments since the thirteen years being up. Arjun was not a fool to have made an appearance before that.
At this point, two arrows from Arjun came and landed in front of Drona's chariot. And two more whizzed past his ears.
Did Arjun miss? Not exactly.
With the first two arrows, he symbolically touched his guru's feet. And with the next two, he asked about his well-being having met him after 13 years.
These are the cute details which elevate Mahabharat from a great epic to the greatest epic!
Of course, a pitched battle ensued. Of course, Arjun beat the shit out of the Kauravs and sent them back. But of course, the Incognito Year ended on a victorious note.
And it queered the pitch for the Mother of All Battles - Kurukshetra!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Random Movies I Like: Dance Dance
I have done film posts in two different formats: one is a detailed analysis (!) of films of a certain period/genre/theme, usually running into several thousand words. And the second is a quick take on a film, remembering bits and pieces of it. This post started under the second format and somehow in the course of writing it, it sneaked into the first format.
Pointless - check. Rambling - check. Avoidable - check.
Story 1: A boy's parents are killed by an evil rajah. The boy grows up and takes revenge.
Story 2: An elder sister helps her little brother become successful. When she dies, the brother is shattered. However, he comes back to regain his success.
Story 3: An extremely talented musical group rises from rags to riches. In-fighting causes them to split. They eventually unite for one final hurrah.
These three stories have been repeated infinite times in the history of Bollywood. And really, there is no novelty in them anymore. The film in discussion - Dance Dance - stands out not because it used any of the above plots but because it used all three!
However, before we get into the detailed description of the plot and scenes, a brief background is necessary.
Romeo and sis move into swanky bungalow. Kaamyabi kiss their toes. Romeo learns to drink.
Poignant dialogue: Bachpan mein jab paani mangta tha, gaaliyan milti thi. Ab paani mangne se whiskey milti hain.
Drummer Shakti spotted getting fresh with sis. Romeo about to beat him to a pulp when sis guiltily confesses love for drummer. Undoubtedly, the lowest point of Smita's cinematic career, this is where indulgent Romeo agrees to the marriage. In standard filmi tradition, sis gives up showbiz and embraces happy matrimony. For some reason, drummer-husband also follows suit. Sneaking suspicion that Shakti Kapoor - hitherto heroic - might just live up to his image.
Romeo - after a drunken binge (Fast learner! See alcohol initiation, three lines above.) - walks into a shady bar. The cabaret artist is eminently recognisable and she professes her ambition to emulate Romeo one day.
Song Situation: Romeo oh Romeo. Jaaneman, tum number one ho / Har jawaan dil ki dhadkan ho / Hain sitarein tum par meherbaan / Tum ho tum to hum bhi hum hain / Hum nahin tum se kuch kam hain / Tum jahan jo jaane jana / Hum ko bhi aana hain kal wahaan...
Romeo may be drunk but he recognises thighs like that at two hundred paces. Janita - after her spectacular defeat - is reduced to being a Janitor (almost). She now dances at, well, dance bars.
Romeo feels guilty/horny enough to offer her a position in his band, a room in his house and a ventricle in his heart. Mandy moves in before we can say B Subhash.
Parallel Plot: Shakti Kapoor starts doing what he normally does in films and sometimes, even in real life.
He has affairs. Actually, he sleeps with his molls in his own bedroom while Smita Patil serves tea. You had heard of threesomes. Now, this is a tea-some. He beats up Smita when she meekly protests. He asks for money from Romeo. And if all that is not enough, he struts around in his underwear.
Smita covers up blackened eye and asks for money. Romeo threatens to beat up Shakti but pays up. Smita covers up bloodied nose and asks for money. Romeo threatens to beat up Shakti but pays up. Smita dabs at swollen lips... you get the picture, right?
Oh, if you are wondering why Romeo pays up, then you must be Bhishma Pitamaha. In modern Hindi cinema, nobody messes with behen ka suhaag.
In between all this brutality, Smita announces pregnancy. Her real-life pregnancy was becoming a little too difficult to hide by now. Shakti is overjoyed and whips her with a belt.
Close up: Belt hitting Smita's stomach.
Predictable Scene: Smita dies in childbirth. Child is still born.
Shakti is flipping through a magazine at home. Blazing-eyed Mithun enters.
Shakti: Tum kyon aaye ho?
Mithun (my favourite dialogue): Doctor ne kaha kisi ne Smita ko bedardi se mara hain. Main tumhe bedardi ka matlab samjhane aaya hoon.
After the bedardi-ka-matlab-samjhane-wala-pitaai, Shakti becomes repentant. Mithun becomes alcoholic. Mandakini becomes maudlin. With Mithun downing Black Label straight from the tap, it is up to Mandy to do the shows and bring in the moolah. She does this a great show of sorrow and cleavage.
Song Situation: Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar mera kho gaya / Pyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar mera kho gaya
Important Plot Point: Romeo's liver has shrunk to the size of a raisin by now and any attempts at dancing (or so I remember) may aggravate the already naazuk haalaat.
Inter-cut with the above song (sung by Alisha in the trademark quivering-voice of Asha) are scenes of Maharajah of Jalpaiguri. All of you who are still overcome at the thought of Smita's death, you would do well to go back to Para #2 and refresh your memories. Impressively enough, Maharajah (not to be confused with Maharaja of Behala) still has lascivious thoughts about nubile nymphets and wants to invite this specimen of feminity to Jalpaiguri!
Either Mandy has bad feelings about the Rajah or she has had enough of Romeo sitting on his ass and guzzling whisky, she inspires him to return to the stage... at Jalpaiguri! When Romeo stares at her balefully despite her flashing spirit, thighs and cleavage in sequence, she decides to move on. For the show. Not from the relationship, silly!
When her van is on the way to Jalpaiguri (which, incidentally, has a train and air station in real life but not used in this film), a hijack attempt is made. However, this time a spooky figure in a spotless white sari emerges from the jungles and AK-47s. They are the Maharaja's henchmen. They obviously had great respect for their 30-year old hijacking trick but had not bargained for Romeo's Mom hanging around the jungles for so long!
YES, Mom-Lovers, YES! The mom, whom we had given up for the dead, is not dead after all and is ready to shake a mean machine gun once again.
By this time, Romeo has also reached Jalpaiguri. He has regained his natural narrow-eyed, pointy-lipped coolness. He embraces his mother and promises to avenge her be-izzati. And, he has decided to throw caution to the winds and dance like there's no tomorrow. Dance at the bloke's function who he has to kill to avenge his mother's misfortune. Don't fret... Hindi films' strength are its set pieces, not the bloody logic.
Song Situation: Zindagi mera dance dance (pronounced: dhnyanns dhnyanns)
Mithun dresses up in a zebra-striped costume with gloves upto his elbows. There is strobe lighting. There is repentant Shakti, singing in the aisles. There is doting mom doing the nazar utaaro act in the wings.
And there is a purported cirrhosis of the liver. So, during the particularly tricky moves, Mithun supposedly has tremendous pain in his liver and holds on to his right flank!
Net net, all's well that ends well. People die of happiness seeing Romeo come back. Shakti dies catching a bullet intended for Romeo. Amrish dies because he needs to give his enlarged eyeballs some rest.
And the audience goes home in a state of ecstatic delirium.
I have seen this film just once. And despite that some twenty years later, I remember reasonably large chunks of the film in scene-by-scene detail. Quite amazing, this points out the pull of a seemingly hackneyed plot, charisma of the lead stars and the melody of Bappi Lahiri's music.
And even after writing reams, I still have not told you that Shakti Kapoor's name is Resham. Or, Mithun calls Dalip Tahil Banjo sahab. In one scene, Mithun mistakes a lightning bolt as a photo flash and poses. Mithun gets an agent called David (played by Om Shivpuri). Even in Disco Dancer, he had an agent called David (played by Om Puri). So on and so forth...
Such is the Mithun magentism. Hallelujah!
Pointless - check. Rambling - check. Avoidable - check.
Story 1: A boy's parents are killed by an evil rajah. The boy grows up and takes revenge.
Story 2: An elder sister helps her little brother become successful. When she dies, the brother is shattered. However, he comes back to regain his success.
Story 3: An extremely talented musical group rises from rags to riches. In-fighting causes them to split. They eventually unite for one final hurrah.
These three stories have been repeated infinite times in the history of Bollywood. And really, there is no novelty in them anymore. The film in discussion - Dance Dance - stands out not because it used any of the above plots but because it used all three!
However, before we get into the detailed description of the plot and scenes, a brief background is necessary.
A lot of people worship Mithun nowadays as Prabhuji and his later films have found a cult following on the 'net. These films - which proliferated literally by the dozens in the mid-1990s - were darlings of the distributors because they were commercially super-successful and rewarded their investors manifold.
But the seeds of Mithun's divinity were sown much before these films. It started off somewhere in the early 80s, when B Subhash directed the movie Disco Dancer with Mithun Chakraborty in the lead and it became a monster hit. Bappi Lahiri’s music and Mithun’s sinewy dance moves became the toast of every Ganpati / Durga Puja pandal in the country and we had the country’s first male dancing star (not counting V Shantaram)!
A couple of years after Disco Dancer, the same actor-director-composer trio came together for Dance Dance – which became an even bigger hit than the earlier movie. This was the late 80s when people were still unsure about the difference between ‘disco’ and ‘rock’ and teenagers believed that being able to ‘break dance’ is the ultimate sign of coolness!
The film opens with an impoverished family of four - musician parents and their son and daughter. The parents are about to leave for a musical show, which is supposed to bring in 'dher sara paisa' and solve their woes. The son - suffering from fever - is a halwa fan (hint - hit song ahead!) and in an attempt to divert his sorrow at the parting, a container of halwa is thrust in his hand. A heartless landlord appears magically to demand rent and on being told to wait, he promptly snatches the halwa from the kid and vanishes. Logic: rent defaulters don't get their just desserts.
Just before the parents hop on to an auto rickshaw (from the same set where the TV serial Nukkad was shot), the son hands over a letter to the mom and asks her to open it when she is on stage!
The parents and their dance troupe are supposed to perform in front of the Maharajah of Jalpaiguri (huh?) - a role essayed by Amrish Puri with a silver mane and his customary gusto. The son message turns out that he wants his mother to sing a song which starts with Zu Zu Zubi Zubi Zubi. (Double huh!)
Anyway, the mother promptly starts off on a ritzy ditty, which goes Mera dil gaye ja Zu Zu Zubi Zubi Zubi / Masti mein gaye ja Zu Zu Zubi Zubi Zubi... which is all fine except the Maharajah of Jalpaiguri has developed the hots for her! So, all through the song, he fantasises bumping his substantial cheeks on her voluminous hips with his usual eye-enlargement-as-lewdness trick. The mother tries to inject a bit of seriousness with words like masti mein chur ameeri, bebas majboor gareebi and patthar dil daulat waale but when a song ends with words like Zu Zu Zubi Zubi Zubi, Amrish Puri's hormones are bound to go into an overdrive.
The song ends. They leave for Bombay (presumably with the dher sara paisa). Their bus is hijacked by Rajasaheb's henchmen. They are made to perform in front of Rajah. Rajah tries to act out his fantasies. Father (on keyboards, hitherto unseen) behaves in true Bollywood fashion i.e. protests meekly and gets bumped off. Mother runs off into the Jungles of Jalpaiguri. Bus blown up and news of parents' demise spread through newspapers.
800 words... and we have just gone past the titles.
The heartless landlord (see above) returns this time with a copy of the newspaper and chucks out the siblings. To increase the HWS (Heart Wrench Score), the boy now has high fever and no halwa. The sister manages to carry him to Juhu beach, while he is mumbling for halwa. Only in Hindi cinema do we see orphans with high fever pining for gaajar ka halwa, boondi ke laddoo and such ghee-laden monstrosities.
In an attempt to show that the boy's twin passions are halwa and dance, the kid is made to totter through a couple of (presumably) disco steps. And a passerby is impressed enough to throw a coin. The sis picks up coin and...
Poignant Dialogue (by sis): Ramu (oh - did I mention that the bro's name is Ramu? No? Well, I just did!), halwa khane ke liye paisa kamaana padega. Aur paisa kamaane ke liye tujhe dance karna padega... Dance Dance.
Song Situation: Aa gaya, aa gaya halwa-wala aa gaya / Rang jamaane aa gaya / Dhoom machane aa gaya...
In between the song - exactly at a jazzy musical interlude - the small legs of the brother segues into the white-shoe-clad, white-trousers-encased snazzy legs of Mithun as he sings a disco-version of the Halwa-wala song, dressed up as Santa Claus!
This is also the time to introduce the 'heroine' of the film - who is not the love interest of the hero, but his sister. The posters proclaimed 'See dear Smita Patil in her last role' and people who remember the magnificent actress from Arth, Khandahar and Bhumika should see Dance Dance because she matched Mithun step for step, lip-synch for lip-synch in this film. Her awkwardness in filmy dancing (so visible in Namak Halal) was all gone.
During the course of this song and a couple of scenes, we are introduced to Mithun and his band. Mithun is the lead performer, Smita provides supporting vocalists and Shakti 'Casting Couch' Kapoor on drums. There may have been a few other assorted characters as well but there was no answer to the plaintive cries of 'who's the bassist?'
Smita - also the brain behind the band - decides that they needed to make some money pronto and they devise a plan to entertain a very exclusive and stiff-upper-lip club. Now, for some strange reason, the club seems to have only Parsi members.
Anyway, POA is Smita dresses up as a rich dowager and plants herself as a member. Mithun and Shakti sneak in and shake a mean leg. Club members are suitably impressed and tip them large amounts of money. Err... but why is Smita dressed up as a member? Offoh... so that she can start the tipping process as 'one of them' and the others can join in.
Song Situation: Everybody dance with pa.pa.pa / Everybody dance with maa.maa.
Highlight: When the ancient Parsi community stares at Mithun's steps bewildered, he says - "You don't know break dance? Okay - tequila!" And the famous tat.tara.tat.tara music starts off and the bawas join in enthusiastically.
Now, it dawns on the band (which either has no name or I have no memory) that the above money-earning tactic has achieved only one thing - add one more hit song to the film. So, they decide to enter a Disco Championship, which is the rough equivalent of Indian Idol in the 80s. Or so it looks like. Except that it has two hitches.
One, they band has to kow-tow to Dalip Tahil to enter the contest.
Two, a band led by a singer called Janita (not to be mistaken for Janitor) seems destined to win.
You can add a third to the list - Dalip Tahil has the hots for the aforementioned Janita, played with mini-skirted aplomb by Mandakini.
Obviously, in true filmi tradition, Mithun and gang sneak in from the service entrance and crash the show - right after a superb performance by Mandy and Co (of the only song in the film, which I have forgotten which means it can't be that good a performance). And whatay performance they give... man oh man, whatay performance!
Song Situation: Super Dancer (pronounced: Soup-ah Dyan-sah) nachenge nachenge / Super Dance gayenge gayenge
In the only song he sings in the film, composer Bappi Lahiri surpasses himself and comes up with a rendition that would occupy positions 1 to 100 in the Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame. Only if they agreed to count this song as rock.
Important Info: All the songs of the film are sung by Vijay Benedict and Alisha Chinai, both in one of their earliest films. Vijay seems to have vanished into thin air but Ms Chinai is still going strong.
Post this Soup-ah performance, Ramu promptly becomes Romeo and the band becomes the hottest property in tinsel town. Having lost this all-important contest, the super-hot Janita vanishes into oblivion and Dalip Tahil eats tonnes of humble pie. Because Romeo now insists on taking pie pie ka hisaab. Har har...
Romeo and sis move into swanky bungalow. Kaamyabi kiss their toes. Romeo learns to drink.
Poignant dialogue: Bachpan mein jab paani mangta tha, gaaliyan milti thi. Ab paani mangne se whiskey milti hain.
Drummer Shakti spotted getting fresh with sis. Romeo about to beat him to a pulp when sis guiltily confesses love for drummer. Undoubtedly, the lowest point of Smita's cinematic career, this is where indulgent Romeo agrees to the marriage. In standard filmi tradition, sis gives up showbiz and embraces happy matrimony. For some reason, drummer-husband also follows suit. Sneaking suspicion that Shakti Kapoor - hitherto heroic - might just live up to his image.
Romeo - after a drunken binge (Fast learner! See alcohol initiation, three lines above.) - walks into a shady bar. The cabaret artist is eminently recognisable and she professes her ambition to emulate Romeo one day.
Song Situation: Romeo oh Romeo. Jaaneman, tum number one ho / Har jawaan dil ki dhadkan ho / Hain sitarein tum par meherbaan / Tum ho tum to hum bhi hum hain / Hum nahin tum se kuch kam hain / Tum jahan jo jaane jana / Hum ko bhi aana hain kal wahaan...
Romeo may be drunk but he recognises thighs like that at two hundred paces. Janita - after her spectacular defeat - is reduced to being a Janitor (almost). She now dances at, well, dance bars.
Romeo feels guilty/horny enough to offer her a position in his band, a room in his house and a ventricle in his heart. Mandy moves in before we can say B Subhash.
Parallel Plot: Shakti Kapoor starts doing what he normally does in films and sometimes, even in real life.
He has affairs. Actually, he sleeps with his molls in his own bedroom while Smita Patil serves tea. You had heard of threesomes. Now, this is a tea-some. He beats up Smita when she meekly protests. He asks for money from Romeo. And if all that is not enough, he struts around in his underwear.
Smita covers up blackened eye and asks for money. Romeo threatens to beat up Shakti but pays up. Smita covers up bloodied nose and asks for money. Romeo threatens to beat up Shakti but pays up. Smita dabs at swollen lips... you get the picture, right?
Oh, if you are wondering why Romeo pays up, then you must be Bhishma Pitamaha. In modern Hindi cinema, nobody messes with behen ka suhaag.
In between all this brutality, Smita announces pregnancy. Her real-life pregnancy was becoming a little too difficult to hide by now. Shakti is overjoyed and whips her with a belt.
Close up: Belt hitting Smita's stomach.
Predictable Scene: Smita dies in childbirth. Child is still born.
Shakti is flipping through a magazine at home. Blazing-eyed Mithun enters.
Shakti: Tum kyon aaye ho?
Mithun (my favourite dialogue): Doctor ne kaha kisi ne Smita ko bedardi se mara hain. Main tumhe bedardi ka matlab samjhane aaya hoon.
After the bedardi-ka-matlab-samjhane-wala-pitaai, Shakti becomes repentant. Mithun becomes alcoholic. Mandakini becomes maudlin. With Mithun downing Black Label straight from the tap, it is up to Mandy to do the shows and bring in the moolah. She does this a great show of sorrow and cleavage.
Song Situation: Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar mera kho gaya / Pyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar mera kho gaya
Important Plot Point: Romeo's liver has shrunk to the size of a raisin by now and any attempts at dancing (or so I remember) may aggravate the already naazuk haalaat.
Inter-cut with the above song (sung by Alisha in the trademark quivering-voice of Asha) are scenes of Maharajah of Jalpaiguri. All of you who are still overcome at the thought of Smita's death, you would do well to go back to Para #2 and refresh your memories. Impressively enough, Maharajah (not to be confused with Maharaja of Behala) still has lascivious thoughts about nubile nymphets and wants to invite this specimen of feminity to Jalpaiguri!
Either Mandy has bad feelings about the Rajah or she has had enough of Romeo sitting on his ass and guzzling whisky, she inspires him to return to the stage... at Jalpaiguri! When Romeo stares at her balefully despite her flashing spirit, thighs and cleavage in sequence, she decides to move on. For the show. Not from the relationship, silly!
When her van is on the way to Jalpaiguri (which, incidentally, has a train and air station in real life but not used in this film), a hijack attempt is made. However, this time a spooky figure in a spotless white sari emerges from the jungles and AK-47s. They are the Maharaja's henchmen. They obviously had great respect for their 30-year old hijacking trick but had not bargained for Romeo's Mom hanging around the jungles for so long!
YES, Mom-Lovers, YES! The mom, whom we had given up for the dead, is not dead after all and is ready to shake a mean machine gun once again.
By this time, Romeo has also reached Jalpaiguri. He has regained his natural narrow-eyed, pointy-lipped coolness. He embraces his mother and promises to avenge her be-izzati. And, he has decided to throw caution to the winds and dance like there's no tomorrow. Dance at the bloke's function who he has to kill to avenge his mother's misfortune. Don't fret... Hindi films' strength are its set pieces, not the bloody logic.
Song Situation: Zindagi mera dance dance (pronounced: dhnyanns dhnyanns)
Mithun dresses up in a zebra-striped costume with gloves upto his elbows. There is strobe lighting. There is repentant Shakti, singing in the aisles. There is doting mom doing the nazar utaaro act in the wings.
And there is a purported cirrhosis of the liver. So, during the particularly tricky moves, Mithun supposedly has tremendous pain in his liver and holds on to his right flank!
Net net, all's well that ends well. People die of happiness seeing Romeo come back. Shakti dies catching a bullet intended for Romeo. Amrish dies because he needs to give his enlarged eyeballs some rest.
And the audience goes home in a state of ecstatic delirium.
I have seen this film just once. And despite that some twenty years later, I remember reasonably large chunks of the film in scene-by-scene detail. Quite amazing, this points out the pull of a seemingly hackneyed plot, charisma of the lead stars and the melody of Bappi Lahiri's music.
And even after writing reams, I still have not told you that Shakti Kapoor's name is Resham. Or, Mithun calls Dalip Tahil Banjo sahab. In one scene, Mithun mistakes a lightning bolt as a photo flash and poses. Mithun gets an agent called David (played by Om Shivpuri). Even in Disco Dancer, he had an agent called David (played by Om Puri). So on and so forth...
Such is the Mithun magentism. Hallelujah!
Friday, November 14, 2008
Where My Quantum of Solace Were the Music and a Burger that Gave me Food Poisoning
For a while now, it has been a matter of principle to watch a Bond movie on the day it releases. And so, avoiding search engines that volunteered information on Quantum of Solace and 'la-la-la-la-la-ing' when news organisations spoke about it, I managed to rush into the theatre with a ticket and a clean slate.
Daniel Craig's the favourite Bond of very few people, but I do rank among this limited number. Most men I know like Sean Connery or Pierce Brosnan, and most women I know like Pierce Brosnan, but I think Craig has a certain steeliness and a smirk that make for a decent Bond. I doubt anyone could have the jauntiness and tongue-in-cheek of Ian Fleming's James Bond... maybe someone who looked like the lovechild of Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale, and carried the demeanour of Johnny Depp, but the combination does not seem one we can see in the near future. Perhaps an Eric Bana who behaved like Johnny Depp would not be a bad choice...well, leaving permutations of DNA aside, Craig seems a decent Bond, though he does walk with the slight embarrassment any stage actor who is asked to strike rather silly macho poses with enlarged G I Joe guns is bound to have.
Daniel Craig is the kind of man you would not particularly like to introduce to your mother, but you would certainly feel quite happy to introduce to your ex-boyfriend and most definitely your bed. (Though if one were into blonde eyelashes, Boris Becker might be a more appropriate choice. One might make conversation about Wimbledon, one supposes.) But one wonders why his steely look needs to be compromised with false vulnerability. What is the point of getting him beaten up by everything from stray bricks (in the high-definition television ad) to men about as broad across the shoulders as Craig's biscep? With all due respect to Dame Judi Densch, her M and her love-hate relationship with Craig's Bond come across as a rather horrific, forced modern interpretation of Oedipus.
The action in the movie is rather blurry. The excitement of the chase in Casino Royale is missing from this one, because the almost stream-of-consciousness shot changes and close-ups are rather too bizarre to get one's adrenaline pumping. The story structure is not particularly lucid. Of course, it does take off from Casino Royale, but having watched both, I'm still not quite sure what happened in there. The intensity of his love for Vesper should probably have been brought out better, with a clever use of technique, so flashback and contemplation didn't get maudlin, but served their purpose. The revenge he exacts for her murder comes almost as an afterthought.
On the subject of afterthoughts, one must feel rather sorry for Gemma Arterton. Of course, a large portion of the movie must have been censored in India, but the only part of it where she could have looked remotely sexy was when she was found dead...and except for the black sheen of oil that made her skin look relatively smooth, it must have come across as a bit of an anti-climax for the poor girl. I doubt any much-touted Bond girl has been of so little significance and shared so little chemistry with Bond...even when Bond was as unsexy as Roger Moore. The other woman is rather pretty, but in a school-girlish way that makes Craig almost apologetic when he attempts a passionate kiss and comes off with a rather paternal one. Her ostentatious accent is rather an itch under one's skin...could have done without it.
The music, though, is quite wonderful. The opening song 'Another Way to Die' has been decently shot, with the sand artwork, but the visual finesse of the song doesn't quite compare with 'You Know My Name' from Casino Royale. The musical arrangement in the movie was a lot more obvious, because the visuals were not quite as riveting as the previous film. The saving grace of the film, and the communicative factor which indicated to one how one was supposed to feel, was the music. It did Bond the courtesy of being subtle and troubled when his mind was on Vesper and paced up beautifully during the action sequences. Bond and his bete noirs did bear some resemblance to the proverbial frog-in-a-blender, and it was the music which gave one the sense of excitement as they played trapeze on church bell ropes and chandeliers.
Watch if: you're a Bond addict, want to trash a Bond girl, live for music and like writing scathing film reviews, you're fat and want to feel good about ugly Bond women, think Daniel Craig is not quite up to the mark.
Do not watch if: You fancy Daniel Craig and want to keep that intact, watch Bond movies for the semi-pornographic sequences, are an Ian Fleming fan.
Daniel Craig's the favourite Bond of very few people, but I do rank among this limited number. Most men I know like Sean Connery or Pierce Brosnan, and most women I know like Pierce Brosnan, but I think Craig has a certain steeliness and a smirk that make for a decent Bond. I doubt anyone could have the jauntiness and tongue-in-cheek of Ian Fleming's James Bond... maybe someone who looked like the lovechild of Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale, and carried the demeanour of Johnny Depp, but the combination does not seem one we can see in the near future. Perhaps an Eric Bana who behaved like Johnny Depp would not be a bad choice...well, leaving permutations of DNA aside, Craig seems a decent Bond, though he does walk with the slight embarrassment any stage actor who is asked to strike rather silly macho poses with enlarged G I Joe guns is bound to have.
Daniel Craig is the kind of man you would not particularly like to introduce to your mother, but you would certainly feel quite happy to introduce to your ex-boyfriend and most definitely your bed. (Though if one were into blonde eyelashes, Boris Becker might be a more appropriate choice. One might make conversation about Wimbledon, one supposes.) But one wonders why his steely look needs to be compromised with false vulnerability. What is the point of getting him beaten up by everything from stray bricks (in the high-definition television ad) to men about as broad across the shoulders as Craig's biscep? With all due respect to Dame Judi Densch, her M and her love-hate relationship with Craig's Bond come across as a rather horrific, forced modern interpretation of Oedipus.
The action in the movie is rather blurry. The excitement of the chase in Casino Royale is missing from this one, because the almost stream-of-consciousness shot changes and close-ups are rather too bizarre to get one's adrenaline pumping. The story structure is not particularly lucid. Of course, it does take off from Casino Royale, but having watched both, I'm still not quite sure what happened in there. The intensity of his love for Vesper should probably have been brought out better, with a clever use of technique, so flashback and contemplation didn't get maudlin, but served their purpose. The revenge he exacts for her murder comes almost as an afterthought.
On the subject of afterthoughts, one must feel rather sorry for Gemma Arterton. Of course, a large portion of the movie must have been censored in India, but the only part of it where she could have looked remotely sexy was when she was found dead...and except for the black sheen of oil that made her skin look relatively smooth, it must have come across as a bit of an anti-climax for the poor girl. I doubt any much-touted Bond girl has been of so little significance and shared so little chemistry with Bond...even when Bond was as unsexy as Roger Moore. The other woman is rather pretty, but in a school-girlish way that makes Craig almost apologetic when he attempts a passionate kiss and comes off with a rather paternal one. Her ostentatious accent is rather an itch under one's skin...could have done without it.
The music, though, is quite wonderful. The opening song 'Another Way to Die' has been decently shot, with the sand artwork, but the visual finesse of the song doesn't quite compare with 'You Know My Name' from Casino Royale. The musical arrangement in the movie was a lot more obvious, because the visuals were not quite as riveting as the previous film. The saving grace of the film, and the communicative factor which indicated to one how one was supposed to feel, was the music. It did Bond the courtesy of being subtle and troubled when his mind was on Vesper and paced up beautifully during the action sequences. Bond and his bete noirs did bear some resemblance to the proverbial frog-in-a-blender, and it was the music which gave one the sense of excitement as they played trapeze on church bell ropes and chandeliers.
Watch if: you're a Bond addict, want to trash a Bond girl, live for music and like writing scathing film reviews, you're fat and want to feel good about ugly Bond women, think Daniel Craig is not quite up to the mark.
Do not watch if: You fancy Daniel Craig and want to keep that intact, watch Bond movies for the semi-pornographic sequences, are an Ian Fleming fan.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
James Bond, RIP
I saw a very good action film last Sunday. It was called Quantum of Solace.
Before the film, I was led to believe that this was the latest in the James Bond series but evidently that was not correct.
In the opening scenes, the hero (in an Aston Martin) evades three villainous cars behind him in a breathtaking display of vehicular stunts over a rugged terrain. At the end of the adrenaline pumping sequence, he opens the boot of the car to reveal an abducted man and says, "Time to get out".
In another scene, a beautiful Secret Service agent tells our hero that if he tries any funny business, she would have him chained and jailed. In response, the hero smiles and says, "we will see about that." His companion almost prods him - "Does she have handcuffs?" And our hero laboriously says, "I am banking on it."
FOR GOD'S SAKE, IS THIS WHAT JAMES BOND - THE JAMES BOND - SUPPOSED TO SAY AND DO?
Does anybody among the producers and directors even know what James Bond stands for? Is it only having gigantic sets, orchestrated car crashes and killing megalomaniacs intent on world domination?
If I wanted to total a desert hideout of a villain, I would employ Schwarzenegger and a machine gun. If I wanted to kill millions of enemy soldiers, one Stallone is more than enough. Jumping over buildings is something Vin Diesel does in his sleep. Hell, if I wanted to disintegrate Pakistan, there is always Sunny Deol and his hand pump.
But when James Bond kills a villain with a spear gun, I don't expect him to stop there and gasp for breath. I expect him to say, "I think he's got the point." And then, maybe adjust his tux.
Or when he electrocutes a villain, he finds it "Shocking, positively shocking."
This is why I go to see a Bond movie.
Bond is supposed to terminate mega-villains. Effortlessly. He is supposed to have a gun (a smart Walther PPK, not an ugly machine gun) in one hand and a stunning woman draped on the other. He is supposed to know about the finer things in life. And he has to - has to, has to - have a sense of humour.
Also, if the stunning lady has a stunning name, it will be kinda cute!
So you have Pussy Galore. Holly Goodhead. Plenty O'Toole. Xania Onatopp. May Day. Honey Rider.
And you have Dr Christmas Jones (in The World is Not Enough) about whom Bond famously remarked during an intimate encounter, "And I thought Christmas comes only once a year..."
In Quantum (probably for the first time in the history of Bond movies), the real name (Olga Kurlyenko) of the actress playing the Bond Girl was more exotic than her screen name (Camille). And in an act of supreme sacrilege, a second girl is steadfastly referred to as Agent Fields. Only in the titles is it mentioned that her full name is actually Strawberry Fields.
Bloody hell!
Of course, when Craig kisses her back in an allegedly passionate scene, he does it the way people taste pasta sauce off a very hot ladle. If he is supposed to be charming by just flashing his eight-pack (or is it sixteen-pack?) abs, then somebody has very wrong ideas about the series.
Bond is supposed to be a little heartless about women.
In Tomorrow Never Dies, he left Paris (the girl, not the city!) for several years after going out by saying, "I'll be right back." He had just one love story - when he married Teresa in On Her Majesty's Secret Service - and he is supposed to be a suave rake all through.
To show a person who is grieving for his dead girlfriend for two movies, you need to have Hugh Grant who can mumble and stutter through his non-existent one-liners.
For heaven's sake, Bond got over his wife's death in half a film.
Bond villains are supposed to be big enough.
They try to rob an entire country's gold reserves. They attempt to start wars between superpowers. They try to siphon off billions of barrels of oil. They make off with satellites and nuclear bombs.
And in Quantum, we have a villain who looks like our Engineering Mechanics professor from college and whose ambitions are not any higher. I am not divulging the apparent ambitions of Dominic Greene to avoid spoilers but either I misunderstood the plot or a self-respecting MLA from UP has larger designs than him.
Where is Goldfinger's son? Or Dr No's surviving henchman? Can they please come back and try to assassinate Barack Obama on January 20th?
Dear Producers of Bond Movies -
Do you even realise why we like to see Bond movies? Because he is a childhood hero. He does EVERYTHING that we can never do. Smart guns. Snazzy cars. State-of-the-art gadgets. Stupendous looking women. Unbelievably powerful villains. And he handles all of them so bloody well. We can never do any of this and therefore, we look forward to the escapism of two hours.
Maybe this Bond film (thanks to the absolutely brilliant marketing and PR) will just shovel in the dough by getting millions of women and Van Damme fans to see something they want to see. But for little boys in their mid-30s, it is the loss of yet another childhood hero.
As if that was not enough, even Sachin may retire in another couple of years...
For some convoluted reason understandable to only ladies and Ross Geller, Daniel Craig never says the signature line in the film. Before I saw the film, it was a bit disappointing to know that the iconic line would not be there.
Now, I feel it is a blessed relief. Because the handsome man in the tuxedo could have been anybody in the world but not Bond, James Bond.
Before the film, I was led to believe that this was the latest in the James Bond series but evidently that was not correct.
In the opening scenes, the hero (in an Aston Martin) evades three villainous cars behind him in a breathtaking display of vehicular stunts over a rugged terrain. At the end of the adrenaline pumping sequence, he opens the boot of the car to reveal an abducted man and says, "Time to get out".
In another scene, a beautiful Secret Service agent tells our hero that if he tries any funny business, she would have him chained and jailed. In response, the hero smiles and says, "we will see about that." His companion almost prods him - "Does she have handcuffs?" And our hero laboriously says, "I am banking on it."
FOR GOD'S SAKE, IS THIS WHAT JAMES BOND - THE JAMES BOND - SUPPOSED TO SAY AND DO?
Does anybody among the producers and directors even know what James Bond stands for? Is it only having gigantic sets, orchestrated car crashes and killing megalomaniacs intent on world domination?
If I wanted to total a desert hideout of a villain, I would employ Schwarzenegger and a machine gun. If I wanted to kill millions of enemy soldiers, one Stallone is more than enough. Jumping over buildings is something Vin Diesel does in his sleep. Hell, if I wanted to disintegrate Pakistan, there is always Sunny Deol and his hand pump.
But when James Bond kills a villain with a spear gun, I don't expect him to stop there and gasp for breath. I expect him to say, "I think he's got the point." And then, maybe adjust his tux.
Or when he electrocutes a villain, he finds it "Shocking, positively shocking."
This is why I go to see a Bond movie.
Bond is supposed to terminate mega-villains. Effortlessly. He is supposed to have a gun (a smart Walther PPK, not an ugly machine gun) in one hand and a stunning woman draped on the other. He is supposed to know about the finer things in life. And he has to - has to, has to - have a sense of humour.
Also, if the stunning lady has a stunning name, it will be kinda cute!
So you have Pussy Galore. Holly Goodhead. Plenty O'Toole. Xania Onatopp. May Day. Honey Rider.
And you have Dr Christmas Jones (in The World is Not Enough) about whom Bond famously remarked during an intimate encounter, "And I thought Christmas comes only once a year..."
In Quantum (probably for the first time in the history of Bond movies), the real name (Olga Kurlyenko) of the actress playing the Bond Girl was more exotic than her screen name (Camille). And in an act of supreme sacrilege, a second girl is steadfastly referred to as Agent Fields. Only in the titles is it mentioned that her full name is actually Strawberry Fields.
Bloody hell!
Of course, when Craig kisses her back in an allegedly passionate scene, he does it the way people taste pasta sauce off a very hot ladle. If he is supposed to be charming by just flashing his eight-pack (or is it sixteen-pack?) abs, then somebody has very wrong ideas about the series.
Bond is supposed to be a little heartless about women.
In Tomorrow Never Dies, he left Paris (the girl, not the city!) for several years after going out by saying, "I'll be right back." He had just one love story - when he married Teresa in On Her Majesty's Secret Service - and he is supposed to be a suave rake all through.
To show a person who is grieving for his dead girlfriend for two movies, you need to have Hugh Grant who can mumble and stutter through his non-existent one-liners.
For heaven's sake, Bond got over his wife's death in half a film.
Bond villains are supposed to be big enough.
They try to rob an entire country's gold reserves. They attempt to start wars between superpowers. They try to siphon off billions of barrels of oil. They make off with satellites and nuclear bombs.
And in Quantum, we have a villain who looks like our Engineering Mechanics professor from college and whose ambitions are not any higher. I am not divulging the apparent ambitions of Dominic Greene to avoid spoilers but either I misunderstood the plot or a self-respecting MLA from UP has larger designs than him.
Where is Goldfinger's son? Or Dr No's surviving henchman? Can they please come back and try to assassinate Barack Obama on January 20th?
Dear Producers of Bond Movies -
Do you even realise why we like to see Bond movies? Because he is a childhood hero. He does EVERYTHING that we can never do. Smart guns. Snazzy cars. State-of-the-art gadgets. Stupendous looking women. Unbelievably powerful villains. And he handles all of them so bloody well. We can never do any of this and therefore, we look forward to the escapism of two hours.
Maybe this Bond film (thanks to the absolutely brilliant marketing and PR) will just shovel in the dough by getting millions of women and Van Damme fans to see something they want to see. But for little boys in their mid-30s, it is the loss of yet another childhood hero.
As if that was not enough, even Sachin may retire in another couple of years...
For some convoluted reason understandable to only ladies and Ross Geller, Daniel Craig never says the signature line in the film. Before I saw the film, it was a bit disappointing to know that the iconic line would not be there.
Now, I feel it is a blessed relief. Because the handsome man in the tuxedo could have been anybody in the world but not Bond, James Bond.