Love in the time of Amnesia

(Published in The Friday Times, Lahore, on 30 November, 2012, retrieved from http://www.thefridaytimes.com/beta3/tft/article.php?issue=20121130&page=22)

Cast: Shahrukh Khan, Katrina Kaif, Anushka Sharma

Director: Yash Chopra

Rating: 3 stars

Perhaps only Yash Chopra understood what Shahrukh Khan had to be cast as. People tried to give us the Hero Shahrukh, the Comedian Shahrukh, the Restrained Shahrukh, the Anguished Shahrukh, the Crazy Shahrukh, the Passionate Shahrukh, the Adorable Shahrukh, the Roguish Shahrukh, the Devious Shahrukh, the Cool Shahrukh, but Yash Chopra created the Lover Shahrukh. And as the lover, he could be a stalker, dreamer, charmer, singer, and all of the above.

It was Chopra who ushered in Shahrukh Khan’s Raj-Rahul era, and got him chasing pigeons and women across Europe wearing ridiculous costumes. Somehow, though this guitar-sporting, nasal-voiced character was fresh from his cringe-inducing obsessions, we lapped up the new avatar. And somehow, when he’s closing in on 50, Shahrukh Khan can still become that twenty-something maverick, getting Papa’s Pets into bed with his irresistible rakishness.

When Jab Tak Hai Jaan begins, you’ll roll your eyes, not least because two soldiers of the Indian Army fondly discuss Major Samar Anand, the-man-who-cannot-die, in a Q-and-A session, as he’s defusing a bomb. “Where are you going?” “Bomb suit for Major Anand, sir.” “Nahin pehnega woh”. “Whaa...?” “Yep, what do they teach you in army school?” “Boy, is this the man who holds the records for maximum number of bombs defused?” “Yes, ninety-seven. This is the ninety-eighth.” “Whoa! Is that why you’re grinning and practising math here, instead of looking on worriedly?” “Yes, and also Yash Chopra’s films only have a portion in flashback. So he can’t die right now.” “Is that why they call him the man who cannot die?” “No, that’s because he defuses bombs with his bare hands, silly. Like they’re not bombs, but the baahon of his girlfriend.” “Heee, I’m so glad I joined the Indian Army just so I can watch this hottie defuse bombs.” Okay, not exactly that, but you get the picture.

Right now, Major Samar Anand is too cool to stop drinking tea when a chick dives into freezing waters, and screams out for rescue. But, once upon a time, as he tells his little diary, life wasn’t a series of zakhm-s. Once upon a time, he could open his arms and revel in the snow he was supposed to be shovelling away, and allow himself to fall in love with a racist evangelist.

Honestly, with some modifications, God TV would be proud to present this film. It’s Jesus versus Love. And the guilt Meera (Katrina Kaif) carries around with her could put many of the network’s presenters – and guests – to shame. Of course, this doesn’t stop her from inflicting a horrible hot-stepper routine on us. Nor does it stop her from pole dancing on the London tube. But we knew all that from the trailers that hogged our television screens anyway.

But, despite all this, despite a Nirupa Roy-ish attack of amnesia, courtesy a series of accidents, despite the corny exchanges between two women in love with one confused man, despite the plentiful asides, despite the fact that Rahman has somehow been prevailed upon to throw in “aahaahaahaahaaa”s and “laalalaalaalaa”s every time someone says “mere liye” or “tere liye”, there’s something about Jab Tak Hai Jaan that makes you want to give it a chance.

Maybe it’s because Shahrukh Khan has a way of making us grin at truly awful wordplay. Maybe it’s because the film pulls back just in time from an overdose of maudlin. Maybe it’s because the Chopras are so caught up in their fantastic dream world, where couples make out as cops write out their fines, that we want to be swept away too. Maybe it’s because we’re allowed to depart from formula, and forget about the parents after Anupam Kher, Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh make their cameo appearances. But the characters grow on us, and we find ourselves embarrassedly rooting for a happy ending. Anushka Sharma, playing the peppier-than-popcorn Akira Rai, evolves from making us want to slap her into making us laugh with her. Katrina Kaif doesn’t have much to do except feel guilty, and she does that reasonably well. It’s a rare frame that doesn’t have Shahrukh Khan in it, and at those times, he’s the subject. He milks the film for our laughs and tears.

However, we do have ample opportunity to feel superior. Like when the Indo-Pakistani friendship that’s a staple in YashRaj productions fails to turn tearjerker, because you’re wondering in which script the friends write letters to each other. And like when we spot Olympics 2012 boards all over 2002 London.

Yet, the movie’s worth your while, and if you don’t agree, you’ll still laugh at the creepy tribute video that has Yash Chopra monitoring intimate scenes from a few inches away.

How closely is Big Brother watching us?

(Published in Sify.com, on November 29, 2012, retrieved from http://www.sify.com/news/how-closely-is-big-brother-watching-us-news-columns-ml3ntQhbbji.html)

Until a few months ago, I never quite understood what it must be like to live in a country where journalists had to work under strict censorship rules, where emails were monitored, phones tapped, Google restricted, Twitter tracked, and offenders jailed.

We, in India, had the freedom to speak up about things we didn’t like. We could ask politicians on Twitter whether they had Swiss bank accounts, we could rage against the nation at prime time on news channels every day, we could write whatever we wanted in columns (well, as long as we didn’t get on the wrong side of the religious), we could draw cartoons, we could mock people in the newspapers. We didn’t need to create a Twitter equivalent, we didn’t need to censor ourselves, we didn’t need to find code words.

But over the past year, I find I can’t be thankful for the freedoms I took for granted anymore. When cartoonist Aseem Trivedi was arrested for sedition, the hashtag ‘Emergency 2012’ trended for days on Twitter. All of us wrote our columns, people held up placards, the government shrugged, and continued clamping down on free speech.

No one wants to be threatened. No one wants to be sued. But does one even foresee that one can be arrested for an off-the-cuff remark made on Facebook or Twitter, in a democracy that prides itself on its economic progress?

Earlier in November, an industrialist from Pondicherry, Ravi Srinivasan, was arrested for posting an “offensive” tweet questioning Karti Chidambaram’s finances. He had alleged that Karti had made more money than Robert Vadra. Police wanted remand for two weeks, but Ravi was granted bail. Karti, who has studied law himself, says on his website that he is the co-founder of an online public opinion forum. But, clearly, certain opinions are too “offensive” to be aired.

Following the death of Bal Thackeray, two 21-year-olds – Shaheen Dhada and  Renu Srinivasan – were arrested for, respectively, saying and agreeing that Mumbai shouldn’t have shut down. Though the policemen who arrested the girls have been suspended, and the local magistrate who granted them bail on a bond of Rs 15,000 has been transferred, the charges against the girls have not been dropped. Maharashtra Home Minister R R Patil has said senior police officials would decide whether to drop the charges. No matter what their Facebook privacy settings were, surely airing one’s views doesn’t warrant arrest?

Before their case has left the front pages, we find out a 19-year-old,  Sunil Vishwakarma, was “questioned” – not arrested – by police, after workers from the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena gathered outside his house, saying he had posted “abusive” and “vulgar” comments against their President Raj Thackeray on Facebook, insulting the MNS leader and Marathi people, “including women”. There are no details of the comments yet, but within hours, police said the account was fake. They were able to verify that because Sunil hadn’t accessed his own account since last Monday.

Just how flimsy is that reasoning? What would have happened if he had been as active on Facebook as most people his age – and older – are?

What has come to be known as ‘The IT Act, 2008’ has so many clauses that are open to interpretation that it’s hard to figure out its ambit. It allows for imprisonment up to three years, and a fine, for “disseminating” material that is “grossly offensive”, “has menacing character”, or is false, aimed at causing “annoyance, inconvenience, danger, obstruction, insult”. Honestly, how many Facebook posts don’t cause, at the very least, annoyance?

It would also mean that, had Anna Hazare declared on his Facebook or Twitter page that alcoholics should be publicly flogged, he would have fulfilled all of those conditions – causing inconvenience, danger, annoyance, obstruction and insult to the alcoholics.

I read about a week ago that Chinese authorities had arrested blogger Zhai Xiaobing over a joke on Twitter, posted on November 5, which suggested the Communist Party congress could make a good setting for Final Destination 6.

Successive tweets read:

“#SpoilerTweet# #EnterAtYourPeril# Final Destination 6 to arrive soon.”

“The Great Hall of the People suddenly collapses, only seven of more than 2,000 people inside survive.”

“Later, one-by-one the survivors die in strange ways. Is it the game of God, or the Devil venting his wrath?”

That could send Zhai to prison for up to five years.

Now, I don’t find myself feeling sorry so much as scared.

Because, as the crackdown on social media continues in India, George Orwell’s Thoughtcrime doesn’t seem so fictional anymore.

Lee outdoes Martel

(Published in The Sunday Guardian, on 25 November, 2012, retrieved from http://www.sunday-guardian.com/masala-art/lee-outdoes-martel)

Cast: Suraj Sharma, Irrfan Khan, Tabu, Adil Hussain, Rafe Spall

Director: Ang Lee

Rating: 4.5 stars                      

When a film based on a Booker Prize-winning novel makes you wonder whether the book was as exquisite as the movie makes it out to be, it’s hit the mark. When I read Yann Martel’s Life of Pi ten years ago, I found it borderline New Age, and dismissed its literary value in the confidence of my all-knowing teens. My opinion of the book may not be vastly different if I were to read it again, but Ang Lee’s interpretation swept me into the story in a way the book didn’t.

Lee works a new character into the script – the writer who interviews Pi decades after the adventure, whose response to Pi’s narration is more believable than that of the insurance officials who play listeners in the book. The film pares the novel of its self-involved philosophical musings, and puts the remaining in the mouths of two incredibly talented actors – Irrfan Khan and Suraj Sharma.

The eagerness of the director to tell a story, and not simply relay it, is evident in the time he spends on setting the scene. The first half of the film wafts through Pi’s early years, each allusion to daily routine in Pondicherry a masterstroke in creating a vivid portrait of 1970s India. A Murphy Radio relays Emergency-related announcements, the cut of a blouse conveys the era. The crew must have had excellent researchers, because, try as I might, the only aspect of the film I found amiss – aside from the value of pi – was Tabu’s incomprehensible Tamil. The country is saved from Hollywoodsy exotification, thanks to the ironic narrative voice both Khan and Sharma adopt.

The use of 3D in Life of Pi outdoes Hugo, and made me forget Avatar ever happened. The cinematography luxuriates in this completeness, allowing us to delight in the stillness of water, the break of dawn, ripples from a flung can, luminescent plankton in the night sea, the morphing of a picture-story into reality. We’re drawn into the film, witnessing the loneliness of a boy, party to his dilemmas, and sinking into his mind as it progressively tilts toward derangement.

The screenplay is exquisite, staying with Pi as he loses strength and gains fortitude, as wisdom eats away at hope, as the fight to survive overcomes sentimentality. We relate to his “Excuse me” as he wades through clans of meerkats, his anthropomorphic betrayal when a four-legged companion plunges into the jungle without turning back. This isn’t a story about seafaring, exotic zoos and carnivorous islands. It’s a story about life, beautiful, misleading, dangerous, and kind.

The Verdict: Undoubtedly Ang Lee’s best film, Life of Pi is a lesson in cinematic excellence.

Saga of multi-generational incest

(Published in The Sunday Guardian, on 25 November, 2012, retrieved from http://www.sunday-guardian.com/masala-art/a-bizarre-saga-of-incest)

Cast: Robert Pattinson, Kristen Stewart, Taylor Lautner and others

Director: Bill Condon

Rating: 1 star

The only thing that hurts more than a terrible film that looks terrible is a terrible film that looks beautiful. In Breaking Dawn 2, we’re drawn into the woods where the Cullen coven lives through an amalgam of scenery and body fluids that shows us just how much of a mismatch the limp storyline and the superb camerawork make. We meet Bella Cullen née Swan (Kristen Stewart), whose creepy eyeballs apparently magnify her vision.

Those of us who suffered the misfortune of watching the first edition of this two-part finale to the three-part series that is Twilight know that Bella is a human who was turned into a vampire on the verge of death, courtesy vampire husband Edward (Robert Pattinson). For some reason, she’s now stronger than he is. And we assume he’s supportive of equality for women vampires, because he sports an irritating “awww” look on his face every time Bella drinks blood, wants to hunt, or attacks people or vampires.

Turning into a vampire is also evidently a form of birth control, so now Edward and Bella can go at it without fear of procreating. This makes the version screened at Indian cinemas a deal shorter than that which hit theatres in the rest of the world, I’m told. Thank God for small mercies. When they’re not breaking furniture in the throes of carnal satiation and dashing through forests in pursuit of prey, they drink blood and play piano with a fuzzy joint family that could inspire Kyunki Vampire Bhi Kabhi Aurat Thi.

Their little daughter Reneesme (Mackenzie Foy) is the object of a paedophilic werewolf’s attention, but the werewolf – who once fancied her mother – doubles as her protector, and calls her “Nessie”. This serves as grounds for more rage for Bella, and elicits more “awww” from Edward, but everything goes back to normal with piano and blood. Till Irina (Maggie Grace) rats them out to the Volturi, headed by Aro (Michael Sheen).

What follows is a nauseating mix of more vampire romance, cringe-inducing dialogue, and a climax that’s let down by a twist. Here’s how the battle scene plays out. Think of any Indian movie from the Seventies. Replace Maa with Carlisle Cullen (Peter Facinelli). Bingo. The filmmakers highlight their obliviousness to all things believable by taking us to an Egypt that has Devanagari signboards.

The Verdict: The haunting music of Alexandre Desplat, the brilliant performance of Michael Sheen, and the gorgeous landscape are out of place in this travesty of fantasy.

Lyrical portrayal of a crazy adventure

(Published in City Express, The New Indian Express, on 24 November, 2012, retrieved from http://newindianexpress.com/entertainment/reviews/article1352211.ece)

Cast: Suraj Sharma, Irrfan Khan, Tabu, Adil Hussain, Rafe Spall, Gérard Depardieu

Director: Ang Lee

Rating: 4.5 stars

Life of Pi opens to Bombay Jayashri’s voice lilting a lullaby, as the camera follows a collection of the most exotic animals that shared screen space outside of National Geographic. This farm, we know, is so impossible in Pondicherry that, already, even before we hear of Francis Mamaji who was born with a wide chest and skinny legs, we’ve been brought to the edge of magic realism.

This is the story of a boy delivered by a herpetologist, named after a Parisian swimming pool, introduced to a trinity of religious trinities, and left adrift with a zebra, an orangutan, a hyena, and a tiger in the middle of the Pacific ocean. We meet the boy when he’s in his fifties, making wisecracks about the guilt “Catholic Hindus” carry around, as he tells his tale to an author (Rafe Spall) seeking fellowship in the wake of a novel that “sputtered, coughed and died”.

The character of the writer is presumably taken from Yann Martel’s Acknowledgments in the novel, where he mentions India being a cheaper place to live in than Portugal. And the film finds its voice through juxtaposition of the past with the present, given coherence by the narrative of the adult Pi (Irrfan Khan). The tones of the colour palette change as we move from the sixties to the seventies to the millennium, from Pondicherry to the high seas to Montreal.

I can’t recall when a more beautiful film was made based on a brooding fantasy novel. And this one is arguably better than the book, because it builds on it. Here, we don’t see just one aspect of the life of Pi, but his whole life – his family, his first love, his philosophical preoccupations, his adventure, his guilt, his sorrow, his new life. In the poetic fluidity of the film, the allegory of life and devotion that is the premise of the book draws us in. It isn’t cloying, it’s heartbreaking. It isn’t optimistic, it’s incidental. This isn’t an adventure, it’s life.

Somehow, Ang Lee makes us laugh far more often than the script warrants. Sometimes, it’s the genius of lines like, “Thank you, Vishnu, for introducing me to Christ”. Sometimes, it’s the timing of as simple a word as “idiot”. Sometimes, it’s a manual for survival that suggests “community singing” as a way to keep one’s hopes up. Most often, it’s the seamless manner in which the screenplay guides the actors, so that every coincidence irrationally pushes the story further into the realm of credibility. Among my favourite scenes is that of the family’s reaction to Pi’s search for religion. Another is the manner in which Piscine changes his name to ‘Pi’, convincing his schoolmates of it – though that’s slightly marred by his getting the value of pi wrong.

Even in his small role, Adil Hussain, playing a polio-afflicted zoo owner, shows us what a fine actor he is. And Tabu, except for the atrocious Tamil she speaks (seriously, why not dub?), is a decent fit. But the revelation in the film is young Suraj Sharma, who outshines Irrfan Khan, to make our memory of the teenage Pi more abiding than that of the adult Pi. He never hams, even when he has to do the most ridiculous things.

With a script that is so restrained, the overwhelming beauty of the film truly touches the audience. The graphics are so well done we can rarely make out how much of it is CGI.

The Verdict: Life of Pi is a mesmerising master class in storytelling.

Where vampires and werewolves eat our heads

(Published in City Express, The New Indian Express, on 24 November, 2012)

Cast: Robert Pattinson, Kristen Stewart, Taylor Lautner, Mackenzie Foy, Michael Sheen, Dakota Fanning, Maggie Grace, Ashley Greene, Peter Facinelli

Director: Bill Condon

Rating: 2 stars

It’s already been a whole year since we last saw vampires making out. Apparently, Breaking Dawn 2 ends the shimmering-vampire-romance that The Twilight Saga was, and leaves us in the happy glow of fireplaces at which covens will raise toasts with animal blood.

Right, so it opens to Bella Cullen (Kristen Stewart) staying in isolation, having acquired supernatural strength, which Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson) ingeniously deduces as a symptom of her “need to hunt”. As she chases after deer, hikers, and aggressive carnivores, the Cullen family is somewhat nervous she’ll eat her own daughter – and her own father. Thankfully, getting in her way is werewolf Jacob Black (Taylor Lautner), who intends to marry an infant when it’s old enough. It helps his case that the infant’s father warmly grins in response to Jacob’s offer to call him “Dad”.

All right, now, if you’re grossed out, there’s enough of the saccharine in the film to make you diabetic. Apparently, the Volturi, headed by Aro (Michael Sheen) are looking for an excuse to attack the Cullens. It’s a complicated plan to recruit vampires with magical powers. Yes, take a moment to roll your eyes. The Cullens scour the world for “Witnesses”, who can testify that the child of Bella and Edward, Reneesme (Mackenzie Foy) is not an “immortal child”, created by a vampire bite; she was born this way.

Now, for the Witnesses. There are two Amazonian vampires who can hypnotise people, three Egyptian vampires of whom one can control the elements, one unfriendly Irishman, one flirtatious American Patriot who promises to follow his mate anywhere, and an assorted number of red-eyed bloodsuckers who seem to be celibate.

Of course, the gathering of Witnesses is yet another elaborate set-up for more romance. Sunlight and snowflakes appear on cue, and when vampires are bored, they either do a fist wrestle Battle-of-the-Sexes, or light bonfires and tell stories of old wars. Mating calls take the shape of electric shocks. Normal life involves driving Nissans and teaching teenage werewolves how to control their “urges”. Don’t ask.

If the characters were any less stupid, they’d have figured out a vague note is a clue before the Interval. But no, we must live through a slow – and unnecessary – subplot. The plotline is only outdone in its insipidity by the dialogue. Sample this line, spoken to some of the most beautiful music that has enlivened the screen: “My time as a human was over, but I’d never felt more alive; I was born to be a vampire.”

The climactic battle is the high point of a painful film – largely because you get to witness the death of vampires you wanted to kill yourself – but then, there’s a twist, and for some reason, the promise of more romance as a muscular half-vampire from Brazil lands up, half-naked.

The Verdict: Breaking Dawn 2 leaves you praying that the sequel it appears to hint at won’t materialise.

The Homecoming

Many years ago, I went to a b-school in Jamshedpur. One of their traditions is to have a weekend  in November when all alumni are invited to visit the campus with friends and family. This is - quite beautifully - called The Homecoming. 
The Homecoming Weekend is on right now. The following piece was meant for the souvenir printed on this occasion. Some of the names may be a little personal but I am hoping many people who want to go back to their alma maters some time in the future will identify with this.

When the auto had turned the bend, you had tried to peep out and take a look at the tree-lined campus that had been your home for the past two years. Blame it on the three others who crammed into the same auto and their embarrassingly large backpacks, you couldn’t do it. Oh, what’s the big deal, you thought. You will be coming back every once in a while. Every time you come home to Calcutta for a holiday, you can squeeze in a day trip to Jamshedpur. The Bombay-Delhi guys will not be able to do this. But you can easily… 

You were not alone among the alumni who made these highly optimistic ‘return’ plans and failed miserably. Even the guilt gave way after the first three-four years.

Every once in a while on a business trip to Bombay (or Bangalore or Delhi), you postponed the evening flight out and landed up at a batchmate’s place. He would always have the dregs of an Old Monk bottle left. Chatting animatedly with the couple of other friends, you would again make elaborate plans. Hey, did you know Kingfisher flies to Ranchi now? It is even easier now. Just fly and drive down in three hours. All objections about the bad Jharkhand roads would get lost in the nostalgic high. For the Jubilee Batch (or Jalebi, as you call yourselves unselfconsciously), the campus had changed the maximum since our departure. It would be so cool to go back, you thought as you downed the Old Monk. 

These plans became more and more difficult to make as we grew older. Many of you have moved abroad. Many had multi-locational teams reporting into them. Some had started their own business. It was bloody difficult to get away from work for 4-5 days. On top of that, this recession was not making anybody’s work-life easier. (Yaar, yeh recession ko postpone karao koi. You postponed project submissions with impunity. How difficult can this be?)

Then you had children and their schools, class tests to contend with. As you grow even older, too many of your earlier generation seemed to be going in and out of hospitals. Planning with friends became nearly impossible. Instead of shacking up with a friend in a different city, it felt right that you came back hoping to catch your daughter about to fall asleep.

So, you must plan again – right from scratch.

You now want to take your son along. He knows what colleges are. He has heard of these good colleges called IIM. He has to be shown the difference between the good and the best. He has to be shown those tree-lined paths. He has to be shown where the computer centre used to be (You used desktops, dad?). You had to tell him about Jesu, Gango and Sarin. You also need to prepare an answer for when he asks, “Dad, what are they shouting? What’s the next line after Ek do teen chaar?”

He has seen your wife’s and your ancestral homes. It is time to show him this one as well.  

Over the top and over the hill

(Published in The Friday Times, Lahore, on 23 November, 2012, retrieved from http://www.thefridaytimes.com/beta3/tft/article.php?issue=20121123&page=19)

Picture Courtesy: The Friday Times

Cast: Ajay Devgn, Sanjay Dutt, Sonakshi Sinha, Juhi Chawla, Vindoo Dara Singh, Mukul Dev, Tanuja

Director: Ashwni Dhir

Rating: 1 star

You know how, sometimes, you make yourself a steaming cup of tea, know you’ve strained it with just the right amount of adrak, sip it and taste salt instead of sugar? If you watch Son of Sardar, chances are that this exact expression will remain on your face for over two hours. Except for turbans that seem to be tied better than Akshay Kumar’s in Singh is Kingg, and the mandatory chant of Wahe Guru, there’s practically nothing remotely Sikh in this film. Yes, there’s a ton of Punjabi. And there’s an oft-repeated line that goes, “Sardar par joke mat karna, aur Sardar ko joker nahin samajhna”, and which strikes one as increasingly ironic as the film plays out.

Surely, it’s about time the censor board brought in a rule that said ageing actors should stop turning to computer graphics for validation? I mean, buy a jet. Get a botox job. Play your own son, like Rajesh Khanna did so successfully for so long. Get your son to play the young you, as Raj Kapoor did so successfully so often. Endorse everything you can lay your hands on, like Amitabh Bachchan did before KBC made him rich again. But, for the love of God, don’t give us Zorro-like shots of yourself standing on two galloping, computer-generated horses. And don’t make us listen to lines like “aag hai; seene mein lagado, cigarette main nahin.”

I was dreading Son of Sardar even as I took my place. A film about sardars, starring non-sardars, has to be worse than a film about sardars, starring sardars. Even as the horses canter away, the producers of the film – Ajay Devgn and the missus – thank Salman Khan and Akshay Kumar. Oh, dear. The good news is, I can’t see how Akshay Kumar is involved in the film, unless he came up with the plot. Because it’s the sort of movie only Akshay Kumar could pull off. And Ajay Devgn isn’t Akshay Kumar.

Before we can get over the horses, we are forced to look at Ajay Devgn standing on the hour hand of a computer-generated Big Ben. And before we can recover from that, a gang of hooligans confronts Jassi Randhawa (Ajay Devgn, who else) on a tacky-looking set that is possibly intended to pass for a London garage. His turban unfurls in a scene reminiscent of the disrobing-of-Draupadi episode from The Mahabharata that aired on Indian national television in the 1980s. Only, it puts Draupadi’s never-ending sari to shame by walloping the bad guys of its own accord. Thanks, but no thanks, Divine Intervention, CGI has got this.

Naturally, this calls for an item number where the choreography is primarily a simple movement of the wrist. You know, this trend of moving a progressively smaller body part in Bollywood item numbers could eventually lend itself to dissertations on the subject a few decades into the future. Right, so the film quickly runs through a series of exaggerated emotions, which seem quite at home in backdrops straight out of the Flash Gordon era. These are propped up by elaborate auditory puns.

So, this is a film about bullet, tractor, bandook, unrequited love, and forbidden bloodlust. The sardar whose son the film stars has only an off-screen role to play. All I gathered from the first twenty minutes is that there is a family feud on that warrants the sacrifice of ice cream, fizzy drinks, and nuptial bliss from three members of the Sandhu family, headed by Billoo (Sanjay Dutt). All I gathered from the next forty minutes is that the Sandhu family has some vague rule about treating mehmaanon like baghwaanon, which promptly expires when the guest steps over the threshold, back out into the street.

The rest of the story hinges on a horny jilted bride, who clearly never read Great Expectations, or a manual on menopause, and middle-aged men with a weakness for overweight girls and...yes, computer-generated horses. The Sufi song that now appears to be mandatory in all Bollywood produce is forgettable, but the sight of Sonakshi Sinha winking as she swirls her tongue at the camera will, unfortunately, haunt us for rather longer.

There’s a chance you will enjoy the film if the number that denotes your IQ is lower than the number that denotes your waist size, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

Why Kasab won't make a good martyr

(Published in Sify.com, on http://www.sify.com/news/why-kasab-wont-make-a-good-martyr-news-columns-mlwi2gjghfb.html)

I’m fairly sure that, among literate Indians who are not members of political parties – and don’t aspire to be – and who lost no family, friends or acquaintances in the Mumbai terrorist attack of 26-28 November, 2008, and who are not fans of Bal Thackeray and Narendra Modi, I’m in a minority when I say I’m glad Ajmal Amir Kasab was hanged.

There are some who are thankful our batty right wing has one slogan less to throw at voters, but this isn’t why I believe it was right to hang Kasab. I believe he was rightly hanged because he was a terrorist who set out to kill, and succeeded in killing, tens of people who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I’m not against capital punishment, though I do find it hard to justify it when the more pertinent arguments in favour of abolishing it are put before me. The most valid of these, of course, is wrongful conviction. In Kasab’s case, we know this doesn’t hold.

Another argument is that no government has a right to take a life, since it can’t create life, which I find somewhat absurd, even without the connecting clause. If someone presumes to take another’s life, what is his just punishment? It remains that nothing will bring anyone’s loved ones back, and that, at best, their kin may draw some solace. However, letting people off with a prison sentence, from which years may be docked off for good behaviour, isn’t enough of a deterrent.

In India, capital punishment holds only in the ‘rarest of rare’ cases, and attacking citizens of a country in pursuit of Heaven and an assorted number of virgins should fit that criterion.

I’ve often thought the worst punishment must be to know a painful death is close at hand, and wonder whether one will live to see the dusk of each dawn. In Kasab’s case, that was true. Jail officials described him as being nervous ahead of his hanging – a rare display of emotion in a brute criminal, who grinned through most of his trial. Let’s not insult our own intelligences by tut-tutting about “brainwashing” that poor, innocent boys succumb to. No one gets brainwashed without having an inclination to do what one is asked to.

The random comparisons between Kasab’s killing spree, and Bal Thackeray’s brand of parochialism, I would dismiss, as I would the contention that every terrorist deserves his loopholes in the noose. Kasab got a fairer trial than he deserved.

But the largest concern, especially after the Lashkar-e-Tayebba’s announcement, is that Kasab would become a martyr, inspiring hundreds of future jihadis to go forth and murder.

I don’t believe Kasab will make a good martyr, for several reasons.

First, what everyone will see are pictures of Indian Muslims celebrating Kasab’s conviction and hanging – including that of a childholding up a board that says ‘Hang him at Bhendi Bazaar’ – and a series of articles about the Indian Muslim reaction to his hanging, all of which quote Maulanas of various Islamic schools approving of the decision. No rose petals, no clemency, no hailing.

What people will see is a cruel madman who disgusted everyone so much that no one wanted to defend him, irrespective of religious and political leaning.

What people will see is a lonely prisoner who swore at policemen who wouldn’t make conversation with him, despite his attempts to learn and speak Marathi.

What people will see is a stray piece of cannon-fodder nabbed alive, a piece of cannon-fodder that ratted out everyone he knew to be involved, and everything he knew about the assignment he was given, during interrogation.

What people will see is a “stateless actor” whose country did not want to claim him, and denied that he was Pakistani till the media tracked his father down in Faridkot village, days after the attack.

What people will see is a man who forced his family to leave their village in humiliation, and disappear.

What people will see is a self-proclaimed mujahid who wolfed down chicken biryani in a country he had set out to attack, notching up a food bill of Rs 42,313 (and a medical bill of Rs 39,829).

And people will read the stories that came out after his conviction, that were further fleshed out after his death. Like, it was his father’s refusal to buy him new clothes on Eid in 2005 that prompted a miffed Kasab to first run away from home. Like, he worked for a year doing odd jobs and making Rs 3000 a month, before finding employment with a suicide squad. Like, his mother locked him up when he last visited his village, and he escaped at night to find his death.

And what a death. It didn’t have the glory of a public hanging. It didn’t have the pathos of angry human rights activists staging demonstrations in a dramatic lead-up to the final moment. It didn’t have the rage of bleeding heart liberals writing impassioned articles in defence of a terrorist.

No, Ajmal Amir Kasab died alone, in a dank jail, painfully, mechanically.

And he didn’t want to die. It was an ignominious death, a death following courtroom trials, and appeals for Presidential pardon.

Kasab died after being kept alive by security on which far more was spent than on his board and lodging. He didn’t die fighting a holy war. If at all, he died when he was fighting dengue.

The big story after his death was whether Pakistan accepted or refused a letter from India on the decision to hang Kasab. The big story of the evening was whether the Congress hanged him as part of political strategy, as if to make up for the lapses that allowed terrorists to land in this country on the UPA’s watch, for the garrulousness of a former Home Minister who rattled off details of the NSG commando operation as it was taking place, for the laxity in letting a scoop-hungry media cover the operation like a Hollywood thriller.

The Lashkar-e-Tayebba may have felt compelled to attribute martyrdom to Kasab through Reuters, but he simply isn’t good martyr material.

Dead terrorists don’t make good martyrs, especially when they aren’t killed in action. Let’s remember that the granddaddy of dead terrorists, Osama Bin Laden, was exposed as a crazed aging man with a penchant for Viagra and studying videos of himself.

Yes, Kasab was a pawn, and I’m not holding my breath for Hafiz Sayeed to be extradited here. But hanging a pawn counts, because it sends out a message – this country will not be kind to people who wage war on its citizens. A dead pawn doesn’t make a good martyr. And a dead pawn doesn’t make a big difference, so I’m not celebrating. But I’m relieved.

Yash Chopra's Kaala Patthar

It has been exactly a month since Yash Chopra passed away and the avalanche of well-deserved tributes has now more or less subsided. I waited for this time when I would be able to look at his films a little objectively (though that has never been my forte) and talk about some aspect that has not been covered in all those tributes.

And after a lot of thought, I decided to write on that rough hewn solid rock of a film – Kaala Patthar.

It is quite strange that the tributes hardly mentioned Kaala Patthar because it is a perfect example of what Yash Chopra did really well for the first two-thirds of his career: superbly written, conflict-driven, emotion-driven multi-starrers. Waqt, Daag, Deewaar, Trishul, Kabhi Kabhie were all in this mould. 

Here I would also like to point out that it is a little unfair / inaccurate to label him as the King of Romance. Of the 20+ films he has directed, I can count only 8 that were out and out romances, which included his most mediocre films (Veer Zaara and Dil To Paagal Hai for example). He pretty much defined that Angry Young Man was. In any list of the 10 Greatest Hindi Films of all time, Deewaar would be a sure-shot entry. How can you dismiss such a filmmaker as a chiffon-and-snow sort of guy? 

Emperor of Emotion would be a more apt title.

Kaala Patthar – shorn of the fisticuffs and action – was essentially a tale of very complex emotions and all its characters had incredible depth. 

A disgraced naval officer. An escaped convict. An idealistic engineer. A lady doctor. A bangle seller. A cards shark. Not only the stars but even the bit parts (Macmohan as the cards shark, Parikshit Sahni as a garrulous truck driver) were portrayed with intricate detail.

It is easy to ascribe a large part of Yash Chopra’s success to Salim-Javed and indeed, their scripts for at least three of his biggest hits were superb. But if you see Kaala Patthar, you would realize the value a great director brings to a great script. Of course, the tension of the rivalries, the exploitation and the eventual climax were brilliantly structured but Yash Chopra filmed them only as he could.

He framed Amitabh’s shots in close-ups and low-angles to accentuate his brooding and heighten his already towering presence. He framed Shatrughan Sinha's swagger in wide-angle shots to bring about his ‘lord of all I survey’ attitude. The miners’ colony – while not reaching the realism levels of Wasseypur – was coated with grime. The movie had a distinctly brooding undertone and the mine (as well as the colony) was decidedly claustrophobic. 

Despite that, the pace of the film was breathtaking and he followed Manmohan Desai’s dictum of entertainment – “one item every nine minutes – to the tee. Look at the roster of events:

“Teesre badshah hum hain” – Shatru’s badass card trick.

A very underplayed but critical scene of labour rights (which had distinct shades his earlier hit, Deewaar).

Multiple scenes of Amitabh’s explosive dialogue delivery, including one in which he wrenched off a knife from a goon with bare hands.

A symphonic build up of the Amitabh-Shatru rivalry – using tea, beedi and tablets for fever – that eventually ended in a mind-blowing fight scene.

And of course, the final mine-flooding scene that was a mindboggling piece of cinema considering the primitive technology of Bollywood at that time.

Bollywood never believed in genres. Every hero – especially in the 1960s – did a little bit of everything to make a complete masala potboiler with action, emotion, music, romance, drama, comedy, tragedy thrown into one giant blender. Yash Chopra bucked this trend in the 1970s. 

Each one of his lead characters remained true to their mental makeup throughout the films. So, the fiery dockworker remained steadfastly anchored to his simmering rage while his happy-go-lucky brother sang a couple of songs with his fiancée. Even in his later films (though a little less so), the young Kunwar transformed into a sober bore while his bald friend remained resolutely hilarious.  

Kaala Patthar is one of the best examples of this where a disgraced naval officer took anonymous refuge in a mine. Amitabh Bachchan’s intensity reached unprecedented levels (even including Deewaar) as he seemed incapable of smiling for an overwhelming part of the film. His backstory came much later in the film and Yash Chopra added some subtle hints of his past (his picking up of an English paperback in the doctor’s chamber, for example).

When he burst out in Raakhee’s clinic with that iconic line – “Pain is my destiny and I cannot avoid it” – it hit you like a sledgehammer.

Kaala Patthar remains his most under-rated film and thanks to it being sandwiched between Trishul and Silsila, almost undiscussed. It is a blazing testimony of Yash Chopra's non-romantic talents and also a fine example of how serious can also be entertaining. 

Wish there were a few more like him... RIP, Yash-ji.

Do read my other eulogies of the man who is undoubtedly my favourite Bollywood director.

He was one of the great brands of Bollywood. He was a dream merchant. He has two films in my list of thirteenfavourites. And I have seen one his movies 72 times.

Yesteryear stars on a power trip

(Published in The New Sunday Express, on 18 November, 2012)

Cast: Ajay Devgn, Sanjay Dutt, Sonakshi Sinha, Juhi Chawla, Vindoo Dara Singh, Mukul Dev, Tanuja

Director: Ashwni Dhir

Rating: 1 star

About five minutes into Son of Sardar, I found myself wondering why they didn’t just give us an animated film. It would have been more believable to watch computer-generated characters riding computer-generated horses than men in their forties and fifties firing computer-generated horses and cannons at each other. And chances are, the expressions would have been a deal better than those that the cast of this film could produce.

The last film I saw with worse production quality was that fifteen-minute clip from Innocence of Muslims. On the subject, I doubt there’s been any film that offends Sikhs and Punjab to the extent Son of Sardar does. It starts out with Jassi Randhawa (Ajay Devgn) saying, “Sardar ko joker math samajhna” and guest star Salman Khan adding, “Pathan se panga math lo”. And the film does exactly the opposite.

To watch it, you’d think every Sikh over the age of sixty sits under trees with rosaries and kirpans in hand. Everyone else wears sunglasses, stores guns, and drives tractors. And when they’re not tending their farms, they train in akharas outsides Balwinder ‘Billoo’ Sandhu’s (Sanjay Dutt’s) house. The police are complicit in killings. If the cop is Puneet Issar, he’ll even deliver an enemy to “No Man’s Land.”

Oh, yes, now, here’s why the film lasts as long as it does. The children of the Sandhu and Randhawa household have inherited a family feud. The Sandhu family – or rather, Billoo on behalf of the family – swears off the things that matter most to them, until all the Randhawas are killed. One gives up marriage, one gives up ice cream, one gives up cold drinks, and one loses her marbles. They would have lived in denial, and died of old age had Jassi Randhawa stayed on in a computer-generated London. But no, he meets one of the Sandhu spawn, Sukh (Sonakshi Sinha) on a train, gets off with her, and makes frands with the family. They could have killed him, and died of Viagra/ice cream/carbonated drink overdose once they found out. But no, they’re restrained by a complicated custom involving the Punjabi version of “Athithi devo bhava.”

There are two aspects of the film that are worse than the plot – a propensity for rhyme, and a profusion of truly painful wordplay. Sample this: “Arre yaar, main Hindustan waapas nahin jaa paoonga.” “Kyon?” “Mujhe log ‘Hindustan Lever’ bulaayenge.” “Kyon?” “Kyunki main Hindustan ‘leave’ kar ke London aaya hoon.” Kill me now.

Even if your sense of humour is in sync with the scriptwriter’s, you’ll be foxed by an infusion of random sentimental dialogue towards the end. And you’ll be even more puzzled when a woman who must be closing in on 50 dreams of having two children, calling “Happy and Ing.”

The Verdict: The only part of the film that makes sense is that Akshay Kumar was involved in coming up with its completely irrelevant title.

Religion-riddled Romance

(Published in The Sunday Guardian, on 18 November, 2012, retrieved from http://www.sunday-guardian.com/masala-art/religion-riddled-romance)

Cast: Shahrukh Khan, Katrina Kaif, Anushka Sharma

Director: Yash Chopra

Rating: 3 stars

Look, it’s Yash Chopra. So you know the following: Khatri lasses raised in England go to church; 2002 London sported ubiquitous Olympic signboards; Delhi girls will run around snow-clad mountains in chaddi-sized shorts and halter tops, while Kashmiris wear pherans; dirty dancing will get you in the mood for a sentimental song dedicated to Papa; a man who writes his diary over ten years could gift it along with his army jacket to a girl who’s stupid enough to nearly drown in shallow water despite being a national-level swimmer and deep sea diver; it’s easy to trace people anywhere.

Here, we see the Shah Rukh Khan we haven’t seen since DDLJ. You know, the irrepressible fool who falls on platforms, leans out of trains, flies out to random countries to surprise women who’re in love with him, the eyebrow-wiggling, lip-twitching Shah Rukh Khan who wells up at the first mention of ishq even as he flirts with death every day. And no one portrays the absolute craziness of sweeping romance like the Yash Chopra-SRK duo. In this film, we’ve finally graduated from botanical metaphor to actual making out.

The film opens in Ladakh, where Major Samar Anand (Shah Rukh Khan) goes about defusing bombs and resuscitating bikini-clad camera crew. The bombs are a tad less vindictive than the bikini-wearers, who stalk him after nearly killing him. If you listen to the lyrics of the opening poem, Jab Tak Hai Jaan, you kinda learn the whole story anyway. But the film takes us – very slowly – through Samar’s life, telling us how a London busker ended up in the Indian Army’s Bomb Disposal Squad.

It boils down to a contest between Jesus and Samar. A superstitious girlfriend can do that to you. “So, I can’t die, eh? I will walk in the valley of the shadow of death, dude.” Chalo Kashmir. Which we learn would’ve been blown to bits long ago if it weren’t for Major Samar Anand. We also learn the Army can be lax about rules regarding facial hair and protective gear, as long as you defuse a bomb before every meal.

There’s very little logic in the film. And if everyone were a little less sentimental – or a little less dim – it would’ve been over before the interval. But, inexplicably, something keeps you interested, even when you’re scared a character’s amnesia attack could send the film into an endless loop. It could be Shah Rukh’s wonderful timing, and unselfconscious hero-baazi. It could be that you need to leave your brains behind every now and then. But it works.

The Verdict: If you’re willing to suspend all sense of disbelief, watch Jab Tak Hai Jaan.

Low-budget Love

(Published in The Sunday Guardian, on 18 November, 2012, retrieved from http://www.sunday-guardian.com/masala-art/a-low-budget-romance)

Cast: Ajay Devgn, Sanjay Dutt, Sonakshi Sinha, Juhi Chawla, and others

Director: Ashwni Dhir

Rating: ½ star

There are low-budget movies that are produced by the lead actor. There are low-budget movies that star the hero’s friends – and mother-in-law. There are low-budget movies with low-budget graphics. There are low-budget movies where the heroine’s back is broader than the villain’s. Son of Sardar is all of these. Worse, it’s apparently the remake of a Tamil film I’ve had the good fortune of missing. However, I did catch a line that seems to be plagiarised from a Rajnikanth movie – yeah, that’s like lifting a tune off Pritam.

The film opens to a terrible song whose lyrics include “MC,BC”, and which has phirangs trying Punjabi dance steps. Next thing we know, someone’s insulted sardars in the process of lighting a cigarette.  Say hello to cheap graphics as Jassi Randhawa’s (Ajay Devgn’s) turban unfolds and knocks out half the bad guys. One wishes it’d strangled the director before he foisted this horror on us. Because he goes on to foist “shayaris” on us. Shayaris like buddhe ke moonh mein toffee, aur mehmaan ke moonh mein maafi, achi nahin lagti.  Facepalm.

So, here’s the thing. Billoo Sandhu (Sanjay Dutt) has taken a vow of bachelorhood, until he kills off every last spawn of the Randhawa family. His bride-in-waiting Pammi (Juhi Chawla) lusts after him for the next quarter of a century, while we figure out whether the movie’s laughing at itself or trying to entertain, even as our brain cells commit hara-kiri. In a world where everyone has a nickname, you could take a while to figure out your guest is your mortal enemy. In a world where mehman is bhagwan, you could kill an audience before you kill him.

Tony, check. Tito, check. Sweetie, check.  Annoying kid who speaks of pegs and pyaar, check. Cameos, check. Sufi song with bhangrabeats, check. Obviously, this film is a long chase, punctuated by painful PJs and asinine dialogue, till all the couples magically land up together. Son of Sardar doesn’t end there, though. It culminates in a song that is choreographed like a toothpaste ad, and consists entirely of one incoherent syllable – “Pon.”

The only laughs I got were inspired by useful slugs like “This shot was designed with the help of computer graphics”. Gee, because we’re so sure Ajay Devgn can ride two horses standing up. Why not scratch an ‘S’ into a tree while he’s at it too, eh?

The Verdict: You’re left wishing numerological empowerment involved trading redundant vowels for decent ideas.

Vintage Shah Rukh, Vindictive Religion

(Published in City Express, The New Indian Express, on 17 November, 2012, retrieved from http://newindianexpress.com/entertainment/reviews/article1344100.ece)

Cast: Shah Rukh Khan, Katrina Kaif, Anushka Sharma

Director: Yash Chopra

Rating: 3 stars

Leh Market, Ladakh. A nervous soldier in a bomb suit studies an IED with some nervousness, as fellow olive greens lounge around, waiting for one man with stubble and sunglasses to show up on a cool-looking bike, and save tourists and little children from the wrath of terrorists. Samar (Shah Rukh Khan) shows up. As does a seemingly besotted young soldier, with a “bomb suit for Major Samar Anand, sir.” And that’s when we hear his story. He doesn’t wear bomb suits. He holds the record for maximum bombs defused – ninety-eight. To watch the film, you’d think he’d be closing in on a thousand in the ten years he’s spent in the Army. Because in the span of about three weeks, he’s already on to his hundred and eighth.

One bewildering rescue and a lost-and-found diary later, we find ourselves in familiar territory – Bollywood’s own London. London where Indians and Pakistanis bond on shared language, London where rich girl falls for illegal immigrant, London where people do stripper routines on the Tube, London where you could start working in a posh restaurant because you source “foie gras”...even if you call it “foy grass”, London where women will offer you five hundred pounds to teach them to sing a single song. We go to Hyde Park, the South Bank, Trafalgar Square, the Millennium Bridge, the Tower of London, and practically every line on the Underground. No wonder Samar’s always broke.

Now, let’s move on to Meera Thapar (Katrina Kaif), a racist NRI who wants to marry a gora, any gora, because Indian boys are so boring. You see where she’s coming from. Given that she wears the same expression when she’s kissing, singing, getting engaged, having sex, praying, and pole dancing, there’s no room for any more boring in her life. She has three loving parents (Anupam Kher, Neetu Singh and Rishi Kapoor in cameo roles), who obligingly disappear when she needs counsel. Pitting God against Lover – you’ll figure that one out when you watch it.

I’ll be honest now. I kinda sorta liked the movie. Yes, I noted every time the characters got the math wrong. Yes, I noted that the characters are between ten and twenty years younger than the actors playing them. Yes, there’s a doctor who sounds chuffed when she pronounces “retrograde amnesia”, and is so triumphant at having encountered a case she gets involved in a charade that can only end badly. And I don’t get why Akira Rai (Anushka Sharma) finds favour with the Major (though, to be fair, he does make her video a bomb defusing without a bomb suit) or with Discovery Channel (though, to be fair, they don’t know she let the camera dangle over a river every time she felt like flirting). And after Shah Rukh Khan, the best acting in the film comes from the men who play three horny soldiers.

But, against my better instincts, I found myself laughing at the wisecracks in the film. And I found myself rooting for a happy ending. And I realised I hadn’t glanced at my watch even once in the three hours the film spans.

The Verdict: There’s something about the Chopra-SRK combination that makes us indulgent; and a fetish for men in uniform doesn’t hurt.