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— SPOILERS, MILD or SPICY, depending on your mood–

In one of the pre-release interviews of Dholakia, I had heard that RAEES floated as an idea for an indie film with a few Gujarati US investors who just wanted to make a film on prohibition in Gujarat in the ‘80s. Somewhere, he said, the film grew ‘organically’ into a big-budgeted film with SRK and Sidhwani entering the playground. And I heard this interview after I saw the full-on masala trailer of RAEES. It sounded intriguing, as well as ominous. I didn’t like Dholakia’s PARZANIA for ideological reasons but loved his focused-take on the subject through the mental trauma of a couple. LAMHAA, where he climbed two rungs-up toward commercialism, was a very uneven film and one could feel Dholakia’s uncertainty when it came to welding serious issues with commercial Hindi cinema with stars in their own small galaxies like Basu and Dutt. And then, he decides to leap-frog to one of the Khan triumvirate, Shah Rukh Khan, with a movie that began as an indie! You know, this is no longer the SRK from Mani Kaul’s Dostoevsky’s adaptation of THE IDIOT or even IN WHICH ANNIE GIVES IT TO THOSE ONES: Heck, this is no longer even the SRK form PAHELI: He is someone trying to break desperately into some crore-club. It’s an irony but I don’t know whom to call Dostoevsky’s idiot; Dholakia for trusting that his vision of an indie would remain unfettered with SRK as the hero in his film, or, SRK, for thinking that he would manage to make Dholakia give an ‘engaging’—I am not talking of massy here—film within the commercial diktats of Hindi cinema.

It is pretty clear SRK was aiming high here with RAEES. Many have commented and written that the pre-interval parts of RAEES are its strongest, but based on what? I am assuming it is based on the ‘relatable commercial’ aspects. Yes, it’s true that the pre-interval parts are massier where the ‘baniyagiri’ and ‘miyangiri’ are more in display and played to the hilt. There are some great clap-worthy scenes like Raees asking the corrupt cop after bribing him to blow air into one of the punctured tires of truck carrying illicit liquor to his initial face-off scene in the station with Nawaz’s dogged-cop Majumdar. And then there are very poor scenes like Raees’ playing a cricketing shot right into the bedroom of his already-smitten lover Aysa [Mahira Khan] and thus trying to enter a Salman’s domain. It falls flat, and how! And an utterly idiotic scene where Raees carries illicit liquor by boats while Nawaz is standing right on the bridge with a cavalcade hunting for Raees’s merchandise in trucks! It is not the idea per se that I am talking of, it is the way it is depicted that is dis-connecting. [And I understand, it’s an era without mobile-phones, but still, for some-one as sharp as Nawaz, it’s definitely humiliating]. Except for the pre and after-‘Bakrid’ scenes where SRK and his compadre Zeeshan Ayub [what a waste of a talent in this film] sow the germ of ‘jugaad’ to grow a ‘dhanda’, and a carom-board scene where Nawaz takes SRK by the collar and devastatingly demonstrates the role of a police uniform, there’re hardly any scenes that are worth mentioning in terms of impact.

Where I differ from most of the reviews and comments is that the second half is not interesting; it’s actually more interesting, and thus messier: Messier, in the sense that it falls into that black-hole of elevating an ordinary boot-legger via the stardom of SRK and concurrently, trying to cut SRK the star to the size of an ordinary boot-legger. This might be just before or after the interval – correct me if I am wrong – but there’s a scene where he gets to know that his own mentor has paid contract-fee to get rid of him, and he sashays angrily into a liquor-party with a horrendous rendition of LAILA ME LAILA with Sunny trying to do with clothes the same thing she did without clothes—the fault is not hers; the fault is with the current trend in Hindi film industry and US – not the United States, we the people of India; if this is considered ‘promotion’ in life, so be it—and picks a huge hair-clip [or whatever the hell you call it]; stabs a stand-by, picks up his double-barreled gun and goes on blasting all the accomplices of his mentor, and finally, with tears in his eyes, his mentor, Atul Kulkarni’s Jayraj. He then comes back home with Jayraj’s blood splattered on his face and trying to wash it off in front of a bath-room sink. We see Jayraj’s blood in the mirror on his face; Raees sees Jayraj’s blood on his face; his wife doesn’t, she just wipes off the blood from his face? Symbolism? That a wife will wash off blood off her husband’s hard-worked ‘dhanda’ and that ‘gunaah’ might or might not occur or that she will stand-by and wipe-off the blood of her husband, irrespective of whatever it is or whomever it belongs to? Raees’s confession of ‘gunaah’ is confusing since he has already treaded the dangerous path of killing with the murder of Salim Contractor [whom he might have personally killed or got someone else to kill – we don’t know]. Then, in the second-half, there’s a scene where he literally incites a riot and supports killing innocent by-standers and burning houses co-laterally just because he wants to take-on a politician who supports liquor implicitly but wants pro-prohibition votes. When one has reached a point where one can do ‘anything’ for his ‘dhanda’ and doesn’t think twice before inciting a riot where women-folk come out and roll liquor-bottles, then, THEN , the question of ‘repenting’ later on that he was ‘innocent’ of bomb-blasts will surely be an open-ended one? The film fails in continuation of the character.

Raees has now reached a point where he goes to individually murder his opponents, incite carnage, and stand for elections, but the film still tries to show he has a heart. How? When there are riots, he arranges food for folks of his own constituency and blasts his subordinate when he says that he is running short of money to supply food to Hindu areas and one should concentrate only on Muslim areas. ‘धनदा करते वक़्त कभी सोचा था कौन हिंदू कौन मुसलमान? तो अब क्यों?’ And this is where the film starts succumbing to SRK’s star-dom. Out of desperation for money, Raees agrees to get gold smuggled from Doha for Musa [a convenient substitute for Dawood], which has, RDX, a new type of explosive in the ‘90s. Hidden within the gold-stack are the explosives which are used to rock 3-4 North Indian cities – not Bombay –and then Raees’s conscience realizes and he weeps and says to his wife, and I paraphrase, “To save a locality, I unwittingly destroyed a city.” And then there’s the ridiculous APNI DUNIYA project [which has a sign-board completely written in Hindi and NO Gujarati – a minor complaint which I observed] to project him as the messiah. When you compare this to Amitabh’s Vijay in AGNEEPATH taking Madhavi out to the slums after he gets insulted in a 5-star hotel [], one realizes the trajectory that is missing or isn’t properly conveyed. One has taken the gangster onto a path of egotism, where, one’s business is getting equivalent to one’s ego – then, there cannot be a point of return. But in RAEES, to re-establish SRK as the secular super-star, the director goes above and beyond with instances like the one I mentioned regarding the food-camps. And then, he is shown to be completely un-involved in the blasts. His mother’s ‘addition’ – JAB TAK KISI KI BURAI NA HO- is a really mis-timed act in the end just as a desperate attempt at the end to justify the director’s confusion/admission that it is NOT possible to make a main-stream movie where one can show that SRK, the super-star RAEES could actually have known about RDX. In the penultimate encounter sequence, SRK, not Raees, stands tall and tells Nawaz’s Majumdar to shoot him in the chest and that he wouldn’t die with bullets in his back [again, Agneepath – One could carry it off with maybe Bajpai in an indie film but with any major Hindi film star and with SRK mainly, given his controversies, one cannot, and while that may help keep SRK’s stardom intact, it weakens the film. In fact, in this film, it almost makes him the martyr! It’s the producers who should sue Abdul Latif’s son for trying to sue them because his sins – accused or true— are completely washed off in this film!!

Dholakia is in good form in parts of the film, while he struggles in major parts of the film. The scene where Raees takes on the anti-prohibition rally and where he throws one bottle in the air and smashes it with a fueled-bottle is a throw-back to that fantastic, born-and-bred-in-Delhi arrogance-filled dialogue from DIL SE to Manisha’s brothers, “I can still break a bloody bottle by throwing another bottle in the air, don’t mess with me!!” while he is getting beaten to the pulp! Nawaz’s control-room scene is finely displayed. And as I said before, the confrontational scenes between Raees and Majumdar are fantastic.

Nawaz is in terrific form as the bad-ass cop: And we know very well he can be a fantastic pain-in-the-butt cop with his portrayal in KAHAANI. Here, as gauged by me at least, he’s obviously cut-short because he is facing SRK’ stardom. But whatever is given to him, be it the carom-board scene, or the scenes facing-off hands-in-glove ministers, or the face-off sequences with SRK or the corrupt cops, he is a treat to watch. Mahira Khan has little to do other than play his wife, which could have been enacted by ANYBODY, who is a woman and who can act. No doubt she is a good actress and very camera-friendly, but there’s nothing in this film that DEMANDS her presence.

Coming to SRK, he is in fine control here. I have liked his performance after a long time. In DEAR ZINDAGI, it was extremely irritating to watch SRK the actor battling SRK the star, but weirdly, in a more commercial format, he is far better! His best scene and the one that shows his control over craft is the scene where Raees loses control over his business and seethes at his friend and his wife! Great act that is! In the next scene, however, Dholakia destroys the impact by making him weep and sleep on his wife’s lap; a totally un-necessary scene because the impact has already been strongly conveyed by SRK in the previous scene! However, let me enunciate this phrase with a qualifier – he still doesn’t seem very in-the-skin all-the-way with commercial scenes; as I have consumed here. He might be better off opting either the multiplex one or the complete commercial one and then gauge the results.

Finally, coming to that sludge-fest that’s going on in terms of ‘Muslimness’: Yes, SRK’S introduction scene is a self-flagellating ritualistic scene; the following action sequence is in a Bakrid meat-market. Beyond these 2 scenes, there’s hardly anything ‘Muslim-focused’ in terms of depiction of rituals or otherwise. The surroundings, of course, are of a Muslim locality with Hindus in tow. I did close my eyes for that action scene, but of course, opened up later and never closed it again except for a scene where he stabs a character with his glass handle! To me, those scenes represented nothing more than this in terms of uncomfort in the brilliant TAMAS – [Again, I am not saying these 2 scenes are similar; I am just saying, ideologically, the TAMAS scene was a more potent and disturbing scene with layers to it than the graphic representation in RAEES]. And I do know that TAMAS and RAEES are in totally different zones; unless one believes they aren’t.

Talking of ironies, I was wondering, why is it that SRK’s self-flagellating act is his introduction scene in a masala movie while that of Amitabh’s in COOLIE, where he plays a Muslim,that of Iqbal puffing and throwing away a beedi and speeding toward a train compartment to carry folks’ luggages? After all, DHANDE SE BADA KOI DHARM NAHI HOTA…AUR KOI BHI DHANDA CHOTA NAHIN HOTA…


Thoughts on DANGAL

Again, Aamir gifts India with a movie in Christmas and proves why he continues to be the Santa donating gifts in the form of a few hours of magic, yanking your earthly problems out of your mind space for 150 minutes and taking you on an adrenalin ride and making you believe that life, as bleak as it might be, when looked at purely as ups and downs of moments and emotions attached to them, can be livable and be looked back at with sighs and smiles, albeit in different doses. If life were a vehicle, Aamir the driver arranges a journey in which he packs characters that are real, earthy, smelly, and sweaty and lets them be; with him interjecting, commanding, demanding, talking, cajoling – all the while, only as an interlocutor: Throughout, the film is about those moments and characters that are part of Aamir’s Mahaveer Singh Phogat’s life, and they remain so. Aamir remains the root of the movie, but only as the root, always buried beneath but having the huge heart to dirty oneself in mud but let the viewers/audiences/people enjoy the tree, the rings, the leaves, the twigs, the branches, and of course, the shade.

Dangal is a massive achievement since it consensually consummates a rare marriage between serious issues of gender inequality and cinematic treatment. The bridge between entertainment and issue-based stories is a serious one to effectively construct but here, it’s one great construction. Dangal took me back to my days with my grand father, who was an accomplished multi-language writer and who would tell me stories every night after dinner, in our family verandah, mainly about Hindu mythologies (he was a master in Sanskrit) and stories regarding kings, queens, ascetics, with ‘rakshasas’ in tow of course. The main thing I looked forward to, and the one I never failed in experiencing, was entertainment and eliciting highs and lows of emotions whenever he narrated those stories. Any complexity in the story; be they of emotions or of constructs, would never be lost to me: And that was his victory in storytelling; not my intelligence in understanding it.

That’s what director Nitish Tiwari and his team of writers accomplish here. The visuals always embellish the writing here and not otherwise. Amitabh, of course, IS the lord of ‘masala’ introductions in Hindi cinema (sorry, couldn’t resist bringing him in), but Aamir’s middle-aged introduction with a chiseled body watching a game of wrestling and then defeating a state champion—as the 1988 Seoul Olympics is broadcast in the background—and then wearing his shirt on while the title-credits roll is a pure masala moment, accomplished with a rousing soundtrack that is pure ecstasy-rush. (The other one I cannot forget, of course, is the one in Haider for Irrfan right before the intermission.) The credits then roll on with ‘akhadas’ being shown along with all the activities that go on in making a wrestler out of a potential. Through the girls’ cousin Aparshakti Khurana’s voiceover, the film takes us through the journey of the sisters, mainly focusing on Geeta Phogat till her winning gold in the 2010 Commonwealth Games. Babita, her sister, continues to stay in the background till the end because Geeta is the one competing at the international level.

Ultimately, the story is of Geeta winning an international medal after successive defeats at that level. Everyone is a supporting character, be it Mahaveer’s wife played with restraint by Sakshi Tanwar, the cousin, the chicken-supplier, or even her coach at NSA in Patiala.

I wouldn’t want to write much about the ‘trajectory’ of the movie since that is something to be experienced and enjoyed. Everybody knows the ‘wikipedia’ story of the Phogat sisters by now, especially after Aamir’s own Satyamev Jayate episode. The main strength of the movie is how it inter-laces folksy humor – (Amar Chitra Katha, Tinkle, and especially Suppandi and Shikhari Shambhu are the ones that I reminisced about when watching the movie)— with story-line progression. This is a remarkable achievement for the writers. Here’s the difference: In all movies that depict the hinterland, there’s always a ‘glorification’, a ‘pride’ that one doesn’t speak or understand English. And who laughs at such scenes: The English-speaking or English-butchering lucky elite like me. When Dhanush equates forget me with I Love You Too in Raanjhana or when Salman says he can be a ‘soo-soo’ guy to woo Anushka in Sultan, it is clearly addressed to make US (the de-monetization unaffected folks) condescendingly laugh. In such films, the attempt is to make the so-called elite laugh at the ‘attempts’ of the hinterland to ‘equal’ us (which to me as a privileged-person thanks to that phenomenon called accidents of birth is offensive and insulting). But in Dangal, these are the lyrics when Geeta fights ‘men’:

निक्कर और त-शर्ट पहन के आया साइक्लोन
(हन जी)
रे निक्कर और त-शर्ट पहन के आया साइक्लोन
लगा के फोन बता दे सबको
बचके रहियो बघड़ बिल्ली से
चंडीगार्ह से या देल्ही से
तनने चारो खाने चित्त कर देगी
तेरे पुर्ज़े फिट कर देगी
डाट कर देगी तेरे दाँव से बढ़ के
पेंच पलट कर देगी
चित्त कर देगी, चित्त कर देगी

In whatever Haryanvi twang one uses English words like T-shirt, cyclone, or even the word Nikkar, there is a ‘context’ to it by extrapolating it to the Khap-infested Haryana patriarchal mind-set. There is a meaning to those scenes when the girls are made to wear ‘nikkar’; when they complain about not being comfortable running wearing ‘salwar-kameez.’

Going back to what I mentioned about the experience of listening to stories my grandfather narrated to me, I need to re-iterate, it is that singular strength of this movie. Narrating serious events through comical situations or every-day life situations is not an easy feat: That’s where Chaplin scored, and that’s where even here, Nitish Tiwari scores. (I hope nobody is offended; I am NOT comparing Chaplin to Tiwari, but it’s just the thought-process): Some people have the knack of explaining complex life philosophies through simple truths. That one scene contrasting a girl’s life after marriage to Geeta and Babita’s regimen is testimony to the fact: Or the fact that meat is required if you need to compete at international levels— (of course, Javagal Srinath was a fantastic masala-dosa bowler – but as per Phogat, one needs to eat meat or chicken or whatever to give you the requisite protein). It is very humorously conveyed here and such cinematic moment-to- moment depictions are the film’s success: Or the fact that Mahaveer watches and disciplines/tutors Geeta by watching her lost-matches in a seedy theatre where the owner is made to believe that exotic porn movies made with high production values from Atlanta or Jakarta are being watched: Or the wonderfully hilarious scene where each and everyone in the village is an expert on reproductive science and especially the ‘proven’ way to give birth to a baby-boy and not a girl-child. There’s a scene when Geeta wins her first medal. The entire village is celebrating, even the men who ridiculed or were skeptical are dancing away. The director cuts to a shot of an old tooth-less woman who, hesitatingly as well as enthusiastically, blesses her and wishes her good luck: A fantastic scene that, a minutiae, but one that conveys a myriad of emotions of a woman who is just waiting for her death. Did she desire to become Geeta Phogat – or an individual woman of strength— in her younger days? Or is she still confused with the messy churning of traditions and personal desires?

Coming to comparisons with Sultan, surprisingly, Dangal managed to make me completely forget Sultan and hammered my mind the world of a difference that exists between Aamir as an artist, a star-actor and Salman as a super-star. There is a world of difference between these two films thematically, and if Salman, when not drunk, would concur with me immediately. Of course, there are some negatives in this film. The chicken-vendor story is a direct throw-back to Sultan’s Kukreja cookers. The dialogue between Phogat and Geeta regarding women’s emancipation from cooking and baking before her finals is again a copy-paste of Shah Rukh’s from Chak De India — (which of course, is a re-working of Miracle– – but Shah Rukh’s was much more impactful). The second half, technically, for about a period of 10 minutes, does seem stretched, especially since they are coming on the heels of Sultan’s MMA matches. However, the semi-final match with her opponent from an Kenya is a thrilling ride in terms of cinematic execution. The primary one, of course is the one between Geeta and Mahaveer when the all-human emotions creep over. It’s NOT at all a match of strength or wit; it’s just a tussle amongst a myriad of confused emotions of a father’s jealousy, his insecurity, his age, the daughter’s exposure to a new world of fun and enjoyment, her new-found freedom, her own-way of rebellion against a father who comes-off as a dictator. And to the folks that would obviously complain about parents imposing their failures or unfulfilled-dreams on their children, just watch Phogat massaging the girls’ legs and his consequent conversation with his wife.

Regarding the performances, finally, it’s the girls that, both as kids and young-adults, tug at your heart-strings. They are fantastically devoted to their acts: But to me, it is Aamir all the way who wins the show. Why? Just look at the pitch of his performance. He is fantastic whether he is the disciplined and dictatorial father or whether he is someone begging a sports-official to provide some funds. (Fine directorial tactic that! In that scene, when Mahaveer finally, albeit in a controlled-fashion, loses his cool and tells the official that it’s because of him that talents in India suffer, the man simply gets up from his chair and says that he is ready to get up from his chair! “Could you please, then, Mr. Phogat, have some ‘aloo-roti’ with butter”? What a great thoughtful touch that is, in under-lining status quo.) Or the scene when Geeta loses international matches and Aamir so hesitatingly – just as he frustratingly takes time in his real life to approve scripts – just waits, and waits, and waits, and finally answers the phone with a ‘Haan’ to his daughter. I, of course, am biased here since I am an emotional-introvert and it moved me to tears but it’s impossible to lose the hidden love and the sense of belonging in that scene. I can go on and on and on writing about this one: But that would be my failure as a writer/reviewer. If I cannot encapsulate in few words that a mammoth of emotions that’s on display in this film, I need to take a back-seat.

Have a free-mind, and savour this film. It is again Aamir as an artiste and an actor that succeeds: As I said before, he is the root, and the root is always muddy, but the one that gives varied hues and colours of life. That this man Aamir just doesn’t care about super-stardom is evident; and that’s what folks like us care about him.



Dear Zindagi


Richard Linklater’s influences weigh much — if not heavily — on Gauri Shinde’s Dear Zindagi [DZ]: Particularly, the fantastic BOYHOOD. And the connection is not felt as much cinematically as it is thematically, i.e., the crests and troughs of childhood and their role in shaping one’s adult life. The one startling connection between the two is parenting as viewed through the eyes of children. In BOYHOOD, Mason hears his mom talk to her boyfriend about how parenting leaves little scope for her as a single-mom to pursue her ‘life’ or her interests; in DZ, Alia [Kaira] as a 6 year old over-hears her mother telling her Dad that it’s impossible to take Alia with them to a foreign country due to financial pressures. This forms a marker of an incident in Alia’s life and her subsequent handling of relationships with men in her life.

At first, it’s frustrating to watch Alia’s reactions and her handling of men in her life. There is also a paradox; she is a HOT cinematographer [as constantly indicated by her first beau Kunal Kapoor’s ‘Raghuvendra’] who can get or  ANY man she wants, but seems to let them go; either due to their inadequacy or her lack of commitment. So here we have a cinematographer who is good-looking; who can get ANY man whether he sports a man-bun or not into her heart or her bed but ends up screwing all chances of finding and settling down with that one who can act as a soul-mate. She breaks up with a ‘Prince Charming’ who is good in all respects—[I was so getting tired of this cliched examination of relationships and marriages through Bollywood via KANK or the recently released rash-inducing ADHM where the women apparently keep rejecting men who are frogs to them but PRINCE CHARMING to all else in the universe, irrespective of their sex or orientation; I heaved a sigh of relief at the end that it wasn’t the case here]—by telling him on a dinner date that she slept with Raghuvendra. She meets the singer Ali Zafar who is hilariously named ‘Rumi’! **!$?. [The Bollywood fixation and commercial exoticization of Urdu continues]. She develops attraction to obviously his torn jeans and tattoo and his voice and then gets disillusioned with the VERY art-form that introduced and brought them together in the first place – music. [By the way, Ali Zafar turned out to be a joker in this movie; his attempts at sounding a cool girl-magnet come off so painfully bad that I am getting carpal tunnel syndrome even typing this.] At the end, it is revealed, through therapy sessions, that she is actually being pre-emptive and walking out of relationships so as not to face a disappointment the way she was heart-broken with her mother’s revelation that she hardly read any letters the kid wrote or that there was hardly a right time to take her with them thanks to their financial constraints.

I talked of the paradox in the earlier paragraph. And the paradox is again thanks to the atmospherics of Kaira’s personal life. Thanks to her professional life, of course, she is always surrounded by good looking people and people who are the ‘haves’ and not the ‘have-nots.’ [If one as an audience feels this way, it is the director herself who is responsible for this skewed feeling: When Kaira decides to gobble desi Chinese at a TAJ CHINESE road-side cart after a break-up, Gauri crafts a scene that shows her donating her food to a starved, begging kid. It is as if Gauri is bent upon signing off a sledge-hammer impact: ‘She is rich, first-world in a third-world country, got it?’] She is from a family that is welcome to having whiskey/wine as a family-gathering unifier: [The family that drinks together, well, in this case at least, does not stay together.] She is perfectly fine when it comes to OTHER aspects of her life; having fun with her coke-snorting friends or even breaking some salsa or ketchup bottles or whatever since it has a name resembling her ex and then throwing cash at the counter to cover damages. Gauri spends so much of time in SHOWING these scenes to us that it sends out the wrong signal to the extent that when one sees her talking and reacting to her parents so badly, in an utterly dis-respectful and contemptible way, one feels like slapping her and bringing some sense into her. It is actually miraculous her parents put up with her in spite of all her tantrums and her constant humiliation of them: What else can be a greater humiliation to a parent that his or her kid has to mathematically ‘add-up’ the minutes and count desperately to the sum of 10 total minutes of talk in maybe 1 or 2 weeks? She is perennially rude to her parents. [Not writing a letter to the parents after the over-hearing incident is understandable; being rude and insensitive throughout {in an earlier scene, she tells her friends when she has to go to Goa that it’s a torture to spend even a few hours with parents, let alone few days}]. So she has a degree from some film school in New York in cinematography. How did she pay for that? Did she have a scholarship? [Just imagine the contradiction here; the very thing that turned her against her parents, financial safety-net, is the one that actually enabled her to pursue her out-of-the-mainstream course in cinematography in a damn expensive place!] How did she pay for ALL her expenses in Bombay — let alone New York — with a maid in-tow who kept arranging her turtled auto-rickshaw? When a kid takes all of these materialistic bestowing for granted, isn’t it but natural for an audience – or for some at least – to face resistance in buying-in the concept of ‘blaming the parent’? So one’s got all the time in the world when parents shell out their hard-earned money and send you to a prestigious school in a developed country with a stronger currency but one’s got to think a hundred thousand times to talk for 5 minutes with a parent? This dichotomy is quite baffling to me.

Of course, I understand the central conceit of this movie. It is from the point of view of  Kaira, and not her parents. As a 6-year old, it is but natural and perfectly understandable that one sees the world only from one’s limited understanding. Yes, parents might be talking of financial pressures, but what are they to a 6 year old? What’s the thought-process of a 6 year old? Has any 6-year old been wise enough to understand the financial situations of his or her family and stop asking for toys? It doesn’t matter! A kid sees another kid with a toy, and wants it. If the kid were to ‘understand’ that financial situation of the family doesn’t allow the luxury, the kid would no longer be a kid. One gets that. But how about when the kid grows up to be an adult? And is exposed to life and variants of societal life and folks the way Kaira is? It is difficult, very difficult to fathom that a person who is exposed to the kind of elitist life that Kaira leads is so incapable of understanding that whatever the parents decided at that point in their life was a decision at THAT point; not a universal, know-all, fix-all decision: That one needs a therapist to come to the conclusion that whatever the parents did was right in their mind at that point in time is indeed, to put it mildly, if not laughable, for sure amusing.

Does one need to understand child-psychology or be a psychologist/psychiatrist to understand and appreciate DZ? I am in two minds about that. How is it that Kaira is able to remember and describe what she felt as a 6 year old so convincingly to Khan? If one digs into one’s childhood, yes, one can remember per se the seminal incidents that affected one’s childhood; but how can one remember and articulate the exact emotions, the feelings that one experienced at the time? How can one remember that one felt as though a disgusting TV channel had been turned on and the TV remote was snatched away with no option to change? The scene looked and sounded too artificial to me designed with an attempt to well one’s tear-glands. I just didn’t find Kaira’s problems — in the light of her adult life — convincing; and that might be because of Gauri’s confused handling of the subject; the contradictions that she keeps throwing up: Even if one were to convince oneself that it was her intention, it still doesn’t cut ice. Mani Ratnam’s ‘Anjali’ that dealt with the parents’ handling of a troubled child still works for me — at least on an emotional level.

There are only 2 scenes in the movie that stood-out to me. One is Kaira’s outburst when man-bun Mr. Raghuvendra shows up at her friend’s Goa residence; second, the final therapy session with SRK’s Jahangir Khan. Shinde deserves all the accolades for the final therapy scene. It is a remarkably conceived and shot scene when Kaira wants to have a relationship with Khan outside of the professional boundaries. Shinde fantastically conveys ‘transference’ []

in the scene and seems to be influenced by the brilliant HBO series ‘IN TREATMENT.’ []. It’s a team effort and each one shines; SRK with his acknowledgement and his awkwardness {Paul Weston too is going through a difficult marriage} and Alia through her transference buried in her conviction that she is actually in love with her therapist.

Alia Bhatt of course walks off with top honors. This is a fine performance cementing her place as an artist that’s bridging the gap between youth-focused roles and semi-realistic roles like that of the one in UDTA PUNJAB: Kudos to her for pumping life into an other-wise confused character-sketch by the director. SRK plays SRK, albeit restrained. For all the talk of this being a fine SRK performance, I beg to differ – it’s not. There’s too much of SRK’s mannerisms in his portrayal of the therapist. He appears too caught-up to be freely exploring Jehangir Khan as a character. So for me, DIL SE followed by SWADES continue to be SRK’s only redeeming acts in his post-stardom era.

Alia’s friends are exasperatingly vacuous and one of them even belts out a Faulkner quote regarding the past which is never dead. The reactions to this quote by their friends are ludicrous, and the audience is confused as to whether the characters are laughing at the absurdity of the usage of this quote or the quote itself. Curiously, it’s only the dumped beaus that provide some stability and maturity in terms of how the audience perceives Kaira’s relationships with them.

This is definitely quite an interesting film on paper; on the screen, however, it leaves a LOT to be desired.



Mild Spoilers –

AE DIL HAI MUSHKIL [ADHM] is one of the worst, wannabe movies coming out of the Johar stable; and that’s not because the film in totality is bad per se, but because of the disastrous attempts at surrogate-wedding of depth with glamor. All his ‘K’ films and the faux-attempt at capturing xenophobia through MNIK can be considered classics – in terms of cinematic grammar only, by the way – when compared to ADHM.

Johar tries to show his ‘maturity’ in this film but ends up showing his immaturity even more. What Johar is actually attempting here is to be Imtiaz-esqe, but falls flat at that because he is churned between Imtiaz’s high emotional-quotient and his own penchant for designer glamor and an alternative club-hopping world: The resultant is a mess of a movie that just doesn’t know where to stop and what it’s trying to convey. Remember that scene in TALAASH where Aamir questions Nawaz and Nawaz replies, and I paraphrase, ‘साब, दो दिन से खाना नहीं खाया, पानी भी नही पिया|’ And then the cell-phone in his pocket starts ringing prompting a suspicious look from Aamir who’s just trying to understand the contrast between extreme poverty and a fully-charged cell-phone having a high balance. And that’s what I was staring at in ADHM. The gap between the glaring glamor and attempted depth is so huge that one gets lost in that oblivion never to resurface again. Everyone is talking of ‘unrequited’ love. Yes, that’s the theme; and quite a rich one at that in-text but poorly handled here. Johar has been dealing with this ‘can a boy and a girl be just friends like a boy and a boy can be buddies but not gay’ theme since his KKHH days and has yet to come to terms with it: He tried the Archie comics approach way back in the millennium and now he tries to be ‘adult’ about the same theme here. Ranbir’s Ayan loves Anushka’s Alizeh, Alizeh in turn has a weakness for Fawad’s DJing Ali, and Ranbir circumvents these two after Anushka is not willing to graduate to ‘love’ from ‘friend-ship’ with Ayan and moves on to another. He, miraculously after metaphorically doing a ‘Kanyadaan’ meets a शायरा   in Aishwarya’s Saba who, at first sight, hands him her book of नzम along with her phone number. The problem is, the co-incidences, even if one considers them metaphors, don’t quite gel with the atmospherics of this movie [as Lisa Haydon’s hilarious character would have put it, the ‘vatavaran’ is quite deceptive]. It all sounds so un-real; not surreal. In the scene when Ayan meets Saba for the first time, he plays a ‘same-pinch’ scenario with her. Forget somebody Aishwarya-like, I haven’t even had a chance to pinch an over-blown TSA agent at airports! [My luck has been restricted to being ‘padded’, and unfortunately, by men!].

The initial scenes between Ayan and Alizeh just go on and on and one gets irritated. Ayan is a left-over from K3G. He is carrying forward the financial legacy of flying in helicopters and private jets. They can wear shades at night, sleep, and without brushing their teeth after waking up in the morning, can shove raw bread crumbs into toasters and pour milk into their cereal bowl. [Karan, actually, doesn’t waste time here in the sense that he doesn’t dwell on the fact that these are folks that can use Euros or dollars or whatever to wipe their asses; he doesn’t spend time on showing the wealth of Ayan’s parents – Ayan just blasts his credit cards! If that’s maturity for a film-maker, so be it: Just like Trump considers revealing his tax-returns a waste of time, so does Karan believe it’s a waste of time establishing the ‘rich’ history of Ayan’s parents]. The point is established: They can go to Vienna, Paris, or wherever the hell from London in Europe to wherever else just like we try to go from Pune to Amravati.

Karan’s idea of poverty, as I alluded to somewhere, is a kid working extra hours and sweating to pay for his Ducati while his idea of wealthy is the same kid graduating to driving a Lamborghini after completing his MBA as SOTY: Be that as it may, I am not too concerned with it: [Just as one can accuse Ramu or Kashyap of excelling ONLY in dark corridors of the heart and mind.] And it’s on full display here.  The trouble is when he tries to tread on Imtiaz’s territory and tries to find depth, and he struggles, and how! The ‘दिल का दर्द; दिल टूटा नहीं’ idea is a direct lift from Ali’s [not DJ’s] ‘Rockstar.’ Ayan sings pathetically and butchers Burman’s ‘गाता रहे मेरा दिल’ from GUIDE and Alizeh retorts saying he sings so badly since he has hardly experienced heart-break; a direct throw-back to Kumud Mishra’s advice to Ranbir in Rockstar

about becoming a great musician only when one’s heart is torn to shreds. ‘Urdu’ and Faiz Ahmed Faiz are used here just as mere instruments of exoticism. Ayan invites Alizeh to the woman’s house he is sleeping with who, of course, happens to be the poetess Aishwarya’s Saba just to make her ‘jealous’ that he has landed a prize ‘better’ than Alizeh! Noor Jehan’s rendition of Faiz’s ‘मुझ से पहली सी मुहब्बत मेरे महबूब ना माँग

मैने समझा था के तू है तो दरख़शां है हयात’ is playing in the background: And we are supposed to be convinced that Saba is a ‘deep’ person, who literally dances like a stripper in a club in one of the previous scenes –and no, this isn’t a sexist comment but a marker to the confusion in Karan’s mind— when she meets Ranbir after her first encounter with him. I am NOT trying to be judgmental here by expecting a शायरा to be someone clothed from head to foot in a burkha. It’s just that KJo’s attempt at wedding modernity with traditions and ‘depth’ is so exasperatingly vacuous here that it boggles the mind.  [Just imagine Amitabh after reciting मैं पल दो पल का शायर हूँ jumping onto a dance-floor gyrating sexually to a Sex Pistol’s number, and you get the drift]. This is not DEDH ISHQIYA where the entire movie was soaked with Lucknowi तहज़ीब: Here, exoticism is used merely as a tool and the artificiality seeps through to the audience. So afraid Karan is of alienating the ‘it’ crowd that he doesn’t even use the originals of the many Hindi oldies but resorts to using the remixed versions!

Of the cast, Ranbir shines in some scenes but he seems clearly uncomfortable acting as the man-child. He is fantastic in the scene where Aliyah calls him from Lucknow and he asks, almost child-like and with his heart in his mouth, whether she agreed to marry Ali. Anushka is fine but is running the risk of repeating herself with her bubbly acts. But this is surely one of her finer performances. Aishwarya is the world’s most beautiful woman and she plays it THAT way; and NOT as a poetess. [Catch her ‘walking’ with her posterior swaying in the scene when she and Alizeh dismiss off as sexist Ayan’s talk  of women being together as dangerous and you can catch her limitations as an actress WITHOUT a micro-scope; I missed Madhuri here, but I am not the casting director]. Fawad continues to the over-rated actor that he is but a devastatingly blessed good-looker.

Except for BULLEYA and the title song, none of the songs merit any attention. The BULLEYA song is shot poorly trying to give it a SADDA HAQ look but falls flat. How I wish the title song focused more on Ranbir’s expressions rather than his rise to fame.

Finally, the trick of using death as a unifier is such an over-used, ironically, done-to-death attempt at welling up the tear-glands that it looks like a mockery here. Even chemo-therapy is painted glamorous in Karan’s films. [In SILSILA, Yash used a plane-crash as a unifier, but that was 1982, and SILSILA was too bold a film for its time! In 2016, if you still want to use death as a unifying tool, then that talks a lot about your story-telling abilities.] Cancer, here, pardon me, sounds like a joke. The last 30 minutes are a hoot. Never ever have I seen in a seemingly ‘mature’ Hindi film a terminal disease being looked at so flippantly.

If you really want to see, in modern-times, why is it that Alizeh cannot come to love Ayan, in spite of his being the PRINCE CHARMING as suggested by Saba, go back to 2006 and watch Rani and Abhishek’s scenes in Johar’s own KANK: They sound more real and far, far better than what’s at display here. And if you want to watch folks struggling with confusions in love, just watch TAMASHA on rewind..

ADHM, then, remains an uneasy cock-tail of Imtiaz’s finer-attempts, KJO’s own cinematic references, and a vague reference to THE FAULT IN OUR STARS..


U-Turn starts with a disclaimer that it’s based on real events. What these real events mean, is revealed only during end-credits. One can consider it a deceit or a conceit by the helmer, depending on how one wishes to consume that information.

There are many scenes in this film that show something but convey something else; mostly hidden, few completely contrary. This is no Lucia, but writer-director Pawan Kumar’s U-Turn is surely an engrossing, above-average, song less thriller. The movie’s premise starts with a mysterious murder/death of a person having marital issues. The same person is shown to have made an illegal U-turn on the busy Double Road fly-over in Bangalore by shifting aside big blocks used as a make-shift median. An intern (a dusky and an extremely attractive Shraddha Srinath with a nose-ring in tow to make hearts go aflutter – at least mine did) at the Indian Express office (in Shivajinagar of course) is preparing a crime-story based on traffic violations/’un-civic’ sense of riders and drivers and has a home-less – well, he has a make-shift tent if you want to call it a home—guy give her the registration numbers of those vehicles for 100 rupees. It’s discovered that the guy who made the illegal U-turn that day dies the same night. It’s also discovered later, that so have many others who have made that U-turn on the fly-over. What’s going on here? What does someone taking a U-turn on some busy fly-over have to do with his or her death? Everyone is looking for answers, including a more-than-helpful and enthusiastic cop, a bereaved husband and a prospective boy-friend.

As mentioned earlier, by Pawan Kumar’s Lucia standards, this might appear, ironically, a ‘conventional’ movie! And the fact that it might hark back referentially to a Hindi movie not more than 4 years old which also dealt with death and its myriad consequences is quite unmissable: Thematically, yes, the two films are threaded but cinematically, Pawan Kumar’s treatment is quite divorced from the Hindi one and seeps with a local, linguistic authenticity. (There is a hilarious scene where a couple of ‘youths’ ask the intern what rights she has to question their ‘right’ to indulge in traffic violations; is she a ‘Kannadiga’? In the next scene, this patriot who considered himself the judge, jury, and executioner of state-citizenry and rights based on ethnicity is busy snorting coke listening to hard-rock with posters of bands from you-know-where! There’s not a single image or poster of even a Hindi album or a movie – let-alone Kannada music. Well, so much for hyper-statehood tongue-lashing.)

The film plays out on two levels but still manages to hold the interest on both the levels – the thriller and the meta-physical. Kumar explores ‘karma’ and its many manifestations through and within the Hindu philosophy. A U-turn, or its diagrammatic representation, in a sense, is symbolically filtered through thriller elements in the movie. The theory that there is a pay-back waiting for you for your deeds is given practice through the eventful life of some and mainly the death of many. [In one of the most cinematically/technically tacky but metaphorically rich scenes, a person dying is stopped and is, in a way, cursed to live and complete the life-time ‘assigned’ to him by the higher power. Now this is ‘karma’ and an understanding of PRABHDAM and AkAmiyam would help one in enriching the scene’s consumption as a viewer. Basically, the fact that you have to settle all the balances on all the deeds and mis-deeds your soul was a part of before achieving salvation; whether it be in this birth or multiple-births, is cemented on celluloid through a U-turn.)

Pawan Kumar, the writer-director gives subtle hints towards classism, regionalism (as I mentioned in the coke-addicted guy’s behavior) and just leaves them at that. (The old man picked up from the bridge is really given no choice; it is, as they say, the norm in India, ‘पहेले लात, फिर बात’ for the poor, while upper middle-class and the ‘educated’ get the boot only on 2nd or 3rd round of questioning – if they are luckier, they get a cutting chai first and then the boot.] Again, in the opening scene, he depicts a fine camaraderie and mother-daughter tidbits’ exchange; but throws in many societal observations, namely (i) Indian parents’ obsession with marriage and kids and age (ii) having a ‘safe’ job (in Bangalore parlance, read/write BOTH as software). And boy oh boy, if you are using an auto-rickshaw ‘service’ in Bangalore, make sure you have somebody with you who can go back or make a return-trip with and mainly, for the driver, from where you boarded, otherwise the poor driver has ABSOLUTELY no other choice but to extort you to pay at least half the ‘return-trip’ fare. There is another scene where the intern is accosted by the cops late in the night right in her apartment parking-basement/entrance and the ‘watch-man’ is sleeping. Well, he’s sleeping right through the entire noisy episode and even after the sirens have stopped blaring. The man believes in status-quo, and how!

Technically, the film does go through schizophrenic quality of savviness throughout. The technology employed in the climax is tacky. The cops trying to desperately break through a jail-cell where two guys are beating the hell out of each other is badly handled. The cops’ ineptitude at trying to break-open a jail-cell lock starts earnestly but borders and proceeds to hilarity. The ‘time-gap’ appears forcefully induced and the audience can easily sense it to the extent that they start thinking maybe they would have done a better job at smashing the lock than any cop! The good things: A fine background score by Poornachandra Tejaswi and fine lighting by the DOP especially in the chamber scenes. (The pre-death cinematographic treatment, however, is really old-school and tacky – the kind that you might have seen and forgotten in Ramsey Bros’ movies.) But for all this tackiness, there is one absolutely fantastic shot of the cop {Roger Narayanan’s G.K. Nayak} standing atop the fly-over trying to figure out the topography. The camera zooms out step-wise in such a spectacular fashion to capture a hawk-eye’s view of Bangalore that it might attract or force the Google behemoths to re-configure their street-view: Marvelous and absolutely superlative. All the action-scenes in Mad-Max to me are the cinematographic scenes par-excellence of this entire decade and a close, a very close-second is this shot from U-Turn.

Performance-wise, Shraddha Srinath does a good job of playing a novice but still needs to notch up in the acting department in terms of dialogue-delivery. (Do please keep the nose-ring on in your next movies). Roger Narayan as the cop has a fine screen-presence but comes across as too earnest. Hebbale Krishna is superb as the superior who wants to dismiss off the cases as suicide and not unnecessarily ‘complicate’ cases as well as one’s life.

In all, this is, a ‘safe’ film by Pawan Kumar’s standards but a ‘radical’ one by the Kannada film industry’s standards that for the past decade or so is quite happy ripping off legally or illegally Tamil and Telugu masala films. This is a surely recommended film but if one’s expecting something on par with Lucia, well, one’s not going to get it.





Out of the many moment-to-moment captivating scenes in TEEN, a couple of them stand out in my memory: a) The opening scene that is a direct throw-back to that time-less comedy, GOLMAAL, and here,  Amitabh replaces Utpal Dutt. It’s only the realm that is changed. GOLMAAL’s Bhavani Shankar cut a comical picture; Amitabh’s John Biswas is a defeated, depressed grand-father who’s looking for a closure to his grand-daughter’s kidnapping case that’s 8 years old. Time’s brutal; Amitabh’s gotten old, and it’s already end of June 2016, and I am getting/already old. b) Amitabh sells his rusty but reliable scooter to a peon from a government office [Land Measurement, to be precise] to get some information. The peon says it’s always been one of his dreams to own a 2-wheeler. It is a fine scene where the budgetary constraints of the peon are captured. In today’s India, where monthly-installments are the order of the day and anybody can aim to buy anything thanks to EMI, this peon is content or is forced to make himself happy with an old scooter that’s had a 74 year man as its sole-rider! To further cut into the pains of John Biswas, he also asks if the scooter has at least 2 liters of petrol, and whether he can keep the helmet. John is so attached to his vehicle that he initially refuses to part with the helmet: Later, when the peon is unable to kick-start the scooter, John comes out and starts it with a single kick, essentially comforting the peon that he has landed a win-win deal [in one of the earlier scenes, he tells a care-taker of a graveyard that his vehicle is essentially an aero-plane and rides like that; all it needs is just an occasional cleaning of the carburetor] and asks him to keep the helmet too. The next scene shows John tired, sleepy aboard a Calcutta city-bus. And there-on, for all his travails, it is the tram or the bus. How many of us have had elders sticking to an out-dated mode of technology stubbornly refusing to embrace a newer version? Amitabh captures that moment heart-tuggingly, to say the least.

Summarily, TEEN is the story of a grand-father’s attempts at closure regarding the kidnapping and death of his grand-daughter 8 years before. Another kidnapping takes place after 8 years that has the exact modus-operandi as the earlier one and it brings together a police-chief [Vidya Balan’s Sarita] and a police-official who has now turned a Priest [Nawaz’s Father Martin] owing to the failure to protect John Biswas’ ‘grand-child.’ John Biswas goes about his own way trying to investigate while, in parallel, Sarita and Father Martin try to nail the present-day kidnapping case. Whether John Biswas gets a proper closure or not, forms the rest and the crux of the story.

The film essentially works as a travelogue of John Biswas’ attempts at uncovering clues regarding his grand-daughter’s kidnapping. The thriller element comes a close second to this description. Maybe that’s the reason many of the critics keep ranting about the ‘pace’ of the film. The film takes time in evolving Amitabh’s John Biswas. For example, it spends time to show that he is kind of a DO-IT-YOURSELF [DIY] guy. If the ceiling fan breaks down, he gets a stool pronto after his wife complains and fixes it. He doesn’t believe in shoving his scooter across to the neighborhood mechanic when it sputters. He gets down to the task and cleans the carburetor to get it to ‘fly’ like an aero-plane. This logically segues into the scenes where he takes it upon himself to investigate the disappearance of his grand-daughter.

Nawaz as Father Martin emotes truthfully while stumbling at accent/s. Rippon Street is still Rippon Istreet for him – straight out of UP/Bihar belt. Sarita and John Biswas, clearly etched, are from West Bengal and comfortably delve into Bengali. Padmavati Rao as Nancy Biswas is fine as the grand-mother pleading John to let go. Sabyasachi Chakraborty as the grand-dad of the kid nabbed in the present is his usual self. Maybe it was pre-determined as a director’s or story-writer’s call, but when his grand-son is kidnapped, Sabyasachi’s Manohar Sinha comes across as someone who is not too much perturbed and is quite in control of his emotional landscapes. It raises a red-flag for the audience for sure.

Cinematography by Tushar Kanti Ray is fantastic to say the least; especially the shots of Amitabh and Nawaz riding the scooter on the Howrah or the shots of them parking the scooter on a boat to ride to Imambara. Even the indoor scenes of dilapidated bungalows are shot in rich detail. Songs are finely placed aiding the narrative, mainly GRAHAN and the Amitabh-rendered KYUN RE. Amitabh makes it a point to sing in an accentuated broken-voice [Kyun Re], symbolizing the broken spirit of a man. In other words, this is diametrically opposite to the confidence-laden baritone [Ekla Chalo]

from KAHAANI and more in line with the desperate ROZAANA JIYE [Rozaana] from Nishabdh. Still, in NISHABH, his vocal notes conveyed both the desperation and the hope and excitement of awakened-love. Here, it’s just a broken spirit and a further-broken voice.

That this movie doesn’t check the check-boxes for a traditional ‘thriller’ is a given. But beyond that, however, it is a fascinating tale where the human character-sketches take precedence to the by-the-minute thriller elements as portrayed in ZODIAC or even, GONE GIRL.

Finally, coming to Amitabh, the center-of-gravity of this venture, it’s a given that he has nailed it to the T. With the external accouterment of over-sized shirts and his own medically-infested tragedy of a cut shoulder-muscle, he embodies a broken spirit in a physically-old man with remarkable dignity. In the initial scene that I mentioned regarding the Golmaal reference, watch him say ‘OKAY’ to Vidya Balan when she asks him to go back home. That’s the embodiment of a man mechanically resigned to fate. It’s almost as though he is a toy that just needs a key turned to go through the mechanics. In the penultimate scene, he just stands for a minute, takes down his glasses, and wipes some tears. It’s been years of sleepless nights and the guilt of not having done enough to save his grand-daughter. He puts on his glasses and walks back to his home with a slouch.

This is a move that grows on you. If instant ‘thriller’ gratification is what’s you’re expecting, be ready for a disappointment. This is to be savored as old-wine, and that’s when the intoxication takes over.


In the final scene, John and Ronnie are in the same frame and recognize each other at a church mass and smile at each other. Isn’t there always a danger that Ronnie might blurt-out who’s the actual kidnapper?




Eye In the Sky is such a crafty and intelligent movie that it manages to convey philosophical musings on war and state-craft in a thriller- format with hardly any reel devoted to philosophical discussions on the same! This is a movie then that should not be missed at any cost. The movie unfolds guised as an edge-of-the-seat thriller with so many emotions encapsulating age-old discussions on wars, their futility or more-so, their necessity in the geo-political world as we know now where legal and moral discussions take heated turns across seas, oceans, deserts, countries and continents.


A covert drone operation is the order of the day near Nairobi, Kenya where 3 Islamist extremists who are on the Most Wanted Lists of Britain, the US, and Kenya are presently stationed. The eyes-in-the-sky (and of course also the actual drone-operators) are ensconced in Creech air-base in Las Vegas, Nevada; the Colonel commanding them is somewhere in Sussex, her over-seers including her military superior (a subdued and superbly detached Alan Rickman – his last outing) and a minister and attorney in London (British government over-seers); the English foreign-secretary is in Singapore peddling arms and ‘protective’ gears for soldiers, the American foreign-secretary is in China playing ping-pong with a group of God-knows-why-over-awed Chinese men: And at the center of this tragi-comic circus is an East-African girl-child selling bread unbeknownst that her life is hanging by an invisible thread running across all these inter-continental touch-points. The narrative-arc then plays out on the decision of Go/No-Go with regard to the drone-attack on the extremists’-haven unfortunately nestled right next to the girl’s home (her father, a bi-cycle repairer and her mother, a home-maker complete her family) And along this arc, the film masterfully takes the audience along in its thrilling moments and discerningly laid-out philosophical toppings on the actors, their actions, and the consequences of ‘decision-making.’


Among many such brilliant scenes is the one where the Colonel (Mirren) is faced with legalities and ‘moralities.’ (Quite symbolic; she has a legal representative to protect her and the child of disastrous consequences but there isn’t any ‘moral’ advisor; morality, ladies and gentlemen, is your own personal baggage.) Her verbal back-and-forth with the legal-advisor is top-notch. Also fantastic are the scenes conveying the tension housed in what the Americans are proud to call the ‘situation’ room; this time, however, the room is in England & the situation is in East Africa. Any change in the situation on ground in Nairobi mandates discussions and ‘approvals’ from higher-ups as minutes and seconds could mark the difference between two suicide-bombers blowing themselves and the world according to them and around them and its prevention with, of course, a necessitated collateral damage. Symbolism is powerful here: The American foreign-secretary gets a call when he is on a tour in China asking for his approval since one of the extremists is an American citizen but he is busy playing ping-pong and is flustered at being disturbed with ‘such’ a call! That ‘ping-pong’ ball being poorly smashed around is the life of a kid in a ‘third-world’ country for God’s sake! That also reflects the inability of those-in-power in taking decisions and getting along by passing the buck. The British foreign-secretary, after getting food-poisoned, is busy taking a ‘dump’ in a whatever-star hotel when scenes are inter-cut with drone-operators readying their weapons to target, in essence, taking a drone-dump onto one of the poor neighbor-hoods in a poor country! The father of the girl plays a dual role; an open-minded man who wants his daughter to study and be a million-miles away from Sharia-enforced lands and also of a bread-winner who but has to repair bi-cycles belonging to Sharia-lovers or Sharia-haters. (He hides her school-books when a customer comes along lest word breaks out that he is encouraging his daughter getting educated and mockingly admonishes her when she is lost in child-hood and plays hula hoop in front of that same Sharia-loving customer.) What happens to these folks when, an ‘objective’ drone plunders their lives? Will the same person STILL call Al-Shabab and its members fanatics? What has that ‘surgical’ strike achieved if this man were to turn to the other side or be radicalized? When numerical counts of 8 versus 80 are taken with regard to casualties and ‘greater’ damage and decisions are made, what are the consequences of those decisions?


All actors are in top form. Helen Mirren plays an unflinching military commander Katherine Powell to the extent that the audience shouldn’t be judged if they mutter ‘cold-hearted bitch’ – watch her talking to the ‘damage’ estimator and influencing him to somehow bring down the percentage of collateral damage to below 50% to get a legal clearing for the strike — under their breaths. (There is a very subtle, bubbling-under-the-surface hint of race-awareness in scenes where she is negotiating with the damage-estimator about cutting down the percentage of collateral damage. He is black, and possibly from Africa. Either way, Mirren talks to him quite differently even when she is practically ordering him to fudge numbers. There is something weighing on her mind when she is negotiating with him; both with regard to the unhealthy but arguably mandated necessity of cutting down the percentage, but maybe more so since she is talking with a black man about fudging numbers so she could get ‘legal’ clearance to bomb an African city’s neighborhood! Alan Rickman as Lt General Benson is superb in conveying a sense of urgency, detachment, and an embodiment of years of military-hardened exterior. Barkhad Abdi who stunned audiences as the Somalian pirate in Captain Phillips convincingly plays the mindful ground-operative. The actors playing members of the UK government are equally effective. Aaron Paul and Phoebe Fox as novices being forced to look at targets and innocent civilians BEFORE and AFTER drone-strikes for hours-on-end convey their frustrations and tumult of emotions finely. And the girl at the center of it all, Aisha Takow’s Alia Mo’Allim, effectively conveys the symbolism of life being caught between the devil and not-so-deep sea.


Are we know destined to live with the fact that murder or death – depending on which side you are on – by numbers is the new modern-warfare reality? Who wins? And who wins fast and first? Do the breads sell fast or do the bombs blow earlier or the drone hell-fire missile strikes sooner? Who is the decision-maker? What has greater weight: The mathematical, surgical precision of a drone or the moral ambiguity of the human?


Angela: What you have done sitting in your chair is just disgraceful.

Benson: What you have seen just now sitting on your chair when dipping biscuits in your tea is what I have experienced as a General being on the ground and seeing the aftermath of 5 terrorist bombings. So NEVER tell a soldier that he cannot and doesn’t understand the cost of war.

Benson to the minister: You tell us to go to war. We go and do our business. YOU deal with the aftermath.
1st published at


FAN is a movie that sucks you in only to spit you out with a stronger reflux. It has many things going for it and would have had many, many more things had the makers decided not to take a detour mid-way; or at least, keep the detour to a minimum. One can read FAN as a reflection and celebration of ‘The Inner World of Shah Rukh Khan’ and ‘The Entire World of a Shah Rukh fan.’

Throughout, there are references galore to the journey of SRK from Delhi to ‘Deewana’ to ‘Main Hoon Na’ to dancing-at-weddings. They are peppered throughout and are up for grabs for those that can connect and relate to them. There are many directorial flourishes here. Maneesh Sharma gets together with a superstar having his origins in Delhi – and of course the one who wears it on his sleeve—and provides a thoughtful glimpse into manic fandom of a middle-class star-struck fan, financially content running a cyber-cafe.[There is a finely staged fight-scene between SRK and a few colony-bullies in the initial scenes. Does this remind you of SRK’s constant ‘दिल्ली का लड़का हूँ; हाथ पैर घूमाके फ़ैसला सुनाना आता हैं|’ harking?]   The star SRK’s alter-ego is named Aryan Khanna {Aryan is SRK’s son’s name; take out the ‘na’ in Khanna it becomes a Khan}. SRK’s spirit and life hover ALL along the film and the director merely channels the spirit into a character-superstar and a character-fan: In the sense that in many emotive moments of the fan, you see the SRK of yore when he was weaving himself into becoming a syllabus for obsessive roles; and in the many moments of the super-star Aryan Khanna, you see Shah Rukh Khan the star. The film starts off with a shot of DEEWANA and as the credits and age of the fan proceed, it stops somewhere at the fag end of ‘90s. The rest of SRK’s journey is conveyed smartly against a project-screen with Gaurav Chandana, the die-hard SRK fan, re-living SRK’s trade-mark moves for the Dusshera audience – and winning the trophy year-after-year— in Inder Vihar, Delhi. The film then basically takes it forward from where  Amitabh  and Kashyap’s ‘Murraba’ ended. Amitabh gets the Murabba [here Gaurav gets sweets from a famous Delhi eatery] in ‘Bombay Talkies’ and the fan is convinced and happy irrespective of the difficulties endured. Here, the fan ‘considers’ himself rejected since the star doesn’t even give a hoot about giving 5 seconds of his life to his fan – let alone 5 minutes.

After landing in Bombay—even Gaurav’s first-time-in-Bombay is handled uniquely; there are obviously lustrous shots of the Bandra-Worli sea-link, the Taj, the Flora Fountain  but, but, the back-ground music is almost comical, as though laughing at the obstinacy of Gaurav’s journey to meet his idol. Gaurav gets involved in an episode when he takes it upon himself to teach a lesson to a ‘young’, up-coming ‘Kapoor’ actor who is hell-bent on taking legal action against Aryan Khanna since he slapped him in a party [Kunder-gate anyone?]. Oh by the way, Aryan slapped him since he had the guts to flirt with his wife after drinking expensive red wine at his home! [Amitabh/Khalid anyone?]. Gaurav is expecting Aryan to be thrilled but is heart-broken when he realizes that his idol is the one who gets him imprisoned and beaten. Their meeting at a police station is one of the most thrilling moments in this film – albeit the best and arguably, the last one. SRK is great as Aryan and Gaurav in this scene. You see a ‘stardom-weary’ SRK explaining ‘practicalities’ to Gaurav. But Gaurav is just ecstatic upon meeting his idol only to realize soul-crushingly that Aryan, too, is capable of insensitivity and lying— Gaurav gets up and imitates Aryan and paraphrases one of his kiss-and-thumbs-up routine comments: फँस हैं तो मैं हूँ; फँस नहीं तो मैं नही; in other words, being human {jeez; Salman Bhai coming into play here—too much meta in this film}—as the star explains in the penultimate scene. The fact that Aryan isn’t willing to consider even 5 minutes of his life for a ‘fan’ crushes him and Gaurav just drowns his life into an OCD of ‘fan versus the star.’ From here, the film just ventures onto the thriller format and that proves to be its downfall. All the ‘meta’ is butchered at the feet of this literal genre-jump and all that lies next is the cat-and-mouse game between a fan and a star with disastrous consequences.

And here is where the film’s irrecoverable fault-line lies. If the intention of having a VFXed SRK at 50 play a 25 year old is NOT just a visual trick in a book but to go meta [is a fan but a reflection of the star?], why change tracks mid-way and maneuver unintelligently into  the thriller track? The problem with the film jumping onto the thriller track is that the entire novelty, philosophically, of having a look-alike is kind of defeated! Replace Gaurav with a character that doesn’t look like SRK and the thriller element STILL works. You don’t really need an Aryan Khanna look-alike—yes of course, I understand it aids the ‘thriller’ parts where one can impersonate another but to what end? [By the way, Korean action directors and teams have handled the action here – so one can guess the importance given to the action and thriller element here]. And I am not even going into the debatable ludicrousness of this cyber-shop owner from Inder Vihar being able to take on police officers in Bombay or being an excellent fighter or making calls on burner cells or getting in and out of countries that would make him as stealthy as Jason Bourne. This part, I am quite happy to dismiss as incidental to the plot and focus solely on the dynamics between a superstar and an obsessed fan.

As I said before, there are fine garnishments in this movie worth savoring. On a call with his parents, Gaurav superbly conveys his disappointment by just saying that there is an ocean of humans between Aryan’s Mannat and him; his shouts and words travel, but never reach there. [It’s only the fan standing next to him realizes and hears the ‘intensity’ in his voice.] There is a laugh-out-loud scene where Kapoor, the Hindi film-actor is asked to read a letter at knife-point and he sheepishly replies, ‘Dude, this is in Hindi.’ Hilarious! There is subversion here where a Hindi film ‘hero’ is made to look like a, well, a coward when faced with a real-life threat. [Remember RGV’s Company? The 6-packed ‘Khan’ seeking police-protection and cowering in-the-face-of underworld threats?]. Gaurav’s exuberance and enthusiasm when embarking on his trip to meet Aryan is infectious. He tells his Dad not to pack many underwears since there would hardly be any time to change them! There are Delhi-isms galore and really fun. ‘खाना खाने थोड़े ही जा रहा हूँ? मैं तो झहप्पी देने जा रहा हूँ!’ says Gaurav when asked about food. ‘हाँ आप स्टेज पे बोल दो और सारा सियापा ख़तम कर दो’| says his father to Aryan. In the scene where Gaurav lands up in front of Mannat the first time, he tries to get in by taking a selfie with the security guard and then explains how he is ‘different’ from social-networking fans by enacting a couple of scenes from Aryan/SRK’s movies. He enacts, but the security guard just goes about his job. That’s a fine scene conveying that the world goes on in a tangent for SRK/Aryan and his employees, but for Gaurav, the world starts and stops in Aryan’s movies. In one of the scenes, Aryan says that he will deal with things himself as he has done ALL his life since the fan is getting unruly [reference to ‘outsider’, no-Godfather SRK anyone?].

SRK is in his elements as both the super-star and the fan. The exuberance of the fan versus the worldliness of the super-star is quite nicely conveyed by him. One gold-standard take-away from this film is that SRK has just bared himself as a super-star in this movie. He lets you in into what it means be SRK-the superstar: Not Amitabh the super-star; not Rajnikanth the super-star; not Salman, not Aamir, not Dilip Kumar. SRK the super-star doesn’t hesitate to dance at business-men’s daughter’s weddings. The business-man is rude and admonishes him that superstars like him take everything for granted, they hey come late; they think the world of themselves, blah, blah. “I am paying you a bomb. You better make it worth”, says the business-tycoon. Aryan simply takes in the insult and replies, ‘Of course you are the one who can pay the bomb! You won’t regret it.” He then goes about mechanically dancing and pleasing the wedding guests. This is what I meant by SRK – the superstar. He is just announcing: This is me; I dance at weddings for money. I am ‘sankhi.’ I use foul language. Deal with it.

The VFX is patchy [buck-tooth visible in some scenes; absent elsewhere]. In some scenes, it is clearly repulsive when in others, it comes out quite well. The film is technically very savvy – except as mentioned, for junior SRK’s prosthetic [Jr/Sr – Abhishek/Amitabh anyone?].

The only question is – at what point does the fan in this film’s fit to be considered a medical disorder? At what point do you take a Rajnikanth’s ‘fan’ to the hospital? After he burns himself or lays on a track thanks to him not getting a 1st day 1st show 1st seat ticket to a new movie or before? At what point would one consider a fan ‘certifiable’? Or can than even be considered?

























Deewar, after 40 years, stands not just as a symbolic representation of the wall between the good and not-so-good depicted in the film but one that has been firmly entrenched between the masala-laden, rich, ‘epic-driven’ story-telling that was the hall-mark of the ‘70s/early ‘80s and the multiplex-pleasing, Hollywood-bastardized story-telling of present times.

The movie is a marvel and a testimony to those nerve-centers of movie-making process as an art-form; the heart in the art, the might in the pen, and lastly, the technique in story-telling. Right from that scene when Anand Babu [the father] talks not of any labor laws or any specific industrial or ergonomically-stamped laws but of the fact that in any society that wants to be invoked as decent, it’s vulgar to have the rich-folks’/owners’ vases decorated with fresh-flowers every day while the miners’ houses remain stenched with baasi roti, it is quite clear that the objective and core of Salim Khan-Javed Akhtar’s fantastic writing is to paint the celluloid with news-of-the-period using the broad-strokes format of story-telling that is intrinsic to the great epics of Mahabharat and the Ramayana.
Amitabh Bachchan and Shashi Kapoor in Deewar

That the kids named Vijay and Ravi Verma actually look up to the father and his principles primarily and secondarily to the unconditional love of the mother is established in the early scenes of the movie. Vijay [Amitabh Bachchan] is the one that is most influenced and affected by the principles-invested life of his father while Ravi [Shashi Kapoor] is the one who is smarter, wiser, and emotionally-intelligent in absorbing the good and the bad and more importantly, more acceptant of the current social-structure. Hence, it is Vijay who is more-than-willing, almost compulsively so, to subvert the status-quo at the Bombay docks and thence extrapolating it to the society in general. He is the one that bucks the system by refusing to pay extortion; by refusing to accept loose change thrown on the ground after shoe-shining a couple of race-crazy aristocrats. Contrastingly, Ravi is quite happy and influenced by SAARE JAHAN SE ACCHA HINDUSTAN HAMARA [1] — even when SAARE JAHAN is not actually ACCHA for one and all – regurgitated almost mechanically by school-going kids close to the bridge under which the unlucky have stitched-up a meagre existence.

Vijay is quite content letting his and his mother’s sweat-drenched money be used for Ravi’s education. He doesn’t really either believe in, or wish for an education that only underscores the societal status-quo. It is only later that Ravi gets a shot of what status-quo is about when he keeps losing jobs thanks to influences [so strong that hiring managers get sweaty fore-heads during phone-talk] and rampant corruption among the office-class.

I keep referring to Salim-Javed’s brilliant screenplay for Deewar. Initially, after Anand Babu’s forced betrayal of the labor class, when Vijay is forcibly tattooed ‘मेरा बाप चोर हैं’, [2] there is a fine pre-cursor to this scene. A drunk meanders along and wants his ‘darling’s’ name imprinted on his hand, to which, the tattoo – artist replies, ‘नशा तो उतर जाएगा; नाम ज़िंदगी भर रह जाएगा|’. [3]  And that continues to haunt and drive Vijay’s life through-out: the fate of his father branded onto his fore-arm, his conscience and extendedly, his whole life.

When the grown-up Ravi asks his mother as to what she pleads/prays to the Gods every day, she has but a simple and unadulterated answer: ‘Happiness for you; Peace for Vijay.’ Right there, is the magic of word-play; the mother KNOWS what strikes at the heart of her sons. Ravi needs happiness; while Vijay needs peace: Peace and redemption from a past where he is troubled with his father’s ‘betrayal’ of his own principles. Does one really need a shrink there? When one has the unbeatable advantage of a mother that understands every troubled heart-beat of her sons?

“to re-iterate that the film is littered with clap-worthy lines would but just be an under-statement…”

One of the key scenes – a ‘fight’ scene – in the movie is the one where Vijay takes on single-handedly (below) – the extortionist and his bunch of goons in a stock-room. Amitabh sitting on a chair brusquely waiting and then telling the goons, ‘Peter, you guys are searching me all over and I am right here, waiting for you,’ is one of the most defining moments of Indian cinema; if not more, for sure akin to De Niro’s ‘You talking to me’ scene or Hoffman’s, ‘Hey I am walkin’ here, I am walkin’ here!’ In that one scene, Amitabh conveys a text-book gamut of masculinity, of a survivor, of an outlier, of a ruffian-by-force that has yet to be bettered by ANY actor on the Indian screen. [And of course, a sharp precursor to this iconic scene is the one where Amitabh sits right beneath a portrait of Gandhi sipping tea from a saucer-plate and tells his compatriot Rahim Chacha, ’Tomorrow another coolie will refuse to pay the 2 rupee extortion fee’, conveying an ever-elongating distance between Gandhi’s principles and the resultant of ‘unrest’ in the Indian proletariat of the time, the ‘70s.]



Amitabh’s Vijay decides to join Dawar’s [Ifthekar’s] smuggling business. [There is a fine, metaphorically underscored scene where both Vijay and Ravi are shown destined to walk different paths in life and in principle when they walk to their respective ‘duties’ at an acute angle to each other from that influential, over-arching,  intersection point at the temple stairs; their mother.] –  The supreme confidence and irrationality of Amitabh’s Vijay is superbly conveyed in many scenes throughout. Let’s take one subtle scene: During the ‘round-table’ discussion hatching out a plan to out-wit the rival smuggler Samant [Madan Puri] when Vijay says, he knows he is the one that can get the job done, notice the seating-arrangement; there is Dawar at one end of the table, and Vijay is sitting bang-opposite him, alone; all others are sitting on the side, together, in cooped-up positions. It is only Vijay and Dawar that are symbolically lone; charting unique paths. Dawar then warns Vijay, ‘You will have both Samant and the cops after you.’ Vijay replies,’ दावर सब, मेरे पीछे तो सिर्फ़ मेरी किस्मत होगी|’ [4]   Or another gem when Samant, whom Vijay has, frankly speaking, double-crossed, calls up Vijay to warn him that this act would cost him, Vijay simply replies nonchalantly, ‘में दुश्मनी मोल लेता हूँ तो सस्ते महेंगे की परवाह नहीं करता’. [5] To re-iterate that the film is littered with such clap-worthy lines would but just be an under-statement.

Amitabh’s Vijay – whose character always seems to promulgate an authorial and allegorical representation of outliers—meets an escort-woman [Parveen Babi] whose real name would turn out to be Anita but could be exchanged and renamed as per the whims and fantasies of her clientele. These both become emotionally clutched to each other in a way not comprehensible to the ‘normal’ societal standards. Their closeness is surprisingly candid – and so tangible – for the story-arc; Vijay is just shown enjoying a post-coital smoke in one of the following scenes! There is hardly any drama, any philosophical or existential lingering – there are just two souls charred by the fire of fate and fueled by societal conflation to accept them as-is.  Now in today’s times, feminists or non-feminists might take umbrage to the fact that Anita’s ultimate redemption, as per her mother, would lie in getting married adorned with a wedding-saree gifted from her mother and not in being a woman of her own terms. But one has to respect the times in the Indian-context; maybe Germaine Greer’s influence was too slow in crossing over the Atlantic onto the shores of Bombay. Anita’s happiness lay in getting married to Vijay and legitimizing a child born-out-of-wedlock, which, alas, is cut-short by Samant’s knife.



Of course, well before this, the atheist Vijay lands up at the temple not so much imploring as much as demanding the Lord – to spare her mother and not make her pay for sins of the son.

That Salim-Javed have always had a keen mind for literature is evident in that Les Miserables’ Jean Valjean inspired scene— one which was very recently turned into a literal nightmare by the sound and sight of Russel Crowe crowing in Les Miserables — of a person suffering lawful repercussions for stealing a loaf of bread to calm hunger-afflicted family members. This then strengthens Ravi’s resolve to go after his criminal-brother and is finely conveyed through the calmness and clarity of Hangal Saab’s character. [Again, great screenplay: One scene has Vijay moving away from Gandhi’s non-violent principles right under his portrait and one has Ravi coming to terms and understanding Gandhi’s principles of incorruptibility.]

“that salim-javed have always had a keen mind for literature is evident in that les miserables’ jean valjean inspired scene…”

When Ravi is at the hospital praying for his mother’s recovery, he keeps pondering and mentions his girl-friend [Neetu Singh’s Leena] about his mental conflict regarding bringing his blood-brother to ‘judicial’ justice since he is but a sum-total of his father’s blood, his mother’s milk, and his brother’s sweat. She then proceeds to talk about the ‘Gitopadesha’ offered by Lord Krishna to Arjuna. Oh how one wishes Nolan, Caine, and Bale had simply read an abridged version of the Gita..or simply seen Deewar.

That famous scene beneath the memories-plastered bridge is one for the cinematic history-books. Vijay’s general rhetoric about his ‘status’ in life validated by bank-balance, property, cash, cars – which, in today’s wonderful economically-liberated times, would not be acceptable even in a matrimonial and/or a consummated-marriage, or, an alimony before the first year – is met with a self-sufficient and confident Ravi’s, ‘मेरे पास मा है’, [6]  yielding a hammer-strong impact to Vijay and the audiences alike.

Amitabh simply nails the role of Vijay with an inner angst and repression that can only be conveyed by actors with a tremendous understanding of the art-form and the character in-study. Not a single smile, except the wry ones, escapes his lips. He stays in character throughout and never once does he slip. This is a performance for the ages, and one that should be made a pre-requisite watch before giving that first shot for any budding actor – especially the ones that mistake Gold Gym free 1-month trial-membership for a semester at FTII.

“amitabh simply nails the role of vijay with an inner angst and repression that can only be conveyed by actors with a tremendous understanding of the art-form and the character in-study…”

Shashi proves a perfect foil to Amitabh’s intensity. Nirupa Roy as the mother, of course, stands central to the universe of this film, inspite of the towering performance from the lead actor, finely-supplementing Nargis’ character from Mother. Whether it’s her unabashed declaration that she loves Vijay more than Ravi or whether it’s her admonition of Vijay that he isn’t as yet rich to buy-off his mother, she traverses a dangerous line between stereo-type and that innate ‘motherly’ quality that many from the Eastern cultures yearn for and take for granted. And to this end, Amitabh’s Vijay has only two concerns to rid himself of the burden of a character-assassinated father’s history and provide his mother happiness she’s been unjustly robbed of. His clothes, the wine and whisky, the cars, are all but accoutrements without soul: Even the building that he buys for his mother – that which owes its foundation and height to the blood, sweat, tears, and insults of his mother – is but reflected in his shiny goggles. That’s what all the materialistic things mean to him; deserving of being thrown at the feet of his mother. [He even gifts her one small temple in the house!]

Vijay’s badge number at the Bombay docks – 786; a divine number for the Islamic faith – stands not just as a symbolic representation of India’s multi-cultural ethos but a pre-cursor to the many personas Amitabh the actor would go on to embody: From Amar Akbar Anthony or Naseeb to Desh Premee to Coolie, NO other actor continues to evoke the idea of India as intelligently and unequivocally as Amitabh Bachchan, the artist. And as I said before, it’s been over 40 years…


[1]  Better than the entire world is our nation
[2]  My father’s a thief
[3]  Intoxication will die-down, but the imprint remains
[4]  All that will be chasing me is my fate
[5]  When I strike enmity, I don’t indulge in petty profit and loss statements
[6]  I have mother with/for me


First published here –

The Revenant

THE REVENANT [meaning someone who returns from the dead], as it turns out in the hands of Alejandro G. Iñárritu, comes across more as the success and a symbol of cinematic magnetism than a tale of human ‘spirit’ as many clichéd descriptions would have you believe. Every frame, every shot is bathed with beauty that cinema can achieve and through that, the ugliness that can be refracted. The juxtaposition of ethereal snow-filled caps and pleasantly flowing brooks with the sight of a man wallowing in pus-infected animal-wounds or eating a dead animal’s liver – puking, but still eating— under-scoring Darwin’s ‘Survival of the Fittest’ theory as a ‘lived’ experience— is something  for the visual senses only cinema can provide. In reality, this experience is difficult to experience whether one is either a subject or an object of that experience. But cinema provides a vantage point to visualize and sink into and Iñárritu leaves no snow-ball unturned in this tale of a man’s survival story only to exact vengeance on a man that betrayed and left him and his son for dead in the wintry-wild of South Dakota.

In short, the story revolves around a bunch of fur-trappers who are attacked by an Indian tribe in the American west during the Christmas month. The tribe is looking for its chief’s daughter who has been kidnapped and violated by one of the pelts-owning groups. After one such violent attack, Hugh Glass [Leonardo DiCaprio] finds himself attacked by a grizzly bear rendering him almost paralyzed. He has a half-Indian son and their settlement – as shown in repeated back-story montages—has already been burnt by marauders. His wife is killed and he only has a son, Hawk, and he is now looking forward to whatever life offers as a future. One of his antagonists, John Fitzgerald [Tom Hardy] after promising to stay back along with a young Mr. Bridger for reward-money, proves a classic personification of a renegade after a couple of days of harsh winter and connives and leaves behind a horribly injured Glass, after convincing Bridger that under the circumstances, it would be the most ‘Christian’ thing to do. He even digs up the Earth to bury Glass and submit him to God –half-alive! The rest of the story revolves around Glass’s inhuman suffering and survival in the face of all odds and exacting revenge on the man who yanked out of him the very reasons for continuing to live life.

As I said before, the beauty of this movie is in how cinema can take the audience through those experiences that are so difficult to even imagine in the crevices of our fertile or unfertile mind. To imagine/substitute oneself in the dirty/stinky shoes of DiCaprio’s Glass is a difficult task; partly because folks like us in this modern world are quite used to the blizzard—and as I write this I am expecting a ‘devastating’ blizzard along the power-corridors of the United States—as we know it thanks to the shovels-for-loan at the leasing offices and, of course, that haven of modern civilization – Wal-Mart.

This movie is a powerful visual-vehicle of the power-struggle between nature and the human. Of how weak a human inspite of his or her shenanigans is brilliantly shot by Iñárritu in the scene of the grizzly bear mauling Glass. The ‘natural’ order of business with which it goes about attacking, clawing, mauling, sniffing, licking, and stomping the human who is  somewhere along its food-chain is superbly conceived and shot. You can literally ‘feel’ the chilliness of the account. That the scene is a marvel of shot-taking and visualization is underscored by the fact that not once does one feel a sense of ‘pity’ for DiCaprio’s Glass. The bear is but doing what it is supposed to do; protecting her kin!! You can feel the pain and physical injury and helplessness of Glass, but never the pity for him or any sense of hatred for the animal.

And then there are two more ‘heroes’ to this mad cinematic exploration: The lush cinematography and the outstanding back-ground score. There is one shot of DiCaprio’s Glass walking in the snow-filled wilderness and the camera zooms into him from afar. From a distance, as the audience, one realizes and sees that tiny ‘speck’ of a human walking with a make-shift cane in his hand as the camera zooms in on him. Visually, the movie fantastically conveys the lone ‘journey’ to the audience, but Glass is obviously oblivious to the distinction. He doesn’t see the ‘futility’, but it looms large for the audience’s senses.

The sound-track [Carsten Nicolai & Ryuichi Sakamoto aided finely by the Seattle Symphony] Orchestra is magnificent; the back-ground score does a stupendous job of adding aurally to the visually stunning landscapes in view. Hope and melancholy go hand-in-hand here and the musical score does a brilliant job of elevating the ‘sum-total’ of experiences for the viewer. I am musically illiterate but cognitively quite capable of aurally putting together two and two and this is one helluva score that translates the beauty and dangers of the wilderness. [—O]. The Revenant’s main theme is one to die for.

Coming to the ‘acting’ credentials, DiCaprio has been facing quite some flak for – at least in the Indian press and amongst the Indian critics of ‘repute’ – his performance of Glass; since according to them, his performance is nothing but a classic syndrome of ‘suffering-for-art’ [remember Bale from ‘The Machinist’?]. That there is not actually any ‘felt’ performance but just the rigmarole of physical suffering. I am not saying they are entirely wrong but I do beg to differ. Leo is very good in conveying a ‘progressive’ graph as the character demands; from voice-modulation to the physicality. After being mauled by the bear, till the very end, he maintains the weakness and ‘hoarseness’ in his voice. His shouts and bellows are but whimpers in the overall aural world that he is a part of. One of the conundrums of a role that is so physically outward and demanding is that the emotional registers are pushed into the back-ground. I wouldn’t strongly blame any critic or audience if he or she feels that they couldn’t ‘feel’ the emotional connect. But isn’t that the point? What ‘emotional’ connect is one talking of when one is forced to eat and vomit at the same time? When one slushes out the innards of a horse and makes a living in a carcass? When survival itself is at stake, that ‘animalistic’ need to preserve life is all that ‘emotions’ can convey. [There is a scene where he and an Indian slip out their tongue just to catch snow-flakes and enjoy. They then smile at each other. After that, it’s back to survival business.] This is not to give DiCaprio a pass but to wonder whether the ‘performance appraisal’ that one is so keen on giving is indeed a reflection of true indicators? In one scene, for instance, Leo is quite sharp in enactment: His fingers, his hands have been mauled and he is trying to collect and drink some water from a brook. Due to his injury, he effectively conveys his failure at ‘cupping’ or ‘palming’ his hands to collect water! He tries but he just gives it up since all the water is just slipping out the gaps of his fingers! There, right there, is an act of precision for you! How you classify it is upto you..

Tom Hardy is adequate, but his diction is something that put me off. I couldn’t understand half of the time what he was saying – and he tried the Southern accent. Hardy has always been a problem—for me at least— in terms of his dialogue-delivery. I struggle to understand the words coming out of his mouth when he attempts an accent different from the Londoner accent. According to me, he is pretty bad at other accents but quite effective in his own [check LOCKE for instance]. Oh by the way, one of the ironic – maybe deliberate – takes I observed in this film is that the subjective ‘villain’ of the piece, Fitzgerald, is the one who takes the name of the Lord the most and is shown more Christ-loving than any others! All other actors, including the Indian actors aid effectively in this experience.

Finally, this is cinema enjoyed as a whole-some experience if you do not have a heart disease. [I don’t as yet but still had to turn my head away for at least 10 minutes of the 152 minutes running time.] Here, by the way, is TIME’s account of the actual history []

  • An Jo

First published on