JAB I FOUND MYSELF: JOURNEYS OF SELF-DISCOVERY IN RECENT HINDI FILMS

If some recent Hindi films are to be believed, then all one needs to "discover" oneself is a passport and a plane ticket to a foreign country. This pop-psychology method of going on a journey alone in a search for the self is now a common and often-used trope in Hindi cinema. Films like Jab We Met, Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani and English Vinglish have used it as an element within a larger plot, but Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, Highway and Queen exclusively sell this idea. This is not to say that travelling, especially by oneself, is not a valid method of self-discovery. But maybe we also need to look at what the films are not saying, along with the message that they explicitly try to convey.

Ten years ago, a plot structure which focuses solely on a journey that the protaginist takes would have been impossible to conceive. Hindi film heroes were mostly caught up in a struggle with society or with their families. Plus, they also had their love lives to think of and a dozen or so goons that they needed to beat up along the way. The protagonist was imagined as a function of something else, something external -- never an individual, who may have to deal with internal conflict. The heroine does not even merit a discussion here because she was an appendage to the hero lending her sympathy and the comfort of her bosom when things got tough for the hero. Things changed with Jab We Met.

Jab We Met (Imtiaz Ali, 2007) is primarily Geet's (Kareena Kapoor) story. It is her journey, her difficulties, her craziness and her dialogues that we remember most from the film. The crux of the narrative is not so much Geet finding herself, but transforming in the way she understands love. Imtiaz Ali crafts a female protagonist, who (much like the recent Queen) dominates every frame she is in and also drives the narrative action of the film. In this sense JWM is a radical story because it is able to put a woman and her internal struggles at the centre of the action. The family is present in the backdrop, but Geet is not really in a struggle with them. She decides to stay away from them because she imagines that they would disapprove of her behaviour, not because she knows this for a certainty. The journey in case of this film, and Geet's solitude are not entirely transformative, though. She transforms in part because of Aditya (Shahid Kapoor) who acts as a catalyst and brings her out of her emotional atrophy. Ali gives us a glimpse of the "journey-as-self-discovery" theme, but does not go the all way. In fact, in the second half, Aditya takes over the narrative and Geet is relegated to the background. We don't witness her troubles when she runs off to Shimla.

One of the first films to posit the idea that travelling can be transformative and potentially life-changing is Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (Zoya Akhtar, 2011). Arjun, a cog in the wheels of the capitalist system, learns to "live" when he meets Laila, a free-spirited wanderer. The film does many new things. Firstly, there is a strong critique of capitalism as an ideology, which puts emphasis on the materialistic aspects of life such as the paycheck, the upmarket address, and the status marriage. Once again the film has a catalyst in the form of Laila, who belongs to a diametrically different school of thought as compared to that of Arjun. The film does away with typical touristy glimpses of Spain, and instead shows us long lingering shots of the countryside and the natural beauty of the country, and also introduces us to its culture (the Tomatina festival and the bull run at the end). The film also helps to mend the friendship between Imran and Arjun, resolving another internal struggle of misunderstanding and ego hassles.

But there is something that the film is not telling us, and in fact, takes completely for granted. For all its criticism of capitalism, it does not even consider that such a journey would end up costing a lot of money - money that you can earn only if you are actually a part of the system. This kind of a remedy for life's problems is not just inaccessible, but unimaginable to most people who watch this film. Travelling through European countrysides is how upper-class people solve their problems. It is not a viable solution for someone who inhabits a Anurag Kashyap film, for example.

Films such as English Vinglish (Gauri Shinde, 2012), Highway (Imtiaz Ali, 2014) and Queen (Vikas Bahl, 2014) tie up the theme of self-discovery with that of emancipation. It is important to note that the protagonists of all three films are women, but the similarity does not end here. Shashi, Veera and Rani - all three belong to conservative and more important, claustrophobic family environments. The journey that they take is first a means of escape, which later ends up becoming one of transformation. In two cases at least (EV and Queen) the transformation is also cosmetic in addition to being internal. In EV, Shashi has to learn English in order to gain her family's, especially her daughter's, respect. In Queen too, Rani's appearance undergoes a transformation - she exchanges her Rajouri Garden gawkiness for a distinctly European elegance. 

All the films that I have discussed in this blog also have a high feel-good quotient. Nothing terrible happens to the protagonists even though they enter potentially dangerous and sometimes life-threatening situations. Geet finds herself alone on a station with leery men, but she does not get molested. The same is true for Veera in Highway -- Mahabir and his men do not touch her, or sell her off to a brothel, or murder her. In fact, they all seem quite pally and get along pretty well by the end of it all. Films which are set in countries abroad never show us a single poor or homeless person, or engage with the political reality of the country. And there is almost no talk of racism - except for one scene in EV.

I read somewhere recently that the problems of "finding oneself" or having an "internal conflict" are "first-world" problems. This sounds funny, but it is true - when your mind is more focused on how to fend for your basic needs, then you are not concerned with wanting to know who you really are or what you really want out of life. Self-discovery in itself is a limited concern, and the solution that these films put forth, even more so. Perhaps, the film itself is a mode of escape for some of us who may vicariously discover ourselves through the protagonists' journeys.

LESS IS MORE: ON 'HER' AND 'INSIDE LLEWYN DAVIS'

Now, I know that the Oscars are no reliable measure of true Hollywood talent. But I do enjoy lapping up the movies that have made Oscar hype once the award show is done. So, I have watched almost all the Best Film nominees (except Nebraska, Dallas Buyers Club - which after Matthew McConaughey's "God helped me win this award" speech I do not feel like watching, and The Wolf of Wall Street). And if I had to pick a favourite out of the ones I have seen, it would have to be Spike Jones' lyrical and profound film Her. 

This story of a man falling in love with his operating system 'Samantha', simple and sparse, brings home several uncomfortable truths relevant in our technology-driven world. The film is set some time in the future - and it is the portrayal of the future that I especially found refreshing in the film. The future is not a space filled with robots, the sets are not metallic, and the people don't wear tight-fitting silver-coloured clothes. Instead, the future is a world clearly run by unassuming, badly-dressed nerds. The protagonist, Theodore, is one of them, always found in ill-fitting shirts, high-waisted pants, unkempt hair and nerdy glasses. His best friend Amy dresses like this too, far removed from conventional women of the future who till now have looked like fashion models in sleek body suits. Mercifully, there are no robots walking about and talking in hackneyed staccato voices.

Theodore's love interest is a husky-voiced OS (more than suitably voiced by Scarlett Johansson). It seems from the movie that romantic relationships between humans and OS's are not quite out of the ordinary. Theodore's friends seem accepting; there are even surrogate body services for such relationships. But his ex-wife is severely critical of his inability to connect with a human being and being in love with an OS. This, too me, looked a lot like how our times view mixed race, or inter-caste, or even homosexual relationships - accepted by some, panned by others. Logically, the relationship seems to rest on shaky ground. But Theodore and Samantha genuinely enjoy each others company and share a relationship based on togetherness and happy banter. This lasts only until something as banal and human as infidelity rocks their boat. 

The film affirms human relationships over those carried out over technology in the end, but does throw up a lot of questions about the extent to which technology mediates our relationships even today. We obsess over the perfect selfie, make up and break up over text messages, and sometimes develop deep bonds over e-mails with those we may never even have met. Technology is intricately linked to the way we connect with each other, and at times is the only way we do. Our relationships have already exist somewhere in between the tangible and virtual dimension. So, a human-OS relationship is not all that hard to conceive. Jones does so without being preachy or more show than tell. He puts out the questions unobtrusively during the film and leaves them lingering in your head long after the film is over.

[Watch this beautiful song from Her called The Moon Song by Karen O.]

I'm surprised that Joaquin Phoenix did not receive an Oscar nod for his portrayal of Theodore. He brings to the role a deep sense of loneliness, heartbreak and simplicity that it is very difficult to bring out on screen with very little dialogue and minimalist acting. 

This is true of another 2013 film with no Oscar mentions - Inside Llewyn Davis by the Coen brothers. Here, to the protagonist, a down-on-luck singer, played (ironically) by Oscar Issac plays his role with the right mix of melancholy, disillusionment and alienation that is brought out by every frame that features him.

In contrast to Her, Inside... takes us back into the past. The film is set in the unrelenting winter of 1960s New York, and makes appropriate use of the harsh weather to reflect how harsh life has been to Llewyn. His kind of music is not popular anymore, nor does he have the necessary charisma to make it big in a music industry that depends on presentation and appearances. The film follows him through several bizarre experiences that take him far away from his dream of making it big music, yet it is his passion for music that gets him through.

[Another lovely song from the film Inside Llewyn Davis.]

And then there is the cat. The cat is very much a character in the film, representing Llewyn's lost and wayward state of mind, and his desperation to come home to something. The cat is called Ulysses and it does come home, but the film does not tell us of Llewyn did or not. The film's structure is strangely circular - the first scene is also the last scene, and one is not quite sure where it all began or how it is going to end. The uncertainty is effective, and you don't feel particularly unsettled that the film does not offer any easy solutions or convenient conclusions.

Oscar or no Oscar - both these films have been added to my list of favourites for their subtlety and their depiction of real people quietly reacting to human difficulties. 

THE MAGIC OF ORDINARY LIVES

This weekend at the movies was a good one for me. I saw two films that left an indelible impression on my mind, and I suspect that they will end up leaving one on the canvas of Hindi cinema as well. The two films I saw were Queen (Vikas Bahl, 2014) in the cinema hall and Shahid (Hansal Mehta, 2013) on DVD. The stories that these two films tell are vastly different, as are the disparate worlds they inhabit. But what is common to both is that they are brave films --brave films about small people with extraordinarily large lives.

Queen is the story of Rani, a girl from the closeted world of Rajouri in Delhi, who finds freedom, new experiences, friends, and most importantly, herself when she decides to go for her honeymoon all alone. Jilted just a day before her wedding by her fiance, Vijay (played with spot-on wimpiness by Rajkumar Rao), Rani goes on a journey to two places (Paris, then Amsterdam) far away from the milieu that she has grown up in. The primary metaphor of the film is that of journey and self-discovery. Shaky at first in foreign lands, Rani soon finds her footing with the help of the new people she meets - Vijaylaxmi, a free-spirited Parisienne, and Olexander, Taka and Tim, three backpackers she rooms with in Amsterdam. 

Kangana Ranaut in Queen

The film offers a completely new perpective on the clash, or in this case a happy and fortuitous collision, of the East and the West. The East is no more the vessel of Culture and Tradition, and the holy site of the Virtuous, Virginal woman. Nor is the West the spoiler of the said virtue, and the space where progressive means morally corrupt. So Vijaylaxmi smokes and drinks with abandon, and has a son with her boyfriend out of wedlock. Rani gets over her initially wariness to join in the fun in her own way. She does not reliquinsh her inherent conservativeness, but participates in Vijaylaxmi's wild ways without judgement and without feeling threatened that she herself needs to change to fit in. In Amsterdam, Rani is hesitant about sharing a room with three men at first, but then comfortably settles into these new friendships that she had formed on her journey, even sharing a "first kiss" with an Italian! 

But the merit of this film really lies in the fact that it never shifts focus from its female protagonist, perfectly enacted by Kangana Ranaut. It does not compromise with silly item numbers or mandatory romantic angles. The film is Rani's only, and the rest is what helps her form her identity by the end of the film. The film, thus, becomes a comment on patriarchy.This is not just the patriarchy that pervades our society, embodied by Vijay in the film, who does not want Rani to get a job or dance at a party, and flips out when he sees that she is sharing a room with three boys. It is also a comment on the patriarchy that lurks in commercial film industries, which are reluctant to put their money on "female-centric" projects. The film proves undoubtedly that it does not matter who is the "hero" of the film, it's ultimately the story that makes the movie.

The poster of Shahid

The second film I watched, Shahid, is also one where story rules. Shahid is a intrepid human rights lawyer, who fights on behalf those done in by a discriminatory and faulty system. The metaphor operating in this film too is one of discovery and self-realisation. The Mumbai riots of 1993, Shahid's stint in a terrorist training camp and then his languishing in jail, all help build-up his strong sense of ethics and his empathy with those who have suffer the same fate as him. Shahid's experiences teach him that the political is sometimes very personal, and one has no other choice but to take action against the injustices that plague the world around us.This film too does away with all the trappings of a commercial film - no songs, minimal background music, dialogue only when necessary, and shots of lingering silences when the camera does all the talking. Queen's Vijay is this film's Shahid, so completely the character he plays that it breaks your heart.

There is nothing flashy or big-budget about either Shahid or Queen. The films have no stars, no larger-than-life situations, no glossy song sequences, and absolutely no pretensions of being more than what they are. Both films are trying to tell a story, going about this with honesty and focus. And that's exactly why both these films work so well. 

The Song of Apu: When Life Imitates Art

As a student of cinema, perhaps my gravest sin is that I haven't yet seen Satyajit Ray's landmark film Pather Panchali. There, I've said it -- it's out in the open now -- I have not watched Pather Panchali. But that is not to say that I have not been affected by its aura. It is impossible to study film and not read something about Pather Panchali, or not have a famous filmmaker reference it as one of the films that have influenced her/ his works. Even though it is a serious work of non-mainstream cinema, there is a certain glamour associated with this film. It occupies a rarefied place in the world of cinema -- a cinematic "seventh wonder", if you please, unique, untouchable and irreplaceable. 

It was this "glamour" that prompted me to watch Apur Panchali, a film by Kaushik Ganguly, at the Pune International Film Festival this year. The film follows two narratives, though it is primarily the story of Subir Bannerjee, the forgotten, once-famous child actor, who featured in Pather Panchali as Apu. This narrative track follows the story of Subir, now an aged, lonely man who once again has to face the spotlight as he is being honoured at a film festival in Germany for his contribution to Ray's film. Another narrative focuses in Subir as a younger man (played by Parambrata Chattopadhyay of Kahaani fame) and the trajectory of emotions he has to go through as he loses his wife and child at an early age. These two stories are effectively interspersed with original footage from Pather Panchali, the scenes of this film often mirroring the events in young Subir's life.

Subir, as an older man, is rather reticent. He has tried to shake off the ghost of Apu all through his life, but the "relationship" he shares with Apu is almost karmic, in which it appears that the character and the actor are meant to be one. This feeling is heightened by the fact that Subir's own life, although cloaked in the mundane, is quite cinematic. The events of his life -- right from his father's death, to his happy marriage, to the eventual death of his wife and child -- all seem to be borrowed from the plot of a melodramatic Hindi film. It is uncanny, as Subir himself admits, that Apu, whom he has tried his best to forget, is fatally linked to his life. It is because of Apu that Subir gets the opportunity to fly business class to Germany on the first plane journey of his life.

My favourite character in the film was that of the young student, Arko, who brings Subir the news of his award and chases him around till he is convinced to go to Germany. Arko is motivated by the fact that he is becoming a part of cinematic history in his endeavour and all his efforts to pursuade Subir stem more from a love of cinema than anything else. There is an interesting scene in which Subir takes Arko to the house where Pather Panchali was shot. Arko takes several snapshots of this "historical" site and later reveals to Subir that he has also stolen a brick from the house. 

Ganguly's film is a look at the reverse side of instant stardom -- instant oblivion. The fame leaves Subir as soon as he is out of the spotlight, and he too learns to live without it. But Apu does not leave. He stays with Subir, almost like a puppeteer, charting the course of Subir's simple but extraordinary life.

HARISHCHANDRACHI FACTORY: THE MAGIC OF THE MOVIES

This year marks the 100-year anniversary of Indian cinema, and more specifically 100 years of the Mumbai Film Industry. This is now a well-known and widely celebrated fact, with even the Cannes Film Festival joining in to commemorate the most prolific film industry in the world. To mark the event, I thought I'd do some celebrating on my own. So I watched Paresh Mokashi's delightful film Harishchandrachi Factory to join in the fun. 

This film could have been many things. It could have been a true-to-life biopic, telling us about Dhundiraj Govind Phalke's journey of how he made the first feature film to be produced out of India. It could have told us in detail how this printing press-wala came to pursue his dream of making a film. It could have interspersed the good bits with the bad bits, also telling us how this once rich and successful man died in penury and was all but forgotten by those who once enjoyed his films. But Mokashi chooses not to stick too close to facts in this real life story. Instead, he decides to tell a comic slice-of-life tale - much like the cinema of Hrishikesh Mukherjee. The film papers over all the bad bits and transforms the good bits into really good bits of situational comedy. To add to this, Madhav also puts in Chaplinesque montages which run in fast-forward in the parts where Phalke is learning how to make a film, run a projector, or actually filming scenes of his mythological, Raja Harishchandra.

This film could be criticized for its cinematic liberty, but I think Mokashi did the right thing by making HF a laugh riot. He also plays up the fact that Phalke was trained as a magician. This ties up later when Phalke shows his mini films to his neighbours and they react with the wonder of little children who have just been mesmerized by a magic trick. 

Also interesting is the fact that although the movie camera could exactly replicate reality, its function somehow got appropriated to telling stories. In Phalke's case, cinema becomes a medium for telling stories born out of India's mythology, and two new genres of film-making come into being - the mythological and the sci-fiction film (Phalke's films included rudimentary special effects - another instance of why his role as a magician is important). Another aspect that the film does not downplay is the pivotal role of Phalke's wife Saraswati in collaborating with him in his endeavours. She not only partly finances the film by selling of her ornaments, but also participates in its shooting, development and editing.

I did watch this film in the theater three years ago, and saw it the second time only recently - and was thoroughly entertained. This film can easily be a mood-lifter, right up there with Andaz Apna Apna and Singin' in the Rain. The film has definitely exercised  a great deal of poetic license, but it does full justice to its subject - the sheer magic that is cinema.

THE RELUCTANT MOVIE: THOUGHTS ON MIRA NAIR'S "THE RELUCTANT FUNDAMENTALIST"

It is difficult to analyse a film when one has dozed off while watching it. This is what happened to me in the second half of Mira Nair's The Reluctant Fundamentalist (2013). Normally, if I fall asleep during a film, I would be prompted to say that it was boring and I didn't like it. But I can't say that about this film. Even if it slowed down in the second half, ambling towards a predictable ending, it was still an engaging film, making a strong comment on the deeply suspicious and xenophobic times we are living in. The film is based on Mohsin Hamid's novel of the same name, and this was one of the few times that I have picked up a book after watching a film based on it. I'm glad I did that, because although I did enjoy Nair's movie, unfortunately it did not do justice to the thriller-like treatment and gripping pace of Hamid's novel.

Riz Ahmed does a fabulously layered job of playing Changez Khan - the enthusiastic and driven youngster who gradually transforms into an intellectual and a fundamentalist. His coming-of-age story unfolds against the backdrop of the terrorist attacks famously dubbed the "9/11 attacks". He is also able to bring out the anguish felt by an innocent bystander when he is falsely implicated by association for a crime that he neither planned nor executed. We understand Changez's journey in the film, and we also sympathize. But this is very different from the reaction that you feel for Hamid's protagonist in the book. 
Nair treats her Changez as a typical "hero", not unlike the angry young man trope of popular Hindi cinema - a young man who has been unfairly wronged and as a result looks for payback. Hamid paints a far more sinister picture of Changez. One does not react with sympathy to the Chagez of the book at all. Instead, one feels a bit unsettled by this slightly dangerous and sly individual, whose next move cannot be predicted.

In the book, Changez narrates his story to an American over tea and a typically Pakistani meal. The entire novel is a monologue and we never really get to know what Changez's American acquaintance is thinking and feeling. His actions and questions are filtered to us only through Changez's narration. Ironically, Changez's confessional style of telling his story does not enable us to empathize with him. In fact, it makes us more suspicious - we never really know if he is telling us the whole truth or not. Two episodes are especially suspect - Changez's relationship with Erica and his encounter with a publisher in Chile. 

Nair alters quite a bit for the movie. Erica (played by Kate Hudson) and Changez's love story in the film is completely different from the one in the book. The film is, perhaps, better for this. Erica in the book is touchingly poetic and ethereal, and she would have probably come off as vague in the film. In the film, she has a stronger presence and a voice. The film is as much about her struggle with her past as it is about Changez's struggle with his present. Plus, Nair packs Changez's story within a kidnapping plot which distracts one from the main plot. And I couldn't figure out what Imad Shah and Chandrachur Singh were doing in itty-bitty, inconsequential parts.

Still, I would not recommend one over the other. Both the book and the movie have their own respective strengths and shortcomings. In fact, I would say watch the movie and read the book - in that order. You will definitely enjoy the book, and if you've not had a very heavy meal, will also remain awake to enjoy the movie.

Apna Bombay Talkies - A (Almost) Fitting Tribute

Bombay Talkies

Bombay Talkies, released on May 3, 2013, is being marketed and sold as a tribute to the completion of 100 years of the Mumbai Film Industry. Featuring four short films by an eclectic selection of directors - Karan Johar, Dibakar Bannerjee, Zoya Akhtar and Anurag Kashyap - the "film" focuses on the relationship between cinema and its audience. Before watching the film, I did wonder why only these four film-makers were chosen. Perhaps it was because Johar, Akhtar, Bannerjee and Kashyap seem to represent the creature that Hindi cinema has become in the past few years - a mix of hardcore commercial fare, which even now regurgitates values and methods of representation that sell larger-than-life people and stories; and the more edgy and world cinema-influenced style of film-making that refuses to be user-friendly and escapist.There could be a long debate about whether the four film-makers who participated in this tribute were the right choice or not, but they have definitely made the right films. 

The subject of the four films itself is riveting: the magical and mysterious ways in which cinema connects to its audience. No audience of cinema is passive and engages with it in complex ways. The most obvious way in which this happens is, of course, through film stars who quickly become icons. In its most basic form, the relationship between the star and her fan is of adulation and emulation; and in its most extreme form, it can take the form of worship. This is evidenced in the many temples dedicated to male stars like Amitabh Bachchan and Rajanikanth who have achieved a demigod status for their fans. An aspect of this relationship has been explored by Anurag Kashyap in his segment in Bombay Talkies. Vijay (Vineet Kumar Singh) marks a long, patient and extremely frustrating wait in front of Amitabh Bachchan's home only so that he can get Bachchan to take a bite of the murrabba his mother has sent for him in a glass jar. Vijay does finally get his wish, but only after a near-nervous breakdown. The Amitabh Bachchan he meets is far from his on-screen heroic persona, or even his small screen magnanimous and friendly KBC avatar. Instead, Bachchan is a star exasperated and slightly irritable with this persistent fan who wants to touch his feet and feed him murrabba. The star that Vijay (and his father) worship is humanized and the meeting of star and fan is not as grand as one had thought it would be. It is fleeting, momentary, and we are sure Bachchan may not even remember it, but conversely, it is permanently etched onto Vijay's memory. It will certainly become exaggerated and romanticized in his head. What is daily business for the star is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the fan.

If Kashyap's story depicts the reality of the star-fan encounter, then Akhtar's film is all about its fantasy aspect. Vicky (Naman Jain), a young boy, is obssessed with Katrina Kaif and her dance moves. He is not interested in football, and would rather learn dance. But he is only a child, still not aware of how well-slotted and categorized the adult world is, especially in terms of acceptable gender behaviour. So, he does not think anything of dressing up in his sister's clothes, putting on his mother's make-up and heels and swinging his hips to Aaj ki raat from Don. He is almost ready to give up his dream when his father yells at him for his actions, but is saved by Katrina Kaif herself when she comes to him in the form of a fairy godmother. The film touches upon the effect a star's persona has on a child, who is much more gullible to all the glamour. But it is also about how quick we are in labeling children and their ambitions. Vicky's father is thrilled when Vicky pretends that he wants to be a pilot when he grows up, but thrashes him about his dancing. A child's completely harmless ambition is labelled as deviant, and he is threatened into not exploring himself and his dreams. 

Dibakar Bannerjee casts Nawauddin Siddiqui as the commonest of common men in his short film. He lives in a cramped chawl with his wife and daughter, and is job-hunting, probably to make ends meet. He keeps a pet emu named Anjali, a relic of a failed business venture, and wants to be a hero for his daughter more that he wants a job. And he gets his chance when he is asked to play a walk-on part in the same frame with Ranbir Kapoor. He is no everyday star-struck fan, but a theatre actor who was quite a hit on stage in his hometown. There is a sense here that he has probably missed the bus to stardom and fame, but he gives this bit-part his everything. All this not for his own three seconds of fame, but to be able to narrate the days events to his wife, and especially his daughter. So that when he comes home at the end of the day tired and jobless, he is still a hero to his family, and he has not lost all his pride. Bannerjee traces a day in the life of a nobody who gets to rub shoulders with the somebodys of the world - famous film-stars who have entire battalions surrounding them, making sure they look like heroes every single minute of their lives.

Finally, I come to Karan Johar's film. It is actually the first short film you will see, and if you are used to normal Johar fare, then this one's sure to blow you away. This is a Karan Johar we've never seen before. A Karan Johar who was busy hiding behind aarti ki thalis, opulent houses and pastel-shade prettiness. This is a hard-hitting and deeply personal film, which reinterprets two golden classics in unexpected ways. The two songs featured here - Ajeeb dastan hai yeh and Lag jaa gale - are given a completely new meaning. I don't want to say much about this film because that would take away from its impact, except that I liked this film the best. And I hope to see more of Karan Johar Version 2.0. 

Bombay Talkies is not flawless, and perhaps the greatest flaw here is the length of the films. All the films start out well, but the directors - barring Bannerjee - are in a hurry to tie up loose ends. A little open-endedness, a little uncertainity would have been nice. The acting of the entire cast really lifts the movie above its four individual story lines, as each member of the cast makes the role her/ his own. The four directors have done their assignment, which was I suppose to make a film on, well, films. But each director takes it several notches forward, making Bombay Talkies a fitting tribute to Hindi cinema and its far-reaching influence.

THE CHOCOLATE BOY AND THE GIRL NEXT DOOR: CELEBRATING THE 25TH ANNIVERSARY OF QSQT

Okay, let's get some things straight. I am a big Aamir Khan fan, and when it comes to talking about his films, I conveniently see no flaws. I would happily jump through fire hoops and climb Mount Everest for him, although I don't think he would really put me up to those tasks, but I cannot say an unkind word about him or his films. I loved him as the incorrigible Sanjay in Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar, as the handle-bar mustachioed Mangal Pandey in Mangal Pandey, heck - I even love him in the new Godrej ads, where he is in drag.

In this blog, I discuss one of his earliest blockbusters  - Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak, considered to be a landmark film in popular Hindi cinema. 23 April 2013 marked the 25th Anniversary of this film. QSQT was released on the very same date in the year 1988 and starred two freshly minted young stars - Juhi Chawla and Aamir Khan. The lead pair created history, as the film went on to become the biggest hits of that year.

                   

The poster of Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak

Juhi Chawla had recently been crowned Miss India and had also done some modelling, but her face was largely unknown. She brought the genuine innocence and optimism of a young girl just out into the world to the role, not to mention a lovable dorkiness - a quality that would mark many of her later roles as well. Contrary to popular belief, this wasn't the debut film of Aamir Khan. He had earlier worked in a film called Holi (Dir. Ketan Mehta,1984) as a teenager and also in the critically acclaimed Raakh (Dir. Aditya Bhattacharya, 1989) as Supriya Pathak's brother. In fact, he has also won a Special Jury Mention National Award for the latter. [ You can watch the film Holi on YouTube here and the promo of Raakh here] Though his roles in his first two films were quite edgy, in QSQT, Khan epitomized the new-age romantic hero. His character in the film was a welcome break from the angry young men that had ruled over the Hindi film industry in the 80s decade.

QSQT was the first and last of its kind in more than one way. It was one of the first films whose loo..oong and weighty title was compressed into a pithy, catchy acronym. This spawned a whole generation of similar bonsai titles like HAHK, DDLJ, KKHH, KANK, MNIK etc. Also, it was one of the last films where the much-in-love Raj and Rashmi rebel against parental authority, and elope to fulfill their love for and commitment to each other. Later films like Hum Aapke Hai Kaun and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge, on the other hand,  featured young lovers who were tame and boringly virtuous, and wouldn't even kiss each other without maa-baauji's aashirwaad.

                  

The lead pair of  Juhi and Aamir which stole everyone's hearts

The film, as everyone knows, is an Indianized reworking of Shakespeare's tragic play about two ill-fated teenage lovers - Romeo and Juliet. In QSQT, the youngsters negotiate personal desire and individual choice against a rigid and orthodox feudal family set-up. In this respect, the film does something rather brave. The family, especially the mother figure, in Hindi cinema has always been the site of protection and nurture, and most film plots drive towards the consolidation of this unit through the marriage of the hero and the heroine at the end of the film. In QSQT, there is no such consolidation, as the protagonists realise their desire of being together inspite of family opposition in death at the end of the film. Death, in this case, is not simply a tragic end but the final rebellion that the young people stage against the stifling value system of their respective families.

My favourite moment in the film is when Rashmi, instead of waiting around for the hero to bachao her izzat, rescues herself from a bunch of goons. Rashmi is accosted by a group of young boys looking for trouble, after she misses her bus and is lost on a jungle. (The leader of the pack is a very young and convincingly goony looking Makarand Deshpande and Aamir Khan's brother, Faisal, also does a cameo here.) As they chase her and finally capture here, she uses her presence of mind and some grit to knee the goon in his business and proceeds to hide in a pit covered with dry leaves.

The film, needless to say made history, and so did it's lead stars. The promises of eternal love may seem anachronistic in this age, when dating someone is as easy as "friending" them on Facebook. Yet the film will always remain a classic for its breezy music, its engaging melodrama and twists, its teen love story, and of course, some very good acting by its lead pair.

Happy 25th, QSQT!

The Crusading Hero of 1980s Revenge Dramas

Revenge dramas were a staple of 1980s and 90s Hindi cinema. This genre of film usually featured a protagonist (often male) who directly or indirectly suffers some injustice at the hands of "the system". The system could be an apathetic State, judiciary and police, oppressive old-age practices such as the zamindari system, or, on a personal level, the hero's girlfriend's rich dad. A female protagonist in a similar role was a variation of this theme. In this case, the heroine of the film would start out being thoroughly oppressed and exploited by a male authority figure, and would generally return in a masculinized avatar to beat up the bad guys and kill the villian (Rekha in Phool Bane Angaarey, 1991 or Sridevi in Farishtay, 1991). 

Rekha in Phool Bane Angaarey

Rajesh Khanna's Insaaf Main Karoonga (Shibhu Mitra, 1985) falls squarely into the category of a revenge plot. Khanna plays Ravi Khanna, a 40-year old Army Captain (don't mind my snigger) whose pretty wife (Tina Munim) is raped by his senior in his absence. She goes on to commit suicide, as a strategically placed and miraculously switched on tape recorder informs Ravi of the culprit. Ravi goes on to shoot the guilty Brigadier six times, pronouncing solemnly 'I execute you in the name of humanity'. The lucky Brigadier, however, survives (excuse me while I snigger some more). Ravi surrenders to some shady looking, long-haired Army officials but escapes when he comes to know that his nemesis is alive, and then proceeds to take revenge against him through his daughter (played by Padmini Kolhapure). 

It is weird how the film pans out after this. The film features a serious sexual assault on a woman. Yet there is no police complaint or even a court martial against the Brigadier. In fact, he quite happily recovers in a hospital. No attempt is made to even include the police or the judiciary, as Ravi takes it upon himself to avenge his wife's death. Not only does he kidnap the Brigadier's daughter, but also mistreats her, throwing her around and keeping her in captivity. The manner in which he comes to marry his wife is equally strange. He is actually attending her wedding with a friend, when her to-be father-in-law makes a demand for dowry. Our man Ravi swoops in, speechifies against dowry etc., and then promptly saves the simpering, voiceless bride from further disgrace by marrying her.

Rajesh Khanna as Ravi - the crusading hero of Insaaf Main Karoonga

Major events in the film are crimes against women, and the film ostensibly preaches women's emancipation and equality. But the women in the film are only there to be assaulted, exploited and bossed over. And their suffering is actually a means to underscore the morally impeccable nature of the hero.

A similar thing happens in another popular 80s blockbuster Himmatwala (K. Raghavendra Rao, 1983) . Ravi (uff! another Ravi, played by Jeetendra - he of the tight white pants and twinkly toes dance moves fame) is the lone crusader against the evil zamindar. He too plots revenge against him through his daughter (but thankfully this time she is in on it). His sister is beaten up and harassed by her husband and father-in-law - and these scenes, I presume were meant to criticize this terrible fact. But no one does anything about it. Again, no one lodges a police complaint. They all hang around stupidly waiting for the poor girl to die. There is some token moralizing, of course, from Ravi's side, but that's about it. 

Then why exactly are these crimes of assault, rape and harassment featured at all in these films. They have nothing to do with the main plot, and are only there to propel the saviour and crusading hero forward. The crimes are never dealt with or solved directly. They are instead projected as crimes against the honour of men, whose duty it is to protect the "modesty" of women. The actual assault, then, becomes a means of voyeuristic pleasure and nothing more. 

This kind of depiction of crimes against women as minor plots within the larger crusade of the hero carries on well into the 90s with huge commercial hits like Mohra (Rajiv Rai, 1994). Two assaults, one on the hero's sister and the other on the heroine serve to augment the hero's moral stature and provide fodder for his revenge story. Not only this, the film also features a song like 'Tu cheez badi hai mast mast' very blatantly objectifying the heroine of the film. This confuses the film's stand on the position of women even more. A similar track called 'Salma' is there also in IMK, in which a lady shimmies away as men ogle and fall all over her, with the camera focusing mostly on everything but her face. 

Tu cheez badi hai mast mast from Mohra

It is clear then that although the films discussed here do have a moral stand which says that exploitation of women is wrong, yet the films do not involve the women at all in the process of the revenge. The film never really sets out to be an indictment of patriarchy and its practices, and becomes merely a man's struggle against a vague "system". 

Films and the Morals of Society

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The other day, while watching Subhash Ghai's Pardes on TV, I couldn't help but wonder how much the film reads like a moral science lesson. Of course, these morals are painted strictly in black and white with no room for grey or anything else in between. The virginal Ganga (played by a distubingly toothy Mahima Chowdhary) is oh-so-pure simply because she is an Indian girl. Few minutes into the film, her fate is sealed - she is engaged to be married to her father's best friend's son, Rajiv. Now, Rajiv has been born and brought up in the Big Bad West (in this case, the US) so he naturally has no idea what bhartiya shabhyata is and how important izzat is to the bhartiya nari. Rajiv is then discarded only to be replaced with Arjun, who is morally upright, but is probably a bit aneamic since he loses quite a bit of blood by the end of the film, mostly through self-mutilation. So after Ganga has been parceled around from her father to Rajiv and finally to Arjun, the moral of the story becomes clear - India is good...the West is bad...Boys who bite girls (excluding Edward Cullen) are bad...boys who shed their blood for girls are good. Ekdam simple logic hai!

Things are mercifully different these days. So it is possible to conceive of a character like Veronica who lives in with her boyfriend and has a drink too many during a wild night of partying (Cocktail: Homi Adjania, 2012). And expletive spouting, gun-toting men from the Hindi heartlands can be the heroes, and not the villians of a film (Gangs of Wasseypur 1 &2: Anurag Kashyap, 2012). Clearly, the "moral standards" of Hindi cinema and their representation has come a long way.

Yet, can we really expect all cinema to be produced with the aim of moral activism? And can cinema really be blamed for "amoral" activities that happen in our society today?

Recently, the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) ruled that films with slapping scenes, item numbers and any other scenes or songs which objectify or subordinate women would be given an 'A' certificate. The basis for the ruling is the noble aim of curbing incidents of sexual violence against women in the country.Films are often easily be blamed for loutish and chauvinist behaviour among young men in India. And truly, many films are truly chauvinistic in nature. But is it only through slapping scenes and item songs that films display an attitude of disrespect and subordination towards women?

Last year's big hit Ishaqzaade (Habib Faisal, 2012) was a strange film in this respect if you consider what it does to its female protagonist. Zoya is presented as a bold, brash girl, who would rather have a gun than pretty earrings as a birthday gift, and who is not scared about shooting her mouth off or taking panga with the boys. She is also not coy about her sexuality and does not think much of kissing her boyfriend. But the trajectory of this character soon goes haywire as her brashness is continuously under fire during the course of the film.  The downfall starts when Parma gets her to sleep with him under the pretext of marriage, but coolly ditches her later. Isn't this clearly tantamount to rape because her consent is gotten under dubious circumstances? She is also tied up several times after the interval in an attempt to "control" her impulsive and violent behaviour. Eventually, she is transformed into a tamer version of her original self, and then, after much running around town, dies in a mutual suicide pact with her lover.

The film, although on the face of it, defines Zoya as a strong, outspoken and spunky girl, she transforms completely by the end of the film. Moreover, and more seriously, Parma receives no punishment for his actions. No slapping scenes and two item numbers, yet the film is not sympathetic towards the new-age femininity that it seeks to depict, nor does the film endorse it. 

I do not want to single out films like Pardes and Ishaqzaade here; they are only illustrations of my main point that a regressive, controlling attitude towards women can be manifested through many other ways apart from item numbers and the like. Also, blaming films for a mind-set that exists within society is unfair and naive. What they can be blamed for though is unwittingly condoning limiting portrayals of women on-screen.

LOVE SHOVE AND PAPERMAN PART II

Including a love story in the narrative of a film is no great achievement. I don't mean this derogatorily  but in a sense that even films which have the most experimental of plots and filming techniques very often feature love stories as a main or sub-plot. Take for example films like Run Lola Run (Tom Tykwer, 1998) - extremely experimental in its story-telling, but it is essentially a love story. Even a film like the recent Django Unchained (Quentin Tarantino, 2012) - a film whose main theme is violence and racial discrimination - is basically the love quest of Django to find Broomhilda, his lady love. And what of all those suspense-type 70s Hindi films in which  nail-biting climax is often interrupted by a love song with the hero and heroine running around in the Alps? Love, actually, is everywhere.

The genre of films to make the most cash out of this filmy trope is, of course, the romantic comedy. This is one of my favourite genres of films. There's nothing that can be a better mood-lifter than a romantic comedy and a tub of chocolate chip ice-cream. But the romantic comedy is not without its problems. The first of these problems is that it is unfortunately characterized as a "chick-flick" type genre, with the assumption that it could only be of interest to women. This means that lesser films of this type (such as 13 Going on 30, The Wedding Planner, The Proposal, Sweet Home Alabama etc.) will take this a bit too seriously and focus their attention only on the story of a girl looking for the right kind of love and the right kind of man. So there will be no witty banter (like in When Harry Met Sally or You've Got Mail), no crackling chemistry (like in Notting Hill or You've Got Mail again) and no laugh-out-loud sequences (like Four Weddings and a Funeral and Bridget Jones' Diary Part 1 & 2). 

The romantic comedy (especially in recent times) is comfortable with taking the all too familiar route and drawing attention only to the story part in the phrase "love story"; and not saying anything much about the love part. 

But then there are other films which make us think more deeply about this mysterious creature called love. They ask us complex questions like: What is love? Is it an isolated emotion or is it sometimes mixed with other feelings like jealousy, a desire to destroy, friendship, sacrifice and sorrow? How much is society part of our love story and does its attitude count?

 The French film Amour (Michael Haneke, 2012), which also won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film, has a heartbreaking take on it. Love here becomes entwined with the idea of death and mercy. I don't want to give away any plot points, but this film tries to imagine what it's like for someone to watch a long-term partner suffer and slowly become a shadow of themselves. It poses a difficult question when it asks to what extent one could go in order to reduce a loved one's pain, and also one's own pain in watching them suffer and inch towards death. 

In another film, As Good As Gets (James L. Brooks, 1997), love is as eccentric and whimsical as it characters. But it is also about acceptance of this craziness and imperfection. Closer home, a film like Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (Sanjay Leela Bhansali, 1999) tells us that the love that lasts is the one where you are willing to do things for your partner, for their happiness, even if sometimes this doesn't involve your own happiness and comfort. William Shakespeare in Romeo and Juliet (and its various interpretations on film) complicates things for us when he suggests that love and death may be intricately linked, and somehow love is complete and fulfilling and ideal only in death. Love is unearthly - never to be attained in life, but only in death. Another complex form of love - obsession - can be seen in Darr (Yash Chopra, 1994). Love is not innocent, beautiful or magical here, but destructive and neurotic. In a film like Brokeback Mountain (Ang Lee, 2005) love is transgressive and reaches far beyond any societal conventions.

Granted that such films cannot be as charming and as easy to digest as romantic comedies, but then if love itself can sometimes be incomprehensible, difficult, amusing and vague, can't films about love be so too?

LOVE-SHOVE AND PAPERMAN

So, the dust has settled on the golden statuettes, and the designer dresses have been stored away, never to be worn again. All that could be written about the Oscar 2013 has already been written, so I will not dwell upon how good or bad, or entertaining or boring the ceremony was. Though, I must say that host Seth McFarlane and the scriptwriters made sure that the whole world got to know how sexist Hollywood can be. Alongside meaty and diverse roles for women in films such as Zero Dark Thirty, Silver Linings Playbook and the French film, Amour; McFarlane, no doubt in a moment of very bad judgement, felt that it would be fun to do a musical number featuring actresses'...ahem, boobs. And he mentioned Jodie Foster's name on the list of women who have undressed on film as well, which I feel was his biggest mistake. The film that he referred to is The Accused (Jonathan Kaplan, 1988), in which Foster is nude because she had just been gang-raped. Not only is this an extremely courageous role, it is also a brave, brave film that depicts a serious and sensitive issue with great skill and brings the point home. So, although I found most of the Oscars blah, this, according to me was Oscar 2013's lowest moment.

But this blog entry is not about Oscar's low moments, but a high point in the ceremony as well as for film. The Oscar for the Best Animated Short Film this year went to a film called Paperman directed by John Kahrs and produced by Disney. This film has been trending on Facebook for quite a while, so if you haven't watched it, you can catch it on YouTube.

The film tells a simple love story set in the America of the 1950s - a man who meets a woman by chance, loses her and then dedicates all his energies to finding her again. Much has already been written about the film's superior animation technique, which combines traditional hand drawn images and modern animation technology. But the film is not just that. It takes you beyond the images, characters and events on the screen into a larger world of ideas, and makes you think about the nature of love. And this is where the strength of the film lies. 

Many stories, especially on film are love stories, but very few are about love - that speculate on what love might be and how it could be defined. Along with a plotline that depicts a love story, very few films really feature a sub-text on the mechanisms (if there is such a thing) of love. In Hindi cinema, especially, most of the films are essentially love stories. A boy and a girl meet at the beginning, then go through life's many tribulations and finally end up together at the end (happily ever after, of course). In such a case, love becomes a precursor to marriage and social stability; the sustenance of the family unit - a means to an end. Which is why films like Ek Main Aur Ekk Tu (Shakun Batra, 2012) come as a breath of fresh air, where the two protagonists reject any traditional happy endings. Which is why it is nearly impossible to see any love story in which the protagonists are homosexual.

Such films also presume that the process and psychology of falling in love is the same for everyone. You meet, you woo, and bam, you're "in a relationship". But is this how it happens for everyone? No matter how universal the emotion, is this how we all fall in love? 

In Paperman, love is magic. Something that destiny ordains and guides us towards, even if this might be against our best efforts. The paper planes in this film, then, become signs, that won't leave the man alone until he finds the woman that he so helplessly has fallen in love with at first sight. Even the title "Paperman" reminds us of superhero films with similar titles like "Spiderman", "Superman" and "Batman". So, love also becomes heroic - something that makes superheroes and superheroines out of all of us. 'Cause sometimes that's what love feels like, doesn't it? That if we have it, we could conquer the world and catch bullets in our teeth.

Love is such a major preoccupation for most of us that it is impossible to dedicate only one blog to it. There's more about films and love, then, on the other side of this blog... .

The 80's Are Back..But Why?

The trailor of the new Himmatwala is doing the rounds on television these days. Judging from the promos, it looks like the film has two basic selling points: testosterone-fueled action sequences and a reboot of the song "Nainon mein sapna". Right at the end the trailor proclaims gleefully "The 80's Are Back". Now, I found this a bit strange - why would the 80's want to be back in 2013? In fact, there are several very good reasons why the 80's most definitely should not be back now.

The 80's were an exceptionally disastrous decade for Hindi cinema. Most of the films made in this decade had unimaginative plots, regurgitated storylines and very poor music and song picturization. The original "Nainon mein sapna" is as ludicrous as it gets - the song screams larger than life through each of its frames and the dance moves are exaggerated. There were a total of, maybe, three storylines doing the rounds...

Storyline 1: Poor hero falls for rich snobbish girl-rich girl's father does bad things to the hero-rich girl is locked up in her room by daddy-love triumphs all-happy ending.

Storyline 2: Bad guy kills hero's father-hero's only life-purpose is to avenge his dad's death-hero beats up several goony-looking men on the way-couple of songs with heroine-kills bad guy-happy ending

Storyline 3: Virginal boy and girl are madly in love-Yeh paapi duniya can't see them happy-bad things happen to girl and boy-love triumphs all-happy ending (or sometimes love cops out and both boy and girl die as in Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak or Ek Duje Ke Liye)

There were, however, some film-makers who were willing to take a risk with unusual stories, full-bodied male and female protagonists, and songs that did not come with in your face picturization. Unfortunately, these people got slotted into the category of "parallel cinema", which meant that even though their films were hailed by the critics and recommended by intellectual types, they almost never drew crowds and were not box office hits.

Coming back to the new Himmatwala, there was something else that struck me while watching the song "Nainon mein sapna" about the performers Ajay Devgn and Tammanah. I'm not sure they are the right people to re-do the song. Even though I've referred to the song as ludicrous here, there is something about the sheer madness of the original that I love. When Sridevi and Jeetendra do those Mass P.T. inspired steps, I know they fully believe in them. There is no hint of the silly on their faces; they dance in full earnestness and joy. Not the case with Ajay Devgn and Tammanah, though. She is coy, not super-confident like Sridevi was in her performances; he looks plain silly and has a smirk on his lips like he is thinking "What the twinkle-toes am I doing? The film better make a 100 crores and then some!"

I don't have any plans to see this new and improved version of Himmatwala because I suspect it will simply be a new and improved version of Devgn's earlier blockbuster Singham. I know it will join the "100 crore"club - and that, perhaps, will be its only claim to fame.

The Yash Chopra that We Forgot

There has been a common theme in all the Hindi film award functions this year - a tribute to Yash Chopra. Mostly, these tributes feature Shah Rukh Khan serananding Yash Chopra heroines from the yesteryears to the current times. So, in one award function that I saw, Katrina Kaif floated down to the stage in a white dress, while in another Rekha made an appearance on stage in her trademark shiny, gold saree. Now, in all this veneration of Yash Chopra as the "man who taught us how to love" or the "king of romance" the film folk have conveniently forgotten the earlier films of Yash Chopra which are far from romantic, and even further from conformist.

Case in point: Chopra's first film Dhool Ka Phool. This film, released in 1959, tells the story of a boy born out of wedlock, and the derision that he has to face from society as a result of this. Featuring the memorable song "Tu hindu banega na musalman banega, insaan ki aulad hai insaan banega", the film provides a unique humanistic perspective on this sensitive topic, without the usual moralizing and melodrama of plots involving naajaayaz aulads. The film does not implicate the mother only, as other films with similar storylines do (like Aradhana, 1969), but both the parents in refusing to take responsibility for the baby they unintentionally made. There is no romance in this story, no indulgence from Chopra's side in making his heroine (Mala Sinha) look unrealistically aesthetic - it a simple film that makes a strong social comment, about a hypocritical society that revels in sitting on a high horse, categorizing people and then demeaning them.

Chopra also directed one of the first multi-starers, Waqt (1965), which boasted of a casting coup of Sharmila Tagore, Shashi Kapoor, Sunil Dutt, Sadhana and Raaj Kumar. This trend was later used by film-makers like Nasir Hussain, Manmohan Desai, and more recently Karan Johar. But this film is significant for me not for its star cast, but the manner in which the characters and backgrounds are represented here. This variation in the background of the characters somehow disappeared from Chopra's other films like Silsila (1981), which only focused on the high society of Delhi without problematizing issues such as class and glaring differences between the haves and the have-nots. 

But the most ground-breaking of Chopra's film would have to be Ittefaaq (1969), a song-less thriller starring Nanda and a young and very dishy Rajesh Khanna. The film uses the hand-held camera technique to heighten the intrigue of the crisp, no-nonsense murder mystery. The Ram Gopal Verma style topsy-turvey camera angles seem a far cry from the soft focus sanitization of Chopra's later cinema.

Then, somewhere along the way, this perceptive and intelligent director changed into the "King of Romance". The love story element in his films has occupied our collective consciousness to such an extent that we miss the moments of the unexpected in his films. Sample the mother-son banter of Kabhi Kabhie (1976) between Rishi Kapoor and Rakhi. Or the deep frienship between Anupam Kher and Anil Kapoor in Lamhe (1991). Turning the ek ladka aur ladki kabhi dost nahi ho sakte myth around in Dil To Pagal Hai (1997)in the relationship of Karisma Kapoor and Shah Rukh Khan. And the most surprising of all - casting loverboy Shah Rukh Khan as a stalker and sociopath in the film Darr (1993).

If we look at Yash Chopra's films only as romances, then we unfortunately conformize him. But in a way he confomized himself as well in films like Chandni (1989), Silsila and his latest, Jab Tak Hai Jaan (2012). And sadly we remember him only for these films, which fit into our notion of an ideal escapist world, where women are pretty and chiffon-clad and men are rich and own fancy cars. 

WHY LES MISERABLES MADE ME MISERABLE

I like musicals. Right from Sound of Music to more modern ones like High School Musical, I quite enjoy watching them. And hello? Aren't all Hindi films musical after all? I even enjoyed Hum Aapke Hain Kaun - in spite of its fourteen and a half songs - I did not get bored or impatient. So the prospect of watching the musical version of Victor Hugo's tome Les Miserables was a rather inviting one, and I was looking forward to watching a large-scale historical melodrama, with two of my favourite stars - Hugh Jackman and Anne Hathaway. I had already watched the Golden Globes and the Critics' Awards, in which this film had won many accolades, so obviously expectations were high.

Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared me for the next two and a half odd hours of dreariness that I was about to encounter when I settled into my seat in the cinema hall. The movie started well. A slave-master overseeing his slaves pulling a huge ship into the harbour in relentless rain - the song "Look Down", sung by the slaves, relating their abject, hopeless state. And then Hugh Jackman (playing Jean Valjean) broke into song...and did not stop till the end of the film! Well, it was not quite song even. It was meant, I think, to be this grand operatic style, but on Jackman it sounded like a unstoppable nasal wail. I'm not being mean, but it was really not pleasant. The film is a "sung-through" musical, which means that every dialogue, every single thought that it going through a character's mind is laid out in front of the audience. And this is what I found most problematic about the film. 

I have not read Victor Hugo's novel, but from what I have heard and read about it I understand that it is a story that even today is relevant and easy to identify with. It speaks of a time when the haves - the ones with all the power and the means - could easily exploit and control the lives of those who don't have the means (financial means, that is) to better their own condition. Doesn't sound all that different from our times, does it? But then if you're poor and then sing opera to tell me about how poor you are, I really can't take you seriously now, can I? One doesn't notice the pain or the angst of slaves or the women forced to sell their body because they are always singing about it. There are no moments of silence or subtlety to give the audience time to take it all in. 

Not all the songs are out of place though. There is Anne Hathaway (Fantine) singing "I dreamed a dream" which does bring a tear to your eye. There's Samantha Barks, who plays Ebonine, singing a very Taylor Swifty "On my own" which makes you sympathize with her for being at the wrong end of the love triangle. ANd there's the rousing "Red and Black" - the song of the revolution, which speaks of change in the midst of a very dark situation. Those are the highlights -  the rest is all, well, Jackman's not-so-pleasant baritone. By the end of the film, when he gives it one last go, the entire audience - some 200 people - all made an impatient "tsk" sound, so I was not the only one with the low tolerance level. I even left the hall with only fifteen minutes of the film to go, because I just could not take another moment of Jackman's lower jaw vibrating to let out a "a-a-a-a-a-a-a" sound anymore.

Fourteen songs in Hum Aapke Hain Kaun does not seem so tiresome now....

AWARD FUNCTIONS KA SUPERHIT FORMULA!

January is my favourite month of the year. Yes, it's the new year and it's time to begin the year with renewed enthusiasm and all that, but mostly because it's award season. And even though I might pseudo-intellectually admit that, "Please...who watches those?" I actually do watch those - all of those - and, well, I enjoy them too.

I do hope that we will be treated to something a bit different this year in terms of the show format. Most - no, make that all of the award functions look like the script of a done-to-death formula film. So this is my must-have list for "Bollywood" Award function night:

• Two tuxedo-clad male hosts (because women toh funny ho hi nahi sakte na...)
• One of the tuxedo-clad hosts maybe Shah Rukh Khan, in which case he will also crack self-deprecating little jokes about his own questionable choice of films
• At least two-three jiggly item number dance performances by - take your pick - Kareena, Priyanka, or if you're really lucky, Katrina
• One awkward dance performance by Salman Khan
• One "comeback" performance by some yesteryear diva like Sridevi or Karisma Kapoor, depending upon whose film is releasing that year
• One Best Actor Award to - none other than - hold your breath - hold it in some more - drumroll - Shah Rukh Khan

Bas, once you have all these elements in, you have the perfect award show, with high TRPs and sponsors with deep pockets. So, January is obviously a lot of other people's favourite months too.

I do have my wishlist for this year's awards though. 2012 was an exciting year for Hindi films, with several watchable movies releasing that year. The Best Actor award should go to Irrfan Khan for Paan Singh Tomar, or even Nawazuddin Siddiqui for Gangs of Wasseypur. Best Actress, no doubt, Sridevi for enthralling us in the subtle yet effective English Vinglish. Best Director, this one's tough. Anurag Kashyap for Gangs, or maybe someone unexpected and new like Gauri Shinde for English, or Shoojit Sarcar for the hilarious Vicky Donor. Best Film - that one's again tricky - how about English Vinglish again, though this is the most debatable one according to me.

Whether fresh and surprising, or cheesy and boring I know I'll be glued to the television enjoying the awards anyway!

Supercinema of Malegaon

It's been a while since I updated this blog, and somehow a piece about the recently released documentary 

film Supermen of Malegaon seems an appropriate way to resume blogging. Mainly because this film, 

above all, is about the love of cinema and the magic it brings into people's lives in big ways and small.

Supermen of Malegaon is about the making of the feature film Malegaon Ka Superman, a spoof on the 

original Superman series, made by film-maker Shaikh Nasir. Nasir comes across as a one-man industry, 

producing the film, conceptualizing the scenes, pitching in in the dialogue writing, improvizing on the special 

effects and stunt sequences and of course, directing the film as well. The first thing that hits you while 

watching this documentary is the sharp contrast between the escapist nature of this fledgling "film 

industry" and the actual lives of the people here. The film that Nasir is making is larger than life, funny and 

thoroughly entertaining, yet when it comes to lives of the people living in Malegaon, what we see are 

verisons of poverty and abjectness. The making of the film is intersperced with scenes from the power 

looms, which are the main source of income for the men of Malegaon. The monotony of the clanking 

looms signifies the monotony of life here. The situation of the people of Malegaon is captured in the 

poignant poem that the writer of the film, Farokh, recites in one sequence of the film. In his poem, he tells 

the moon to venture away from Malegaon, as there is nothing that the town can offer it. This underlying 

tone of melancholy in the words of a writer seeps into the otherwise humourous tone of the film.

Humour, the director of Malegaon Ka Superman tells us, is eternal. This is the reason why, he says, his 

films are parodies and turn even the most serious moments of the original films into scenes filled with 

laugh-out-loud comedy. It reminds one of a Hrishikesh Mukherjee film, where humour could be found in 

the most banal of situations and in the lives of common people. So, not only is film humourous, but its 

humour spills over into the documentary as well, making this one of the most engaging documentaries I 

have seen.

The film also touches upon the gender politics in the town of Malegaon. Strangely, it seems that the love of 

cinema is a love that only the men of the village possess. Right from the crowds outside the movie theatre 

to Nasir's own crew, we see only men. The women seem absent from this world, visible only briefly - in 

one scene we see a woman washing "Superman's" costume. The director of this documentary is a woman 

as well, and when she asks one of the men why women don't work in these films, he unhesitatingly says, 

that women are not allowed to work outside the home. So, a girl is imported from the Dhulia to play 

Superman's love interest, adding "glamour" to the film by dancing with Superman in the title song and 

playing the damsel-in-distress.

What domimates the film as a whole is the love that Nasir and his colleagues share for the moving image. 

There is no big banner, no rich producer, no star actors, no expensive special effects - yet, cinema is 

created. There is no commerce involved here, only a passion for the medium and a desire to entertain and 

enthrall. As cliched as it may sound, this film is about following your heart and also being irrational 

sometimes, if only to achieve your dreams.