Yess. I actually watched itt.
Sometimes you go in expecting the worrst. Through loong, bittter experience, I've learnt that thiss might be a good strategy to adopt.
Howeverr, instead of being an atrocious, abominable mess of a moviee, Aap Kaa Surroor: The Moviee: The Real Luv Story turns out to be merely forgettablle. Praise the Lord!
I could continue with the awful spelling, but I'm sure you get the point. So I'm gonna spell like a decent, civilized human being from now on.
I'm assuming the odd repeated letter in the title has to do with some numerological advice. Basically, some guy told him that the movie had a better stab at commercial success if the spelling was worse than the film. I think he did follow the advice: the spelling is indeed much worse. But I don't think it has helped, judging by the number of people I saw in the movie hall. Most of them, I suppose, came there for the reason as I did: for a laugh. Sadly enough, we didn't get much of that either. Like I said, the movie is just plain insipid.
The plot involves Himesh "HR" Reshammiya, a rock star, being arrested for a murder of a journalist while on tour in Germany. Half the movie is flashback, mainly dealing with his romance with Riaa (as spelt in the credits). The rest is about how he proves his innocence.
As murder mysteries go, this one has about as much complexity as a story told in a music video. Which, I suppose might be because the makers wanted to keep the focus solely on Himesh. Everyone else - the heroine, the vamp (Mallika Sherawat in yet another jaw-droppingly awful performance) - is just garnish. There's a guy who plays a friend of Himesh and has one good line early on. After that, he too has little to do.
Our hero obliges with a predictably bad performance. His dialogue delivery is at about the same level as his singing, which is saying plenty. The worst acting comes right at the end: an ill-advised cover of Mehbooba, with Himesh giving Mallika Sherawat what is presumably his most lustful stare. Given the lady's performance, the term "good riddance to bad rubbish" springs to mind.
The singing of course is typical Himesh. Either you like it or you hate it. I hate it. Someday in the future, the Museum of Modern (and Incomprehensibly Popular) Art will put Himesh's nose on display. Along with Kumar Sanu's. And Altaf Raja's. And... God in heaven! What have we let our music come to?
I must admit, however, that the theme tune is quite decent. The background score in the scene where he tries to break into a guy's safe shows a touch of innovation. The movie is well shot too: nowadays a standard feature in the Hindi cinema.
On the whole, this isn't the worst moviee (sorry, couldn't resist) you'll ever see. But don't let that stop you from giving it a wide berth. Sometimes, in order to make something look good, you put it next to something that is even worse. After this movie, people are likely to ask him to stick to singing. Which might have been the object of the exercise.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Freeze Frame #30: Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
Karan Johar's debut movie is arguably his best so far. There isn't a single unpredictable moment in the entire movie, there are moments in the first half that make you cringe, and SRK hams it up like nobody's business. But for all that, it manages to convey the palpable enthusiasm of a debutant filmmaker in love with Hindi cinema.
KKHH is essentially Kajol's movie. Not only does the story revolve around her, she gives one of the best performances of her career. The plot is straightforward: Anjali (Kajol) and Rahul (SRK) are classmates and bosom buddies. But before that relationship could progress beyond that, in comes Tina (Rani) and Rahul is smitten. It helps, of course, that Tina has the whole girly-girl thing going for her. Anjali realizes this and tries to compete, but loses Round 1. In Round 2, however, Tina's no longer around (died at childbirth), and Anjali has become an amalgam of Tina and her earlier self. Which makes it that much easier for Rahul to fall in love with her.
The scene that ties these two halves together is my favourite scene in the movie: it is when you first see the "transformed" Anjali. The camera pans over a busy household in the midst of a celebration - Anjali's engagement to Aman (Salman), in fact. Aman sends some girl to ask Anjali to hurry up and, when she delivers the message, Anjali turns, smiles, and says, "Usse kaho, yeh dulhan der lagaayegi." (Meaning, tell him this bride will take some time.) Her look, her smile, the confidence she projects... all of that manages to convey in one moment what will happen over the next hour or so.
The scene that ties these two halves together is my favourite scene in the movie: it is when you first see the "transformed" Anjali. The camera pans over a busy household in the midst of a celebration - Anjali's engagement to Aman (Salman), in fact. Aman sends some girl to ask Anjali to hurry up and, when she delivers the message, Anjali turns, smiles, and says, "Usse kaho, yeh dulhan der lagaayegi." (Meaning, tell him this bride will take some time.) Her look, her smile, the confidence she projects... all of that manages to convey in one moment what will happen over the next hour or so.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Sivaji: Citizen Kenai
In some ways, this was a movie just waiting to be made. Shankar is a director with a proven ability to create box office magic with movies involving middle-class supermen fighting corruption. Rajni is a star who has made a career out of playing such roles. The only question that remains is: do we get to see Rajni in a Shankar movie, or Shankar directing a Rajni movie? A little bit of both, thankfully.
Shankar is a director with an ability to think really big. His plots usually involve the sort of skulduggery you'd dream up after your third straight tequila, and believe to be plausible after the fifth. His technique is simple and time-worn: First, set up situations where the man on the street is victimized by greed and corruption at various levels - deserving students having to pay high capitation fees, doctors refusing to treat poor patients, politicos and government officials demanding bribes for everything and so on. Now, once you've gotten the audience baying for blood, have the hero blow up the logjam through some decidedly unconventional and swift methods. Usually, these methods involve some illegality - murder, robbery, blackmail and the like - but they are always directed at the established bad guys. What makes it work is the way he ratchets up the tone of the proceedings from the get-go. For Rajni, this sort of filmmaking is the perfect vehicle.
Aside: For those of you who are unfamiliar with Tamil cinema, Shankar is the man who made (either the original, or the remake as well) Nayak, Hindustani, The Gentleman and Aparichit. If you've seen any or all of these, you'll know what I mean in the above paragraph.
However, such an endeavour is not without its risks. Shankar's biggest weakness is a tendency to overdo things on occasion. Usually, this happens in the hero's tragic flashback - someone close to him gets badly burned or electrocuted, and the apathy of the people around him is what lights his fire. Rajni's weakness is a tendency to have his movies revolve entirely around him. Even while making something like Chandramukhi, he took the low-key Mohanlal role in the Malayalam original and added mucho baggage to it. Baggage of the sort his adoring fans have come to expect from every one of his outings. Maybe it's his fault, maybe it's the makers'. It doesn't matter.
Both these aspects - the synergies and the double-flaws - are on full display in Sivaji. Clocking in at around three hours, the movie takes its time to tell a story of a rich man who becomes poor trying to do good, then rich again by beating the crooks at their game, then arrested, then out, then... you know the drill, I'm sure.
Much of it could have been told in less than two and a half hours, and some of it needn't have been told at all. Large portions of the first half, especially the scenes dealing with Rajni wooing Shreya and her family, could have been done away with. It's unfunny, loud, occasionally crude and mostly cringe-worthy. The most shocking part of it all is that one of Rajni's best attributes - excellent comic timing - has deserted him here. What salvages it somewhat is a triumphant return to form by Vivek. He manages to lampoon just about everybody, including the man who has taken his place on the popularity charts in the last few years - Vadivelu.
The song sequences are about as hopeless as the music (A. R. Rehman having an off-day of mammoth proportions), and watching Rajni flap the odd limb at high speed in an effort to approximate dancing is painful at best. And don't even get me started on the costume design.
The only scenes that work in the first half are the serious ones involving his fight to realize is dream of providing free education and medical care to the poor. In this he comes across a dangerous adversary, a corrupt kingmaker named Adiseshan. The biggest problem with Rajni movies in recent times has been finding a worthy foe with sufficient screen presence. What Shankar and Suman have accomplished here is fantastic: aided in large part by a low-key Rajni performance in the first half, Suman creates an Adiseshan who is as soft-spoken as he is menacing. By the time we reach the halfway point, he's made us want to figure out how Rajni would destroy him.
The second half is where it all comes together. Rajni and Shankar both stop fooling around and get down to business, and the effect is electric. Pure masala, peppered with inside jokes that would have seasoned Tamil film goers in splits. And the coup de grace: a Rajni in the final scenes looking and acting like the old Rajni from Thai Veedu, Thanga Magan and Moondru Mugam. Fantastic stuff! There's a dodgy little sequence involving an amalgam of medical science and biblical resurrection, but I'm inclined to forgive that in light of what follows.
On the whole, this is far less of a movie than it could have been, thanks to some disastrous choices in the first half, but delivers its share of vintage Rajni entertainment in the second half. Worth a dekko? Hell yeah! The Rajni you see in the last fifteen minutes alone is worth the price of admission.
ps: The title was inspired by a comment by my friend Gora. For the uninitiated, Kenai is a Tamil word that broadly translates to "imbecile".
Shankar is a director with an ability to think really big. His plots usually involve the sort of skulduggery you'd dream up after your third straight tequila, and believe to be plausible after the fifth. His technique is simple and time-worn: First, set up situations where the man on the street is victimized by greed and corruption at various levels - deserving students having to pay high capitation fees, doctors refusing to treat poor patients, politicos and government officials demanding bribes for everything and so on. Now, once you've gotten the audience baying for blood, have the hero blow up the logjam through some decidedly unconventional and swift methods. Usually, these methods involve some illegality - murder, robbery, blackmail and the like - but they are always directed at the established bad guys. What makes it work is the way he ratchets up the tone of the proceedings from the get-go. For Rajni, this sort of filmmaking is the perfect vehicle.
Aside: For those of you who are unfamiliar with Tamil cinema, Shankar is the man who made (either the original, or the remake as well) Nayak, Hindustani, The Gentleman and Aparichit. If you've seen any or all of these, you'll know what I mean in the above paragraph.
However, such an endeavour is not without its risks. Shankar's biggest weakness is a tendency to overdo things on occasion. Usually, this happens in the hero's tragic flashback - someone close to him gets badly burned or electrocuted, and the apathy of the people around him is what lights his fire. Rajni's weakness is a tendency to have his movies revolve entirely around him. Even while making something like Chandramukhi, he took the low-key Mohanlal role in the Malayalam original and added mucho baggage to it. Baggage of the sort his adoring fans have come to expect from every one of his outings. Maybe it's his fault, maybe it's the makers'. It doesn't matter.
Both these aspects - the synergies and the double-flaws - are on full display in Sivaji. Clocking in at around three hours, the movie takes its time to tell a story of a rich man who becomes poor trying to do good, then rich again by beating the crooks at their game, then arrested, then out, then... you know the drill, I'm sure.
Much of it could have been told in less than two and a half hours, and some of it needn't have been told at all. Large portions of the first half, especially the scenes dealing with Rajni wooing Shreya and her family, could have been done away with. It's unfunny, loud, occasionally crude and mostly cringe-worthy. The most shocking part of it all is that one of Rajni's best attributes - excellent comic timing - has deserted him here. What salvages it somewhat is a triumphant return to form by Vivek. He manages to lampoon just about everybody, including the man who has taken his place on the popularity charts in the last few years - Vadivelu.
The song sequences are about as hopeless as the music (A. R. Rehman having an off-day of mammoth proportions), and watching Rajni flap the odd limb at high speed in an effort to approximate dancing is painful at best. And don't even get me started on the costume design.
The only scenes that work in the first half are the serious ones involving his fight to realize is dream of providing free education and medical care to the poor. In this he comes across a dangerous adversary, a corrupt kingmaker named Adiseshan. The biggest problem with Rajni movies in recent times has been finding a worthy foe with sufficient screen presence. What Shankar and Suman have accomplished here is fantastic: aided in large part by a low-key Rajni performance in the first half, Suman creates an Adiseshan who is as soft-spoken as he is menacing. By the time we reach the halfway point, he's made us want to figure out how Rajni would destroy him.
The second half is where it all comes together. Rajni and Shankar both stop fooling around and get down to business, and the effect is electric. Pure masala, peppered with inside jokes that would have seasoned Tamil film goers in splits. And the coup de grace: a Rajni in the final scenes looking and acting like the old Rajni from Thai Veedu, Thanga Magan and Moondru Mugam. Fantastic stuff! There's a dodgy little sequence involving an amalgam of medical science and biblical resurrection, but I'm inclined to forgive that in light of what follows.
On the whole, this is far less of a movie than it could have been, thanks to some disastrous choices in the first half, but delivers its share of vintage Rajni entertainment in the second half. Worth a dekko? Hell yeah! The Rajni you see in the last fifteen minutes alone is worth the price of admission.
ps: The title was inspired by a comment by my friend Gora. For the uninitiated, Kenai is a Tamil word that broadly translates to "imbecile".
Rajnikanth, Amitabh Bachchan and the necessity of dodging bullets
In the beginning, there was Rajnikanth the actor. He wasn't the best actor anyone had ever seen, but he was quite okay. His biggest gift was an undeniable screen presence. The man had style to burn, and it shone through even when he had a bit of a paunch, a leather belt that could hide Adnan Sami no matter how you draped it, and dance moves that seemed inspired by epileptic robots.
Somewhere along the way, he figured out what his best attributes where, amped up the style, smoothed out a few rough edges, added comic timing to his arsenal and set out to conquer the world. He became Rajni the star. He managed to do it often enough and consistently well, and the public ate it all up. Hence Rajni the Super Star. Whatever happened after that was just momentum.
The bad news is, I'm not entirely sure he can stop it anymore. In order to ensure box office success, the man ends up having to do a whole bunch of stuff that his age and physique no longer permit him to do. The fight sequences in Sivaji alone should get the editor of the movie a national award. Watching him dance is an almost painful experience. It's like he's come full circle, except the robots no longer have epilepsy, they have arthritis.
When you think about it, not too long ago, one could write roughly the same story about Amitabh Bachchan. If this were the Matrix and AB was Neo, the Oracle might've told him at some point that he needed something, maybe death, to take him to the next level. And so it was, that Mrityudaata proved to be his Mrityudaata. A few more filmmakers nailed that particular coffin in movies like Lal Badshah.
And then the man resurrected himself, french beard and all, and became a bankable star again. So bankable, in fact, that scripts like Cheeni Kum and Nishabd and Ekalavya get written now because there's someone like him to star in them. (I said star in them, mind you, not just act in them. AB is a damn good actor, no doubt. But so are Om Puri and Naseeruddin Shah and Pankaj Kapoor. Would these movies have gotten made with them?)
The bottomline is, Neo woke up from the dead and can now stop bullets in mid-air. So can AB. Rajni on the other hand is still dodging them. Action sequences to the contrary notwithstanding.
Somewhere along the way, he figured out what his best attributes where, amped up the style, smoothed out a few rough edges, added comic timing to his arsenal and set out to conquer the world. He became Rajni the star. He managed to do it often enough and consistently well, and the public ate it all up. Hence Rajni the Super Star. Whatever happened after that was just momentum.
The bad news is, I'm not entirely sure he can stop it anymore. In order to ensure box office success, the man ends up having to do a whole bunch of stuff that his age and physique no longer permit him to do. The fight sequences in Sivaji alone should get the editor of the movie a national award. Watching him dance is an almost painful experience. It's like he's come full circle, except the robots no longer have epilepsy, they have arthritis.
When you think about it, not too long ago, one could write roughly the same story about Amitabh Bachchan. If this were the Matrix and AB was Neo, the Oracle might've told him at some point that he needed something, maybe death, to take him to the next level. And so it was, that Mrityudaata proved to be his Mrityudaata. A few more filmmakers nailed that particular coffin in movies like Lal Badshah.
And then the man resurrected himself, french beard and all, and became a bankable star again. So bankable, in fact, that scripts like Cheeni Kum and Nishabd and Ekalavya get written now because there's someone like him to star in them. (I said star in them, mind you, not just act in them. AB is a damn good actor, no doubt. But so are Om Puri and Naseeruddin Shah and Pankaj Kapoor. Would these movies have gotten made with them?)
The bottomline is, Neo woke up from the dead and can now stop bullets in mid-air. So can AB. Rajni on the other hand is still dodging them. Action sequences to the contrary notwithstanding.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Jhoom Barabar Jhoom
When I was driving back home after watching Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, I asked myself how I would describe the experience to my friends. My top three candidates were:
3. A lengthy rant involving the occasional throwing of cosmic questions into the void, such as "What were they smoking when they wrote this?" or "What moron heard this pitch and decided to put money into this?"
2. The horror, the horror... (Ideally in my best Marlon Brando voice, which unfortunately doesn't sound much like Brando.)
1. An expression of muted shock and misery, held for about 30 seconds.
If you're an avid moviegoer like I am, with tastes spanning multiple genres, languages and levels of absurdity, you tend to walk into a movie with appropriate expectations. Watching a Yash Raj film and complaining about the lack of realism is akin to watching a West End production of Hamlet and complaining about the lack of car chases.
So, when you walk into a theatre to watch a movie that involves Amitabh Bachchan dressed like a cross between Bappi Lahiri and Bjork, you prepare yourself for more such outlandish excursions. The extraordinary thing about JBJ is that it defies all expectations. Unfortunately not in a good way.
The plot involves two people waiting at a London railway station and falling into conversation. They both claim to be waiting for their respective lovers, and talk of how they fell in love. And somewhere along the way, they fall in love with each other. As it happens, there are no lovers in the background: they just made it up. So now they have to do all the crazy stuff people do in romantic comedies before they finally kiss. None of this is particularly novel, but if done well, it could've been a serviceable rom-com. Ah, well...
I guess what brings it down is, lemme see... the wafer-thin characterization, zero chemistry between the leads, a screenplay with no sense of flow, an average score and bad acting. Short list, don'tcha think? Priety Zinta and Bobby Deol lead the pack with truly atrocious performances. Lara Dutta can be forgiven for not being capable of anything better. To give her some credit, she doesn't do too badly in the second half. And Abhishek Bachchan... considering how many comedies he's been doing in recent times, it's amazing how little his comic timing has improved. The man is often half a second late in his dialogue delivery, which essentially means that half the comic potential of his lines are lost while he's getting there. I've already spoken of his facial hair in an earlier post, but I must admit that his look and mannerisms in this movie aren't half-bad. To do him justice, he delivers the occasional zinger quite well. However, these do little to salvage what is yet another bad performance in a movie chock-full of them. The only one who manages to come out relatively unscathed is Piyush Mishra, who plays Abhishek's friend Hanif.
And now for costume design and art direction. It's so atrocious, it deserves its own paragraph instead of being part of the laundry list above. It even deserves its own blog, but I don't think I have the energy for it. Suffice it to say that some of it makes Baz Luhrmann's work look like German expressionism in comparison. The rest of it is just plain bad.
The music has gotten much airtime in recent weeks, particularly the title number with Amitabh stepping out of a Salvador Dali painting to do a song-and-dance routine. Which is just as well, since the rest of the album is pure noise, while this one has the glimmer of a tune. However, it appears so often in the movie that it begins to get on one's nerves. The argument, I suppose, is that the music would grow on you. Well, so would fungus, except you don't let it.
Traditionally, reviews like this are supposed to end with some sort of savage punchline. But then I ask myself, why bother putting in more effort into the review than the makers put into the movie? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
Ah, there you go.
3. A lengthy rant involving the occasional throwing of cosmic questions into the void, such as "What were they smoking when they wrote this?" or "What moron heard this pitch and decided to put money into this?"
2. The horror, the horror... (Ideally in my best Marlon Brando voice, which unfortunately doesn't sound much like Brando.)
1. An expression of muted shock and misery, held for about 30 seconds.
If you're an avid moviegoer like I am, with tastes spanning multiple genres, languages and levels of absurdity, you tend to walk into a movie with appropriate expectations. Watching a Yash Raj film and complaining about the lack of realism is akin to watching a West End production of Hamlet and complaining about the lack of car chases.
So, when you walk into a theatre to watch a movie that involves Amitabh Bachchan dressed like a cross between Bappi Lahiri and Bjork, you prepare yourself for more such outlandish excursions. The extraordinary thing about JBJ is that it defies all expectations. Unfortunately not in a good way.
The plot involves two people waiting at a London railway station and falling into conversation. They both claim to be waiting for their respective lovers, and talk of how they fell in love. And somewhere along the way, they fall in love with each other. As it happens, there are no lovers in the background: they just made it up. So now they have to do all the crazy stuff people do in romantic comedies before they finally kiss. None of this is particularly novel, but if done well, it could've been a serviceable rom-com. Ah, well...
I guess what brings it down is, lemme see... the wafer-thin characterization, zero chemistry between the leads, a screenplay with no sense of flow, an average score and bad acting. Short list, don'tcha think? Priety Zinta and Bobby Deol lead the pack with truly atrocious performances. Lara Dutta can be forgiven for not being capable of anything better. To give her some credit, she doesn't do too badly in the second half. And Abhishek Bachchan... considering how many comedies he's been doing in recent times, it's amazing how little his comic timing has improved. The man is often half a second late in his dialogue delivery, which essentially means that half the comic potential of his lines are lost while he's getting there. I've already spoken of his facial hair in an earlier post, but I must admit that his look and mannerisms in this movie aren't half-bad. To do him justice, he delivers the occasional zinger quite well. However, these do little to salvage what is yet another bad performance in a movie chock-full of them. The only one who manages to come out relatively unscathed is Piyush Mishra, who plays Abhishek's friend Hanif.
And now for costume design and art direction. It's so atrocious, it deserves its own paragraph instead of being part of the laundry list above. It even deserves its own blog, but I don't think I have the energy for it. Suffice it to say that some of it makes Baz Luhrmann's work look like German expressionism in comparison. The rest of it is just plain bad.
The music has gotten much airtime in recent weeks, particularly the title number with Amitabh stepping out of a Salvador Dali painting to do a song-and-dance routine. Which is just as well, since the rest of the album is pure noise, while this one has the glimmer of a tune. However, it appears so often in the movie that it begins to get on one's nerves. The argument, I suppose, is that the music would grow on you. Well, so would fungus, except you don't let it.
Traditionally, reviews like this are supposed to end with some sort of savage punchline. But then I ask myself, why bother putting in more effort into the review than the makers put into the movie? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
Ah, there you go.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End
Does he plan it all out, or just make it up as he goes along?
So wonders an admiring British officer after yet another of those insane Jack Sparrow escapades that leave him, improbably, out of harm's way (for the moment) and at an advantage over his rivals. With Sparrow, one really couldn't be sure.
On the other hand, with the screenwriter(s) of the three Pirates movies, you could be 100% sure: they made it up as they went along. My guess is, they sat down each day and wrote three scenes or so, and didn't really worry about whether or not they could remember what they wrote the previous day. After it was all done, they might've spent, oh, about half an hour or so tying up a few loose ends. The entire process being lubricated with vast quantities of rum (yo-ho-ho and all that jazz), of course.
Not that this amounts to a criticism of the movie, really. If you've seen Gore Verbinski's The Mexican or the first Pirates movie, you already know that to expect narrative discipline is an exercise in futility: just enjoy each moment and don't worry about how it adds up, or how long it takes. To his credit, the guy knows how to make a movie look visually appealing, and he knows how to make each scene play well enough to keep you interested. Which is essentially what saves this gloriously shot and acted mess called POTC:AWE.
Johnny Depp is as good as ever: who else can carry off a line like "Can we just ignore that she is a woman scorned, the fury the likes of which hell hath no?" And then there's the little pleasure of having watched Jack Sparrow's spiritual father (Keith Richards) play his real one. Kiera Knightley and Orlando Bloom do their shtick - they do it well, but it's not high wattage, and I suppose they know that they're not what makes the movie tick. Geoffrey Rush brings a marginally kinder, gentler version of Barbossa to the screen in this installment - not surprising, given how many other Part 3s this year have resorted to Karan Johar-esque screenplays.
On balance, I'm not entirely sure if I'd recommend this movie. It's an overlong, unedited, and mostly senseless. But if you can look past that flaw, it does entertain. Hey, if you've watched David Dhawan, I don't see why you should thumb your nose up at this one.
So wonders an admiring British officer after yet another of those insane Jack Sparrow escapades that leave him, improbably, out of harm's way (for the moment) and at an advantage over his rivals. With Sparrow, one really couldn't be sure.
On the other hand, with the screenwriter(s) of the three Pirates movies, you could be 100% sure: they made it up as they went along. My guess is, they sat down each day and wrote three scenes or so, and didn't really worry about whether or not they could remember what they wrote the previous day. After it was all done, they might've spent, oh, about half an hour or so tying up a few loose ends. The entire process being lubricated with vast quantities of rum (yo-ho-ho and all that jazz), of course.
Not that this amounts to a criticism of the movie, really. If you've seen Gore Verbinski's The Mexican or the first Pirates movie, you already know that to expect narrative discipline is an exercise in futility: just enjoy each moment and don't worry about how it adds up, or how long it takes. To his credit, the guy knows how to make a movie look visually appealing, and he knows how to make each scene play well enough to keep you interested. Which is essentially what saves this gloriously shot and acted mess called POTC:AWE.
Johnny Depp is as good as ever: who else can carry off a line like "Can we just ignore that she is a woman scorned, the fury the likes of which hell hath no?" And then there's the little pleasure of having watched Jack Sparrow's spiritual father (Keith Richards) play his real one. Kiera Knightley and Orlando Bloom do their shtick - they do it well, but it's not high wattage, and I suppose they know that they're not what makes the movie tick. Geoffrey Rush brings a marginally kinder, gentler version of Barbossa to the screen in this installment - not surprising, given how many other Part 3s this year have resorted to Karan Johar-esque screenplays.
On balance, I'm not entirely sure if I'd recommend this movie. It's an overlong, unedited, and mostly senseless. But if you can look past that flaw, it does entertain. Hey, if you've watched David Dhawan, I don't see why you should thumb your nose up at this one.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Ocean's Thirteen
I think the first thing that strikes you when you see this movie is the level of emotion on display. The earlier movies had a certain cool reserve that masked whatever emotion the main characters were feeling. This one dared to be sentimental. Not that I think this is a bad thing, mind you.
However, the movie does have its share of problems. First of which is Al Pacino. In the first movie, Andy Garcia conveyed a sense of menace - you felt that he could, and readily would, hurt these guys. In the second one, Vincent Cassel conveyed the sense that he was competent enough to beat these guys. Although with the trick ending right at the end, it was difficult to tell whether he really was. In this one, however, Al Pacino seems to be filling in for the villain that the makers thought Al Pacino could play. He displays less than a tenth of the energy the character needs to have, and less than a hundredth of what he could. However, not all the blame for this performance can be laid at his door. His character is written as someone who is supposed to be quite smart, but the script never really bothers to demonstrate it.
The thing is, intelligence doesn't work the same way as evil in the movies. You could merely hint at the evil a character is capable of and not really show it except in the occasional instance, and people would fill in the blanks for themselves. But with intelligence, you need to demonstrate that the guy is smarter than the people around him - if you don't do that, you can't make people invest in the hero's success. If there was no-one of Lex Luthor's calibre, would you feel happy when Superman won?
The second problem is the payoff. The movie has a sort of kind, gentle tone throughout the elaborate process of setting up the con, which would've been okay if it really managed to deliver a zinger of an ending. But the movie prefers to play it straight, and just brings up a few small surprises, none of which are really surprising to anyone who has watched the two earlier movies closely enough. Maybe it's a problem of expectations, but that's a burden that any third installment in a series would doubtless carry.
The third problem is the humor. The material is so obvious, it's almost juvenile. The Ellen Barkin character, for instance, is written and played too broadly. As is the entire segment in the Mexican factory. You get humor when you're looking for wit. The movie does have the occasional laugh-out-loud moment that really hits the spot. But these are too few and far between.
Let it not be said that this review is one-sided. The movie does have some good things going for it. For one, it's not boring - there's the pleasure of seeing an elaborate con being set up. Then there's the pleasure of watching a bunch of talented actors who have grown comfortable with each other over three outings. And then there's the pleasure of watching George Clooney and Brad Pitt interact with each other. Danny and Rusty have so much history together that their communication has by now become some kind of code. They speak in half sentences and faint gestures, and yet it manages to work.
Clooney is a master at conveying volumes while not moving a single facial muscle, and Pitt has always been a great comedian (I thought he was dynamite in The Mexican, although James Gandolfini hogged all the glory). Watching them react to Linus' (Matt Damon) earnest statements is a master class in how to evoke laughter with the barest minimum of effort.
However, on the whole, this is yet another in a series of disappointing third acts that we've been subjected to this year. Especially so because so many of these series had fantastic second outings. I remember telling my wife that it seemed like the Sophomore Jinx was now a thing of the past. To paraphrase the promos of Ocean's Twelve, it looks like three is the new two.
However, the movie does have its share of problems. First of which is Al Pacino. In the first movie, Andy Garcia conveyed a sense of menace - you felt that he could, and readily would, hurt these guys. In the second one, Vincent Cassel conveyed the sense that he was competent enough to beat these guys. Although with the trick ending right at the end, it was difficult to tell whether he really was. In this one, however, Al Pacino seems to be filling in for the villain that the makers thought Al Pacino could play. He displays less than a tenth of the energy the character needs to have, and less than a hundredth of what he could. However, not all the blame for this performance can be laid at his door. His character is written as someone who is supposed to be quite smart, but the script never really bothers to demonstrate it.
The thing is, intelligence doesn't work the same way as evil in the movies. You could merely hint at the evil a character is capable of and not really show it except in the occasional instance, and people would fill in the blanks for themselves. But with intelligence, you need to demonstrate that the guy is smarter than the people around him - if you don't do that, you can't make people invest in the hero's success. If there was no-one of Lex Luthor's calibre, would you feel happy when Superman won?
The second problem is the payoff. The movie has a sort of kind, gentle tone throughout the elaborate process of setting up the con, which would've been okay if it really managed to deliver a zinger of an ending. But the movie prefers to play it straight, and just brings up a few small surprises, none of which are really surprising to anyone who has watched the two earlier movies closely enough. Maybe it's a problem of expectations, but that's a burden that any third installment in a series would doubtless carry.
The third problem is the humor. The material is so obvious, it's almost juvenile. The Ellen Barkin character, for instance, is written and played too broadly. As is the entire segment in the Mexican factory. You get humor when you're looking for wit. The movie does have the occasional laugh-out-loud moment that really hits the spot. But these are too few and far between.
Let it not be said that this review is one-sided. The movie does have some good things going for it. For one, it's not boring - there's the pleasure of seeing an elaborate con being set up. Then there's the pleasure of watching a bunch of talented actors who have grown comfortable with each other over three outings. And then there's the pleasure of watching George Clooney and Brad Pitt interact with each other. Danny and Rusty have so much history together that their communication has by now become some kind of code. They speak in half sentences and faint gestures, and yet it manages to work.
Clooney is a master at conveying volumes while not moving a single facial muscle, and Pitt has always been a great comedian (I thought he was dynamite in The Mexican, although James Gandolfini hogged all the glory). Watching them react to Linus' (Matt Damon) earnest statements is a master class in how to evoke laughter with the barest minimum of effort.
However, on the whole, this is yet another in a series of disappointing third acts that we've been subjected to this year. Especially so because so many of these series had fantastic second outings. I remember telling my wife that it seemed like the Sophomore Jinx was now a thing of the past. To paraphrase the promos of Ocean's Twelve, it looks like three is the new two.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Freeze Frame #28, #29: Deewar
Deewar is, in my opinion, the movie that features the best Amitabh Bachchan performance of all time. It is not that he did not do a better job in any movie before or since - a number of movies come to mind where his performance has been fantastic. But the sort of raw intensity he brought to Deewar was just something I've never seen him replicate. Even today, when I see that movie, there are moments that give me the goosebumps.
This is a movie with a number of great scenes, but my pick for the standout scene is pretty much the same as most others' - the one in the temple, where he goes to pray for his mother's life for the first time. The arrogance of his posture, the anger with which he starts speaking, and the way it breaks down when he eventually begs for her life... it still moves me to tears.
The other scene I really loved was when he goes to a garage where a bunch of goons who have been looking for him all day are gathered, and beats them up. It's a standard action scene, and the dialogue that begins it is straightforward. He just says, "You've been looking for me all day and here I am, waiting for you." But what really struck me was how much the lazy drawl in his voice conveyed the kind of man he was.
Most of Amitabh's blockbusters have been remade in Tamil with Rajnikanth. Deewar became Thee, with Suman in the Shashi Kapoor role. The movie probably did good business, but I found it to be a colossal disappointment. It lacked precisely what its title claimed: Thee (Fire).
Incidentally, I was watching K. Bhagyaraj's Thavani Kanavugal on TV yesterday and there's a scene in which Sivaji Ganesan, who plays his crusty old landlord and an army man who has never set foot in a temple, goes to the nearby Ganesha temple to pray for the well-being of his (Bhagyaraj's) family. And what do you know, the speech is basically a precise translation of Amitabh's speech in Deewar!
This is a movie with a number of great scenes, but my pick for the standout scene is pretty much the same as most others' - the one in the temple, where he goes to pray for his mother's life for the first time. The arrogance of his posture, the anger with which he starts speaking, and the way it breaks down when he eventually begs for her life... it still moves me to tears.
The other scene I really loved was when he goes to a garage where a bunch of goons who have been looking for him all day are gathered, and beats them up. It's a standard action scene, and the dialogue that begins it is straightforward. He just says, "You've been looking for me all day and here I am, waiting for you." But what really struck me was how much the lazy drawl in his voice conveyed the kind of man he was.
Most of Amitabh's blockbusters have been remade in Tamil with Rajnikanth. Deewar became Thee, with Suman in the Shashi Kapoor role. The movie probably did good business, but I found it to be a colossal disappointment. It lacked precisely what its title claimed: Thee (Fire).
Incidentally, I was watching K. Bhagyaraj's Thavani Kanavugal on TV yesterday and there's a scene in which Sivaji Ganesan, who plays his crusty old landlord and an army man who has never set foot in a temple, goes to the nearby Ganesha temple to pray for the well-being of his (Bhagyaraj's) family. And what do you know, the speech is basically a precise translation of Amitabh's speech in Deewar!
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Ardh Satya
There's an utterly captivating poem that gets recited in Ardh Satya. I think the poem has the same title as the movie, and is by this guy named Deepak Chitre. I watched the movie once a long time ago and loved it, but it was that poem that became my shortcut to reliving the experience.
I'd been searching for it for a long time, and found it recently here. The rendition by the blogger Neha Viswanathan is decent. Not Om Puri, as she says, but worth a listen. Using Blogger's new transliteration tool, I've keyed it in here:
चक्रव्युह में घुसने से पहले
कौन था मैं और कैसा था
यह मुझे याद ही ना रहेगा ।
चक्रव्यूह में घुसने के बाद
मेरे और चक्रव्यूह के बीच
सिर्फ एक जानलेवा निकटथा थी
इसका मुझे पता ही ना चलेगा ।
चक्रव्यूह से निकलने के बाद
मैं मुक्त हो जाऊं भले ही
फिर भी चक्रव्यूह कि रचना में
फर्क ही ना पड़ेगा ।
मरूं या मारूं
मारा जाऊं या जान से मार दूं
इसका फैसला कभी ना हो पायेगा ।
सोया हुआ आदमी जब
नींद से उठकर चलना शुरू कर्ता है
तब सपनों का संसार उसे
दोबारा दिख ही ना पायेगा ।
उस रौशनी में जो निर्णय कि रौशनी है
सब कुछ समान हो जाएगा क्या ?
एक पल्दे में नपुंसकता
एक पल्दे में पौरुष
और ठीक तराजू के कांटे पर
अर्ध सत्य ।
Neha, whoever and wherever you are, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I'd been searching for it for a long time, and found it recently here. The rendition by the blogger Neha Viswanathan is decent. Not Om Puri, as she says, but worth a listen. Using Blogger's new transliteration tool, I've keyed it in here:
चक्रव्युह में घुसने से पहले
कौन था मैं और कैसा था
यह मुझे याद ही ना रहेगा ।
चक्रव्यूह में घुसने के बाद
मेरे और चक्रव्यूह के बीच
सिर्फ एक जानलेवा निकटथा थी
इसका मुझे पता ही ना चलेगा ।
चक्रव्यूह से निकलने के बाद
मैं मुक्त हो जाऊं भले ही
फिर भी चक्रव्यूह कि रचना में
फर्क ही ना पड़ेगा ।
मरूं या मारूं
मारा जाऊं या जान से मार दूं
इसका फैसला कभी ना हो पायेगा ।
सोया हुआ आदमी जब
नींद से उठकर चलना शुरू कर्ता है
तब सपनों का संसार उसे
दोबारा दिख ही ना पायेगा ।
उस रौशनी में जो निर्णय कि रौशनी है
सब कुछ समान हो जाएगा क्या ?
एक पल्दे में नपुंसकता
एक पल्दे में पौरुष
और ठीक तराजू के कांटे पर
अर्ध सत्य ।
Neha, whoever and wherever you are, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Freeze Frame #27: Dil Chahta Hai
Everybody talks about the scene at the Opera House in Dil Chahta Hai. Sure, it's a good scene, well timed and acted, but I found it less than perfect. More on that later. First, my pick for the best scene in DCH:
Shortly before the scene at the Opera House, there's one in a Sydney metro station where Akash gets on the train and Shalini misses it by a whisker. It's late at night, she's alone on the platform. There's a lonely derelict sitting on one of the chairs there, and Priety doesn't quite like the look of that guy. Farhan lets the apprehension grow for a few more moments, then you see Aamir - he's gotten off at the next stop and rushed back here for her. You see her fright, his determination to keep her safe, the relief in her eyes... and then Aamir blindsides you with a move that is less than obvious, yet perfect for the situation.
The way the entire scene plays out is an example of how a well-acted scene can do away with the obvious. There isn't a single line of dialogue in that scene that is obvious, and that is because the director trusts us to fill it in for ourselves. That's intelligence - knowing what *not* to say in a scene. And it wouldn't have been possible to use this intelligence unless Aamir, and more importantly Priety, hadn't done such a wonderful job. In fact, the latter is so brilliant that I'm left searching desperately for superlatives.
As for the opera scene, here's my take on that one: it's a good scene, and the timing of every little part of that sequence, so important to its success, is perfect. In the hands of a lesser director, it could've been awful. But Farhan had already proved that he was capable of such brilliance in the earlier railway station scene. No, the thing that caught my attention wasn't what was so good about that scene, but the one aspect that was less than perfect. At a crucial juncture, Shalini asks Akash to close his eyes and think of the one person for whom he would ask God for another day, so he could express his love for this person. And as he closes his eyes, we are treated to a holographic tour of his thoughts as they pass a number of people in his life and finally settle on... obviously Shalini. He opens his eyes and, as if for the first time in his life, looks at her. All of us know how this scene would play out, so why couldn't he have acknowledged this fact and cut out that entire holographic sequence? Just have him close his eyes and open it after a short pause and look at Shalini - it would've been more potent in my opinion. Every one of us knows what that tour of his mind would've been like. As it stands, it's a great scene, but not perfect.
Aside: To me, the relationship between the railway station scene and the opera house scene is akin to that between a couple of scenes in Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things. GOST ends with the pivotal scene in the movie - the one where Ammu and Velutha consummate their love for each other on the island. Roy totally nails it with her description of that scene, and what it would result in. Structurally, it's an interesting choice to make - she took a tragedy and ended it at its turning point - the raveling and unraveling came before that.
But to me, the key moment wasn't when Ammu and Velutha decide to sleep together. The key moment was when they began to see each other as desirable. This happens during Sophie Mol's welcome party, when Ammu gets bored with the whole charade, looks out the window and sees Velutha playing with her daughter. At that moment, he turns to look at her as well. Roy describes that moment with the following line:
Centuries telescoped into one evanescent moment.
To me, that was the best line in the book. That was the turning point. Whatever the two of them did after that, it was simply mechanics - the ball was set rolling in that evanescent moment.
Shortly before the scene at the Opera House, there's one in a Sydney metro station where Akash gets on the train and Shalini misses it by a whisker. It's late at night, she's alone on the platform. There's a lonely derelict sitting on one of the chairs there, and Priety doesn't quite like the look of that guy. Farhan lets the apprehension grow for a few more moments, then you see Aamir - he's gotten off at the next stop and rushed back here for her. You see her fright, his determination to keep her safe, the relief in her eyes... and then Aamir blindsides you with a move that is less than obvious, yet perfect for the situation.
The way the entire scene plays out is an example of how a well-acted scene can do away with the obvious. There isn't a single line of dialogue in that scene that is obvious, and that is because the director trusts us to fill it in for ourselves. That's intelligence - knowing what *not* to say in a scene. And it wouldn't have been possible to use this intelligence unless Aamir, and more importantly Priety, hadn't done such a wonderful job. In fact, the latter is so brilliant that I'm left searching desperately for superlatives.
As for the opera scene, here's my take on that one: it's a good scene, and the timing of every little part of that sequence, so important to its success, is perfect. In the hands of a lesser director, it could've been awful. But Farhan had already proved that he was capable of such brilliance in the earlier railway station scene. No, the thing that caught my attention wasn't what was so good about that scene, but the one aspect that was less than perfect. At a crucial juncture, Shalini asks Akash to close his eyes and think of the one person for whom he would ask God for another day, so he could express his love for this person. And as he closes his eyes, we are treated to a holographic tour of his thoughts as they pass a number of people in his life and finally settle on... obviously Shalini. He opens his eyes and, as if for the first time in his life, looks at her. All of us know how this scene would play out, so why couldn't he have acknowledged this fact and cut out that entire holographic sequence? Just have him close his eyes and open it after a short pause and look at Shalini - it would've been more potent in my opinion. Every one of us knows what that tour of his mind would've been like. As it stands, it's a great scene, but not perfect.
Aside: To me, the relationship between the railway station scene and the opera house scene is akin to that between a couple of scenes in Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things. GOST ends with the pivotal scene in the movie - the one where Ammu and Velutha consummate their love for each other on the island. Roy totally nails it with her description of that scene, and what it would result in. Structurally, it's an interesting choice to make - she took a tragedy and ended it at its turning point - the raveling and unraveling came before that.
But to me, the key moment wasn't when Ammu and Velutha decide to sleep together. The key moment was when they began to see each other as desirable. This happens during Sophie Mol's welcome party, when Ammu gets bored with the whole charade, looks out the window and sees Velutha playing with her daughter. At that moment, he turns to look at her as well. Roy describes that moment with the following line:
Centuries telescoped into one evanescent moment.
To me, that was the best line in the book. That was the turning point. Whatever the two of them did after that, it was simply mechanics - the ball was set rolling in that evanescent moment.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Freeze Frame #26: Black
Black is a dramatic movie in every frame. The way it is composed, shot, acted and scored - it is as if the entire movie is climactic. I was quite impressed by it when I first saw it, but regrettably, the movie hasn't aged that well in my mind. I still think it's a beautiful movie with two extremely good performances, but it falls a mite short of being a great one. Who knows, maybe my opinion will change again with time.
There is, however, one scene that I consider great. It comes right at the end of the first half, when Debraj Sahai (Amitabh) has just managed to break through to young Michelle McNally (Ayesha Kapoor), teaching her how to say "water" in sign language. This entire first half has been about irresistible forces and immovable objects (you can pick who is which), with neither party refusing to give. At the end of that scene, when Michelle goes away, Debraj sits there, begins to compose a letter to his friend Mrs. Nair about his breakthrough, and halfway through that sentence, just breaks down and cries.
There is, however, one scene that I consider great. It comes right at the end of the first half, when Debraj Sahai (Amitabh) has just managed to break through to young Michelle McNally (Ayesha Kapoor), teaching her how to say "water" in sign language. This entire first half has been about irresistible forces and immovable objects (you can pick who is which), with neither party refusing to give. At the end of that scene, when Michelle goes away, Debraj sits there, begins to compose a letter to his friend Mrs. Nair about his breakthrough, and halfway through that sentence, just breaks down and cries.
Freeze Frame #25: Hum Tum
Now here's a rom-com that works. Kunal Kohli's loose adaptation of When Harry Met Sally (arguably the best romantic comedy of all time) makes a few mistakes, but does a better job than most other Hindi movies in this genre. Saif Ali Khan, who spent years in the wilderness before breaking into the A-list with Dil Chahta Hai, shows here why he is India's best urban actor. The guy has a flair for comedy, an ability to understate things (a rarity in that industry), and is great looking to boot. The film also came at the right time for Rani Mukherjee - the actress has had a fairly steady growth over the years (abominations like Hello Brother notwithstanding) and this movie is about the time she hit her peak form.
My favourite scene in Hum Tum is a quiet one. Saif and Rani are sitting in his apartment discussing the issue of Rani marrying again. They play-act a situation where a guy comes to "see" her - it's funny initially, but during the course of that little game they play, they manage to reveal much more of their feelings than they had perhaps intended. In most movies, this would have been a very obvious watershed moment - in most Hollywood movies, they would've slept with each other that night, and in most Hindi movies, they would've gone all the way to Switzerland to sing a song. Not in this one. The camera just holds on them long enough to underscore the importance of what transpired, then moves on.
My favourite scene in Hum Tum is a quiet one. Saif and Rani are sitting in his apartment discussing the issue of Rani marrying again. They play-act a situation where a guy comes to "see" her - it's funny initially, but during the course of that little game they play, they manage to reveal much more of their feelings than they had perhaps intended. In most movies, this would have been a very obvious watershed moment - in most Hollywood movies, they would've slept with each other that night, and in most Hindi movies, they would've gone all the way to Switzerland to sing a song. Not in this one. The camera just holds on them long enough to underscore the importance of what transpired, then moves on.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Mozhi
Prakash Raj's Duet Films has been making some fairly interesting films. There was Azhagiya Theeye, which I regard as one of the best romantic comedies ever made in Tamil. Then there was Kanda Naal Mudhal which was nearly as good. And now Mozhi, a movie about a man's love for a woman who is deaf and dumb. The premise has so much scope for melodrama that you stay on tenterhooks most of the time, waiting for the movie to make a mistake. Surprisingly, Mozhi hardly ever missteps.
The humor in this movie is of an everyday kind - the jokes are the sort you or I might come up with. Which means that, while it's not always laugh out loud funny, it is very often chuckleworthy. Prakash Raj, in a comic role after a while, is fantastic.
But outside of that, what really worked for me were some deft little touches. The scenes where the friendship between Karthik (Prithviraj) and Archana (Jyothika), and their friends Viji (Prakash Raj) and Sheela (Swarnamalya) develops is interlaced with music, and the interesting thing is how the deaf-mute Archana responds to music. Like a language she's hearing for the first time, she seeks patterns. She notices the rhythm, and begins to vibe with it. The way this is done is obvious, yet not overdone. You don't see her move her head too much, or start dancing suddenly. You just see her nod, almost to herself, hardly noticeable to an unknowing outsider. Nice touch, that.
The other moment that worked was towards the end, when she takes a cold, hard look at herself after Karthik has just read her the riot act. Her instinctive reaction is to clench her fists in anger - the reaction she has had all these years, and which we have seen so often before. But she kinda realizes that this refuge won't work anymore, unclenches her fists and just screams out in grief. And her grandmom, sitting outside, looks concerned for a moment, and then smiles.
The humor in this movie is of an everyday kind - the jokes are the sort you or I might come up with. Which means that, while it's not always laugh out loud funny, it is very often chuckleworthy. Prakash Raj, in a comic role after a while, is fantastic.
But outside of that, what really worked for me were some deft little touches. The scenes where the friendship between Karthik (Prithviraj) and Archana (Jyothika), and their friends Viji (Prakash Raj) and Sheela (Swarnamalya) develops is interlaced with music, and the interesting thing is how the deaf-mute Archana responds to music. Like a language she's hearing for the first time, she seeks patterns. She notices the rhythm, and begins to vibe with it. The way this is done is obvious, yet not overdone. You don't see her move her head too much, or start dancing suddenly. You just see her nod, almost to herself, hardly noticeable to an unknowing outsider. Nice touch, that.
The other moment that worked was towards the end, when she takes a cold, hard look at herself after Karthik has just read her the riot act. Her instinctive reaction is to clench her fists in anger - the reaction she has had all these years, and which we have seen so often before. But she kinda realizes that this refuge won't work anymore, unclenches her fists and just screams out in grief. And her grandmom, sitting outside, looks concerned for a moment, and then smiles.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Monsters up close
Today seems to have been Monstrous Dictator Day for me. I watched a couple of movies - Den Untergang (aka Downfall) and The Last King of Scotland. The former tells the story of the last days of Adolf Hitler, seen through the eyes of his secretary. The latter tells the story of the reign of Idi Amin, seen through the eyes of his physician.
I wish I could say more, but I am too drained to continue. Both films feature scenes of gut wrenching cruelty. The one that I expect will haunt me for a while is the scene where Magda Goebbels sedates her children and then poisons them one by one, so that they will not have to live in a world without Nazism. You hear the soft crunch as she inserts a vial of cyanide into their mouths and forces their jaws shut so the vial would break. You see them shudder for a moment, then become still. You see her cover their faces with their blanket. Not once. Six times.
I wish I could say more, but I am too drained to continue. Both films feature scenes of gut wrenching cruelty. The one that I expect will haunt me for a while is the scene where Magda Goebbels sedates her children and then poisons them one by one, so that they will not have to live in a world without Nazism. You hear the soft crunch as she inserts a vial of cyanide into their mouths and forces their jaws shut so the vial would break. You see them shudder for a moment, then become still. You see her cover their faces with their blanket. Not once. Six times.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Nishabd
Nishabd is, as the title indicates, a movie constructed almost entirely out of silences.
As anyone who has seen the trailers or caught a bit of the endless coverage of Jiah Khan on television will know, it is about the relationship between a married 60 year old man Vijay (AB) and an 18 year old girl Jiah (Jiah) who is his daughter's friend. Some love stories are not meant to be understood, the tagline says.
However, in many ways, the movie is not about this story, about this relationship. It is about who these people are, and the stories in their past that has brought them to this point in their lives. These stories are not told in the movie, but they are what give this movie its meaning and impetus.
It is not that he is trapped in a bad marriage. It just has become one where he finds that he has nothing to say anymore. Nothing that matters to him, anyway. And it is not that Jiah understands everything, either. Just that she listens. She, on the other hand, is the product of a broken marriage. Her dad has left, and her mom has found someone else. There is much residual hurt there, much anger, much longing. She doesn't speak of it too often, but it underlines so much of what she does. He has learnt to retreat within himself over the years, to find solace in his passion - photography. She hasn't had that much practice.
These are not stories that are elaborated upon or articulated by the characters. They let us guess at them through the things they say, and don't say. Silences, like I said.
The movie has just three supporting characters - Vijay's wife Amrita, his daughter Ritu and Sridhar (Nasser), his friend and brother-in-law, in that order. None of them has a single weak moment in the entire movie. Revathy plays Amrita as a woman who has, in many ways, lost the same things that Vijay has, but finds solace in her household routine. Neither of them sees the other's loss - they just see what the other did or did not do. In a sense, that is the movie's tragedy. Nasser plays the understanding friend who nonetheless advises him to do the right thing. Shraddha Arya has the least heavy lifting to do as Ritu, and is adequate.
Jiah is electric in her debut role. There isn't a single moment when her inexperience shows - this is as close to a pitch-perfect performance as one can expect. Sadly, though, it's mostly downhill from here. Unless she's really careful with her choices, she's gonna be playing some random hero's arm candy or Emraan Hashmi's latest femme fatale.
Amitabh was never a bad actor, but somewhere in the last few years, something has clicked into place. His roles have gotten more interesting, and his ability to play them so well has inspired people to make interesting movies with him. He has taken a nearly-dead market for people in his age group and breathed life into it. Say's Law, as they say in economics: Supply creates its own demand.
Here, he creates a character that he could not have assembled from spare parts of other roles he has done. It's not like he's created an unrecognizable character from thin air, like Johnny Depp did with Capt. Jack Sparrow. This is still an Amitabh you can recognize. But the thing is, he embodies the character to such an extent that you are not reminded of anything he has done before when you see him in this movie. His
Which brings us to the director, Ramgopal Verma. Like with his other intensely personal venture Naach, he slows things down considerably and lets the characters take their time. A lot of directors seem to do this when they make something they really love - it's like they want to savour the moment a bit more. Watch Vidhu Vinod Chopra's Ekalavya, or Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Black - same principle in action.
The other commonality seems to be the visuals - Amit Roy's work here is definitely on par with what Ravi K. Chandran did in Black and Nataraja Subramanian did in Ekalavya. Less showy, but no less gorgeous. Clearly, a lot of thought has gone into the shot compositions. Watch the scene just before the interval, and how the camera pans in a certain direction and draws your eyes to something, yet doesn't press the point by zooming in. Interesting choice, there.
The curious thing I noticed was how RGV seemed to have brought a horror movie sensibility to the way this movie was shot, chopped or scored (to borrow a Robert Rodriguez phrase). The way the background score keeps sounding premonitions at key moments, the way the camera moves relative to the action... It's a strange strategy to adopt, but effective nonetheless.
Watching this movie, I wondered who put up the money to make it. There is no way on earth that this could become a commercial success in this market. It is concerned with these characters, content to let them be who they are. It doesn't care that there might be an audience. Which, I suppose, is one of the reasons why it is so good.
As anyone who has seen the trailers or caught a bit of the endless coverage of Jiah Khan on television will know, it is about the relationship between a married 60 year old man Vijay (AB) and an 18 year old girl Jiah (Jiah) who is his daughter's friend. Some love stories are not meant to be understood, the tagline says.
However, in many ways, the movie is not about this story, about this relationship. It is about who these people are, and the stories in their past that has brought them to this point in their lives. These stories are not told in the movie, but they are what give this movie its meaning and impetus.
It is not that he is trapped in a bad marriage. It just has become one where he finds that he has nothing to say anymore. Nothing that matters to him, anyway. And it is not that Jiah understands everything, either. Just that she listens. She, on the other hand, is the product of a broken marriage. Her dad has left, and her mom has found someone else. There is much residual hurt there, much anger, much longing. She doesn't speak of it too often, but it underlines so much of what she does. He has learnt to retreat within himself over the years, to find solace in his passion - photography. She hasn't had that much practice.
These are not stories that are elaborated upon or articulated by the characters. They let us guess at them through the things they say, and don't say. Silences, like I said.
The movie has just three supporting characters - Vijay's wife Amrita, his daughter Ritu and Sridhar (Nasser), his friend and brother-in-law, in that order. None of them has a single weak moment in the entire movie. Revathy plays Amrita as a woman who has, in many ways, lost the same things that Vijay has, but finds solace in her household routine. Neither of them sees the other's loss - they just see what the other did or did not do. In a sense, that is the movie's tragedy. Nasser plays the understanding friend who nonetheless advises him to do the right thing. Shraddha Arya has the least heavy lifting to do as Ritu, and is adequate.
Jiah is electric in her debut role. There isn't a single moment when her inexperience shows - this is as close to a pitch-perfect performance as one can expect. Sadly, though, it's mostly downhill from here. Unless she's really careful with her choices, she's gonna be playing some random hero's arm candy or Emraan Hashmi's latest femme fatale.
Amitabh was never a bad actor, but somewhere in the last few years, something has clicked into place. His roles have gotten more interesting, and his ability to play them so well has inspired people to make interesting movies with him. He has taken a nearly-dead market for people in his age group and breathed life into it. Say's Law, as they say in economics: Supply creates its own demand.
Here, he creates a character that he could not have assembled from spare parts of other roles he has done. It's not like he's created an unrecognizable character from thin air, like Johnny Depp did with Capt. Jack Sparrow. This is still an Amitabh you can recognize. But the thing is, he embodies the character to such an extent that you are not reminded of anything he has done before when you see him in this movie. His
Which brings us to the director, Ramgopal Verma. Like with his other intensely personal venture Naach, he slows things down considerably and lets the characters take their time. A lot of directors seem to do this when they make something they really love - it's like they want to savour the moment a bit more. Watch Vidhu Vinod Chopra's Ekalavya, or Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Black - same principle in action.
The other commonality seems to be the visuals - Amit Roy's work here is definitely on par with what Ravi K. Chandran did in Black and Nataraja Subramanian did in Ekalavya. Less showy, but no less gorgeous. Clearly, a lot of thought has gone into the shot compositions. Watch the scene just before the interval, and how the camera pans in a certain direction and draws your eyes to something, yet doesn't press the point by zooming in. Interesting choice, there.
The curious thing I noticed was how RGV seemed to have brought a horror movie sensibility to the way this movie was shot, chopped or scored (to borrow a Robert Rodriguez phrase). The way the background score keeps sounding premonitions at key moments, the way the camera moves relative to the action... It's a strange strategy to adopt, but effective nonetheless.
Watching this movie, I wondered who put up the money to make it. There is no way on earth that this could become a commercial success in this market. It is concerned with these characters, content to let them be who they are. It doesn't care that there might be an audience. Which, I suppose, is one of the reasons why it is so good.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Strange chords #3: Duet Theme
Duet is not the best film K. Balachander has made. A remake of Cyrano de Bergerac, with assorted additional nonsense and a dash of Alibaba thrown in for good measure, the movie never really manages to get itself out of the way and reach the heights it could. It is, however, one of the most interesting movies I've seen, from a musical standpoint. The main reason why I'm somewhat fond of that movie is its music.
They key, for me, came during the opening titles itself. I didn't notice it when I saw the movie for the first time, since I didn't know the whole plot then. But when I went back home and listened to the album, I realized what KB and Rehman were doing in that opening piece.
It is a Kadri Gopalnath saxophone solo in Kalyanavasantham - a beautiful, beautiful raga (best known example: Nadaloludai, composed by Sri Thyagaraja - yet another of his little gems). In the movie, you see Prabhu playing it.
He plays a character named Guna, a talented musician and sax player, who forms part of a successful music duo with his brother Siva. Guna is overweight, and doesn't have much luck with women as a result, whereas Siva pretty much has them eating out of his hands. A minor early crisis causes them to move to a different city, where they begin their career afresh. Their life settles into a comfortable routine when love comes in the form of Anjali, a film choreographer who lives next door. She loves Guna's music, but thinks Siva is the one composing it. Things get a little heated when this truth is revealed, but before it can be resolved between the three of them, additional complications arrive in the form of Sirpi, a psychotic movie star with designs on Anjali. It all ends in a violent and senseless climax where all extra characters are bumped off and only the hero and heroine are left.
Crazy plot, and there's really no obvious reason why I should narrate it here. But now that you know this plot, go back and listen to the theme music and see how it is patterned - how it starts off slow, breaks for a moment when the waves crash against the rocks, starts again, settles into a rhythm, then picks up the pace, then begins to have more ominous notes sounding in the background, and ends with the waves crashing against the sea. When you think about it, this could have been pretty much any piece - most movies have random instrumental music playing over the opening titles - but KB showed here what he could do with it.
The entire story is told in flashback from Prabhu's point of view, and you realize, after watching it and harking back to its musical set pieces, that this was a man who used his sax as a narrative intrument. Listen to the interludes in En kaadhalae, and you see how he expresses his feelings - his frustration, his despair, his love - through his instrument. Amazing piece of work.
They key, for me, came during the opening titles itself. I didn't notice it when I saw the movie for the first time, since I didn't know the whole plot then. But when I went back home and listened to the album, I realized what KB and Rehman were doing in that opening piece.
It is a Kadri Gopalnath saxophone solo in Kalyanavasantham - a beautiful, beautiful raga (best known example: Nadaloludai, composed by Sri Thyagaraja - yet another of his little gems). In the movie, you see Prabhu playing it.
He plays a character named Guna, a talented musician and sax player, who forms part of a successful music duo with his brother Siva. Guna is overweight, and doesn't have much luck with women as a result, whereas Siva pretty much has them eating out of his hands. A minor early crisis causes them to move to a different city, where they begin their career afresh. Their life settles into a comfortable routine when love comes in the form of Anjali, a film choreographer who lives next door. She loves Guna's music, but thinks Siva is the one composing it. Things get a little heated when this truth is revealed, but before it can be resolved between the three of them, additional complications arrive in the form of Sirpi, a psychotic movie star with designs on Anjali. It all ends in a violent and senseless climax where all extra characters are bumped off and only the hero and heroine are left.
Crazy plot, and there's really no obvious reason why I should narrate it here. But now that you know this plot, go back and listen to the theme music and see how it is patterned - how it starts off slow, breaks for a moment when the waves crash against the rocks, starts again, settles into a rhythm, then picks up the pace, then begins to have more ominous notes sounding in the background, and ends with the waves crashing against the sea. When you think about it, this could have been pretty much any piece - most movies have random instrumental music playing over the opening titles - but KB showed here what he could do with it.
The entire story is told in flashback from Prabhu's point of view, and you realize, after watching it and harking back to its musical set pieces, that this was a man who used his sax as a narrative intrument. Listen to the interludes in En kaadhalae, and you see how he expresses his feelings - his frustration, his despair, his love - through his instrument. Amazing piece of work.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Strange chords #2: Paruvamae
Yet another gem from Ilaiyaraja, from the movie Nenjathai Killadhe. The picturization involves Mohan and Suhasini jogging together, and the song plays in the background. What's amazing is how much of the visualization has crept into the piece itself.
For one thing, the singers (SPB and Janaki) sound like they're shivering in the cold morning weather - their voices aren't strong and clear. Plus, there's the rhythm of footsteps to cover the jogging - it adds another layer.
But my favourite little addition comes in the second interlude: it fades in, then out slowly, as if the joggers just ran past a bunch of musicians playing the interlude. Again, this is one of the things Rajesh told me - I didn't notice it myself until he did. He called it the Doppler Effect song!
For one thing, the singers (SPB and Janaki) sound like they're shivering in the cold morning weather - their voices aren't strong and clear. Plus, there's the rhythm of footsteps to cover the jogging - it adds another layer.
But my favourite little addition comes in the second interlude: it fades in, then out slowly, as if the joggers just ran past a bunch of musicians playing the interlude. Again, this is one of the things Rajesh told me - I didn't notice it myself until he did. He called it the Doppler Effect song!
Strange chords #1: Kanne Kalaimaane
Beautiful, beautiful song. Written by Kannadasan, composed by Ilaiyaraja and sung by K J Yesudas. One of the greatest songs of all time. To me, it's one of the finest examples of pathos expressed in a song. Yesudas' voice is perfectly suited to this sort of mood.
However, what I didn't realize until a friend of mine named Rajesh told me, was that Ilaiyaraja hahd used a little trick t enhance the effect of his voice. If you listen very carefully to the song, you will notice a single violin playing the tune that Yesudas sings. It plays only when he's singing, not otherwise, so it's difficult to catch. But once you do, it's hard to miss afterward. It's a really small thing, almost trivial, but it makes a difference.
However, what I didn't realize until a friend of mine named Rajesh told me, was that Ilaiyaraja hahd used a little trick t enhance the effect of his voice. If you listen very carefully to the song, you will notice a single violin playing the tune that Yesudas sings. It plays only when he's singing, not otherwise, so it's difficult to catch. But once you do, it's hard to miss afterward. It's a really small thing, almost trivial, but it makes a difference.
Strange chords
This series of posts is aimed at educating the teeming millions reading my blog (okay, three people including me, if I'm optimistic) on some lesser known aspects of well-known songs. Things like an odd instrument playing an odd note somewhere in the background that adds something to the song. Read on, and you'll find out more...
Passing the musical buck
Another sub-genre of film songs that I am very fond of is - for want of a better term - the relay race song. These are songs where one singer falters somewhere in the middle for whatever reason, and someone else picks up from where he/she left off and completes it. Here's my top three in that category:
3. Beeti na bitaye raina: Sung by Lata Mangeshkar and Bhupinder, from the movie Parichay. Jaya Bhaduri starts singing, falters, and Sanjeev Kumar steps in. Beautiful number - R. D. Burman at his very best.
2. Chinnanchiru vayathil: Sung by Janaki and K. J. Yesudas, in the movie Meendum Kokila. Sreedevi plays a young woman whom Kamal Hassan has come to "see" (a concept familiar to anyone who knows about the arranged marriage system). She is asked to sing a song, picks this one and promptly forgets the lyrics halfway through. Kamal steps in and finishes it. It's a beautiful song, and beyond just the musical qualities it possesses, Janaki manages to bring out the girl's shyness and embarassment, and her reaction to her husband-to-be singing the rest of the song, in a manner that very few other singers can even aspire to, let alone achieve. Okay, I admit, that wasn't a great sentence. Aw, heck, you know what I mean.
And finally, the Numero Uno in this category:
1. Dorakuna: S. P. Balasubramaniam and Vani Jayaram, from the movie Shankarabharanam. This album was one of the big reasons why I wanted to learn Carnatic classical music when I was a kid, and this song remains my all-time favourite. J. V. Somayajulu plays a great singer who has since faded into obscurity - this is supposed to be his comeback concert. Predictably, he collapses due to ill health right in the middle, and his disciple takes over his mantle, both symbolically and literally. The moment when Vani Jayaram continues where SPB left off after a coughing fit still gives me goosebumps.
3. Beeti na bitaye raina: Sung by Lata Mangeshkar and Bhupinder, from the movie Parichay. Jaya Bhaduri starts singing, falters, and Sanjeev Kumar steps in. Beautiful number - R. D. Burman at his very best.
2. Chinnanchiru vayathil: Sung by Janaki and K. J. Yesudas, in the movie Meendum Kokila. Sreedevi plays a young woman whom Kamal Hassan has come to "see" (a concept familiar to anyone who knows about the arranged marriage system). She is asked to sing a song, picks this one and promptly forgets the lyrics halfway through. Kamal steps in and finishes it. It's a beautiful song, and beyond just the musical qualities it possesses, Janaki manages to bring out the girl's shyness and embarassment, and her reaction to her husband-to-be singing the rest of the song, in a manner that very few other singers can even aspire to, let alone achieve. Okay, I admit, that wasn't a great sentence. Aw, heck, you know what I mean.
And finally, the Numero Uno in this category:
1. Dorakuna: S. P. Balasubramaniam and Vani Jayaram, from the movie Shankarabharanam. This album was one of the big reasons why I wanted to learn Carnatic classical music when I was a kid, and this song remains my all-time favourite. J. V. Somayajulu plays a great singer who has since faded into obscurity - this is supposed to be his comeback concert. Predictably, he collapses due to ill health right in the middle, and his disciple takes over his mantle, both symbolically and literally. The moment when Vani Jayaram continues where SPB left off after a coughing fit still gives me goosebumps.
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