Of Khan

My Name is Khan proved to be an interesting watch. I say interesting, because the movie was not something I expected. And then it was.

To begin with, Asperger’s Syndrome seems to have been researched with some degree of competence. This itself was a huge relief, since Bollywood isn’t exactly known for its accuracy, especially as far as psychological disorders go. Then there was a view of America beyond New York and Las Vegas. I personally loved the move from shiny buildings, well manicured lawns and big cars to rugged mountains stark deserts, buses and pick-ups. It was also a delight to watch American cast members doing more than just providing a backdrop for the ‘main cast’ and definitely refreshing not to hear them converse in Hindi (or sing the National Anthem like KJo got them to do in an earlier movie).

And then, there was Shahrukh Khan. I wouldn’t be exaggerating when I say that the movie is all him. From his even-toned and stilted narration to his jerky walk and unfocused gaze, SRK has outdone himself with this movie. I mean, we’ve all seen him play lover-boy, a role he can do in his sleep in movie after movie. In fact, after a while he stopped being a character and just remained the superstar. Not this time. Even though you keep expecting SRK the star to make an appearance, it doesn’t happen. No cocky grin, no swaggering towards the camera and no sappy dialogues. Instead, you are charmed with an innocence that makes you smile in a nice way. The character has been defined well and SRK lends his own belief and faith to it.

I would like to talk about Kajol too, but I’m more of an SRK fan. Also Kajol wasn’t mind-blowing or spectacularly different. She had her usual fare of tears, laughter, hair-flips and shrieking. Probably the one thing different in this movie was her lack of makeup in more than once scene (and then you can see some really huge pores I tell you!).

This was the unexpected (no, not Kajol’s pores).

So what were the clichéd bits? Well, most of the second half for a start. I mean, it wouldn’t be a Hindi film if the hero (no matter what his condition has been described as) doesn’t give a speech about good versus evil, save people’s lives, work wonders under the most difficult of situations, become an international hero and a source of inspiration and change the thinking of at least half a million people (give or take a few). Oh and also manage to get injured and have a tearful reunion with his wife as he lies in a hospital bed. Add to that a happy ending (no, the reunion wasn’t it) and you know Karan Johar couldn’t help himself. I mean, he did stay away from chiffon sarees and Punjabi aunties this time round. I guess, his love for drama could be excused this once.

Overall, go see the movie. Just for Khan. From the epiglottis. Khhh-an. Watch the movie. You’ll understand.

ODing

I’m going to see My Name is Khan in a couple of hours. But before I watch the movie (and then give opinionated gyan about it here) I wanted to get one thing clear – no matter how good, bad or simply annoying, the film turns out to be, I’m a tad bit fed up of the movie already. I mean, it’s everywhere you turn.

So there are the usual PR tricks and gimmicks and promotional tours happening on all forms of mass media. But then a political party had to throw themselves into the circus and everyone went into verbal diarrhoea mode. Especially SRK, who decided to do it on Twitter, and honestly, ended up sounding like he was stoned and depressed. That, or someone had stolen his identity. And then, all Bollywood personnel on Twitter were going gaga over the movie and its makers and joined the bandwagon. Oh, and not to be left behind (I mean it is a journey after all right?) everyone from travel agents to suitcase companies and shoe makers is latching on, making the whole thing beyond anything.

And so, even though I love technology and all the joy that it brings with it, I’ve been really wishing I lived in the age before television, radio and twitter. At least that way I wouldn’t have to OD on MNIK (and Rahul Dulhaniya Le Jayega. But that’s a whole new post).

Darcy and the Monsoon

(Day 33 of 112)

It’s been raining non-stop now for nearly 21 hours. It hasn’t let up even once. And it’s not the romantic kind of drizzle (which after 21 hours would also be annoying) but is the heavy duty torrential kind which Bombay is (in)famous for.

The cautious, the experienced, the paranoid and the simply lazy have probably stayed home today rather than face the wrath of the rain gods. People like my dad simply took advantage of the empty (albeit very wet) roads and went to work. And now that the roads around my house are looking like Venice without the gondolas, it’s going to give my dad another excuse to stay at work – or buy a new, big car which would be able to get through all that water without spluttering to a stop.

Where do I fit in this very wet picture? Well, I did have some minor plans of finishing work I’ve been postponing for some weeks now. But the rains made me postpone them again today. Not that I’m complaining. I get to stay dry and warm and not have to wade through a foot of water to get to the other side of the road. I also get to curl up with a good book and chocolate biscuits. And the only thing that made this rainy day better was Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy on television. Watching him dive into that lake even made me smile at the water logging around my house.

So now I know that even faced with floods, a torrential downpour, cancelling of all plans and just a depressing dampness and dankness all around, I can smile. Just give me a wet Mr. Darcy. Oh yeah.

Of Dinos and Mammoths. Oh and Sid.

(Day 30 of 112)

So as the post title suggests, I saw Ice Age 3. And the one thing I’m very sure of is that on going home, all the kiddies in the theatre will be asking their parents where babies come from. I just hope the parents are as good at answering awkward questions as they are at not-controlling their progeny and the (rotten) apples of their eyes.

Anywho, leaving non-disciplined children and their mothers/caregivers aside, the movie by itself left me scratching my head a little bit. I mean, why do threequels (a word I made up I think) always have to be about the protagonists having children? I mean, Shrek had them. And now Manny? At least this time around Manny wasn’t doing the clichéd guy-freaking-out-about-becoming-a-father thing. Some small mercy that! And there was some random bit about Diego becoming old and wanting to leave the ‘herd’. This was never explored. So why bring it up? It’s not like the children will really understand the deeper and more complicated emotions involved there. All they want is some physical comedy – things falling on peoples’ heads, people falling on things (and other people), loud noises, crashes, blasts, funny sounds etc. And to be true to the makers, this movie did fulfil all these criteria.

After all, they did put in a lot of dinosaurs, complete with screeching noises, roars, big claws and pointy teeth. Of course the dino babies were totally cute but that’s not the point here. The point here actually is (and this was brought to my notice by my sister since I haven’t read Journey to the Centre of the Earth) that the whole idea of having the dinos living in a parallel world of their own, underneath all the ice and mammoths and other creatures is not original, not to speak of absurd. And definitely not paleontologically or historically accurate. I know it’s an animated movie and all that. But that’s no excuse for confusing our young ones is it?

But even without that, the movie cannot be classified as a children’s movie. Being an animated film doesn’t automatically mean it’s for children. A lot of the themes in the movie involve adult situations (starting a family, giving birth, ‘it’s a boy – no that’s just her tail’ kind of jokes, beyond, one hopes, of children, Scrat falling for the wily tricks of a female, Scrat and the female batting their eyes at each other [after beating each other] etc).

I guess the only saving grace of the movie was Sid. He was the only character who remained true to the original spirit, complete with his goofiness, sensitivity, one liners, clumsiness, talking to self, calling for help, being flung from tree to tree (or skiing down the snow) and of course the sleeping over a rock, scratching his butt and playing caregiver.

So what with the dinos and (soon to be parents) mammoths, I was glad Sid was there to remind us of why we loved the ice age so much.

Check

(7th July, Day 26 of 112)

I live in a city where the theatres don’t show English movies. They tried once. 2 people showed up. And so, what with all the bad Hindi movies that were released over the last 6 odd months and no English movies being screened, I hadn’t stepped into a theatre since I got married. Until today.

I now list watching an English movie in a theatre along with some 100 odd strangers as one those small pleasures in life. The kind you don’t appreciate until you can’t do it anymore (forced choice and all that). Even people stepping on my feet was more nostalgia inducing than annoying. And the caramel popcorn! Oh yeah! They just don’t seem to have the concept anywhere else.

And so, I got my ‘watch a movie in a theatre and eat caramel popcorn till you feel sick’ checked on the things to do when in Bombay list. Yay.

Welcome to Good Cinema

Fun. Full of laughs. Socially relevant. Non-preachy. Brilliant performances. Simple story. Excellent narration. Realistic art direction. Intelligent assumptions. Tongue-in-cheek humour. Non-weepy. Poignant.

Welcome to Sajjanpur.

Proof that it doesn’t take massive budgets, over the top sets, fancy digital tricks, overrated actors and in your face advertising to make a good movie. In these times of dubious creativity and even more questionable acting prowess, Welcome to Sajjanpur is like that perfect meal – simple, a riot of flavours, colours and textures. Not too much, not too little, but just perfect.

WALL-E Movie

3 reasons to go watch this movie:

a) Pixar has a great track record with animated movies (Toy Story to Ratatouille)
b) It has several whoa and aaawe moments all through.
c) It’s environment friendly.

And if the above three don’t do it for you then do it for an hour and forty five minutes of smiles and laughs. The brilliance of this movie lies not only in its spectacular animation, but also in the truly amazing personification of its main characters.

All through the movie it’s difficult to think of WALL-E as, well, a trash compactor. From his mechanically making trash cubes (and using them as building blocks) to his dancing to old Hollywood musicals, it’s difficult not to smile and forget he is an acronym.

Watching the movie you realise how much emotion some simple sounds can project. The first half of the movie is without any dialogue – unless you count 2 machines whizzing and burring away. Our writers could definitely learn something and give us a break from those flowery long-winded speeches that are the core of any sentimental scene they write!

From the aaawe so sweet the movie turns direction into the future where humans are obese and lazy and machine addicts – wait, was it the future? Needless to say, WALL-E tumbles and fights his way through this futuristic place and saves everyone from themselves!

The movie, with all its happy moments, portrays a grim picture of what we could be doing to Earth. The landscape alternates between dried up waters and barren land. We get a glimpse of how the space around our planet will look if we continue littering it with satellites and the like. So we may not take the increasing toxicity on our planet very seriously, but we should try, unless we want WALL-E to become a reality and our children end up having trash blocks instead of LEGO.

The Swan Song

Everyone has that one shining moment in their careers that defines them. For the scientist it is that elusive, path-breaking discovery, for the student it is acing a competitive exam, for the writer it is finally being a bestseller, and for the actor is that performance that makes him and his character synonymous. For Christopher Reeves it was Superman, for Sir Anthony Hopkins Hannibal Lecter, and the Godfather can only be Al Pacino.

And now, Heath Ledger will be, forever more, The Joker. In a performance that sends a shiver down the audience’s spine and makes them gasp and shudder, Heath Ledger has his defining moment. He brings the Joker to life in a way that has never been done before, playing the psychotic, schizophrenic, maniacal killer to perfection. From the rapid eye movements to the quick flick of the tongue to the sinister voice, everything makes the Joker larger than life and very real.

The Dark Knight maybe a Batman movie, but it really belongs to Ledger and the Joker. He makes the movie worth its while. He gives it the punch and the evil. He gives the performance of a life time, unfortunately an abruptly shortened one. It’s almost like he is mocking the audience from the screen and reminding us of the brilliant actor he was.

With The Joker, Heath Ledger has ensured he isn’t forgotten. A final, brilliant performance – his Swan Song if you will.

My Very Own Peach Tree

Kung-Fu Panda leaves in the audience a renewed love for a certain black and white, bamboo loving endangered species, an increased fascination with a gravity defying, nerve paralysing, quick silver martial art, a craving for Chinese food and a desire to have your very own peach tree – at least figuratively (though a real one wouldbe just so much fun!).

But we do have that figurative tree to go to. I go there to be with the million and twenty five thoughts in my head. I go there to think; sometimes to stop thinking (it can be such a trial!), I go there to cry (a good bawl is just so helpful sometimes); to talk to myself (no one needs one more reason to call me cuckoo). I go there to breathe. I go there when I want to concentrate; when I need a break. I go there when I'm happy (to jump around in peace); when I'm restless. I go there when I just want to be!

My peach tree: one corner of my building terrace that looks onto empty grounds and lovely Gulmohar trees (yes I live in Bombay and trees do exist as do empty spaces); sometimes it is that tiny space between my bed and study table where I can scrunch up and sit. When I was in college, it used to be my window where I would sit with my feet resting on the box-grill for hours on end (or at least till my posterior got numb). Many times my tree is my shower. And I know that for a lot of people the peach tree is their porcelain throne. Well, each to his own I say.

So in a way, everyone has their own peach tree. It may not be as pretty looking as Oogway's tree, nor would it be laden with succulent fruit, or blooming with flowers that shed their petals at opportune moments. In fact, barring those who have access to lone trees in the middle of nowhere (like those in Forrest Gump ) none of us really even have trees. But we do have our windows, and showers and terraces that we can stake claim to as our very own......

Pappu naach nahin sakta....magar film bana sakta hai!

My last attempt at watching a hindi movie in the theatre was Jodhaa Akbar. Needless to say I came out traumatised and with all faith lost in movie makers today and the future of this art in the country (ok, so maybe I look for opportunities to exaggerate a tad wee bit, but the movie was a pain in more ways than one and I couldn’t believe I paid actual money to see it!).

Since then I haven’t really had the courage to pay exorbitant amounts of money (seriously what is with the pricing of tickets these days?) to go see movies on the off-chance that I might not want to shriek with disbelief ten minutes into it. Until 4 days back.

It has been a long time (or at least as much as my tired little memory can recall) since a movie has been applauded by critics across the board (leaving no suspicion of under the table mithai boxes). I waited to read reviews from all possible sources and talk to those friends of mine who take pleasure in the whole first day first show concept. Based on popular verdict I ventured into a multiplex after ages.

3 hours, lots of popcorn, atleast a litre of pepsi and lots of laughter later, I came out smiling and feeling nice (as opposed to the usual what was I thinking when I came for this movie). Finally a movie that is believable – from the age of the actors playing the characters to the way they speak to each other to the way they dance. The latter was enjoyed by all those who have often wondered how every main character in every movie seems to have a black belt in fancy dancing. Here the characters danced the way I remember dancing at that age with my college friends (mainly jumping around and uncoordinated), they spoke the way I recall doing – a liberal mix of English and bambaiya (and if my parents are not reading this, several choice words that could make your ears burn!)

The realness (is this a real word?) of the characters makes you smile all through the 3 hours. They don’t seem contrived or made up. There are small things that make the whole group endearing – from the standard tubelight in the group who takes 2 seconds more that everyone to get a joke, to the whiner, to the gujju with his delightfully mimic worthy accent (and in college, my group had all the above three in one person!! :D) The parents seem normal, wearing normal clothes instead of full wedding apparel all the time, they seem to be doing regulare everyday stuff instead of plotting and conniving against everyone they know, and talking like parents do instead of long drawn speeches from mughal-e-azam!

And finally, validation for the movie being a success and connecting with the audience is the simple fact that everyone in the packed theatre, while exiting, was humming/singing/mouthing “Pappu can’t dance sala…” with a silly happy grin on their faces and a bounce in their feet! :)