Star Spangled Superhero

A World War 2 icon returns to our screens to remind us of a time when America believed in its incorruptibility.

This summer Hollywood has spread out a few superhero stories for our consumption. These heroes often come with attendant weaponry – sometimes a ring of power, sometimes a celestial hammer. These weapons are symbols of power; acting as a deterrent and signifying the aggression these heroes are capable of. Captain America, however, bears only a shield – a symbol of protection rather than one of aggression. It is a motif that recurs frequently, as a trashcan cover or a cab door, throughout Captain America: The First Avenger. This superhero is obviously a product of a simpler time; a time when his creators believed their country was the champion of the little guy. It is to such a time that the film carries us after a brief portion set in the present.

Joe Johnston takes us back to time before the transistor, when multiple arms carried armatures and analog graduations were the order of the day. World War 2 was raging all over Europe and able-bodied men all over America were volunteering to lay down their lives for the country. Unfortunately for Steve Rogers (a graphically emaciated Chris Evans), his mental toughness and never say die attitude cannot compensate for his less than able body. After multiple rejections on account of his physical inadequacies, Rogers is finally enlisted when Dr.Abraham Erskine (Stanley Tucci as a wizened old man) decides he may be just the guinea pig for a ‘super soldier project’. Dr.Erskine, a German deserter, has a sordid past of his own. Formerly under the employ of Johann Schmidt (Hugo Weaving playing Hugo Weaving), Erskine escaped to America when his research was usurped to service he god complex of the Fuehrer and his minion. The film attempts to assuage decades of German guilt with a single line of dialog. “People forget that the first country the Nazis invaded was their own,” he says, almost in way of explaining his defection. There is a conflicted man somewhere beneath the calm exterior Erskine. This struggle is written into the film’s major characters, even if only briefly.

Agent Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell with a stiff upper lip), officer in charge of training Rogers’ recruiting class, is one of the few women officers in the film with standing. She is entirely aware of the unique position she holds in an intrinsically male chauvinistic organization. And yet she must deal with an unnecessary emotion in the heat of battle, her attraction to Rogers. Rogers too deals with dilemmas after being accorded superhero status; both on whether he was the right choice and on what to do with his gift. After a successful tour across the United States selling treasury bonds ‘Captain America’ arrives in Italy to bolster GI morale through his stage act. The derision he is met with is depicts the stark contrast between pubic euphoria and the mood on the frontlines. It also defines the balance we all hope to strike in our professions – one between peer respect and fiscal stability.

Captain America is very aware of its place in the larger cinematic universe. The Marvel references are the most significant, with a small sequence after the end credits reminding us that the Captain will soon be integrated into a larger organization. Howard Stark, father of Ironman-to-be Tony Stark, plays an integral role in the hero’s genesis and the origins of the cube of power seen after the end credits of Thor are also explained away. But the film’s awareness extends beyond its Marvel roots into popular Hollywood terrain. Upon harnessing Odin’s cube of power, Schmidt whispers caustically about digging in the desert making a reference to Raiders of the Lost Ark. In yet another scene Rogers sets off to save his childhood friend Buck from behind enemy lines. Clad in a leather jacket Rogers reminds us of another man who attempted an improbable escape from the Nazis clad in similar attire – the irrepressible Steve McQueen in The Great Escape.

Despite the film’s awareness, the naiveté of its central premise is a little grating. The compassion of a weak man who suddenly chanced upon strength is no less condescending and our disbelief is not suspended enough to accept that a weak man is less likely to be enamored by the dark side of power. If Captain America: The First Avenger has a fatal flaw, then this is it. 

P.S: An edited version of this review appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. 

Evolution and Emancipation

A surprisingly nuanced prequel, which comments on intelligence and a little unnatural selection.

The image of Charlton Heston crumpled on the seashore before Lady Liberty’s head remains one of Hollywood’s most chilling endings ever. Rise of the Planet of the Apes tells us the origins of the upside down universe that Franklin Schaffner, Michael Wilson and Rod Serling first presented in 1968. Rupert Wyatt’s recent release does channel Charlton Heston, but not in his role as the astronaut George Taylor. It is Heston’s iconic reprisal as Moses that serves as inspiration for the central character of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, a genetically altered chimp named Caesar. Born to a pharmaceutical lab chimp named Bright Eyes (named for the green tint in her mutated irises), Caesar is blessed with superior intelligence. When Bright Eyes goes berserk and the drug testing program she is in shuts down, Will Rodman (James Franco playing second fiddle to primates) adopts Caesar and raises him as his own. Will’s compassion unwittingly makes him the progenitor of the civilization that will eventually reduce George Taylor to his knees.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes is, in many ways, a film of sons and their fathers. Will Rodman is not involved in Alzheimer’s research purely for the joy of scientific pursuit. Will yearns to see his father, a music teacher suffering in the throes of the disease, return to his old self. But when combating death there is no possible result but loss. As Will’s girlfriend Caroline (Freida Pinto) points out, some eventualities just cannot be altered. Caesar, adopted son to Will, struggles with his place in human civilization. “Am I a pet?” he asks Will, who out of affection and recognition for his higher cognitive abilities replies in the negative. However, the world at large is less than ready to accept Caesar for who (not what) he is and his constant unrest finding solace only in tall Redwood canopies. It is only on account of conditioning, he still feels his home is with Will. When he is taken into custody by animal protection services for bearing down upon a bully who accosts Will’s father, Caesar finds himself in the company of his own species. And his rise from the pack’s neophyte to alpha male, aided of course by his mutation, is a lovely exposition of the qualities that truly make us cognizant beings.

The animal safe house Caesar is sent to is a veritable prison for chimpanzees, replete with a corruptible warden (Brian Cox once again playing a government servant with dubious morals) and his childishly cruel son who is entrusted with caring for the inmates (Tom Felton, who after the Harry Potter series and this film is in danger of being typecast). As the new ape on the block, Caesar also becomes the target of the in house chimpanzee bully. Caesar is now completely ensconced in the ‘earn your stripes’ period of his young life, but his recovery is meteoric. His heightened intelligence allows him to develop the leadership qualities that are required for a pioneer – independent thought, turning disadvantages into unique strengths and inspiring a most fundamental of emotions, loyalty. His transformation from criminal of the suburbs to leader of an oppressed clan is thus complete. The apes now have their Moses and he shall lead them into the Redwoods. Slowly but surely we see the formation of ad-hoc hierarchical constructs, the synthesis of sacrifice and retaliatory speech.  And before we know it we, the audience, are inadvertently rooting against out own kind. 

This paradoxical reaction is one of the many successes of Rise of the Planet of the Apes. Despite its leaps of logic and convenient compromises the film succeeds in selling its premise in wonderfully visual manner. In a rather suggestive moment in the animal shelter Caesar assumes the position of Rodin’s thinking man clearly separating him from his lesser cellmates. Caesar finally assembles his pack of primates into an army and descends upon the trees of the suburbs of San Francisco inflicting upon them an autumn defoliation on a warm summer morning. The scene with its withering leaves falling in heaps under the weight of the stampeding monkeys signals the arrival of a ‘fall’. And even as the title credits roll the film continues to tell its story of how patient zero propagates a virus. It is these visual flourishes that add depth to what is already an entertaining revitalization of an old classic.

P.S: An edited version of this review appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. Link.

What the heart wants once more

A decade after Farhan Akhtar’s directorial debut, his sister’s sophomore effort walks a parallel road with expectedly diminishing returns.

A decade ago three young men on the threshold of life packed their bags into the trunk of a Mercedes convertible and headed to Goa. They parked themselves quite firmly in the collective consciousness of the urban Indian yuppie and ten years later Hindi cinema (or may be just the director’s sister) is still paying tribute. Zoya Akhtar’s Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara is destined to live in the shadow of her brother’s genre defining Dil Chahta Hai because its target demographic is largely the same. What has changed are the means of this target demographic and this is reflected in the locations and aesthetics of Zoya’s film. Where Akash, Samir and Sid went to Goa on vacation, Zoya’s trio take trips to Spain. They don’t rent scooters anymore; they rent vintage convertibles and live in villas that would entice the least materialistic among us. This enticement is, without a doubt, the true core of this film. Its cloying postcard splendor is a frosted glass cage that we must look past to see the characters inside. And in an initial daze that resembles a sugar-high, we are quite glad to make the effort.

Though the film never crosses the Atlantic, it is filled with Manhattan stereotypes. Kabir, a Clark Kent spectacles wearing Abhay Deol, is the Upper East side living, wealthy wasp equivalent among the three friends. The film begins with Kabir’s engagement to Natasha (a hilariously uptight Kalki Koechlin), a Park Avenue princess who may live in present day Mumbai but shops in London and has priorities from a past decade. Arjun, is the high power, high energy, Wall Street trader equivalent, only he lives closer to Savile Row than Park Avenue. Arjun (Hrithik Roshan), obviously over compensating for a financially disadvantaged background, is every executive cliché rolled into a single bite of Japanese speaking sushi. He nearly misses the trip (but of course doesn’t) because of work, constantly refers to retirement at forty and is fortuitously multi-lingual. But he is no ice king – of the three he is the one who wears his heart on his incredibly short, bicep-exposing sleeve. Imran (a sometimes hit sometimes miss Farhan Akhtar) is the Greenwich Village artist who sold his creative soul to the advertising industry and writes biscuit jingles that his friends mock. Imran is the class joker and remorseless cad, hiding the hurt that lurks beneath behind a veneer of inappropriate jokes and in unpublished poetry. The troika’s excuse to set off to Spain is a bachelor party for Kabir. But it is patently obvious that the road trip they embark on will become the most fundamental detour in their life’s journey. These child-men have much growing up to do and in the absence of a qualified shrink (Kabir who seems to have graduated from Pop-psychology University can be safely discounted), they use adventure sports to achieve the same results.

The film is not without its poignant moments. The titles, with Abhay flying first class, Arjun and his meticulously packed luggage flying business and Imran’s hurriedly thrown together rucksack in coach chatting up a stewardess, clearly segment and define the character types we are dealing with. The tension between Imran and Arjun when they first meet is palpable and Arjun makes a quip the slimness of Imran’s paycheck – a perfect example of an instance in which we inflict careless wounds on friends. The Arjun – Laila (a winsome and well cast Katrina Kaif) romance starts off on the right note as well – with Imran making the first move while Arjun watches in the background protesting silently. But with Laila the player seems to have met his match and she aptly takes the lead in her relationship with the Arjun who, despite his multilingual prowess, remains woefully inarticulate when it comes to wooing. When words leave Arjun’s mouth they fall, like most two-dimensional objects attempting stand straight, flat on the floor. The two most honest moments of the film belong to Imran – one in a post coital curl up where his partner has no clue what he is confessing and the other in a confrontation with his estranged father.

The camaraderie and in-jokes are easy to identify with but the gag that elicits the loudest laugh comes from outside the friendship – Saare Jahaan se achcha playing over the slow motion walk to a skydiving plane. It is a subversive dig at patriotism and an indication of what this film thinks about existing holy cows. This film, in all its beauty and splendor, worships at only one place – the temple of consumerism. One would not be remiss in imagining the scarf and shades wearing Hermes Bag, dubbed Bagvati by Imran, as the presiding deity of this temple. The characters in Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara may tell you to follow your dreams and live in the moment, but what the film truly preaches is want. It is impossible not to want the lives that these characters live. Everything that they touch, perceive and experience (even sadness) is so beautiful that we are enticed into believing that we deserve the same. In reality these lives need to be bought and paid for and therefore the only thing this film is bound to create is more people who depress their dreams in pursuit of money – to draw from its on characters, more Arjuns. When Dil Chahta Hai first came out we accepted in with open arms because of our wide-eyed optimism. After a decade spent in a mostly capitalist boom, our generation is now slightly jaded. And as a result slightly more wary of the goods that Zoya Akhtar is truly selling in her sophomore effort. 

P.S: An edited version appears in today's City Express supplement of The New Indian Express. Link.

Home is where Hogwarts is

David Yates successfully guides the series to its conclusion in the grand finale to a series of films that have become a global phenomenon.

Any film viewing, especially of a film that does justice to its characters, is pregnant with the possibility of disappointment. As viewers we are constantly aware that all that awaits us at the end are titles. Our childlike urge to spend more time with the characters we’ve come to love must remain unrequited. This disappointment is only compounded with regard to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2. The film brings to a close a decade long association (longer for those who have read the books) with the characters and universe J.K.Rowling created. With earlier film editions there was always an assurance that our familiar friends would return, even if in a more somber, brooding atmosphere. For those of us who already suffered through one set of withdrawal symptoms after the final book was released another set of symptoms await at the conclusion of this film. There are no more adventures for the boy wizard and his two friends. So, excited as we are to see David Yates take the series to its conclusion, we are entirely aware of the central theme of this film even before we enter the theaters – death.

David Yates wastes no time reminding us of the sadness surrounding the magical world when we last left. Voldemort (a wan, slit-nosed Ralph Fiennes) has in his possession the Elder wand he stole after desecrating the tomb of Albus Dumbledore (Michael Gambon). Dobby, everyone’s favorite house elf, now lies buried in the backyard of Bill Weasley’s beachside home where Harry, Ron, Hermione and Griphook the goblin plot their next move. Severus Snape (played by the human chameleon Alan Rickman) is now principal of Hogwarts, which seems less like the safe haven it once was and more like a military camp. We are reminded of the French school in Louis Malle’s Au revoir les enfants – the students who did return have all bid goodbye to their childhood by now. Snape stands at a vantage point, watching the Hogwarts courtyard as if overseeing the gloom that infiltrates everything and entirely aware of what lies in store. The film spends a great portion of its time inside Hogwarts as it well should, for after all this is where it all began. This was where we muggles, along with Harry and co, were initiated into the world of magic. And just like the snitch Harry is bequeathed by Dumbledore, it is Hogwarts that must open up and reveal its true splendor at the close.

There are no preliminaries at the beginning of the film, no ‘story-so-far’ to allow those unaware of the proceedings to catch up. Yates, quite rightly, assumes that one has no place watching this film if one does not know what is at stake and the film is all the better for it. The purposefully slow first part of Deathly Hallows left Yates with a lot of ground to cover and consequently he does increases the pace at which events unfold. Unlike in the book or the first movie, there is no time to recover from injuries and minimal graphical fanfare accompanies the destruction of Horcruxes that house pieces of Voldemort’s soul. Ideas occur instantaneously and are executed even quicker. Yates dispenses with a few details from Rowling’s book (it isn’t just Harry who is not interested in what transpired between Aberforth and Albus) and appropriates the parts that serve as emotional crests. 

The heroics and humanity are not reserved solely for the boy who lived. Supporting characters, marginal and otherwise, all have their moments. Ron (a lovable Rupert Grint), who finally gets his on screen kiss with a Hermione (a suddenly buxom Emma Watson), is all of a sudden the wellspring of great ideas. (Intelligence it seems is transferable by kissing.) A suddenly confident Neville Longbottom, limp and all, is the one Gryffindor’s sword chooses to find in a moment of crisis. Hermione repels a werewolf who was feeding on Lavender Brown, a girl who she quite disliked for garnering Ron’ affections only two films ago. Even Molly Potter Weasley gets her fifteen seconds of fame with a ferocious duel against the cackling Bellatrix Lestrange (Helena Bonham Carter). Yates is aware that it is the triumphs of the little guys that a number of us are rooting for and gives them their day in the sun. But make no mistake this is Harry’s, more specifically Daniel Radcliffe’s, film. With the fate of the magical world on his shoulders, Radcliffe casts off some of the woodenness that adorned his face in the previous editions and holds his own, even against his more celebrated co-stars.

Despite all the overall pall of doom the film does make room for finer aspects of life. Upon the return of Harry, Seamus Finnegan sends out a message through Hogwarts stating ‘lightning has struck’ obviously referring to the scar on his forehead. The usually stately Minerva McGonnagall (Maggie Smith in a brief but poignant role) shivers in girlish delight after releasing Hogwarts’ stone warriors. The visual effects are for the most part excellent and it is entirely excusable that, despite being in a hurry, Harry and Luna are compelled to hover and watch a protective membrane envelope the school like pseudopodia. It is to Yates’ credit that this ‘stop and smell the roses’ moment situates itself in a rather frenetic part of the film. And it is the reason that a film that signals the end of the franchise will, as many elegiac dialogues in the film point out, live on in the hearts of fans everywhere.   

P.S: An edited version of this review appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. Link.

Hinglish Hilarity

Delhi Belly is a slice of life comedy that serves up simpletons, squalor and scatological humor with great sophistication.

The scrolling yellow announcement above the screen showing Delhi Belly announced a rarely seen linguistic classification. “Hinglish” it said in parentheses adjacent to the title, proudly announcing that this was not a film where characters translated thoughts out of commercial pressures. True to its claims, Delhi Belly is bilingual in an entirely believable fashion. If the subliminal linguistic classification that we indulge in – directing an auto rickshaw driver in Hindi but addressing acquaintances in English – is seamlessly integrated into Delhi Belly so is the infinite variety of the titular city. Both the squalor and the splendor of Delhi make appearances in the film, though not in equal parts. Fancy parties and hotels are contrasted with narrow streets and dubiously constructed tenements. This duality is one of many sources of depth in Abhinay Deo’s hilarious film. 

Delhi Belly opens in a Jackie Brown-esque manner with Vladimir, a nervous Russian mule, transferring a package to a bimbette airhostess Sonia (played by Shehnaz Treasurywala) who is unaware of the contraband she is in possession of. In a miniscule span of screen time a whole slew of comedic possibilities are set up because of this disparity of information. The economy of expression in that opening scene is present through the entirety of Delhi Belly allowing the film to paint even its most insignificant of characters with color and complexity. The film’s three male protagonists – Tashi, Nitin and Arup – live in a habitual state of squalor and slack. Tashi (a grungy, bearded Imran Khan) nurses ambitions of being a serious journalist, a sentiment not shared by his photographer and roommate Nitin (Kunaal Roy Kapur in a ‘free flowing’ performance). What they do have in common, though, is an internal dichotomy. Despite his professional ambitions Tashi is not serious about the one mainstay in his life – long time girlfriend and fiancé Sonia. And despite his mercenary attitude, Nitin does have artistic tendencies, even if they are of the morbid variety. The roommate who commits the delivery error that leads to the film’s shenanigans is Arup (Vir Das). Whether head nodding to a hack boss who issues absurdly hilarious directives or being reduced, quite literally, to a doormat by his by his girlfriend Ritu, Arup is a safely submissive young man. His urge to fight back is reserved for his friends. Menaka (Poorna Jagannathan), a fellow journalist with a crush on Tashi and a jealous husband filled with murderous anger, is the fourth piece of this unintentionally comedic quartet.

Be it the protagonists or a philandering yet conscientious landlord, Delhi Belly is chock-full of flawed people who find themselves in hilarious predicaments. Even the archetypal jealous husband expends a second admiring (what he thinks is) two women kissing before realizing that one of them is his wife. Ironically the only soul who stands tall above them as a man of refinement is a gangster. Slipping into Hindi and English with equal élan, Vijay Raaz’s performance as Somayajulu is pitched and timed to perfection. Somayajulu may be a gangster but he is a purveyor of items of immaculate beauty – diamonds. There is some artistry to his trade as evidenced by his elaborately delicate procedure for viewing the diamonds Vladimir has smuggled for him. First, a velvet cloth is laid out on a flat surface. Then any dust or other extraneous impurity is dismissed with a flick of the wrist or a puff of air from the lips. And finally the contents of the package are lovingly emptied on to the cloth. It is both inexplicably sad and funny that the reward he gets for all his care is a stool sample. For all the running scatological humor and great lines in Delhi Belly, it is this moment of dual emotion that defines this riotous film. 

P.S: An edited version of this piece appeared in the City Express supplement of the New Indian Express yesterday. Link.

Sense and Senility

Cinematic homage to an angry young man delivered by a rather uppity old man. 

If there is an unabashed practitioner of the multi-ingredient masala method of making films it has to be Puri Jagannadh. Therefore it comes as no surprise that when assembling a tribute to the aura of the original angry young man he comes up with Bbuddha Hoga Tera Baap. Every moment that Bachchan is on screen, save a tender moment toward the end, is an opportunity to emphasize his virility and larger than life stature. Every detail of the film is in service of the Big Bachchan identity and the era that cemented his stardom. The large lapels, silk shawls, floral patterns and boots are all back in full force. Two popular numbers of the age, Don’s Paan Banaraswala and Yaarana’s Saara Zamaana, have been remixed and placed to trigger aural memories. These armaments, Puri assumes, are sufficient to buoy the story of a retired but still potent hitman named Viju (played by who else but Bachhan himself) returning to Mumbai – the city where he earned his stripes, learnt his lessons and lost his family.

We’ve even met most of the characters decades ago – an extremely religious single mother, a conscientious cop, callous criminals and fashionably adorned romantic interests. Prakashraj takes over villain duties in the absence of the formidable Ajit. With gangster haven regulars like Bob Christo and Mac Mohan retiring to the great beyond, Makarand Deshpande (also named Mac) and familiar faces from Puri’s Telugu ventures like Pokiri fill in sundry gang member roles. Sonu Sood, the only other person with sizeable screen time, is obviously cast as a throwback to the cops once played by Bachchan himself. The film even establishes its notions of romance firmly in favor of the early eighties. It is the ‘dream girl’ Hema Malini who truly has the heart of the leading man in this film, not the oomph girl of the nineties – Raveena. If one bemoans the passing of the tried and tested tropes of the early eighties Hindi film, then Bbuddha Hoga Tera Baap is your own personal Easter.

But what of those of us who loved fell in love with Bachchan’s angry young man for entirely different reasons? Puri Jagannadh’s film offers little for those of us who preferred the silent strength he embodied in Shakti. Now, suggestive background music clouds the reticently used baritone and designer sunglasses mask the smoldering anger in those eyes. Bbuddha Hoga Tera Baap is a tribute to only a few of the affectations that made the Big B a star and is, therefore, a slight let down.

P.S: An edited version of this piece appeared in yesterday's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. Link.

To the Moon and Back

Michael Bay unleashes yet another sequel filled with mindless mechanical mayhem.

The theme song for the popular Transformers animated series paints its shape changing robots with a mysterious idiom. The protean pieces of metal in the cartoon are described as “more than meets the eye”. The same, however, cannot be said for Michael Bay’s series of films, which are more akin to a Tina Turner song. Transformers 3: Dark of the Moon is the latest addition to Bay’s “what you get is what you see” series of films. It packs in just as many much metal crunching explosions and unnecessary slow motion sequences as the earlier films. And the humans in the film seem just as insignificant to the narrative as their frames do when compared to the size of the hulking graphically generated robots.

For the second time this summer a blockbuster attempts to reinterpret the contemporary history of the baby boomers. Where X-Men First Class altered the means of resolution of the Cuban missile crisis, Dark of the Moon takes on the raison d’etre for the 1969 moon landing. Hollywood has taken hostage what were possibly the lowest point and the greatest achievement of the Kennedy administration. According to Bay’s latest offering, mankind’s outer space adventure was not founded on pure scientific curiosity but as a response to external stimulus. This stimulus was the landing of an alien spacecraft that housed Sentinel Prime, the great leader of the Autobots and mentor to the intrepid Optimus, on the dark side of the moon. Since history stipulates that Russian technology arrived on the moon well before NASA did, that is woven in as well; the nuclear reactor at Chernobyl that would eventually decimate its surrounding region was made possible by alien technology and not defecting German scientists. In the present day, the hunt for Decepticons leads the black ops team headed by Lennox (Josh Duhamel) and Optimus Prime to Chernobyl and technology that the Autobots believed had been lost.

As the film’s plot conveniently alters the contours of history it attempts to simultaneously incorporate the plight of Sam Witwicky (Shia Lebouf) as well. Now a young graduate, Sam’s problem is more firmly rooted in terra firma – finding a job. But, having saved the world and earned a presidential medal of honor before graduating college, Sam has peaked too early in life. His resume, which we see for a fleeting moment during an interview with a prospective employer, is woefully bereft of material at a half page length. For all its attempts at on the nose dialog and expletive suggestion, this single page prop is the funniest part of the film. It is impossible to stifle a chuckle at the insinuation that saving the world lacks value in the commercial incentive driven ‘real world’. Sam’s presidential medal may not have aided his professional life but it has certainly blessed his personal life with a stunning new beau Carly (Rosie Huntington Whiteley justifying her modeling pedigree). Carly manages the vintage car collection of a prominent and handsome venture capitalist sending Sam’s insecurities into overdrive. Under pressure, all Sam can manage is a job in the mailroom of a (surprise, surprise!) Defense contractor. And thus, an extremely tenuous connection between Sam’s world and the Autobots’ is established once more.

For a film that is largely based on the conflict between robots, Dark of the Moon sports a heavy weight cast. John Turturro returns as the part goofball, part serious Seymour Simmons with two new additions – Frances McDormand as the very particular and very hands-on Secretary of Defense Charlotte Mearing and John Malkovich who plays Sam’s CEO Bruce Bazos. We are treated to inane details about these characters – Bazos seems to think he is Hong Kong Phooey and Mearing prefers sneakers to heels – but in the end they are all pure caricatures. There are no added dimensions to the characters in Dark of the Moon and as a result there is no added interest in them. What does gratingly remain in memory though are the motley allusions to the dark moments in human history – a concentration camp style execution that Bumble Bee escapes and snapping of a building in half a la the September 11^th attacks. With Leonard Nimoy voicing Sentinel Prime the references to Star Trek are inevitable and this even may mollify some of us with a penchant for trivia.

But in large part the film treats even its protagonists, the Autobots, quite shabbily. The two most recognizable faces in the franchise, Optimus Prime and Bumble Bee, disappear for lengths of time while the largely inconsequential human tussles play out. And when they do appear on screen, they are left to dispense pithy one-liners. As always the best effects are reserved for a Decepticon – Shockwave. But as the film progresses the action gets harder to follow and a sense of fatigue clouds the proceedings. Barring the numerous fades to black and the inexplicable shots of Rosie Huntington Whiteley staring into oblivion, one remembers little of the loud action sequences. And for a film that touts action as its trump card this is a less than acceptable after-taste. 

P.S: An edited version of this review appears in the City Express edition of the New Indian Express. Link.

Spectral Superhero

The Green Lantern squanders its initial promise to its campy villain and proceedings.

The introductory voiceover for Martin Campbell’s Green Lantern, with its explanation of color-coding, may as well be a time portal that returns us to primary school. But as we listen to the expositions on the green power of will and the yellow power of fear (again, reminding us of that juvenile ditty about yellow and dirty fellows) we are liable to ignore another early school lesson; a lesson that, maybe, explains the significance of choosing these particular colors from the spectrum. The acronym most of us learnt for the colors in a rainbow, VIBGYOR, tells us that green and yellow are the two central, adjacent colors in the spectrum. Choosing green to represent will and yellow to represent fear suggests that a thin line separates two of humanity’s core emotions. And this internal struggle is at the heart of the transformation of Hal Jordan into the Green Lantern.

Hal Jordan (Ryan Reynolds robbed of his loquacious charm) is a test pilot for Ferris Aircraft and widely acknowledged as one of the best (despite having the most ridiculous call sign since Goose in Top Gun). Yet he remains traumatized by the apparition of his father Martin, also a pilot, exploding to smithereens. While we must summarily ignore questions such as ‘why was a young boy so close to an exploding plane?’ we must concede that the experience would have scarred anyone for life. His internal demons nearly cost Ferris a contract with the US Airforce and him his life. The largesse of Carol Ferris (Blake Lively giving her last name no credence), Hal’s one time squeeze and heir apparent to the Ferris aircraft fortune, ensures that his job is safe. Carol also provides a shoulder for him to cry on when he can find the words to verbalize his fears.

As Hal struggles with his issues, Parallax, the embodiment of fear itself, escapes from a prison on the planet of Ryut. Powered by the yellow energy of fear, Parallax heads toward the planet of Oa, to extract revenge on the Guardians who harness the green power of will. Each member of the Green Lantern Corps, the military wing of this galactic council of Guardians, derives power from their ring and will. Abin Sur, one of the most powerful members of the corps, is the Parallax’s first casualty. He crashes on earth and his ring of power chooses Hal to be its bearer.

Unfortunately, a part of Parallax from Abin Sur’s body also infects Dr.Hector Hammond. Hector has his own set of issues to grapple with. A shy, soft-spoken biologist, Dr.Hammond is the prototypical high school loser who never grew out of his shell. His powerful father, Tim Robbins as Senator Hammond, constantly undermines him and Carol, the woman of his dreams, does not return his affections. When he is infected by Parallax a number of convenient intersections between Hal, Carol and Hector are set in motion.

Green Lantern is largely a generic exercise in self-discovery. The parallels between the Green Lantern Corps and the army are clear for all to see. So also is the essentially entrepreneurial belief in the power of one man’s will. There are, however, fleeting moments that bring a smile to one’s face – both during Hal’s induction to the Corps. Having depended on machines to fly all his life Hal is absolutely joyous when he discovers the ring allows him to fly. He does a few spontaneously playful maneuvers before following his inducting officer, Tomar Re, to the training grounds. At the training grounds his childish marvel is back as he watches Tomar Re manipulate multiple Mobius strips through the power of his will. Unfortunately these moments are a rarity and we rarely witness such human moments as the film decides to cater to its plot. The problem with this choice is that the film fails to realize its potential. Just as a ring that can create anything one can visualize is limited by the user’s imagination so is Green Lantern limited by the choices it makes. The film tends to get campier as it progresses with Hector turning into a hideously disfigured villain and some hackneyed plot contrivances. Sadly the verdant color of the uniform and the light emanating from the ring does not rub off on to the rest of the film.  

P.S: An edited version appears in today's City Express Supplement of the New Indian Express.

Try School Musical

Always Kabhi Kabhi is an inconsistent Indianisation of the high school musical.

Nandini Oberoi, popularly known as Nandy Bull, is the resident tomboy of St.Mark’s High school where Always Kabhi Kabhi plays out. She is constantly at loggerheads with her oldest friend and token nerd of the school Tariq “Einstein” Naqvi. It is obvious for anyone who has seen a teen romance or three that these two will find their way into each other’s arms. This is, after all, a simple extrapolation of the pigtail pulling we see on school playgrounds – fighting is just a circuitous way of expressing affection. But the film still manages to pull off a reworking of this trope in a fashion rarely seen in these parts.

In true teen-romance style it is Nandini’s personal crisis, an unexpected pregnancy scare in this case, that brings these two oddly nicknamed kids together. However it does not happen with Einstein confronting Nandini’s philandering boyfriend or challenging him to a duel at dawn for her honor. What he does instead, is face up to the awkward task of buying a few pregnancy tests from a disapproving, yet surprisingly well-intentioned, pharmacist. This, curiously enough, is sufficient for Einstein to work his way into Nandini’s heart. It takes a true romantic to conceive and pull off a “he is so cute he brought me pregnancy tests” meet-cute. Sadly this spark of novelty is one of the very few things right with Always Kabhi Kabhi.

Set in a campus that resembles a Haveli at times and Hogwarts at others, Always Kabhi Kabhi attempts to relocate the high school musical to Delhi. Sadly the film makes quite a mish-mash mess of the move. A serious contest of Shakespeare plays is established as the backdrop for the film. Yet we rarely see any effort requisite of a student production. The new student Aishwarya, played by the wispily attractive Giselli Monteiro, is just handed the part Juliet on her first day of school. The emphasis placed on looks and a Bollywood bloodline reiterates the superficial reality that the film inhabits. We settle in to the film, content in the assumption that a powder puff romantic drama is set to unfold. But it quickly abandons the play to probe drugs, corrupt cops and indifferent parents. This inconsistency soon envelops the narrative and performances as well. Ali Fazal as Sam and Satyajeet Dubey as Einstein seem lost in wide-eyed cluelessness for the most part and Zoa Morani as Nandini has little to do but look spunky or cute as necessary. If the film had stuck to a tone it may have, at the very least, been acceptable as a genre exercise. As it stands, Always Kabhi Kabhi exhibits an emptiness of character that makes it an extremely tiresome watch.

P.S: An edited version appears here.

Today I make my debut on First Post...

... with a piece on Aaranya Kaandam. I really enjoyed the film, especially after tracking it for a long time and if it is playing at a theater near you, I think you should head out and watch it. More than once even. Here is the piece. Do read.

The Devil in the Details

A tale of modern amorality that often leaves its viewers feeling as cold as its characters.

Bejoy Nambiar’s Shaitan has been raising eyebrows ever since its Rorschach blot of a poster first released. The psychedelia fueled, Kannadasan referencing trailer raised our expectations from the film. It became obvious that the film would explore the shenanigans of a youth that knows no want, but would it be more? Would it be concerned with matters more than style or had we already seen everything that would differentiate the film from its peers? These were the questions in my mind as I stepped into a theatre showing the film. As the film slowly percolates through my mind, the answers I am left with, after the style has been filtered, are less than satisfactory.

Shaitan introduces us to its individual characters with few preliminaries. Amrita Jaishankar (played by Kalki Koechlin) is the new rich kid in town and she brings with her a lot of baggage, though not of the variety manufactured by Samsonite. Having already lost her mother to insanity, she fears she may also be losing her father to her stepmother. Into her walled off life waltz a band of bacchanalian revelers who promise trust and friendship. The group consists of small time model Tanya (played by Kirti Kulhari), video game obsessed rich boy Zubin (Neil Bhoopalam) and a waiter who doubles as a drug pusher Dash (Shiv Pandit). The spliced-together moments that introduce each member of this group to us, offers no explanation as to how the youngsters gravitated to each other, except for the maniacal charm of its alpha dog Karan Chaudhury (Gulshan Devaiya in what might become a career defining role), KC for short. The disparities in affection and economic strata that drive the dynamics of such a group all subtly woven into the group’s interactions. Yet the amoral bubble that surrounds these five youngsters ensures that we remain always on the outside looking in. The image of a young Amrita separated from her straitjacketed mother by shatterproof glass foreshadows the problem with Shaitan – the sense of separation that we, the audience, feel from the characters that inhabit the amoral asylum that is Bejoy Nambiar’s universe.

The story of Arvind Mathur (Rajiv Khandelwal proving once again, after Aamir, that he is a reliable performer) provides a contrasting perspective; he is a cop struggling to hold on to his moral center in a world rife with decay. The exploitation of women, in particular, incites a blinding rage in the man. (We first see him after he has just meted out vigilante justice to a sexual offender.) Ironically, Arvind is on the brink of losing, in addition to his job, his wife. Again we are offered no reasons for their mutual discontent, except the insinuation that they come from different worlds and maybe a difference of opinion on Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It is, however, not impossible to imagine the corrosive effect his simmering rage may have had on the marriage. These two worlds, one filled with drug induced debauchery and the other filled with the frustration of moral certitude, collide when the pentad of friends perpetrate a hit and run on the streets of Mumbai. When a corrupt cop (Love Sex aur Dhokha’s Raj Kumar Yadav) decides to blackmail the group instead of presenting them before the law, the wheels on the friendship, and the film, slowly begin fall off. 

Arvind Mathur reminds one of Anant Velankar and this makes us root for him despite his foibles. This is more than can be said for the group of youngsters in the film. They dispel their ennui through methods possibly learnt from their suburban counterparts in America – through sexually charged games of spin the bottle and cough syrup abuse. At some level, they are all broken children, but the film offers little to identify the source of their discontent. Their lack of a moral compass is the only defense offered for in their favor over the length of the film and this is no defense at all. So, after reels and reels of slow motion shots and incidental corpses, the vapidity of it all begins to irk. Shaitan is, at times, so insular that it drives away those attempting to actively engage its characters. The distance enables us to appreciate its aesthetic, but for the large part leaves us unfeeling and untouched. Shaitan suffers from a curse – the curse of ‘cool’.  

P.S: An edited version appears in the City Express supplement of today's New Indian Express.

A Study in Contrast

A few new mutations, the same old concerns and some exquisite visuals prop up this passable series reboot.

Children, especially when in a caustic clique, can be the cruelest dispensers of vocabulary. Far from the well-meaning barbs or jests that strengthen bonds, these acidic aspersions are cast with divisive intentions – to establish hegemony. If the kids at the receiving end of these barbs have little or no support of their own, from within or from external sources, the tumult of this marginalization becomes that much more unbearable. Therein lies the popularity of the X-Men series: the mutants, be it in the comics, animated series or the Bryan Singer film adaptations, are stand ins for the kids who are marginalized, often tormented, for their non-conformities. Only, these mutants have the abilities, if they choose to find and channel them, to retaliate against their oppressors. Despite being lower in the established social strata, they have the powers to shuffle the existing order in their favor. The question that remains, then, is how they choose to effect this change – through dialog or damage infliction.

Matthew Vaughn’s X-Men First class is concerned with the same id issues that made the first three Bryan Singer films (edited for accuracy:) two Bryan Singer films in the series entertaining. Its defining motif is its exercise of contrasts. Set in a time when communism was still perceived a threat and Professor X and Magneto were still Charles Xavier (James McAvoy looking as dapper as he did in Starter for Ten) and Erik Lehnsherr (Michael “I can make every facial muscle tic” Fassbender), the film consistently employs this needle of contrast to weave the various threads in its yarn. Compare, for instance, the adolescence of our two protagonists. Charles Xavier, raised a mansion in Westchester that will eventually become his school for the gifted, is a child of luxury. He goes on to a degree in Cambridge and, when not pursuing his interest in genetics, pursuing a youth well spent. Lehnsherr, on the other hand, is a product of oppression. Prodded into his powers by the Nazi torturer Sebastian Shaw (Kevin Bacon hamming it up and providing a whole new generation material for six degrees games), Lehnsherr grows up to become a one-man Mossad – hunting remnants of the darkness that swallowed his youth. Xavier’s telepathic abilities developed due to the lack of other challenges. Lehnsherr’s were the product of immense duress and anger.

Another luxury that Xavier is afforded, by virtue of his purely cerebral powers, is the lack of physical deformity. This is again contrasted with a young Raven, the shape shifter Mystique played by a nubile young Jennifer Lawrence, who is constantly conflicted about having to assume a more presentable form. Unless one is from the Indian subcontinent, male and living in the Dwapara Yuga, blue skin can be a dating deterrent and this, above all others, is of concern to a teenager. Xavier, despite having taken Raven under his wing when she was very young, is obviously uncomfortable with her physical appearance. The same questions that afflict Lehnsherr’s relationship with Xavier confront her relationship with the Professor as well. How will one who has never felt, either the searing tattoo that reduces you to a number or the staring gaze that reduces you to an animal, understand? Each of Xavier’s friendships, forged with his good intentions, is doomed by the disparity between the haves and have-nots. Professor X may have the love and respect of his fellow mutants but their allegiance is an altogether different matter.

Despite its purported concerns with internal strife, the film sacrifices a large portion of its time to dealing with external nemeses. Sebastian Shaw, a mutant himself, returns with his cabal of villains Emma Frost (January Jones’ single note playing perfectly for the ice princess she is cast as), Riptide and Azazel to bring the United States and the USSR to the brink of nuclear war. Shaw operates from a submarine, as if to indicate that despite what our history texts tell us there is always something more that lies beneath. It is up to an ad-hoc team assembled by Xavier, Lehnsherr and CIA agent Moira MacTaggert (Rose Byrne in an often-goes-missing role) to foil his plans and save the world. There is, of course, no surprise that they do – what we are really there to see is how the crown of evil is passed down from Shaw to Lehnsherr and how the rivalry between the friends is cemented. Set in a time when internal political strife in the United States was reaching a fever pitch, it is symptomatic that this film chooses to focus on external threats rather than focus on the emotional breakthroughs of each character. As a result every epiphany or realization, from Lehnsherr to the younger mutants, appears to happen far too easily. However, this is to be expected, I guess, from a summer flick whose only reference to the civil rights struggles of the time is a brief cut to its only black character after the word enslaved is uttered. This contrast, the one between what the film chooses to exploit and what it leaves unexplored, is its defining characteristic.

P.S: An edited version appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. Link here.

Unsteady and Going Nowhere

A star vehicle that truly defies classification, reason and any sense of propriety.

Having already been subjected to the inanities of Anees Bazmee’s packaged and processed assembly line sense of humor once this summer, I walked into his latest Salman Khan starrer, Ready, with a certain sense of trepidation. As it would turn out, my fears were not necessarily unfounded. Ready is one of those concoctions of immiscible liquids, where each individual component stands in stark separation from the other. Part music video, part stand up comedy act and part gag reel, the film plays out in an entirely arbitrary fashion. This is an out and out vehicle for the comedic stylings of Salman Khan and one would do well to relinquish hope of creative concern or cohesion of narrative.

The plot, which is entirely an incidental presence in this film, is quite simple. The wayward heir of a rich joint family must unite the warring factions of the girl’s family in the two and a half hour timeline between the rolling of the T-series logo and the end credits. If a near effulgent picture of Gulshan Kumar or the animated titles, reminiscent of a time when Doordarshan was the only channel around, are not sign enough that this film is a blast from the past, then every carelessly concocted gag and action sequence that follows is. Prem (Salman Khan playing Salman Khan) is the trouble making son of the oldest of the brothers Kapoor. His character, as established by the grand Broadway musical opening number, is circumspect to say the least. The family priest’s recommendation of marriage and a case of mistaken identities bring Sanjana (Asin, probably cast for her ability not to betray absolute incredulity at the proceedings) into his life. To the Kapoor family it appears that Sanjana has waltzed into their lives sans baggage, but neither they nor we (or at least those of us who haven’t been subjected to the two South Indian versions of this story) are aware of what lies in store.

One needs look no further than the chartbuster Dinka Chika, to see that the film is a parody of itself. The large assembly of bespectacled children and outlandishly adorned dancers execute signature moves in front of a house-full board in a theater playing the movie they are all supposedly a part of. Oddly enough, the hubris of this meta imagery does not invoke irritation, just laughter. Ready is completely aware of what it is and is totally unapologetic about it. And for this reason it is impossible to stay mad at it. No star, not even the venerable Rajinikanth, wears his kitsch on his sleeve like Salman does. There is some measure of performance in the southern star’s mannerisms; an effort to take the film he is in seriously that is totally absent in Salman’s affectations. And while some may claim that a lobotomy is requisite to see the positives in Ready, it is not without its absurdly funny moments. Consider, for instance, a ridiculous signboard that just reads ‘JUNGLE’ or an actor establishing his lack of culture by assiduously ensuring his wine is on the rocks. But if one is incapable of sitting through hours of drivel for a second of laughter, Ready is not the film one should expend one’s time and money on.

 

P.S: An edited version appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. Link here.

The Odd Couple

Shared birthdays and sundered dreams reduce the degrees of separation between a gangster and a bored stay at home mom.

For how many contiguous units of time can we witness a thing of beauty and remain enamored by it? Minutes? Hours? Years? Monogamy demands that we remain enthralled by a lover until the end of either our time or theirs. If only that instinctive surge of emotion that arises in a relationship’s initial stages could be bottled and used in sparing amounts over its lifetime. The packaged endorphins would avoid the fungal growth of familiarity and the spores of contempt that slowly begin to spread over what was once a thing of consummate beauty. However, until biochemistry perfects this procedure of infinite possibilities, we will be stuck the onset of boredom and the existential crises it precipitates.

The title scenes of Vipul Shah’s Kuch Love Jaisa, are a quick study in the slow deterioration of a marriage into the mundane. Madhu Saxena, the film’s central character played by a comely Shifali Shah, and her order-loving husband Shravan (played by Summet Raghavan) go from sleeping with their legs intertwined as newlyweds to being separated by the gulf of daily grind. The film trains its focus on Madhu and her despair at disappearing in the eyes of her husband, children and even the domestic help. As a stay at home mom she feels her contributions at home are not being given due credit. And her angst seems entirely justified when her husband compares her to the ‘chipkali’ that believes it is holding the roof up. After nearly a decade of marital decay her loving husband has forgotten her birthday and she feels her transformation into one of the many inanimate pieces of furniture that adorn her house is complete. Borrowing a line from the Howard Beale handbook, she decides not take it any more.

Unbeknownst to Madhu, a dreaded gangster Raghav (Rahul Bose in a brooding effort) has been sold out to the cops by his moll, Rhea. This is Rhea’s birthday gift to Raghav whose dreams of domesticated bliss are forever clouded by the sounds of gunshots and looming cops. Circumstance and dubious writing throw this odd couple, one on the run from boredom the other from the long and rather incompetent arm of the law, together. Madhu, intent on exploring her wild side, allows herself to be led on a wild goose chase by Raghav. And over the course of their misadventures we are expected to believe that a completely above board affection, founded entirely on the golden heart of a gangster and the angst-ridden antics of a housewife, develops between the two. The emphasis is largely on the screen chemistry between Bose and Shah, but the paces they are put through ends up being the acme anchor that breaks the camel’s back. As the film trudges through tedium and arrives finally at its conclusion, we have lost all sympathy for Madhu and are downright happy to see the gangster get his just desserts. So, despite a promising start, Kuch Love Jaisa accomplishes exactly the opposite of what it possibly set out to do. 

P.S: An edited version appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. Link here.

Mind Over Metal

The Dragon Warrior has a little identity crisis but never loses his head or sense of humor. 

What does a warrior do after he achieves his prophesied destiny? Well, he graduates to bigger challenges, both internal and external. The adorable Panda Po, voiced by Jack Black, returns in this non-formulaic addition to the Kung Fu Panda franchise with a few questions of his own; questions that should be apparent to anyone who has seen the first film. How is it that the hulking black and white mass that is Po came to be the son of a goose? This is the elephant in Mr.Ping’s noodle shop, one that we as viewers were more than happy to ignore, as well as the source of Po’s discontent in Kung Fu Panda 2. Resolving this internal malaise is the key to securing the future of all of China and Kung Fu itself.

Dreamworks wastes little time in reminding us that the cuddly cast of characters that made the original a smashing success is back in this new edition. Instead of the familiar fishing boy, Master Oogway casts a line for the stars from their logo’s crescent moon: all the while watching over his favorite pupil Shifu (an underutilized Dustin Hoffman) seek inner peace. The Furious Five – Tigress, Monkey, Viper, Crane and Mantis – are back as well, voiced again by the pentad of Angelina Jolie, Jackie Chan, Lucy Liu, David Cross and Seth Rogen respectively. Po may be the chosen one but there is no doubt that Tigress is the alpha female of the group – a simple reminder that the path to excellence is still paved through effort and that the respect of ones peers must be earned. The simple hierarchy of Hollywood stardom is also maintained with the Tigress taking a more prominent role in helping Po through his existential crises.

The choice for Po’s nemesis seems odd, but only upon first glance. A peacock would hardly be one’s first choice for a menacing antagonist, yet given the strutting self-obsession of Master Shen (voiced by the uniformly excellent Gary Oldman), his metallic anklets and dart-like feathers are exactly what the evil doctor ordered. Unbeknownst to Po, his past is intertwined with Shen’s future. Born to the king and queen of Gong Men city, Shen’s megalomaniac obsession with conquering all of China is reminiscent of monarchs in every Wuxia movie we’ve seen. Much like the first film in the series there is a prophecy in this film as well, one that once again incites Shen to do the unthinkable. Cast out of the city, Shen finds his inner Vader and turns completely to the dark side –casting away his respect for Kung Fu and favoring a more metallic means of mayhem. If issues of parentage fuel Po’s self-doubt, Shen’s maliciousness is stoked by parental rejection. When he returns to Gong Men city and subjugates the master’s council it is up to Po and the Five to save Kung Fu and China.

Kung Fu Panda 2 manages to maintain the sense of slacker humor that made the original film popular. Po continues to be imbued with the wonderful physical humor that made endeared Jack Black to us in School of Rock and High Fidelity. Despite the excess adipose in Po’s tummy the Kung Fu sequences in this sequel are far more involved. The animation in the film is uniformly excellent and there seems to be a tip of the brush to Hayao Miyazaki when we flash to Po’s past. This film is one of the rare cases where the 3D that the studios insist on thrusting on our retinas actually adds to the spectacle rather than detracting from it. As always though, it is the flawless voice acting that is the soul of the feature and the reason that the film is a worthy addition to what may be a growing series.

P.S: An edited version appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. Link here.

Thai Me Up Thai Me Down

The wolf pack takes its shenanigans on the road and pushes its meekest member a little further along in the path to self-respect.

The bachelor party is a time-honored tradition that seems to have a fairly simple purpose; a night of raucous debauchery that one, due to memory loss or a healthy interest in keeping the lines of communication with one’s future spouse alive and healthy, repeats only in hushed tones and the company of fellow attendees. The implicit code of silence between the participants, in and of itself, is a wellspring of comedic and dramatic tension. By throwing Las Vegas, a city that has maintained a motto of secrecy since the days of Bugsy Siegel, into the mix and spicing it up with his patented frat boy sense of humor, Todd Philips created an immediate winner with his outrageous original, The Hangover.

In The Hangover 2 Philips is back with his fleshed out characters and the ability to conjure up a bawdy bacchanal with hilarious consequences. This time, however, it is Stu, a repressed-as-ever Ed Helms, who is marrying his beautiful Thai girlfriend Lauren (Jamie Chung in a justifiably short role). After Vegas, Stu  - replaced tooth and all - is painfully aware of the possibility that his wedding could be reduced to an after event for the bachelor party. Phil (played by Bradley Cooper) is absolutely distraught at the sham of a ‘bachelor brunch’ that the groom has organized. Doug (played by Justin Bartha), the straight man of the group, is burdened with getting Stu to invite his brother-in-law Alan, Zach Galifianakis playing the king of his own kooky kingdom, to the wedding. Eventually Alan is invited along but his insecurities bubble over when Stu and the gang decide to include Teddy, Lauren’s younger brother in the group.

Alan sees Teddy’s unauthorized entry into his ‘wolfpack’ as trespassing, almost as if he is afraid of being replaced. He senses, rightfully so, that he is not yet truly part of the gang. Zach Galifianakis continues playing Alan as the overgrown infant from the original but the portrayal is no longer subliminal in this reprise. In a rather on the nose affirmation of this rendering, every major character, including himself, is played by children in a reenactment of forgotten events in Alan’s memory. While his petulance is at once annoying and the source of much humor, it isn’t too far removed from a more adult need for acceptance. This is something Stu should understand, but doesn’t until the events of the film play out. Marrying into another culture, he is unable to gain the trust of his father-in-law. In his speech at the rehearsal dinner, Lauren’s father equates his future son-in-law to a tasteless, watery, yet nutritious broth. Still reticent about standing up for himself Stu seems to live in fear and it isn’t entirely implausible that his father-in-law sees in him the eyes of a coward.

 But is his fear a response to external stimuli or a fear of what lurks beneath, waiting to erupt at the provocation of hallucinogens? One of the most telling inclusions in the otherwise adrenaline rush inducing soundtrack is a cover of Johnny Cash’s The Beast in Me. Stu faces his fears and comes to terms with his internal demons as the film draws to its inevitable conclusion. And make no mistake; the conclusion is never in doubt once the film begins. Hangover 2 begins much the same way as its predecessor, with Phil calling Doug’s wife to inform her that the impending nuptials may be in jeopardy. If Doug was the missing piece of the puzzle before this time it’s Teddy. As the trio retraces the events they have forgotten in much the same way as the first film one cannot help connecting the parallels in the narratives. Even Chow (played by the absurdly funny Ken Jeong) and Mike Tyson, first in tattooed spirit then in person, return to emphasize our sense of deja-vu. But if one can look past the exercise in pattern recognition there is a barrel of laughs to be had in this trip to Bangkok.   

P.S: An edited version appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. Link here.

Reality Bites

Three young, urban professionals love and lose in the nation’s Capital. 

Today’s generation of men, raised on the tinsel town romance and dramatics of the nineties, has assimilated almost entirely into the urban workforce. And they are slowly but surely checking off the various Maslow must haves on their checklists –Roti, Kapda aur Ladki as a recent song points out. Possessed with expendable income they find the first two easy enough to acquire on a regular basis. The last item on the list, however, is something they are ill equipped to handle, especially if they are without prior experience. Having grown up watching parents in arranged marriages and pop culture reference points that rarely depict complex women they have no resources to draw from to navigate the course of modern relationships.

The beginnings of Pyaar ka Punchnaama suggest that it could be one the few films that closes this gap in our cultural paradigm. Rajat, Liquid and Vikrant (played by Kartikeya Tiwari, Divyendu Sharma and Rayo Bhakirti respectively) are three friends and roommates living in one of the many apartment complexes in the national capital region dreamed up by real estate developers. Their home is riddled with the detritus of consumerist bachelorhood – leather couches, video games and empty pizza boxes. All three of them are entrenched in the corporate grind with jobs that seem to involve nothing more than typing indented statements into a Visual Basic editor. The film establishes their camaraderie well, defining each of these boy-men in a manner that is very recognizable. There is a palpable ease to the friends’ coexistence that anyone who has been in a cohabitation situation is familiar with. While their lives seem fine relatively hassle-free, they share a common grievance – that none of them has ever been in a relationship with a woman. This is soon rectified with Rajat meeting Neha, played by Nushrat Barucha, at a karaoke bar. In the ‘sing-off’ that culminates in Rajat and Neha exchanging numbers the boys sing Def Leppard’s ‘Pour some sugar on me’ when in reality ‘Love Bites’ may have been a more prescient choice.

Liquid and Vikrant find their women where more and more young professionals seem to meet their significant others, at work. With his Latin lothario style Vikrant is at the least able to form the mutual acceptance of a relationship with Rhea (played by the svelte Sonali Sehgal). Liquid tones his demeanor down rather uncharacteristically and winds up in the no man’s land that his girl Charu (a more homely Ishita Sharma) rather benignly terms ‘friend’. For the rest of the film the three navigate the perceived highs and lows of their relationships completely surrendering any sense of individuality. While the film is a commendable attempt at portraying a uniquely male perspective on the travails of first relationships, it falters in its one-dimensional caricaturing of the women. None of the girls move beyond stand-up comedy caricatures and each of them is presented purely as a manipulative entity. It is surprising that the men cannot see what is clearly evident to the audience. Every additional sequence of self-flagellation undoes the interesting introductions that were made. So by the time our protagonists eventually recover their instinct for self-preservation, Pyaar ka Punchnaama has already been derailed.

P.S: An edited version appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express. Link here.

Recess Pieces

Lunchtime lessons for a teacher and the audience in an emotionally affecting film. 

Scholastic endeavor, for the non-home schooled, never been to daycare majority, is the commencement of the process of being weaned away from one’s parents. It is a child’s first foray alone into a community that isn’t parental controlled. However, the process is gradual – home and school do not exist in isolation. Elements of one constantly find their way into the other. Schoolbags filled with prescribed textbooks and homework assignments are the school’s interlopers. They hover over children during short-lived evenings and weekends as harbingers of responsibilities and pressures that are to come. The agents of home, lunch bags and water bottles, are the reassuring presence in our crowded school benches. Our lunchboxes are metaphors for the advantages and capabilities that home and chance provide us.

Amole Gupte’s Stanley ka Dabba is founded on this analogy but does not rest with simply presenting it for consumption. One of its simple, yet telling, images, a that of lunchboxes resting on a wooden platform in the classroom of IV-F in Mumbai’s Holy Family high school. Amidst a jumbled pile of plastic that resembles the shanties of Rio de Janeiro stands tall, gleaming tower of metal. This is the lunch dabba of Aman, resident food philanthropist of the class and friend of our intrepid protagonist Stanley (played by a precociously cute Partho). When Stanley’s friends realize that he is without his own dabba, they decide to pool their resources to ensure he does not go hungry. However, Aman’s multistory buffet has caught the attention of the gluttonous Hindi teacher Babubhai Verma, played by Amole Gupte. Fondly termed Khadoos by his students, the teacher is not below imposing his authority to ensure that a student and his lunch are soon parted. The endearing group of friends manages to feed Stanley for a few days by serving up a few white lies to Mr.Verma, but they eventually get caught. He retaliates in a characteristically petulant manner, emphasizing what a song in the film suggests – that a hurt child, sans lunchbox, resides within him as well. It is, therefore, a slight disappointment when the pain and shame he carries remains unresolved.

Stanley ka Dabba would like us to view its children as unsullied, instinctive beings. There are no deserved punishments, only deserving accolades – usually handed down by the cloyingly affectionate Miss.Rosy played by Divya Dutta. She seems the sole spot of sunshine, a counterpoint to the stentorian south Indian science teacher. But even the most empathetic teachers seem to turn be blind to the root of Stanley’s issues. Apart from a minor rectus-sinister altercation, it is Stanley’s cohorts who seem to intuit his issues. It is an unconditional friendship that even shows the good sense not to dig too deep and disturb the false framework that Stanley has constructed.

The absence of a lunchbox is not the sole indicator that all is not well with Stanley. In fact we need look no further than the soiled uniform or the safety pin that holds his pocket in place to sense the lack of parental presence. Stanley is undoubtedly an outlier. He consistently arrives before the rest of his class to finish his homework and peers longingly through holes in the wall. These indicators are more than sufficient to evoke a lump in one’s throat when the child is unfairly marginalized because we are flush with evidence that it is not entirely his fault. So when the explanation finally arrives it seems almost inconsequential. Having entrenched us so well in the cadences of a school day, the film is at a loss whenever it walks to a different beat. Ironically, Stanley ka Dabba is a film that is most at home within the classroom.

P.S: An edited version appears in today's City Express supplement of the New Indian Express.