Filmi Review

Cast: Shreyas Talpade, Amrita Rao
Director: Shyam Benegal




It’s a wonderful word. Whether it’s a political piggy, a demented woman who can only cry through her nose (?), or a clinic ‘compounder’ who flips out for the village widow, they speak a lingo that’s absolutely earthy, downright bingo.

In fact, the spine of Shyam Benegal’s Welcome to Sajjanpur is its rustic, colloquial dialogue. Co-written with Ashok Mishra (who must be saluted for the dialogue dexterity), Benegal’s screenplay pauses to spare a thought for the near extinct art of letter writing. Sure, you may sense some echoes of Brazil’s Central Station and even the French classic Cyrano De Bergerac. The long-nosed Cyrano played Socially concerned as always, Benegal articulates several points. Take widow remarriage which culminates in a tragedy and is so resonant of today’s headlines
Cupid there, here it’s just the opposite.

The letter writer (Shreyas Talpade) is being deceitful and loving it. He’s a wannabe Premchand in a surrounding that’s as conducive to writing as a pen without a nib. Ergo, he dreams big but lives in a hamlet that doesn’t know its ABCD. And right now, he’s attempting to snatch his childhood sweetheart (Amrita Rao) from her husband who hasn’t been back to the muluk for ages. Aah, the letter writer could do with some romancing. But sorry, there are too many assorted nuts around, including a hilarious snake medicine man who carries a rubber cobra. Why? Just.

Socially concerned as always, Benegal articulates several points. Take widow remarriage which culminates in a tragedy and is so resonant of today’s headlines. In Sajjanpur, also enter and exit, a headstrong scooter-riding girl, the gangster-like politician, and heavens, even a group of eunuchs out to contest the elections and assert that they’re human too.

Because of the restraint in directing potentially David Dhawanish material, Benegal frequently gets away even with risqué humour. Throughout the comedy, there’s no indulgence in slapstick. Instead, there are wise and witty moments that make you smile or guffaw at human foibles.

Quite clearly though, the song situations and their picturisations are super-tacky (like the blingy white curtains as backdrop for a dream sequence). Oddly, the background score often breaks into an American country-and-western jig. And towards the finale, certain aspects are much too hokey pokey – like a publisher’s smarmy questions about the intricacies of the story that you have just seen. Indeed, there’s something much too contrived about wrapping up the loose ends. Did Benegal run out of stock or inspiration, or both?

But then who’s perfect? Besides spinning a charming yarn, Benegal bankably draws a first-rate ensemble performance. Shreyas Talpade, after Iqbal, gets a role worthy of his calibre. He’s terrific. Amrita Rao is sweetness personified. Cameos from Ravi Kissan, Divya Dutta and Yashpal Sharma are lifelike.

Yup, so Sajjanpur is different, it has a conscience, and merits a ticket from those who have one too.

Cast: Kirron Kher, Farouque Shaikh
Direction: Shona Urvashi



Celebrate. For once there’s a very caring mum who doesn’t actually offer her sulking daughter, a tub of gaajar halwa. But if your memory serves you right, there were heaps of laddoos and rosogollas around. They vanish in a flash. Must have been yum.

That’s Shona Urvashi’s Saas Bahu aur Sensex. Probably well-intentioned as a movie about women bonding, it just doesn’t have an original voice or sharp style to keep you engaged.

Besides, so much footage is spent on establishing the characters that you long to move out of the Navi Mumbai (or is it Pune?) housing society where these women gossip, host kitty parties and are ultra-curious about the new tenant (Kirron Kher, displaying a cool collection of saris). She has arrived with a tetchy daughter (Tanushree) who gets a job with a call centre, falls in love with a goatee but goatee loves a glam gal (Masumeh). Misery.

In between all this, somehow Kirronji connects with a stockbroker (again!) who’s portrayed by Farouque Shaikh as a babbling Parsi. Shaikh does it extremely well, and Kirronji is efficient. Tanushree, without dollops of make-up, is eminently likeable. Now if only these guys had been given another script. How about a medical thriller like Gas Lahoo aur Sex?

Cast: Sushant Singh, Rajat Kapoor
Director: Jaideep Varma



Friends, countrymen and Shakespeare,

Ear ear. Jaideep Varma’s Hulla is not the poorer sister of Hulla Bol. It’s not about the good old hulla hoops either. It’s about a man who can’t sleep because a security guard keeps blowing a whistle way beyond midnight. What a fright. Just sit tight, take some cotton buds along. Because they keep blowing the whistle in Dolby surround, and don’t let you sleep either.

Once Bangalore’s Girish Kasaravalli had made the strangest movie ever (called Mane) about snooze-deprived Naseeruddin Shah-Deepti Naval because of machinery sounds. Gratifyingly, machines have given way to whistles. And stick banging, too, in order to nab any Raj Kapoor from Jagte Raho. Oho.

Admittedly, you can identify with the noise business, you go through it every day. Manoj Kumar did too in Shor, Farah Khan too, but a full-length feature film on a man and a whistle? After a few chuckles and giggles, you wish they’d bring on the main movie. Doesn’t happen.

So you’re stuck there with Sushant Singh (Stockbroker) and Kartikadevi Rane (Working Wife). She doesn’t mind the ancient security guard blowing a whistle lustily. Stockbroker does and launches this one-man crusade against whistles, which means combating Rajat Kapoor (Cooperative Housing Society Chairman) trying for a Gujarati accent. In vain.

Next: Society Chairman is busy organising two college girls to meet up with a shady business contractor – the most tantalising twist in the plot -- that’s not shown at all. Maybe the girls had whistles too.

Anyway, thanks to the believable performances by Stockbroker and Chairman, you don’t actually run out of the auditorium to check your own ear drums. In addition, there’s an excessively funny housing society guy who’s always threatening to tear his shirt. He brings the house down. Indeed, the society meetings are a riot. For such throwaway vignettes, it’s okay to check out this Hullabaloo. Of course, you must carry your own whistles along.

Cast: Randeep Hooda, Shahana Goswami
Direction: Arjun Bali



If only someone hadn’t seen the video of the crummy If Only, you would have saved yourself from this hu-ba-hu snooze-o-rama.

Neither Nix (Randeep Hooda) nor Tara Pum (Shahana Goswami) are established as particularly worth-knowing people. He’s a busy executive at power presentations, she’s a time-pass actress in a play by Shakespeare (he’s contagious). After hundreds years of living in, she wants a marriage, he doesn’t. Groan and bear it.

Because, yipee, the long-lost Kulbhushan Kharbanda shows up as a taxi driver, drops some nuggets about Sigmund FRIED (really now), and drives the couple at top speed into another car. You’re not at all sure what director Bali wanted to say and why neither Hooda nor Goswami deliver half-decent performances. Kharbanda, mercifully, stays behind the wheel. A-void.

Cast: Rajneesh Duggal, Adah Sharma, Ballu the Ghastly Gardener
Direction: Vikram Bhatt



Boo, tywhoo and all that. Vikram Bhatt’s 1920: A Ghost Story is about Elizabethan carriages, horses with the furriest feet this side of a panda, a haveli in Yorkshire which is supposed to pass of as Purani Mumbai, and best of all, Raj Zutshi who glares at the camera as he always does, to announce, “We have to do exorcism!”

About time Zuts, because the newly weds (Raj Duggal-Adah Sharma) are being shocked out of their coats and petticoats. Indeed, the man’s so devoted to his bride that he nearly has a fainting fit at a Rakhi Sawant dance nite. She should sue.

There are no surprises for anyone who has seen spine tinglers from Bees Saal Baad and The Exorcism to Whatever-Ramsay-You, but to Bhatt’s credit, after the intermission he goes full blast at the spooky, Satanic-possession stuff. In fact, the climax is one of the best executed attempts in special effects in recent times. Body bending, wall scaling, and booming sound effects, you bite your nails with worry at the flurry.

Adnan Sami’s music is several cuts above the commonplace with vocals by Pandit Jasraj and Shubha Mudgal. Of the newcomers, Rajneesh Duggal has a striking screen presence and goes at his role with absolute sincerity. He’s here to stay. Adah Sharma, in a difficult role, is likeable. If you’re into desi horror, here’s a more satisfying ticket than Phoonk 2008.

Cast: Amitabh Bachchan, Arjun Rampal, Preity Zinta, Silver Wig
Direction: Rituparno Ghosh



Friends, countrymen and Shakespeare,

Lend me your ears. I come neither to bury director Rituparno Ghosh, actor Amitabh Bachchan, supporting artiste Divya Dutta,nor to condemn them.

The good that men do lives with them. So let it be with The Last Lear, a pedestal for the histrionics of Mr Bachchan. You all do love him not without cause. So doth me, your Mark-Akbar-Anthony who doth know a trifle about Oberon and not Oberoi as boorishly muttered by a ciggy-puffing journalist in the movie. The puffer also confuses the bard’s Robin with Robin Hood. What kind of journos is Ghoshda acquainted with, anyway? The sort who think When the aged theatre stalwart Harish aka Harry (Bachchan) falls on his feet to beg a film’s director to let him perform his last scene – a stunt – your eyes truly moist.
Shakespeare is a milk shake?

Alright fair is foul and foul is fair. From the two-and-a-half stars crowning this bard-di-dah review, you might have guessed that this Learda leaves the viewer with remixed feelings. On the upside, there are at least three extraordinary moments for which it might still be worth enduring the roundelay of three ladies chattering away like magpies, on Diwali night. Flashbacks keep going up in the black Kolkata sky like baby rockets, the bard-challenged journalist pops in with his voice-over intermittently. And a movie about a very aged clown titled The Mask is being premiered. If that’s a tribute to Raj Kapoor, Ghoshda confirms that by giving his Lear a Satyam Shivam Zeenatam-like face burn.

O judgement! Thou art fled to brutish beasts. Do discourse on the positives yaar. When the aged theatre stalwart Harish aka Harry (Bachchan) falls on his feet to beg a film’s director to let him perform his last scene – a stunt – your eyes truly moist. When the intense, realistic-type director (Arjun Rampal) cajoles him to return from three decades of retirement, you marvel at the actor’s brilliant, theatrical rendition. And you care for the old man’s foibles as he sits before a CVV screen, watching passers-by urinate on the wall. Street watching is very Satyajit Rayesque (please see Charulata) and it’s done with quirky humour here.

Heart-bracingly the cinematography is topnotch. The sound design is on the pretentious side though. Who would be listening to Waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam late at night on Diwali, pray? And the screenplay has more potholes than the roads nowadays. And shiver me timbers, Shefali Shah and Harryda are supposed to have sparked a scandal, 30 years ago. Not very flattering to Ms Chhaya’s age status but well. And what’s all that hullabaloo about the stunt shot? And please why are women always being tormented by men, especially Preity Zinta being stalked by a gruff phone voice and nurse Ivy Dutta’s hot date who vanishes like Aladdin’s genie?

Essentially, the frisson between Bachchan and Rampal work. Bachchan is flamboyant, assured and catty. Rampal, restrained and implosive, is excellent.

So friends, countrymen and Shakespeare, to be honest Bachchan’s shout into a valley is on the embarrassing side though (check out Liza Minnelli’s yell fest in Cabaret). All said and a bit slept through, The Last Lear merits a toss of the coin. Heads you see..tails you don’t.

Cast: Naseeruddin Shah, Anupam Kher
Direction: Neeraj Pandey



A man with a slight hunch, frizzy hair and a vegetable shopping bag is nagged by his wife, “Don’t forget the tomatoes.” The man grunts, plants a bomb in a police office, walks coolly to the empty terrace of a building under construction and is about to kick off a plan of mass destruction. That’s first-time director Neeraj Pandey’s A Wednesday, which could well be the story of any day in any metropolis. It has a walloping impact – and despite some sections which could be interpreted as Muslim bashing – is absolutely A-grade. It has speed, energy, technical dazzle (never mind some cheesy split screens) and it’s the kind of medium-budget enterprise we should be seeing much more often at the multiplexes. What a relief to get away from the pan caked poppets and imitation Rambo Bambos! Essentially here, two old men match their cunning and wit. And their performances are sensational.

Naseeruddin Shah, with intuitive ease, plays that duplicitous tomato shopper who threatens the city with serial blasts. And Anupam Kher, as the beleaguered police commissioner, is flawless, concealing his anxiety under a cool stealth. Shah was terrific in a cameo in Khuda Kay Liye just a few months ago. Now without much fuss or fret, he demonstrates that he’s the most valuable actor on the scene today. Kher is a marvellous counterpoint, his body lingo, talkative eyes and voice pitch defining a first-class performance.

Indeed, Pandey extracts bravura performances also from Jimmy Sheirgill, concentrated and convincing, as a rough-tactics cop, Deepal Shaw whose Hindi dialogue delivery is incomparable in the part of a TV news reporter, an attention-grabbing turn by Aamir Bashir as a ramrod-straight cop, and a strikingly expert cameo by Kali Prasad Mukherjee in the role of a taunting terrorist.

The plot could be from Die Hard with a Vengeance, or a page from the screenplay of any cat-and-mouse Hollywood thriller. Pandey’s triumph is in relating it to our current conditions, avoiding speed breakers and pinning your interest as the scenes zoom from that empty terrace to the police headquarters and to the jam packed streets.

All of 100 minutes with first-rate photography by Fuwad Khan, however, the effort’s closing segment is extremely questionable. Like it or not, there is in-between-the-lines Muslim thrashing here besides the ongoing obsession of associating terrorism with Islam (“They are cockroaches”). Are they talking pest control?

Without revealing the end, suffice it to say it has been used before in Kamal Haasan’s Indian. Also, several points are indigestible, like the absence of all TV crews but one at the hot spots, the police commissioner zooming off on a solo car ride, and the finale kick-off which is more fantasy-like than believable.

Indeed, the conclusion is the sort that could only happen in the movies. And that doesn’t work is an effort steeped in reality. Oh well, then, who’s perfect? A Wednesday has to be seen, absorbed and debated. Go for it.

Cast: Purav Bhandare, Sarika, Birbal the Donkey
Direction: Santosh Sivan



Stretching snowscapes, flickering lives that could be extinguished at any moment, a fatherless family and the adorable kid who wants to bring his pet donkey back home – these are just some of the elements of Santosh Sivan’s Tahaan which deals with innocence versus violence in the valley.

Narrated from the point of view of the child, throughout, strife-torn Kashmir is his magical playground till he loses his pet, always standing there haplessly. Boy Tahaan travels across perilous terrain, making the viewer hope desperately that the boy is reunited with his buddy. Whomever he encounters -- be it a moneylender (Rahul Khanna, very miscast), a fruit trader, a lovelorn Romeo or an older kid who has his own agenda -- the child trusts them like you’d trust a neighbour.

Quite a few points of the screenplay are contrived though. Like chucking a grenade into a conveniently available stream, mum Sarika being speechless and father dear stepping out of detention in the nick of time. None of these count though in the face of the enterprise’s purity of purpose – like the Iranian films of the 1990s --and its poetic execution.

Meant as much for adults as well as kids, Tahaan has two other major strengths. An absolutely endearing performance by Purav Bhandare in the eponymous role. And the genius cinematography of director Santosh Sivan. Every frame is painterly. It’s meant for everyone who has the heart for compassionate and visually staggering cinema.

Cast: Shiney Ahuja, Esha Deol, Bearded Aatankwadis
Direction: Kunal Shivdasani



Fasten your seat belts, at home that is. Kunal Shivdasani’s Hijack is meant only for those who haven’t ever seen a Hollywood movie in their lives. It’s part Executive Decision, part Con Air.. oh forget it.

And it’s about Shiney Ahuja looking very gloomy. Plus meet hijacked hostess Esha with a sparrow sitting on her hair, a kid star going “Deddi, deddi, dedeeeee”, those black-dye beards killing a post-honeymoon husband, a Home Minister snorting, “Ees these a jock..joke..jerk?” And finally there’s leapfrogging from plane wings already done by so many Singhs are Kinngs.

Debutant director Shivdasani could have avoided the Hollywood-copy-karo trip. As for Shiney Ahuja, he deserved a better deal. Airhostess Eshaji, on noticing that he’s somehow reached the plane’s insides, asks, “What are you doing here?” EXACTLY.

Cast: Farhan Akhtar, Arjun Rampal, Prachi Desai
Direction: Abhishek Kapoor



Come, go off your rockers. Vibe to the Zeppelinish scene, ignite a purple haze, bang a thousand tin cans, heaven’s knocking at your door. Here’s a ‘today’ movie with slay-the-guitar riffs. And band member tiffs.

The cool news is that the Abhishek Kapoor-directed Rock On!! (did a numerologist insist on the two exclamation marks?) is hard candy. You love it, especially in the pre-intermission segment. And the uncool news is that you do have some massive reservations. It’s the performances are of the highest order. Farhan Akhtar doesn’t exactly have a range of expressions to display but is more than competent and convincing. Arjun Rampal gives his angst and ecstasy a lifelike edge. Way to go! Ditto Purab Kohli who has a sprightly screen presence. Luke Kenny, for his first time out, is remarkably in sync with his character.
about as much pure rock as a woolen sock.

Imagine a rock band which doesn’t even know about drugs, doesn’t touch a cigarette and generally behaves like aunties at a high tea party with cucumber munchies. Really, for rock music, the group Magic is so squeaky clean that it’s CUTIE POOH.

And innagadda-da-vida can you call the Ehsaan-Shankar-Loy music ‘rock’? Only by pumping up the volume madly or comparing it to a wedding band’s. And the lyrics, man! Javed Akhtar, also glimpsed in a photo-frame, writes about Sinbad the sailor, laundry bills..taash se heart ka king….chandni ka ring.. na na na na. Na na is right.

Now, if you don’t mind a simplistic script, incredible tragedy (brain tumour strikes) and thousands of resemblances to Dil Chahta Hai , then you’ll be fine. Because at the end of the show, you’re rocked, shaken and stirred. Also, there are nostalgia-oozing references, say to the vintage hit I will survive. And there’s that stray Bob Dylan album cover and vignettes of group bonding, reminding you of the music and friends that were.

Here boys meet boys, form Magic a glitter pop-ish band, win a V-channel contest, are asked to make compromises, squabble and go their separate ways. Lead vocalist Adi (Farhan Akhtar) becomes a buttoned-up executive and ignores his sweet halwa wife (Prachi Desai, appealing). Lead guitarist Joe (Arjun Rampal) becomes bitter, just hangs around and is constantly berated by his wife (Shahana Goswami, excellent). Drummer K D (Purab Kohli) sleepwalks at his father’s designer store, and keyboardist Rob (Luke Kenny) composes jingles for Anu Malik. Oh, oh.

Ten years later, despite differences, the Magic friends kiss, hug, make up and head for that V-channel contest once again (presumably, V’s make-compromises policy has altered). Suffice it to say, the last concert is terrific, marvellously photographed by Jason West and performed with livewire zeal by all the four Magic members. The styling, the locations and editing are all upbeat.

In fact, the performances are of the highest order. Farhan Akhtar doesn’t exactly have a range of expressions to display but is more than competent and convincing. Arjun Rampal gives his angst and ecstasy a lifelike edge. Way to go! Ditto Purab Kohli who has a sprightly screen presence. Luke Kenny, for his first time out, is remarkably in sync with his character.

Yeah, so Rock on..four exclamation points.

Cast: Bobby Deol, Priyanka Chopra
Direction: Kabeer Kaushik



He’s sullen, an eyebrow is permanently arched and the lips are tightly-shuttered. A man of few words and moods, Chaman aka Chamku (Bobby Deol) has been programmed to kill. To be fair, director Kaushik orchestrates several action scenes with chutzpah, along with Tinu Varma. A slug-out on a train, for instance, pushes you to the edge of the seat.

Director Kabeer Kaushik, who earlier helmed the gutsy Sehar, is not a smooth storyteller this time. Picking elements from Zanjeer (child watches family murdered) and the French jawbreaker La Femme Nikita, he strives to tell you about a kid who grows into an adult, programmed by the government, to kill. So far, so bang-bang.

Trouble bubbles at a shopping mall when Chamku finally sees the thakur (Snake Eyes) who had exterminated his family. Flashback, flashback, flashback. Too many, and also there’s an excessive use of fade-outs, which slacken the pace.

The romance between our male Nikita and Priyanka Chopra is strictly sing-song-sang. The project could have been a gutsy, feel-angry actioner like Ghayal. En route, Kaushik lost himself in the back alleys of the screenplay and couldn’t find his way out. Surely Bobby Deol and Priyanka Chopra could have done with better-written roles and some chamak in this Chamku.

Cast: Tusshar Kapoor, Raima Sen, Balaji Telefilms Signboard
Direction: Sachin Yardi



Hello, this must be the first of its genre in the world – an entire movie devoted to making fun of its flagship concern, Balaji Telefilms.

So KMithun KChakraborty, shows up behaving like Don Muthuswamy, who’s nuts about the K-serials. Saas-boo-hoo, he goes, and flirts with Sakshi Tanwar whose latest role is as a plastic surgery bandage.

Anyway, Don’s reign is threatened when three dumbos (Tusshar-Anupam Kher-Rajpal Yadav) become the town’s new extortionists. How that happened would require a University College course in Lunacy.

Anyway, you see Karan Johar, Ekta Kapoor, Sanjay Dutt, Raima Sen and Celina Jaitly running in and out of the movie. Chances are that you’ll be doing just that. Or you could just watch the ceiling lights on the multiplex Kceiling.

Cast: Sameer Dattani, Om Puri
Direction: Mani Shankar



Eerily, the subject is similar to Chamku. A hapless kid is transformed by the Establishment into a killer-cum-informer. Alas and alack, in director Mani Shankar’s script, there’re so much gloom that you feel even your life’s under doom machale doom.

Neither the visuals nor any department of technique elevate Mukhbiir beyond the commonplace. Characters mushroom and then become instant soup, like Suniel Shetty who’s hit by more bullets than yesteryear’s Coolie. Om Puri shows up in one of those bizarre roles (he even pretends to be a street beggar) which he isn’t likely to highlight in his bio-data.

The last 10 minutes are directed with a certain amount of passion. But that’s it. In other words, you can walk in very, very late into Mukhbore if you must. Incidentally, Sameer Dattani is quite efficient and vulnerable. Surprises never cease.

Maan Gaye Mughall-e-Azam
Cast: Paresh Rawal, Rahul Bose, Mallika Sherawat
Direction: Sanjay Chhel



Sanjay Chhel’s Maan Gaye Mughall-e-Azam is too lengthy a title to announce to anyone, to type and then to watch. You actually performed all those feats to conclude that you shouldn’t have. Never, never, never.

Although Chhel can be a sparkling dialogue writer, here both his lines and direction are as flat as week-old beer. Evidently, inspired by Ernst Lubitsch’s 1942 comedy, To Be or Not To Be (wow, man what sources!), this Mallika-e-Azam is about her bare back, bling costumes and a plot that would need a research team to deconstruct.

All you know is that a hammy theatre troupe, spearheaded by Paresh Rawal (oof, even he can’t save this) is trying to get hammier. And they do when they are joined by a RAW agent (Rahul Bose) and then an ISI baddy (Kay Kay Menon). What they say (loads about RDX) and what they do (try to be Lubitsch meets Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro) aren’t worth half a chuckle. You just sit there, as round-eyed as the Phoonk maid-servant , and hope this Moan Gaye.. will go away like the monsoon flu.

Indeed, the words ‘the end’ have never looked more precious..

Cast: Sudeep, Ahsaas Chanana, Crow, Dog, Cat, Owl, Nimboos, Bones
Direction: Ram Gopal Varma



Owl scowls. Meow, a cutie pie black cat sits by a roadside. A maid-servant’s eyes become rounder than water melons. Granny nods, nods, nods (in different degrees). Smiley ball smiles (naturally). Chauffeur guzzles booze and looks through a window like Ranjeet the Rasputin would in the 1960s. And dear child Ahsaas suddenly decamps to gape at a crow which doesn’t even caw in a tribute to the silent movies. Perhaps.

That’s Ram Gopal Varma’s Phoonk which is essentially about Baby Ahsaas developing a male voice like Sonu Nigaam’s and behaving like Linda Blair from The Exorcist. Chill, guys, she doesn’t barf out dehydrated pea-soup like Blair did. Our Linda just lies in a bed, driving her parents (Sudeep-Amruta Khanvilkar) crazy-hazy. That means Lilette Dubey, like Victor Bannerjee in Bhoot, fetches up as a psychologist to say something about “psycho dissassociative disorder.” So much medical research, it’s touching.

Don’t be taken in by Psycholette though. It’s actually voodoo being practised by a portly nerd and his cackle-cackle wife. Enter an Exorcist, with eyes hitting the ceiling, who does a number on Linda, Ahsaas, whoever. And lo, you want to rush out and gape at a crow. Real-life ones even caw caw.

Standard Ram Gopal Varma horror dish, this. Better spend the ticket money on gaping at fried fish. Or better still, even eat it with a phoonk and knife.

Here’s bruised almighty

Cast: Salman Khan, Sohail Khan, Priyanka Chopra, Lots of Clouds
Direction: Rumi Jaffry




Right away, you want to converse with God. Do you wear white suits with pink accessories? If you do, sir, well.. er.. who’s your designer? Must give him a talking-to.

This copy of Bruce Almighty (and believe it or not also Ugly Betty) marks the debut of writer Rumi Jaffry as a director. And he seems to have kept it a well-kept secret. After seeking Almighty Tussi.. you’ll understand why.

It’s about Salman Khan wearing shirts more flowery than the Shalimar gardens. He also tries polka dots and frills. He’s a TV host who cannot earn his bread, butter and gosht. So, he rants against god who gives him magic powers for 10 days. The script then becomes like Prakash Mehra’s Jadugar meets Gogia Pasha. Especially since he plays the age of 28, Salman has a blast.

Others don’t. Especially Sohail Khan, Salman’s rival, who in one scene shakes his legs violently, knee-downwards to indicate that he’s scared. Frequently, the Khan brothers break into Hello Brother frantic antics. Help!

Priyanka Chopra is like a carrom board striker, being hit here and there. She stops to break into a number about red chunariya though, which you thought went out with hoola hoops. Anyway.

Then there’s Rajesh Vivek who plays a street beggar ordering takeway food from Royal China. Wow. Dalip Tahil looks too happy just to be there. And oops, you nearly forgot, Amitabh Bachchan who shows up as God barely for five to eight minutes. Thank God! At the end, he delivers a mini-bhashan about how all of us sitting in the auditorium are bonded by fellow feeling. The trouble is that there was no one else in the auditorium for rows and rows, except for you, the ushers.. and hopefully God.

And you’re not sure if He would approve of those white-pinky suits.

Dilwale sorry bol jayenge


Cast: Ranbir Kapoor, Deepika Padukone, Foreign Locations
Direction: Siddharth Anand



Some things never change. If there’s a brick courtyard, hundred bhangra artistes must break into those balle balle back-bends. And if romance has to bloom, hold on to your scalps, just zoom to the Swiss Alps.

Welcome to Chopra Colony. Or Bachna Ae Haseeno, directed by Siddharth Anand, with a story by Uday Chopra who has evidently DVD-watched Broken Flowers and High Fidelity. It’s glossy-‘n’-flossy alright but what’s it saying? Except for love means having to say you’re sorry. Eric Segal wouldn’t like that. As it happens, neither do the two women who are the objects of our Casanova’s apologies. When the lad repents for being a cad, they look at him as if he were screw-loose mad. Sad.

Improbable as they come, this Romecom wings around Italy, Australia, Switzerland (please, can the amused locals stop grinning at the camera?) and Delhi highways. For starters, Raj (Ranbir Kapoor) meets Mahi (Minnisha Lamba) to do an Eurail Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge number on her. In fact, there are about a zillion references to the cult status of DDLJ. Odd that, because it’s never nice to blow one’s own trumpet. Tara rum pum pum and all that.

After a chaste kiss and a poem written on a fluffy tissue, Raj brags about Mahi as his conquest. She’s shocked the way you are at the price of multiplex popcorn. Follows a live-in relationship between our Raj and a wannabe superstar (Bipasha Basu). He ditches her, so BB sits crying with her palms being washed by the rain. How Henna, is that? Next, in Australia, he meets this taxi driver (Deepika Padukone) who also works at a store, and is studying for some mysterious degree. Raj proposes, she disposes. No thanks.

As cloudy as monsoon now, our Raj flashbacks to his kal. For some Hitchockian reason, he believes all will be well if he tracks down Mahi and BB. Easier done than said.. Both are listed on Wikipedia. Mahi’s hubby (Kunal Kapoor, looking like one of the Singh is Kinng gang) socks the tissue poetry writer on the jaw. As for Bips Basu, she subjects Raj to every kind of cruelty but liquid oxygen. Somehow in the addled script, 12 years have elapsed though every character looks decidedly younger. Only Raj wears a pair of spectacles for that mature look. Like Jeetendra would in the good old Gulzarian days.

Frankly, there isn’t enough material here to justify a 16-reeler which keeps losing pace and genres, resembling a Jab We Met-Bhatinda party occasionally and then Jism-like vibes from hottie Basu, who incidentally is terrific. She’s all steam and smoulder, even when the script is cold porridge.

Throughout, the direction lacks consistency and plausibility, and leaves questions dangling. Who, what or where is Raj’s mum you hear on a phone? How loaded is he.. because in a Delhi hotel he stays on a discount plan? And what’s with the female taxi driver’s fetish for cabs? She wants to drive them for the rest of her life, instead of becoming a wife. Weird.

As it turns out, the overseas locations are the chief attractions. Vishal-Shekhar’s music is comme ci comme ca. The dialogue is forgettable.

Of the cast, Deepika Padukone is a sight for sore eyes. She’s eminently camera friendly. Ranbir Kapoor has to carry the weight of the project on his shoulders which he does gamely.

He has a marvellous screen presence and performs every scene with that difficult combination of spontaneity and intelligence.

Otherwise, all you could have said of this Choprathon, is please..Bachna..

SINGH IS KINNG

Cast: Akshay Kumar, Katrina Kaif, Om Puri
Rating: HH
Direction: Anees Bazmee

Cluck cluck. He has this yen for a hen. And so for an entire reel, Happy Singh chases a murghi around those Punjab mustard fields. Hen flies, someone mentions butter chicken, Happy runs after hen again, breaks a TV set and demolishes everything in sight, particularly your patience. Surely, it has to improve after this.

It doesn’t. Because director Anees Bazmee’s butter chicken gives those mustard field people badhazmee. Anon, they’re all making faces at Singh is Kinng, banishing Happy to Australia or wherever they’re offering air discounts now-a-daze. In the company of Om Puri (surely the thespian’s most challenging role yet), Happy lands up in Egypt — don’t even ask how — to make the locals unhappy.

Frankly, you’re not even looking for logic-‘n’-sense because for such good old virtues of entertainment are equated with ‘intellectualism’(will some nerd even explain what it means?). Sigh, you’re just looking for ‘time-pass’ but this isn’t worth your car fuel or cola-corn double whammy. It’s just bilge.

Contemptuous of audience taste, the screenplay is heavily cadged from Frank Capra’s Pocketful of Miracles (already done by Raj Khosla as Teri Maang Sitaron Se Bhar Doon and to a degree, sampled in Lage Raho Munnabhai). There’s also quite a lot of Jackie Chan’s Mr Canton and Lady Rose here. Viva DVD guys.

Now shhhh, you’re not supposed to bring up such piffling matters. Cinema’s all about making BIG bucks. Just get a star worth mega-crores, a director who’s scored a recent boundary or two, location shoot in the Gold Coast for cool subsidies, go far out with the publicity. And what do you know? You’ve got an initial audience. Unless your luck is really as bad as Tashan, it’s a win-win situation. Say cheese.

Hmm, never mind. Let’s get back to Yappy Happy (Akshay Kumar). Okay, so he’s on the coast, hungry for a toast, which is given to him by an NRI-kind of Tarla Dalal (Kirron Kher). Grateful for the rest of his life, Happy tells a gang of crooks to behave like boy scouts and help her in a pinch. Flinch. Arrives Toast Mommy’s daughter (Katrina Kaif) and her filthy rich fiancé (Ranvir Shorey looking anything but). Quite dottily, Mommy must be made out to be super-rich, too. And so the goons gurgle like babies.


If this mess wasn’t enough, there’s more. Happy’s brother or cousin or both (Sonu Sood, wasted) is a dreadful don who is paralysed. His fingers move all over the place though like bhindis. He’s a vegetable on a wheelchair. Despair. The second-half is especially bewildering. It has at least two more movies going on, one about a goon who discovers that he has a daughter (so?). And another about Javed Jaffery who breaks into dance as if he were the son of Basanti from Sholay. J J also has a duplicate with silver hair, perhaps to save on the expenses of hiring another actor. Really now.

If there’s a storyline here, it’s kept an international secret. Technically, the result could belong to the days of Jeetendra in the 1970s, what with the editing wipes and the harshly lit photography. Oddly, Pritam’s music sounds better in the promos. And the dialogue is of the ‘Kaan kholke sun lo’ type (is there any other way actually?).

Of the cast, Neha Dhupia keeps grinning (even in the sad scenes) while performing one of those gangster moll acts. Akshay Kumar does his regular mechanical number — stunts, comedy, repressed romance — with no surprises. Katrina Kaif, as a classic bimbette, doesn’t even have to speak too much Hindi. Mercifully.

All seen and survived, beneath the hype there's an empty heart here.

Source : Hindustan Times