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Release date:
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June 29, 2012
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Director:
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Kabeer Kaushik
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Cast:
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Sonu
Sood, Naseeruddin Shah, Neha Dhupia, Swanand Kirkire, Vinay Pathak, Arya
Babbar
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Maximum needed a more imaginative
title. That single word does little to convey the quiet grimness of this violent-yet-mellow
film that has stayed with me since I saw it.
It
may seem like familiar territory, yet director Kabeer Kaushik’s exploration of the
police-politician-builder-gangster nexus in Maharashtra is more intricate than
the many repetitive films on the subject we’ve seen in recent years. Sonu Sood
– who deserves a body of work to match that fabulous body and talent – is Pratap
Pandit, a Mumbai policeman whose long-standing rivalry with fellow cop Arun
Inaamdar (Naseeruddin Shah) defines both their careers. They are both unscrupulous,
efficient encounter specialists with a wide network of informers; both
cultivate and are cultivated by politicians and businessmen. The film takes us from
2003 when Mumbai is waging a battle with the underworld to the post-26/11 period,
during which their enmity is chronicled by a young journalist (Amit Sadh).
What
distinguishes Maximum from other films
set against the same backdrop is the understated and brave comment on the closed-mindedness
of Mumbai, and the fact that the leading men are
also the villains of the story yet make no bones about their amorality and display
no desire whatsoever to reform themselves. Pratap is not just a murderous cop,
he’s also got a roving eye; he spends his nights at dance bars and has an
affair with a film star (Anjana Sukhani) while his wife (Neha Dhupia) takes
care of his home and child. The Mrs is aware of his shenanigans, but like us,
he seduces her too although his faults stare us in the face. Some of this has to
do with the fact that Sonu Sood is a really attractive guy with an extremely
likeable personality – that was evident when we saw him as the towering Prince
Sujamal in Jodhaa Akbar, and even when
the shirtless Chhedi Singh’s intimidatingly expansive, well-muscled torso was punched
and pummelled by the diminutive Chulbul Pandey (Salman Khan) in Dabangg. But most of all, Pratap Pandit
works because Sonu is a remarkable actor. Just watch that fleeting expression
on his face when he first spots his actress lover to know that.
Sonu
has good company in Maximum’s
splendid cast: there’s Sadh whose journalist defies the Hindi film norm; Vinay
Pathak plays a Maharashtra politician with a soft corner for Pratap, reminding
us that he is capable of so much more than the goofy simpleton he’s been stuck
with since the commercial success of Bheja
Fry; lyricist Swanand Kirkire is a revelation as Pratap’s colleague; even
Naseer appears more involved than he sometimes seems in his films these days.
Having
said that, though the screenplay explores Pratap’s life and character with
great depth, little time is spent on Naseer’s Arun Inaamdar beyond the shootouts
and backroom politics. If I met Pratap’s wife, saw him in hospital waiting for
news of his unwell father and watched him accompany his daughter to sports
practice, then I’d like to have known the Arun behind the policeman too. This is
my one big grouse – and it’s a very big grouse – against the film’s otherwise
strong writing by Kabeer Kaushik and Rakhi Soman. You can’t claim that you are
telling us the story of “two cops, one journey” and then neglect Cop No. 2. This
is unfortunate since the script has so much else to recommend it, so many
subtleties and so much home work: the journalist, for instance. Hindi film
mediapersons are usually on extreme ends of the integrity spectrum: so Bachchan’s
TV channel boss in RGV’s Rann was almost
a saint, while every single TV reporter in Anusha Rizvi’s Peepli Live was a sellout. The journalist in Maximum is painstakingly honest in one respect (he is struggling to
get a house in Mumbai, but will not allow Pratap to call one of his builder
contacts for him); on the other hand, it’s evident that he is far too involved
with Pratap’s life to have the distance that a journalist requires to tell a
story objectively ... well, like the confusingly likeable Pratap, this man felt
real too.
Maximum’s entire soundtrack is worth a
recommendation, in particular Amjad-Nadeem’s Aaja meri jaan sung by Tochi Raina and Ritu Pathak; Daniel B.
George’s excellent background score; and Devi Sri Prasad’s foot-tapping Aa ante Amalapuram with its amusing lyrics
by Raqueeb Alam (it’s a joy to hear singer Malathy belt out the words “Yindian
rhythm” in the song). Even Hazel Keech as Aa
ante’s dance bar girl with the voluptuous body and visible love handles
feels so much more believable than the gym-toned actresses who usually do such
numbers these days.
Krishna
Ramanan’s camerawork is like the rest of the film: much thought has clearly
gone into it yet it seems effortless, never more so than in that long shot of Pratap
striding towards us, his gun placed in his trousers’ front pocket, prominently and
precariously close to his groin. Ramanan gives us a Mumbai of cloudy greys, in
keeping with the tone of a movie in which a politician with the surname Tiwari
tells a young journalist from Lucknow: Yeh sheher jagah toh deta hai, lekin apnaata nahin hai. In the era of Raj Thackeray’s Maharashtra Navnirman
Sena, that’s a gutsy statement to make; and it’s made here without any
chest-thumping or flag waving, sans a sloganeering tone. A pity that Maximum comes to theatres with such minimal publicity.
Rating (out of five): ***
CBFC Rating: A
Language: Hindi
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