167: MATRU KI BIJLEE KA MANDOLA

Release date:	January 11, 2013
Director:	Vishal Bhardwaj
Cast: Language:	Pankaj Kapoor, Imran Khan, Anushka Sharma, Shabana Azmi, Arya Babbar  Hindi

In a remote village in Haryana lie acres of fields that the local lord-of-all-he-surveys eyes greedily for industrial use. The problem is, those fields are fertile, which means the farmers don’t want to sign away their land. That lord is Mandola (Pankaj Kapoor), who is by turns a boorish, manipulative, abusive schemer or a gentle soul, kind employer and adoring father, all depending on whether he’s sobre or drunk. The possibilities here are endless. Add to the scenario Mandola’s feisty, phoren-returned daughter Bijlee (Anushka Sharma); his New Delhi-returned right-hand man Matru (Imran Khan) who is in love with Bijlee; the cold-hearted politician (Shabana Azmi) who plays footsie with Mandola; her often witless, always wicked son Baadal (Arya Babbar); and what you get is an array of eccentric characters played by an array of interesting actors, and a fertile playing field for Vishal Bhardwaj. 

Oddly though, Bhardwaj – one of Hindi cinema’s best directors today – takes the abundance of riches at his disposal and delivers an unfortunately inconsistent film. His screenplay co-written by Abhishek Chaubey maintains a deliberately bizarre tone that is hilarious in places and persistently over-the-top. But OTT, like coolth, is effective only if you don’t seem like you’re trying too hard, and too often it feels like MKBKM is trying way too hard. So yes, that pink buffalo is a killer, those gobar bombs are a hoot, there’s a delicious swipe at pretentious Communists stuck in a time warp … and Pankaj Kapoor sinks his teeth into the most well-fleshed-out character in the film, tears into it with his canines, chews it and chomps at it with obvious delight to deliver a darling performance. Nice touch too with the introduction of a group of fabulous Zulu dancers from South Africa and the casual mention that they were “purchased” without their knowledge. This is a film that not only cares about the rights of poor Indian farmers; it cares about the outside world too, which is rare for Bollywood. The choreography is a big plus. And while the music is not the best we’ve heard from Bhardwaj the composer, it’s enjoyable, especially the title track and the exuberant Oye boy oye boy Charlie.  

Yet it does not all come together into a cohesive whole. The problem primarily lies with the people around Mandola. Azmi is chilling in moments of undisguised malevolence, but strikes a discordant note with her farcical scenes. Khan is more convincing here than he’s been in the past, but is given more screen time than depth of character.

The most implausible of the players in this story though is Bijlee. No doubt there are women in rural India breaking norms, defying social convention and surviving against all odds. Yet anyone who knows Haryana would wonder at this fictional village where a female human – even if she’s the pardes-educated daughter of a millionaire – could casually wander around in public at all times of day in perennially shoulder-revealing attire, or emerge from a pond with her water-soaked blouse clinging to a tantalisingly red bra, without at least raising eyebrows if not being lynched. If it was Bhardwaj’s aim to be cheeky and ironical here, he does not pull it off. Sharma’s natural talent comes to the fore in the relationship with her father and in an outlandish drunken scene, but it’s clearly tough for her to rise above the uneven writing and direction at hand.

So there you have it … MKBKM’s effort to be joyously absurd is too obvious and the usually assured Bhardwaj seems to be playing fast and loose with the reins in his hands. That other Imran-starrer, 2011’s Delhi Belly, achieved the entertaining weirdness and delightful idiosyncrasy that this film seems to be aiming at, but Delhi Belly worked because it was uniform in its tone and not working so hard to impress. Sure it featured lots and lots of abuses and farts, but there was more to the film than just gas and gaalis. Yeah yeah it’s amusing that MKBKM’s Mandola says Pancho pancho as often as you and I might use the definite article, but there’s too much else that falls flat. From a usually non-sexist film maker, it’s also disappointing to catch a joke about an overweight woman and a bhains.

It’s mixed feelings then towards Vishal Bhardwaj’s Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola. On the one hand: Can this erratic film be from the genius who gave us Maqbool and Omkara?! On the other hand: thank you Mr Bhardwaj for giving Pankaj Kapoor such a vast canvas and the space to simply let go. To that I say, oye boy oye boy indeed!

PS: You know that Haryanvi ensemble Bijlee wears in the climax? I’m dying to add it to my wardrobe!

Rating (out of five): **1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	U/A
Running time:	150 minutes

Photograph courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matru_Ki_Bijlee_Ka_Mandola   

REVIEW 141: MAXIMUM

Release date:	June 29, 2012
Director:	Kabeer Kaushik
Cast:	Sonu Sood, Naseeruddin Shah, Neha Dhupia, Swanand Kirkire, Vinay Pathak, Arya Babbar

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

Photograph courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maximum_(film)