Showing posts with label Dulquer Salmaan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dulquer Salmaan. Show all posts

Sunday, February 23, 2020

REVIEW 770: VARANE AVASHYAMUNDU

Release date:
Kerala: February 7, 2020
Delhi: February 14, 2020
Director:
Anoop Sathyan
Cast:


Language:
Shobana, Dulquer Salmaan, Suresh Gopi, Kalyani Priyadarshan, K.P.A.C. Lalitha, Urvashi, Johnny Antony
Malayalam with Tamil



Gawd, she is gorgeous!

In a decade that has been crying out for more films with Shobana, debutant director Anoop Sathyan – son of the legendary Sathyan Anthikad – has pulled off a coup. First, he convinced the stunning actor-dancer to star in Varane Avashyamundu (Groom Wanted). Then, in an era where major male stars in their 50s and 60s insist on playing comparative youngsters romancing women played by female actors of their children’s generation, he cast veteran stalwart Suresh Gopi in the role of her beau. As if that were not impressive enough, Anoop has Dulquer Salmaan – one of contemporary Mollywood’s most powerful young stars, debuting as a producer here – happily hanging out in the background playing one of several charming characters in this ensemble film, instead of using his clout to increase his screen time.

A hat tip to Dulquer for willingly subordinating himself to the requirements of the script. A hat tip and a salaam to Anoop for envisioning a primary role for an older woman star in an industry that marginalises women of all ages, more so those past 30/35.

Varane Avashyamundu is set in an apartment complex in Chennai, home to a disparate group of people. Shobana plays Neena, a French teacher and single mother whose daughter Nikitha (Kalyani Priyadarshan) is obsessed with arranging a marriage for herself. Dulquer plays a chap nicknamed Fraud, sharing a home with his much younger brother and a lady he calls Akashavani (K.P.A.C. Lalitha). This sociable gang are a sharp contrast to their diffident, hot-tempered, lonely neighbour, the retired Major Unnikrishnan (Suresh Gopi).

From the moment we are introduced to these characters, it is not hard to guess where they will end up. Despite that predictability and the incompleteness of a couple of the relationship graphs, the overall pleasantness of the narrative, the progressiveness that goes beyond just the casting and the collective charisma of the actors combine to elevate the film to another level altogether.

So yes, I would certainly have liked to better understand Nikitha’s long-standing resentment towards her loving mother. It would have been nice to better explore Fraud’s equation with his little sibling. And names like Fraud and Akashavani sound more than a bit pretentious. But in other areas, Anoop’s script proves unexpectedly satisfying.

For one, the romance between Neena and the Major develops smoothly without caricaturing either of the individuals involved or mocking their age. Second, the warmth between Nikitha and the parent of one of the potential grooms she finds online is heartwarming. Varane Avashyamundu has an easy sense of humour, and like his father, Anoop has an easy storytelling style. He also reveals himself to be a thinking writer when he features older people who turn out to be more forward thinking than their children, contrary to prevalent ageist assumptions that equate liberalism with youth. And most important, in an industry that has for decades now displayed a casual approach to domestic abuse, it is a relief to see a Malayalam film in which a husband’s violence towards his wife is considered condemnable.

The cast is uniformly likeable and the statuesque Shobana’s presence made me yearn for more of her in future (though I wish we were listening to her voice rather than Bhagyalakshmi dubbing for her here). Anoop elicits a relatively controlled performance from Gopi, during which just once does he allow the actor’s trademark mannered style to surface in a scene in which the Major asks a troublemaker menacingly, “Ormayundo ee mukham?” (Do you remember this face). That’s another thing – the film’s referencing of popular Malayalam cinema needed to be better written, and it could have done without that running joke about how Neena resembles Shobana.

But she is hotness and dignity personified, her co-stars are all easy on the eye and the storyline is sweet even if not extraordinary, making Varane Avashyamundu a happy overall experience.

Rating (out of 5 stars): 2.75

CBFC Rating (India):
U 
Running time:
145 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:




Tuesday, October 15, 2019

REVIEW 731: THE ZOYA FACTOR


Release date:
September 20, 2019
Director:
Abhishek Sharma
Cast:




Language:
Sonam Kapoor Ahuja, Dulquer Salmaan, Angad Bedi, Sikandar Kher, Sanjay Kapoor, Manu Rishi Chadha, Abhilash Chaudhary, Udit Arora, Narrator: Shah Rukh Khan
Hindi and English


On the face of it, The Zoya Factor is about an ordinary girl catapulted into extraordinary circumstances when some Indian cricketers start seeing her as their lucky mascot and she simultaneously becomes romantically involved with the team captain. There is more to this Hindi-English film though, as there was to the bestselling English novel by Anuja Chauhan on which it is based.

Director Abhishek Sharma’s The Zoya Factor stars Sonam Kapoor Ahuja as Zoya Solanki, a junior copywriter in a top-notch advertising agency. Zoya hates cricket but her father (Sanjay Kapoor) and elder brother (Sikandar Kher) are as mad about the game as the rest of the country. Her sibling, Major Zorawar Solanki, once considered her lucky for his street cricket team because they would win each time she ate breakfast with them before a match. Zoya recounts this story to national-level players while on an ad assignment with them, setting off a chain of events that results in her being deemed their good-luck charm as India goes into the World Cup. 

While the public and media go bonkers over this overnight star, on a parallel track Zoya and team skipper Nikhil Khoda are falling in love.

The Zoya Factor by Anuja Chauhan worked because it used a giddy romance and an intentionally over-the-top tale of superstition to place the spotlight on the ridiculousness that is Indian cricket fandom, the latter ultimately becoming a metaphor for so much that is wrong with India as a whole. If you are among those inclined to consider the story improbable and exaggerated, just look around you at the mumbo jumbo pervading our lives and espoused even by public figures, ranging from fear of mirrors breaking and cats crossing our paths to the insistence on entering an important venue with this foot first and not that. 

The film adds to the nuttiness with an understated layer of dismay at the hyper-deshbhakti now dominating the Indian public discourse that was not yet our reality when the book was released about a decade back. 

The result is a largely entertaining swipe at superstition and a non-preachy endorsement of hard work over irrational gimmicks. The Zoya Factor does not always have its act together, but it is never less than crazy fun. 

Curiously enough, where the film does not hit home is in the writing of its heroine. If it is called The Zoya Factor, you would expect it to be focused on Zoya, yet the character is given little depth and expanse in the screenplay by Pradhuman Singh Mall and Neha Sharma, which is a particularly disappointing turn of events considering that Chauhan herself gets an “additional screenplay” credit. Like many Hindi film writers, this team too sidelines their female lead as the narrative rolls along, instead pivoting The Zoya Factor’s second half primarily on Nikhil Khoda, his colleagues and desi mania. 

It does not help that at first Sonam overdoes Zoya’s ditsiness. She gets better as the character appears to mature, becomes a tough-as-nails businesswoman in a fit of fury and glams up for good measure, but by then Zoya has taken a backseat to Nikhil in the narrative. Still, coming as it does after Neerja, Veere Di Wedding and Ek Ladki Ko Dekha Toh Aisa Laga, this role feels like a step back in her filmography. 

Since The Zoya Factor’s writers and director have chosen to invest more in Nikhil Khoda than in Zoya, they were wise to cast Dulquer Salmaan as their hero. DQ, as he is known to his fans, is already a superstar in the Malayalam film industry and has also ventured into Tamil and Telugu cinema with great success. His unassuming handsomeness, acting versatility and instinct for good scripts have earned him a huge audience following, box-office success and critical acclaim since he debuted in 2012. Along with stars such as Fahadh Faasil, Nivin Pauly and Parvathy Thiruvothu, this has made him one of the flagbearers of the ongoing Mollywood renaissance led by directors such as Aashiq Abu, Anjali Menon, Dileesh Pothan and Lijo Jose Pellissery. irrespective of their shortcomings, his two films in Bollywood so far – Karwaan and now The Zoya Factor – reflect the same desire to be commercially viable without being conventional that has been the hallmark of his career path till now. 

Dulquer is incredibly likeable as Nikhil Khoda, complementing his good looks and astonishing proficiency in languages (very impressive Hindi diction, Mista!) with an easygoing acting style so charming that I found myself drawn into even the film’s cricket matches despite being – like Zoya – a cricket hater. (Aside: it is disturbing to see all-round nice guy Nikhil getting slightly rough with Zoya in a scene in which they have a showdown. This happens in passing but merits a mention in a society that tends to normalise intimate partner violence in real life.)

The film overlays its themes with a sense of humour that is hard to resist even when it is being unabashedly silly. A guest appearance by Anil Kapoor proves to be a hoot. And when the going gets grim in Zoya and Nikhil’s lives, a nameless faceless commentator clearly modelled on Navjot Singh Sidhu belts out a steady stream of Sidhuisms, exulting over a “vaahiyaat (horrid) ball” that turns into a six, packing his remarks with cultural and current affairs referencing, an unrelenting flow of similes and rhymes such as, “Saare manjhe khiladi ho gaye out, India is going to lose no doubt” (words to that effect). A big shabaash to Anant Singh for his writing of the commentary, which is voiced by Sahil Vaid and Singh himself.  

Despite the light touch, make no mistake about this: this film means serious business. In an era when several significant Bollywood personalities have chosen to turn pro-establishment and sing hosannas to the present government and its boss, it takes courage to mention any opposition neta with respect, but The Zoya Factor does – right at the start. In an era when the mob is gradually being normalised, Zorawar cautions Zoya about pedestalisation by those who, as he puts it, are capable too of setting her on fire in the name of “deshbhakti”. 

“Shraddha” and “desh” later trip off the tongue of an individual who is willing to sell his soul and his desh for personal gain. In this troubled era that The Zoya Factor inhabits, director Abhishek Sharma does not do any of the things several of his industry colleagues have been doing in films peddling an aggressive nationalist agenda through sports and/or war.

So yes, The Zoya Factor trips up on a very crucial front, but where it works, it works well, being funny and thoughtful all at once, in addition, of course, to being an opportunity for over two hours of DQ gazing.

Rating (out of five stars): **3/4

CBFC Rating (India):
U 
Running time:
136 minutes 

This review has also been published on Firstpost:




Tuesday, May 14, 2019

REVIEW 691: ORU YAMANDAN PREMAKADHA


Release date:
April 25, 2019
Director:
B.C. Naufal
Cast:






Language:
Dulquer Salmaan, Vishnu Unnikrishnan, Salim Kumar, Soubin Shahir, Samyuktha Menon, Nikhila Vimal, Renji Panicker, Bibin George, Suraj Venjaramoodu, Lena, Akshara Kishor, Sunil Sukhada, Dileesh Pothan, Dharmajan Bolgatty, Hareesh Perumanna, Arun Kurian
Malayalam


It must be tough being Dulquer Salmaan. On the one hand, you are a fine actor keen to work in intelligent films and be a part of the Malayalam industry’s increasing ability to make blockbusters out of sensible cinema. On the other hand, you have the looks and personality to possibly pull off those stereotypical larger-than-life characters that the senior male megastars of your industry, including your Dad, have played for decades and that continue to earn crores. The factors that recently persuaded your usually unconventional contemporary Nivin Pauly to waste himself on Mikhael must be at play in your life too. I can only imagine a zillion voices trying to coax you to go the way of The Great Father, Lucifer and Mikhael.

Hear ye Your Royal Cuteness, Your Majesty Prince of the Malayalam Realm, Explorer of Kingdoms Beyond, Actor Par Excellence, Knight of the Handsome Face and Sweet Smile, if Oru Yamandan Premakadha reveals anything to a long-time viewer of your work, it is that the likes of Ustad Hotel, Kammatipaadam and Kali are your natural habitat – your reluctance to head in the opposite direction shows.

Readers should not misunderstand: to be fair to Oru Yamandan Premakadha (A Massive/Powerful Love Story), it is far from being the excruciating experience that The Great Father, Lucifer and Mikhael were. When it gets loud it is not as loud, when it is clichéd it is still not insufferable. What it is though is neither here nor there.

Oru Yamandan Premakadha (OYP) is an obvious effort by writers Bibin George and Vishnu Unnikrishnan (who earlier collaborated on Amar Akbar Anthony and Kattappanayile Rithwik Roshan) along with director B.C. Naufal to be ruminative while trying to achieve the magnitude of Mollywood’s megabucks formula films. Sorry gentlemen, but those ruminations are downright ridiculous and the shot at appearing thoughtful is in any case overshadowed by the attempt to scale up.

Dulquer Salmaan / DQ’s decision to pick this film is at one level inexplicable, because it truly is a silly script. At another level though, when viewed solely in the context of its tenor and the size of its canvas, the choice suggests a hesitation to go all-out low-key like his colleague Fahadh Faasil, even as he steers clear of formulaic rubbish.

DQ plays OYP’s Lallu, the happy-go-lucky son of a rich lawyer (Renji Panicker). The young man cares nothing for the comforts his father’s wealth can buy. He prefers leftovers from a friend’s kitchen over food from an expensive hotel, paints houses instead of opting for a high-flying corporate career of the sort his younger brother (Arun Kurian) has gone in for, and hangs out with men who his Dad considers below their station. 

Lallu has three constant companions. Teny (Vishnu Unnikrishnan) earns a living as a bad karaoke singer on the streets and is blind. The elderly widowed alcoholic Panjikuttan (Salim Kumar) is a house painting contractor. Soubin Shahir plays a man anxious to hook up with any woman who will have him.

All the girls in town have been smitten by Lallu since he was a boy, but Lallu was and is determined only to be with a woman with whom he shares a “spark” at first sight. One such angelic creature does come along at one point, but the film has meandered about for sooooo long till then and everything that follows thereafter is so stupid that it is impossible to care.

At first there are a few laughs to be had at the expense of Lallu and his buddies. Pretty soon, however, the humour peters out and the script keeps jumping from one unconnected thought to another, feeling quite vacuous after a while. If the idea is to dwell on the many unexpected and unexplained cross connections in human relations, to make a point that even the most seemingly insignificant person serves a purpose in life, then the point is poorly made. If the idea is to tickle our funny bones, then it barely works.

OYP is filled with running jokes that range from funny-at-first-but-ruined-by-repetition to downright unfunny, distasteful and/or dull, dull, dull. Like the thread about a roadside eatery owner (Hareesh Perumanna) who is so bad at Maths that he cannot calculate what his patrons owe him and therefore does not charge them. Yawn. Or that other thread involving a jobless twosome (Dharmajan Bolgatty is one of them) seated outside and talking non-stop. Yawn. Or the emaciated-looking fellow who struggles to catch fish and who is incessantly taunted for his skinniness, which includes being addressed as “onangiya sraavey” (dried-up shark). Err, nasty! Or Lallu’s repeated use of “omana kutti” in place of “ok”. Umm, no ya, trying too hard to be cho-chweet and cash in on the actor’s own omana-kuttan-ness. As for Lallu’s full name that is revealed only in the final scene, it is such a yawn, yawn, yawn. Some of these motifs have potential, but the writers fail to flesh them out well.

There are other more grave refrains in OYP that are no doubt meant to be profound, but are no less ineffectual. Like the one featuring the villainous Davis (Bibin George), a mysterious chap with a physical disability who is haunted by Mommy issues and who keeps appearing, disappearing and reappearing. Whatever.

Then there is the passing reference to a “vanitha mathil” (women’s wall), the third time in a month now that I have heard a Malayalam film make a wisecrack about the human chain formed in Kerala earlier this year as a symbol of solidarity in the women’s rights movement. Unlike the misogynistic potshots in Mera Naam Shaji and Madhuraraja, the mention in OYP is not cutting – it is meaningless. Still, the fact that the mathil is repeatedly being brought up in popular culture with pretended nonchalance indicates just how much it has disturbed the men of this patriarchal industry. There is a separate and long discussion to be had here.

That said, everything that is wrong with OYP – including its rather bizarre, mixed-up comment on the (un)importance of education – is put in the shade by the writers’ deathly serious conviction that a human being could fall deeply in love with someone they have only seen in a photograph. This is not portrayed as a mere attraction but as a profound, life-altering love.

The supporting cast of OYP is packed with familiar faces, but in the face of such uninspiring writing, most deliver generic performances. Suraj Venjaramoodu, Lena and Dileesh Pothan invest more of themselves in the film than it deserves. Two striking women who have already proved that they are solid artistes – Nikhila Vimal (Njan Prakashan) and Samyuktha Menon (Theevandi) – are squandered here as showpieces in a plot pinned entirely on the male protagonist.

DQ looks good in lungis and is charming of course, but even his charm cannot hold up nearly three hours of exhausting wanderings. Your Royal Handsomeness, whatchadoin' with this lousy script? A better name for it would have been Oru Mundane Premakadha.

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

CBFC Rating (India):
U
Running time:
165 minutes 

This review has also been published on Firstpost:


Poster courtesy: