REVIEW 179: CHASHME BADDOOR

Release date:	April 5, 2013
Director:	David Dhawan
Cast: Language:	Ali Zafar, Siddharth, Divyendu Sharma, Taapsee Pannu, Anupam Kher, Bharati Achrekar, Rishi Kapoor, Lillette Dubey Hindi

There are two ways you can watch this film. You could either hark back to Sai Paranjpye’s Chashme Buddoor starring Farooque Shaikh and Deepti Naval, and feel traumatised that this remake is not a patch on the comparatively mellow drama of the original. Or you could forget that this is a remake, and take it for what it is: a flawed yet fun film and a vast improvement on the shrill, crude comedies we’re more used to getting from contemporary Bollywood.

Chashme Baddoor 2013 pretty much sticks to the plot of the original film. Jai and Omi are skirt-chasers who share a flat with their level-headed friend Sid. While pursuing a pretty girl called Seema, the two no-gooders are humiliated by her family. So when Sid and Seema fall in love, Jai and Omi plot to keep them apart. Hence the song: Har ek friend kamina hota hai.

Director David Dhawan won half his battle with this film when his casting director got Pakistani actor Ali Zafar, south Indian star Siddharth and the one-Bollywood-film-old Divyendu Sharma to play Sid, Jai and Omi respectively. The three have such a likeable screen presence that it becomes easier to forgive the film its many flaws. Besides, Zafar’s Hindi diction is so sexy that it makes you want to curse the asses who partitioned India in 1947. It helps that he’s cute as a button, as are his co-stars in a very relaxed, non-in-your-face, not-flashing-bulging-biceps-or-tiny-waistlines-at-us kind of way. Divyendu carries forward the smooth dialogue delivery that made him so noticeable in Pyaar ka Punchnama despite the misogyny that ruled that film. And Telugu-Tamil actress Taapsee Pannu is a pleasant presence as Seema who never once raises the decibel level of the film despite instances where a lesser actress might have done so.

Bringing up the rear are veteran Anupam Kher clearly having a lark in a double role as Seema’s Armyman dad and Army-hating uncle, with the ever-dependable Bharti Achrekar as their mother who’s prone to slapping annoying people. Rishi Kapoor plays local café owner Joseph, and Lillette Dubey is the boys’ landlady Miss Josephine. The two do their best despite the lackadaisical writing and direction of scenes in which they interact.

Which brings us to my big issue with Chashme Baddoor... Why do so many Bollywood comedy writers these days fill their pages with rhyming dialogues, puns and self-referential jokes? And by that I’m not referring to Omi’s shayari (which is enjoyably kitschy and tacky for the most part), but the manner in which Jai and Omi constantly rhyme their sentences even when Omi is not spouting poetry. They are not alone. Josephine, when told that Joseph is an alcoholic, says: Life mein hamara support mila toh woh alcohol ko deport kar dega. Noooooo!!!!! Talk about genre clichés … whether it’s Salman Khan in Ready or for that matter all the characters in most Dhawan, Anees Bazmee and Indra Kumar films these days, THEY’RE ALL RHYMING WORDS! Why?! Fortunately, these tedious patches are balanced out by many genuinely funny scenes, which makes Chashme Baddoor work overall for a tolerant person like me.

What’s not tolerable though are the ageist bits that can’t be excused simply because we’ve seen far worse from Bollywood. It’s not okay for a young man to refer to an old lady as a “khandahar”. It’s not okay either that Jai tells Seema’s grandmom: Marne ki umar chalee gayee lekin aap abhi bhi Queenfisher ki model lagti ho. There are also just too many songs unthinkingly inserted into the plot as though a pre-determined template demanded a song after every x minutes. Andha ghoda race mein dauda is decidedly dull, but compensation comes in the form of the light-hearted lyrics and melody of Dhichkyaoon dhum dhum, the peppy Har ek friend kamina hota hai and the retro mood of Uski aankhon mein toh saji hai madhusala.

The editor seems to have gone missing in certain scenes where awkward silences of a few seconds needed to be shaved off but weren’t, almost as though it wasn’t worth the effort. Arrey! Those not familiar with scenic Goa (where this film is set) may not be irked by this, but it annoyed me that characters seemingly living in Panaji were shown attending church services in Old Goa… a bit like showing residents of Mumbai’s Andheri buying daily groceries in Worli or CP residents in Delhi driving to Ghaziabad for a manicure. Were churches in Panaji unavailable for shooting? This spot of laziness and the lack of locational specificity in the film are exacerbated by memories of the charming referencing of Delhi in the 1981 Chashme Buddoor.

I guess since Dhawan wants us to ignore logic while watching his films, there’s no point asking why the boys in this Chashme Baddoor intermittently dish out imitations of legendary actors in passing or the reasoning behind the switch to a retro look in places. What the heck, since I enjoyed those parts (particularly Siddharth’s take on Amrish Puri’s voice) I won’t complain too much. So here’s the final word: Chashme Baddoor is not of an unequivocally hilarious standard like David Dhawan’s Govinda-starrer Hero No. 1 or the madcap Biwi No. 1 with Salman and Karisma; yet the director is in way better form here than in his more recent Govinda-starrer Do Knot Disturb which was so flat that it was tragic. True, Dhawan’s Chashme Baddoor is a far cry from Sai Paranjpye’s film, but when viewed in the context of contemporary Bollywood comedy, it must be said that it’s also a far cry from the offensiveness of Sajid Khan’s Housefull 2, the crassness of Sachin Yardi’s Kyaa Superkool Hain Hum, the loudness of Dhawan’s own Rascals and the unfunny-ness of Khan’s Himmatwala. Chashme Baddoor is a spot of mindless fun and for all its flaws, I had a good time watching it.

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

CBFC Rating (India):	U/A
Running time:	131 minutes

Photograph courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chashme_Buddoor_(2012_film)

REVIEW 154: HEROINE

Release date:	September 21, 2012
Director:	Madhur Bhandarkar
Cast:     Language:	Kareena Kapoor, Arjun Rampal, Randeep Hooda, Sanjay Suri, Lillette Dubey, Ranvir Shorey, Helen, Shahana Goswami, Divya Dutta, Mughda Godse Hindi

 

I have one very basic problem with Heroine: I don’t know what it’s trying to say. Is this meant to be a representative story of what life is for an actress in the Hindi film industry or is this the very unique story of Mahi Arora? If it’s meant to be a representative story, why pick a woman with bipolar disorder as your protagonist since that angle must surely make her a unique case study? Is Mahi naturally manipulative or is she a reluctant Machiavelli driven to machinations by a cruel film world? Is Mahi a user or is she being used? Who or what is Mahi Arora? I don’t know.

 

Heroine revolves around Kareena Kapoor’s Mahi, a beautiful Bollywood actress struggling to cope with an almost-divorced boyfriend who refuses to openly acknowledge their relationship, a career that’s going downhill, new actresses encroaching on her territory, alcohol and drug dependency and severe psychiatric problems. In the past, Madhur Bhandarkar has given us some neat films: Chandni Bar was gritty and real; Page 3 tended to look at high society in black-and-white terms but it was still entertaining and in many ways, insightful too; and both Corporate and Fashion were paced well and fun to watch. The strength of those films lay in their no-frills storytelling style. Heroine’s failing is the completely disjointed characterisation of its fulcrum – the heroine of the film – and the effort to throw too many ingredients into one cooking pot, as a result of which Mahi Arora ends up feeling like a mish-mash of many women merged together instead of a single person, and no particular aspect of her life is fully fleshed out.

 

For instance, was Mahi genuinely innocent or just downright stupid? We all know that the casting couch is a reality in film industries just as sexual harassment – in varying degrees – is a reality at most workplaces. Women who fight battles against male predators in the professional arena are walking on eggshells because most men in power tend to collude with each other to protect each other in such situations, aided by the fact that the top echelons of professional spaces are usually dominated by men. In such a scenario, I can well imagine Mahi being victimised by a hero whose overtures she resisted, but how come she was so naïve as to not realise that his bruised ego would not permit him to take the rejection lying down? Her plan to duck his passes seemed credible but I’d assume that an intelligent woman with her level of experience in the industry would have executed the plan more subtly, not allowing him to know that she was aware of his intentions, thus giving him a face-saver. Instead, that look she exchanges with the hero in question in a scene in his hotel room is one of open triumph, like a challenge thrown to him. How could she be so foolish? Ohhhh, the questions go on and on.

 

Despite the inconsistent characterisation Kareena is splendid in the scenes where she’s playing the vulnerable, broken woman, desperate for love and for longevity in her career. She also looks gorgeous in every frame and it’s particularly nice to see how lovely she appears even with minimal makeup. But in scenes where she’s got to pull off Mahi’s public persona, Kareena seems slightly mannered which is odd since those scenes require her to do nothing more than what Kareena Kapoor would do in real life – exit limousines, wave to crowds, pose for photographers and so on. Arjun Rampal, Randeep Hooda and Sanjay Suri acquit themselves well as the men in Mahi’s life. Fortunately for them, their characters are better written than the hapless Mahi.

 

Even the usually guaranteed Bhandarkar ingredient – good music – is missing in Heroine. The film offers us nothing in the league of Kitne ajeeb rishtey hai yahaan pe from Page 3, Mar jaava from Fashion or Abhi kuchh dino se from Dil Toh Baccha Hai Ji.  What we get instead are a bunch of lukewarm though well-filmed songs.

 

Heroine is actually fun in places where the focus is completely on politics in the film industry. The little trick Mahi pulls on a rival heroine (Mughda Godse) is worth a chuckle. And even the press conference at which Mahi lectures abrasive journalists is more realistic than you might imagine. A few years back, I remember a reporter colleague telling me about Kareena Kapoor walking out of a press meet when a journalist told her that she changes her boyfriends more often than her clothes … I kid you not! Bhandarkar knows this scenario well. In fact, the sequence of events that leads to that one final, horrible act of betrayal by Mahi – a misunderstanding, a phone call she did not take when she should have, words that were left unspoken – is believable. But too much is exaggerated elsewhere for convenience or to summon up a cliché ... a scandal unleashed the day before a film’s release automatically makes that film a hit, an endearing bond developing between two actresses ends up as a lesbian interlude, etc etc. At one point Mahi’s psychiatrist tells her that she needs to stop seeking her joys in other people and that she must rely more on herself. Ah, I thought, this sounds interesting … will this be a film about how a woman can be self-sufficient instead of forever depending on men for her identity and peace of mind? But no, like most female professionals in Hindi films these days, Mahi proceeds to crumble under the weight of her desperate need for her man.

 

No doubt the film industry lends itself to insecurities and actors lead a difficult life. I wish, however, that Mahi Arora and her life were not a potpourri of every heroine we’ve ever heard of. Was Mahi a simple girl forced into devious ways by this heartless industry or was she unscrupulous from the start? I still don’t know the answer. Heroine is too much of everything but not enough of anything.

 

Rating (out of five): **

CBFC Rating (India):	A
Running time:	148 minutes

 

Photograph courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heroine_(2012_film)   

 

REVIEW 116: NA JAANE KABSE

Release date:	November 18, 2011
Director:	Pammi Somal
Cast:	Garry Gill, Amrita Prakash, Sharat Saxena, Lillette Dubey, Ayub Khan, Gurpreet Ghuggi, Himani Shivpuri, Anju Mahendroo

In her second film Na Jaane Kabse, producer-director-writer Pammi Somal carries forward the style she established in her debut release Mummy Punjabi this year. So yes, the film has a certain polish that comes from lovely outdoor locations well shot. But the production issues on other fronts, the poorly developed script, the abundance of cliches about plain Janes and Punjabis, the leading man, the sub-standard dialogues and the veterans in the supporting cast who unabashedly over-act all add up to a film that is really tough to endure.

The story is of Karan whose bride leaves him on his wedding day. He runs off to escape her furious family who are under the impression that he is the one who ditched her, and not vice versa. On the road, he takes a lift from Anjali In Thick Glasses And An Unstylish Outfit. Since the hero repeatedly taunts her for her oily hair, I have to believe him though I couldn’t see any grease. Anyway, it turns out that Karan’s business partner is expecting him to return with a bride since the plan is to promote their new holiday resort as a place so romantic that the owner himself decided to spend his honeymoon there. The international press is waiting! Now what is a man to do?! Well of course he asks Anjali to play his pretend wife. And that’s how their relationship begins.

There’s so much about Na Jaane Kabse that made me cringe, I don’t know where to start. Okay, let’s begin at the very beginning:

• Pammi Somal really needs to rid herself of this penchant to use cue cards to introduce her characters while flashing text and thought bubbles on screen that are meant to be cute. They are decidedly not. Karan’s introductory shot is accompanied by the words “bechara complexed (sic) Karan”. For Anjali the words are, “confused but confident Anjali”. And the interval is announced with the words “Hai Rabba, problem shuru.”
• Lillette Dubey (who plays Karan’s professional associate in this film) is superbly fit and trim for her age, but I wish she would stop accepting roles where she’s projected as this older hottie. It’s become trite and it’s beginning to feel rather ageist now. Likewise, why oh why did Himani Shivpuri debase herself by playing a cheesy middle-aged seductress?
• Since a large number of Hindi film makers are Punjabis, we’ve been well acquainted with Punjabi culture over the years via Bollywood. But that doesn’t mean the stereotype of the loud, brash, crude Punjabi can’t be grating when over-done and over-used. A boisterous character introducing himself to strangers as “Balwant Singh from Punjab” made me squirm in my seat.
• Seriously, there’s nothing more uncool than a person trying to be cool. At one point a character uses the acronym BKBBG to signify “bartender ki biwi bhaag gayee”. Uff!
• And could we please rise above schoolboy humour and toilet jokes? I mean, there’s nothing funny about Anjali’s dad getting loosies!!! Grow up!

I could go on and on. Characters randomly walk in and out of this film. I think I even detected a guest appearance by Ayesha Jhulka, though I don’t know if it can be called that since the actress suddenly appears, vigorously dances to a song, and then just as suddenly disappears from the scene. Most of all I’m keen to share with you a very serious worry. When Na Jaane Kabse ends, the screen screams these words at us: This is just the beginning. Does this mean there will be a Na Jaane Kabse 2? Hai Rabba, problem shuru!

Rating (out of five): 1/4 (a quarter star for the camerawork at beautiful locations in Ladakh & Punjab)

CBFC Rating:                       U

Language:                             Hindi

Photograph courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/NaJaaneKabse

REVIEW 54: ALWAYS KABHI KABHI

Release date:	June 17, 2011
Director:	Roshan Abbas
Cast:	Ali Fazal, Zoa Morani, Satyajeet Dubey, Giselli Monteiro, Navneet Nishan, Lillette Dubey

Whatever!

That’s a word many teenagers use these days to suggest indifference. That’s the word I wish to use to describe my reaction to Always Kabhi Kabhi. Perhaps the concept sounded good on paper, but what explains the fact that once the film was done, not only did producer Shah Rukh Khan throw himself into its promotions, he further dinned his association with the film into the public mind by shooting an item song for it? Did he really think this is a good film?

The problem with Always Kabhi Kabhi is contained in its title – the film is trying to speak teenager-ese, but fails miserably. More on that later. First the story. This is a film about four friends in St Mark’s High School, Delhi. Sameer Khanna a.k.a. Shortcut Sam (Ali Fazal) is a bright kid with a wandering eye and a wandering mind. He falls in love with new girl Aishwarya Dhawan (Giselli Monteiro) whose former actress mother is now trying to pimp her beautiful daughter in a modelling and film career without quite caring whether the girl is interested. Tariq Naqvi (Satyajeet Dubey) – nicknamed Einstein because he’s a nerdy genius – is cracking under the pressure from his pushy father to get admission to MIT although his dreams lie elsewhere. And Nandini Oberoi ak.a. Nandy Bull is a girl with a heart of gold that she camouflages behind a brusque façade, because she doesn’t want the world to know how much she’s hurting from the neglect of her ambitious, career-obsessed parents.

In a sentence, this is a film about teenagers being forced to live their parents’ dreams while burying their own. But the message is lost under the combined weight of weak direction, weaker writing, uninspired choreography and ordinary music. There are passing references to teenage pregnancies, drug use and peer pressure which completely lack gravitas. There’s even one embarrassingly bad product placement that gets an entire scene.

Of the lead cast, Zoa Morani has a much stronger screen presence than her co-star Ali Fazal. I don’t know how old these actors are, but neither of them look like schoolkids to me. Giselli Monteiro is pretty but was better suited to the silent role she was given in her debut Hindi film Love Aaj Kal. Oddly enough, she is subjected to poor lighting in several shots in Always Kabhi Kabhi – since she’s supposed to be a professional model in the film, I’d have expected particular trouble to be taken over her makeup and lighting. Of the four, Satyajeet is the one I watched and wondered what he might be in a better film. Yes, I think I might like to see more of this boy.

The language the children speak doesn’t sound much like what you would hear among Delhi teenagers in a school like this one. This is a problem plaguing many Bollywood films these days (for a change, just last month there was Yash Raj Films’ Luv ka the End which managed to get the lingo right). There are three options before a film like Always Kabhi Kabhi: either be completely, 100 per cent faithful to the fact that you are a Hindi film and make your characters speak pure Hindi unadulterated by any other language; or go all the way in an effort to be realistic, and employ English peppered with Hindi in the style and with the accents that you are most likely to find among Delhi teenagers in a school like this one; or let your children be primarily Hindi speaking with some English thrown in at appropriate places. AKK chooses none of the above options. Its language doesn’t flow and too many lines given to the students sound like they’re aspiring to be cool. The adults sound far more natural. There’s a funny exchange when Sam’s mother chides his dad for getting on the boy’s case. Kitni der se nazrein jhuka baitha hai, she says sympathetically about her son. Dad shoots back: “SMS check kar raha hoga. Iss generation ki nazrein bas tabhi jhukte hai.” Wish there was more where that came from. Instead what we get is a scene in which Sam is about to kiss Aishwarya when the bell rings. She escapes, with the words, “Chemistry class,” to which he says, “And I’m history.” Oh jeez!

It’s been many years since I was a teenager, so I called up a 14-year-old friend for a second opinion. Would he ever say the words “undi the condi of my heart” in place of “understand the condition of my heart”, the way the students do in Always Kabhi Kabhi? “No no, that’s stooopid,” he laughed, before dismissing it (inexplicably to me) as “chillar party language” that nobody uses in schools. Well then, dear reader, undi the condi of my heart: I spent over two hours of my life watching this insipid film!

Rating (out of five): 1/2

CBFC Rating:                       U/A

Running time:                        127 Minutes

Language:                              Hindi with English

Photograph courtesy: http://www.facebook.com/akkthemovie