REVIEW 50: A STRANGE LOVE STORY

Release date:	June 3, 2011
Director:	Tarique Khan, Sahil Seth
Cast:	Eddie Seth, Riya Sen, Ashutosh Rana, Yashpal Sharma, Raj Zutshi

It took two full human beings to direct this film! Well, I’d like to compliment them because A Strange Love Story must rank as one of the most aptly named films of the year. It truly is strange. The film stars Riya Sen and Ashutosh Rana, if you insist on knowing the known names in the cast first. But the one I’d really like you to meet is Eddie Seth who plays “world famous photographer Kabeer” (not my words, it’s on the film’s official website). Kabeer meets pretty Jennifer a.k.a. Jia (Riya Sen) at a party. The two subsequently visit a lonely dargah at night, because … well, how else would the horror story unfold? While they are there, a spirit falls in love with Jia and before you know it, odd things start happening to her and to the people around her.

Never mind what the rest of the story is. Since the film’s website is quite delightful, please allow me to quote from it again: Jia is apparently “a wild and bohimian (sic) girl”. How does A Strange Love Story illustrate that point? Well, she wears short dresses, drinks, attends parties at nightclubs and smokes joints. When chided by a friend for the latter bad habit, Jia asks: If your mother died and your father hooked up with a girl your age, what would you do? Ah, the world’s drug problems explained!

The film must be lauded for its secular approach to horror. The lead couple visit Hindu, Muslim and Christian holy men to solve their problems. The Hindu priest is a lecherous sort whose lust for Jia gets him into trouble with her bhoot boyfriend while a Muslim cleric (whose flunkey plays football with ghosts) finally utters some mumbo jumbo that scares the spook away. Jia by the way is a Goan Christian who says “Jijjus” for “Jesus” in Rakhi Sawant style. Since I’ve just seen Riya Sen deliver a fine performance in Rituparno Ghosh’s Noukadubi, I’m tempted to be kind to her and blame it all on M/s Tarique Khan and Sahil Seth.

Other humungously entertaining things happen in this film. We are told that the world is divided into humans and animals, and then there is another species: ghosts. The one who falls for Jia takes human form to woo her. This Jinn-nath befriends Kabeer in the bargain. Towards the end of the film, when a policeman asks Kabeer about that friend, Kabeer replies absolutely straight-faced: “He’s not X, he’s a Jinn-nath.” Oh, that explains it all, says the policeman nonchalantly, as though it is the sort of sentence he’s used to hearing every day.

This is the kind of story that could swing either way – it could come across as silly or quirky, depending on the treatment. A ghost falling in love with a human being was the theme of Vijaydan Detha’s charming little story which Amol Palekar made into the film Paheli (yes, kill me if you must, I know I’m one of the few people in this country who found that film sweet). But A Strange Love Story is constrained by lacklustre direction, an even more lacklustre hero who, coincidentally, is the producer’s son, and an absolute lack of energy, all of which add up to a silly product! There are precisely two genuinely eerie moments in the film – yes, I counted. The only other things I remember liking about it are Riya Sen’s wardrobe and smooth complexion, and the interiors of the various houses she visits. There is also a hilarious song picturised on the hero featuring lots of Caucasian women and a central female figure in silver silk (or was it satin?) flailing her arms and the fabric around as though she’s a bird. It reminded me of the songs with gori ladies in that other classic I watched earlier this year, Happy Husbands, though to be fair, that film was even stranger than A Strange Love Story.

So it’s confession time: while watching this film, I amused myself by pretending not to notice the amorous couple in the row just ahead of me in the hall and wondering about a solo female viewer at another end who watched the film with such concentration that I found her intriguing. Arrey, stop judging me! I spent Rs 150 on my ticket, and I have a right to seek out my money’s worth!

Rating (out of five): 1/2

CBFC Rating:                       A

Running time:                       120 Minutes

Language:                             Hindi

Photograph courtesy: http://www.astrangelovestory.com/

  

REVIEW 46: KASHMAKASH (NOUKADUBI)

Release date:	May 20, 2011
Director:	Rituparno Ghosh
Cast:	Raima Sen, Jisshu Sengupta, Riya Sen, Dhritiman Chatterjee, Prosenjit

Kashmakash is the Hindi dubbed version of Rituparno Ghosh’s Bengali film Noukadubi. It is one of those old-world tales that makes you long for a more languorous life away from the Internet, cellphones and a packed appointment diary. It’s also a reminder of a literature from another era where grandeur did not necessarily imply epic transcontinental adventures, but could be found in the simple joys and sorrows of life.

The film is based on Rabindranath Tagore’s story Noukadubi (Boatwreck). It’s set in 1920s Bengal and brings to us Hemnalini and Ramesh, a young couple in love despite their class differences. He is a lawyer of sparse means. She is from a progressive wealthy family, a music aficionado who is blessed with a lilting singing voice and a loving, liberal father. One day Ramesh is emotionally pressured into marrying another woman. When he leaves his village after the ceremony, a storm washes his boat ashore. He recovers consciousness, to find a young bride out cold beside him. Can he ever find happiness with the new girl? How will Hemnalini salvage her life? How will they resolve the case of mistaken identity that became their undoing?

Ghosh tells this story in precisely the way his characters must have lived their lives: in a quiet, unhurried fashion. The cinematography and music are in perfect harmony with the mood of the film. There’s also a richness of detail in the settings and costumes. Hemnalini’s home is luxurious and well-appointed; Ramesh’s house is almost bare. Hem wears expensive outfits and shelters herself with delicate parasols; Kamla is the bride swathed in ornaments. The other significant character in the film, Dr Nalinaksha from Benaras lives in a palatial house; but Hem’s Calcutta home feels more lived-in, warmed by the affections of its residents for each other. These backdrops provide an ideal playing ground for Ghosh’s cast, all of whom are excellent and well chosen. Raima Sen (Hemnalini) is a fine actress with a beauty and regal bearing that fits well into an early 20^th century story. Her sister Riya, whose work I haven’t liked in the past, is absolutely apt for the semi-literate Kamla. I can’t tell whether this is a result of inspired casting (where the actor’s real-life personality simply happens to match the character she’s playing) or if Ghosh has managed to bring out the actor in her, but either way, it works. The dubbing artiste’s high-pitched, breathy voice is not immediately attractive, but is effective in conveying Kamla’s girlish diffidence and insecurity. With Kashmakash, Hindi film audiences will also get to see the handsome Bengali actor Jisshu Sengupta in a leading role. Sengupta brings to Ramesh’s character a vulnerability and pathos that is heart-wrenching.

Producer Subhash Ghai has chosen well for his first foray into Bengali cinema: Rituparno Ghosh’s Kashmakash (Noukadubi) is a lovely, under-stated work of art and it’s great to see a major Mumbai producer backing a non-Hindi film. Ghai has clearly not taken this project lightly: the Hindi dubbed version even boasts of lyrics by Gulzar. I have no argument against a film being dubbed well into another language, however much some hard-core film buffs may oppose it. Personally though, I’d have preferred to watch the original Bengali film with English subtitles. Unfortunately, no such version is being released in Indian theatres: you can either catch it in Bengali without subtitles in West Bengal or in Hindi outside the state. I’m also extremely uncomfortable with the fact that Ghosh and Ghai were not able to find a meeting ground on the matter, as a result of which this Hindi version has been translated, dubbed and edited down by 30 minutes under Ghai’s guidance, without the director’s involvement at all.

That’s a matter for a long discussion in another space. But right now on this review blog, looking at the Hindi dubbed version as a standalone film, there is much to praise: the Hindi translations by Preeti Sagar have been done in such a manner that there is very little mismatch between the lip movements of the actors and the dialogues being delivered by the Hindi dubbing artistes. That comes as a relief almost two decades after the incongruous Hindi dubbing of Mani Ratnam’s Tamil films Roja and Bombay. The Hindi voices in Kashmakash too are a match for the actors’ personalities.

If this were a modern-day story I might have been uncomfortable with the manner in which all the loose ends get neatly tied up through a couple of highly improbable coincidences in Kashmakash. But here, the plot twists simply hark back to an earlier style of writing and to some of my favourite 18^th and 19^th century classics where happily-ever-afters were always rounded off. Besides, this film is not about the climax alone, but about the journey there. It’s about the interplay of two strong women and the supportive men in their lives. It’s about the curve balls that life throws at you and how sometimes, life sorts itself out. I want more where this came from.

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

CBFC Rating:                       U without cuts

Running time:                        125 Minutes

Language:                              Dubbed in Hindi from Bengali

Photograph courtesy: http://www.muktaarts.com/filmography/kashmakash.asp

REVIEW 29: MEMORIES IN MARCH

Release date:	April 1, 2011
Director:	Sanjoy Nag
Cast:	Deepti Naval, Rituparno Ghosh, Raima Sen

The producers of Memories in March must be made answerable for why they would support a gutsy project such as this one and then not bother to promote it. How many of you were aware of this film’s existence before you saw this review? And then, if it fails at the box-office, what will we hear? That Indian audiences are not interested in anything except masala or that Indians are uncomfortable with films featuring central characters who are gay. That’s so unfair – Indian audiences are not to blame if you make a sweet little film and then don’t bother to spread the word about it!

Memories in March is the story of a mother re-discovering her son after he passes away. Arati Mishra (Deepti Naval) flies to Kolkata from Delhi when she receives the news of Siddharth’s death in a car accident. Sid was a young, bright, up-and-coming executive in an ad agency whose life is cut short by one night of drunken driving. The film remains with Arati during her three days in Kolkata where she stays at Siddharth’s flat, visits his office, meets his colleague Sahana Choudhury (Raima Sen) and his boss Ornob Mitra (Rituparno Ghosh). Through them she realises that she didn’t, after all, know everything about the child she loved so much.

So when a mother learns that her late son was gay, what’s worse in her eyes: the loss of the boy or the loss of her image of what he was? Naval brings a remarkable maturity and restraint to the role of a parent who is clearly uncomfortable with the idea of homosexuality and yet can’t be harshly labelled as a homophobe. That’s the wonderful thing about director Sanjoy Nag’s handling of the subject and Rituparno Ghosh’s writing: at no point is Memories judgmental about Arati though that could have been a temptation since the film takes a sympathetic view of a homosexual person’s fear of coming out to his family. Yes Arati does call it an “abnormality”, and yes she does accuse her son’s lover of seducing him, but is her reaction any different from what you might expect of any city-bred, 50-plus Indian mom who has never been exposed to alternate sexualities? So is Arati prejudiced or innocent? Witness her artless reaction to the discovery of a packet of condoms among her son’s belongings: if he used birth control, then he certainly couldn’t be gay, she concludes. That is one of the many heart-warming scenes in this film.

I’m not saying much more about the story here for fear of giving away details that it would be nice for you to chance upon yourself. All I will say is that it’s lovely to watch Arati’s transition from her initial revulsion to reluctant acceptance of Siddharth’s reality. Rituparno Ghosh enriches that journey with his uncannily real portrayal of Siddharth’s gay boss. Ornob’s physicality fits many of the stereotypes that exist in our minds of what a gay person would be and yet, he is not a caricature. As the female colleague who harboured feelings for Siddharth, Raima Sen chips in a very natural performance. I have no idea why this girl has not made it big in films – she’s beautiful and talented and a joy to watch.  

Memories in March is about a mother-son bond, about homosexuality, about how that office for which we neglect our family will give away our cubicles in a jiffy while we remain irreplaceable in the lives of the very family we neglected for work. But most of all, the film is part of an interesting expedition that Indian cinema has embarked upon in its exploration of homosexuality as a theme: it’s not the first, and hopefully won’t be the last, but it’s certainly one of the best. Onir’s My Brother Nikhil was a simple and beautiful film about a gay man battling HIV and social opprobrium. More commercial films like Kal Ho Na Ho and Dostana too have their place in easing mainstream, conservative Indian audiences into the idea of homosexuality. Those who were offended by these two films should consider the obscene amount of bigotry that was packed into Karan Razdan’s Girlfriend, to understand the difference between laughing at someone and laughing affectionately with someone.

About a decade back, the late Nishit Saran had made a film called Summer in my Veins which was a feature-length home video about the moment he came out to his mother. It was moving no doubt, and pathbreaking, but one thing that defied believability in the film (at least for me) is the ease with which Nishit’s mother accepted the information. “Mom I’m gay,” was met with equanimity and an unblinking okay. In that sense, Memories in March feels more real.

Perhaps this film could have done without the lengthy discussion about fish being caged in an aquarium. And I certainly don’t understand why costs had to be cut by superimposing a car against footage of a busy road passing by – that looked tacky. But when you look at the larger picture, these feel like minor quibbles. Memories in March has some lovely music to back the story, but what moved me much more than the voices of professional singers in the background was watching Arati sing Yeh raatein yeh mausam nadi ka kinara yeh chanchal hawa in a borderline tuneless voice when Ornob tries to recall the song that Siddharth loved so much. Like so much else in this film, the scene was funny, it was sweet, it made me smile, it made me cry, and it was totally worth my time.

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

CBFC Rating (India):	U / A
Running time:	106 Minutes
Language:	English, Hindi and a bit of Bengali with subtitles running throughout

 

Photograph courtesy: http://passionforcinema.com/memories-in-march-firstdayfirstshow-on-dingora/