REVIEW 376: ZUBAAN

Release date:	March 4, 2016
Director:	Mozez Singh
Cast: Language:	Vicky Kaushal, Sarah-Jane Dias, Raaghav Chanana, Manish Chaudhari, Meghana Malik, Harmehroz Singh Hindi

It boggles the mind that one of the producers of The Lunchbox is a co-producer of Zubaan.

If you were to pre-judge Zubaan by its credits alone, you might assume that it is an artistic gem. After all, Guneet Monga’s Sikhya Entertainment earlier backed that cinematic jewel about two people anonymously bonding over food, which made waves in India and abroad in 2014; the male lead is His Royal Cuteness Vicky Kaushal who burst on to the national scene with last year’s Masaan; Vicky’s co-star here is model-cum-actress Sarah-Jane Dias who sparkled in Angry Indian Goddesses just months back; and Varun Grover who scripted Masaan is one of the lyricists featured here.

Aur kya chahiye? Bahut kuch, as it turns out. A worthwhile story, a solid script and strong direction, among other things.

This is the sort of film that could be screened for FTII freshers to illustrate that eternal cinematic truism: that writing is the foundation of any good film, direction is its cornerstone, and all the embellishments in the world cannot salvage a feature that is deficient in either of the above departments.

Debutant director Mozez Singh’s Zubaan is a meandering mess. It wanders all over the place as it purportedly tells the coming-of-age story of a Sikh boy called Dilsher Singh from Gurdaspur who comes to Delhi to become the protégé of a billionaire builder. The said builder, one Gurucharan Sikand a.k.a. Guru (Manish Chaudhari), had apparently started his career from scratch in Gurdaspur. Many years back, he gifted a pen to a shy little chappie (Harmehroz Singh) from his home town and imparted some unsolicited wisdom to the child, who was so taken in that he held on to the pen and zipped off pronto to Delhi as soon as he was able, to use the pen as a reminder of that interaction, sneak his way into said billionaire’s affections and I s’pose become wealthy himself.

To achieve these goals, he lies through his teeth, maims a man, betrays another and deliberately destabilises Guru’s family. Why? I mean, what is it about that single, passing interaction from all those years back that makes Guru so desirable over and above all the other rich guys in the city? What makes him worth all that deception and violence? Don’t know. Dilsher’s seeming motivations are simply not convincing.

Vicky plays the grown-up Dilsher. Somewhere between his pind and the sheher he cuts his hair and gets rid of his pagri for reasons not explained to us, until he returns to his turban and Gurdaspur in the end, which I guess is a way of saying he found himself during the course of the film. So deep. So very very deep.

The Zubaan mix has many elements that are no doubt meant to have equally profound implications: Dilsher’s stammer, his Dad who died in tragic circumstances, Guru’s disgruntled wife (Meghana Malik, best known as Ammaji from TV’s Na Aana Iss Des Laado), his son Surya (Raaghav Chanana) who he abhors, a pretty girl called Amira (Sarah-Jane Dias) who is coveted by Surya, her dead brother Dhruv who adds nothing to the storyline but is discussed anyway in mystical tones, and lots of shadowy spaces.

At one point in the story, Amira holds a memorial of sorts for Dhruv under the stars at a kinda camp she calls Dhruv Tara, in some unnamed desert region in Delhi or thereabouts. She erects a giant white cloth star there, sings a long song and has all her friends release floating lamps up into the sky. Why? What does this sub-plot mean? How does it contribute to Dilsher’s journey?

I repeat: Don’t know. And by now, don’t care.

There is an early scene in which Guru’s munim asks Dilsher point blank: Tumhara game kya hai? (What’s your game?) Having patiently sat through this excruciatingly soporific flick, I am convinced Dilsher himself did not know the answer and the writer-director does not either.

The production design is pretty in the spaces inhabited by Zubaan’s well-heeled characters but it is also self-conscious and studied, with too much emphasis being given to the look over all else. The film also does not live up to its promotional tagline “the musical journey of the year” – Music Is My Art is the only number that lingers, not for any richness or complexity, but because it is foot-tappingly, pleasantly poppish.

At the film’s premiere in Delhi, Mozez Singh announced that Vicky had shot for Zubaan before Masaan, which in his view technically makes Zubaan the actor’s debut film. Dear sweet, lovable Vicky, please say a prayer of thanks that Masaan released first. If Zubaan had come to theatres earlier, I am not sure I would have woken up in time to catch your next film.

Rating (out of 5 stars): ½ (half a star)

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	118 minutes

Poster courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zubaan

REVIEW 358: ANGRY INDIAN GODDESSES

Release date:	December 4, 2015
Director:	Pan Nalin
Cast: Language:	Sarah-Jane Dias, Anushka Manchanda, Pavleen Gujral, Sandhya Mridul, Rajshri Deshpande, Amrit Maghera, Tannishtha Chatterjee, Arjun Mathur, Adil Hussain, Anuj Choudhary Hindi, English

Through years of watching Hindi films, I’ve experienced a lump in my throat each time I’ve listened to Jai and Veeru sing Yeh dosti hum nahin thodenge, invested myself in the gentlemen buddies from Dil Chahta Hai, Rock On, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara and Kai Po Che, laughed and wept with those 3 idiots. Yet this week’s release, Angry Indian Goddesses, comes as such a joyous relief.

Can it possibly be true? Are we really seeing seven female Indian human beings on the big screen, hanging out together, talking, doubling up with laughter, fighting, crying, partying, sharing secrets and forming new equations?

This is that rare Indian film featuring a group of real women – women who could be you and me – bonding, responding to what life throws at them and living.

Angry Indian Goddesses comes to theatres in the wake of a laughable run-in with India’s Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC). Among other things, the Board compelled the director to mute out swear words – even after handing him an A certificate – and the word “sarkar” (government) from a conversation in which the heroines are discussing government interference in the private lives of citizens. Strangest of all though is the directive to blur pictures of Hindu goddesses, although the divine imagery in the film celebrates the strength of its women.

A pity. Because despite an off-putting sell-out through one plot element and an inexcusable instance of factual carelessness, Angry Indian Goddesses is a pathbreaking film filled with humour, realism, tragedy and, ultimately, hope.

The setting is Goa where former magazine photographer Frieda (Sarah-Jane Dias) has invited her best friends from across the country. They are top corporate honcho Suranjana (Sandhya Mridul), musician Madhurita (Anushka Manchanda), Pammi (Pavleen Gujral) who is a housewife, the activist Nargis (Tannishtha Chatterjee) and Freida’s half-Indian cousin, Bollywood aspirant Joanna (Amrit Maghera). Suranjana is accompanied by her little daughter. The group’s constant companion is Freida’s housemaid Lakshmi (Rajshri Deshpande).

Right from the opening montage of the women before they gather at Freida’s home, it is clear that this film will be feisty, fiery and funny, all rolled into one – just like its leading ladies.

The pace of those initial scenes, the deliberately raised decibel levels, the blistering anger of the protagonists, the comedy that is inherent in many of life’s bizarrely appalling situations and a touch of hyperbole are all woven together in a flawlessly edited, disturbing yet hilarious few minutes. Though this mosaic is a contrast to the understated nature of the rest of the film, its flaming fury still manages to set the tone for what is to come.

Gujarat-born, Paris-and-Mumbai-based writer-director Pan Nalin has adopted a naturalistic style for the rest of his narrative. Along with his co-writers Dilip Shankar, Subhadra Mahajan and Arsala Qureishi, he has also ensured that his characters are credible and speak a language that real people speak. The film begins with endless natter among the women as they bond over their many painful and amusing experiences, before a calamity freezes the smiles on their lips.

The cast is talented and uniformly relaxed before the camera. Hats off to the casting director (Dilip Shankar again) for seeing in former beauty queen Sarah-Jane Dias something more than the gorgeousness that was the sole focus of her first Hindi film role, in 2011’s deadbeat Game. She is a revelation here. Pavleen Gujral and theatre artiste Rajshri Deshpande are both blazing balls of fire. Singer Anushka Manchanda – long legs, striking face and familiar husky voice in tow – delivers a nuanced performance. And the ever-dependable Sandhya Mridul is brilliant.

Since violence – verbal and/or physical – is an intrinsic part of every woman’s life, it goes without saying that our leading ladies are no different. In the past, when Indian cinema has addressed violence against women, it has usually turned the spotlight entirely on the aggression rather than on the women coping with it.

Likewise, films in the past have often adopted an impractical, undesirable recommendatory tone towards women responding to brutality with premeditated brutality. Cases in point: Zakhmi Aurat in Hindi (1988) and 22 Female Kottayam in Malayalam (2012).

Angry Indian Goddesses does not do either of the above. At no point does it define its heroines solely by the difficulties they encounter as women. In fact the dominant memory from the film is of their constant chatter, sometimes nonsensical, sometimes ruminative, sometimes grave. When they do suffer assault and one of them explodes, the treatment of the explosion gives it a far more credible feel than a plot summary might suggest.

In a cinematic scenario where most films are made with an eye on the male audience, it is an act of valour to make one which insists on being entertaining notwithstanding its grim elements, rather than issue-based, which is what women-centric films are expected to be. Since Angry Indian Goddesses sticks its neck out thus, it is particularly disappointing to spot its big sell-out.

Spoilers Ahead In The Next Three Paragraphs:

At one point in the story, we are introduced to an Indian lesbian couple – one a Muslim NGO type, the other a Christian artistic type. The choice of profession serves to perpetuate a prevailing stereotype that homosexuality exists only among certain classes of people in certain fields (you know, like the “all fashion designers are gay” assumption some people make?), while the choice of religion suggests a play-it-safe strategy considering the violence with which fundamentalists targeted Deepa Mehta’s Fire back in 1998 for portraying two Hindu women as lesbians.

The CBFC got the name of a lead character in Fire changed from Sita to Nita. Still, theatres showing the film were attacked by communalists. A seemingly pre-emptive effort to placate such forces is unexpected from Nalin whose 2001 film Samsara had the courage to be critical of Buddha on behalf of his wife Yashodhara.

This has also led to a gaping loophole in the film: a Catholic priest agrees to get two women married in the story. Fact: the Roman Catholic Church is officially against homosexuality. Even with the present Pope making conciliatory gestures towards the LGBT community, the RC Church in India remains adamant about its position. While there may well be individual Indian priests who are liberals in this matter, the passing mention in this film does not in any way let on that this particular priest must be a mega-rebel who could be thrown out of the Church for his actions. Was this casualness towards facts a bow to the prevailing situation in India where majoritarian groups are aiming at thought control?

Yes seems to be the only plausible answer since it is hard to attribute any of this to lack of awareness from such a well-travelled, experienced filmmaker. This is disheartening, considering the immense bravery Nalin has shown in every other aspect of this film.

It is this bravery that makes Angry Indian Goddesses significant despite its flaws, its climactic song in a church – more melodramatic than the conversational tone of the rest of the film – and an unnecessary epilogue featuring a man mourning the loss of a lover he never had. The film made me wonder at its female leads’ ability to laugh – out loud and a lot – in spite of the crap life doles out to them, a large part of it because of their gender. It got me asking: Why are women not angrier with the world? What a pleasant change it is for an Indian film to raise such a question. And what a pleasant change to see a female dosti film.

Rating (out of five): ***

CBFC Rating (India):	A
Running time:	121 minutes

This review has also been published on first post: 

http://www.firstpost.com/bollywood/angry-indian-goddesses-review-the-films-bravery-makes-it-significant-despite-its-flaws-2533664.html

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

REVIEW 26: GAME

Release date:	April 1, 2011
Director:	Abhinay Deo
Cast:	Abhishek Bachchan, Jimmy Shergill, Boman Irani, Shahana Goswami, Anupam Kher, Kangna Ranaut, Sarah-Jane Dias

Ek akeli ladki aur kya kar sakti hai? If I hear that question one more time in a Hindi film I think I may just scream. In Yash Raj Film’s Laaga Chunari Mein Daag not too long back, the akeli ladki in question was compelled to become a call girl in the big bad city because … well, ek akeli ladki aur kya kar sakti hai? I’m not sure whether Game is an improvement or one step further back since the akeli ladki here is compelled to become a flesh-flashing nightclub dancer and drug dealer. Bechaari. Ek akeli ladki aur kya kar sakti hai?

But there’s more to Game than its hai bechaari take on a significant female character. There’s the fact that it’s poorly scripted and poorly directed. There’s the fact that it wastes competent actors like Anupam Kher, Boman Irani and Jimmy Shergill. There’s the fact that it fails to tap into Abhishek Bachchan’s ability to play uber cool the way few of his industry colleagues can, the way he did in Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna and Dostana. And there’s the overbearing fact that its pretentions to being a thriller are undermined completely by its part-predictable, part-contrived-despite-not-being-predictable storyline, lack of tautness and lack of finesse in storytelling.

The story is about four people who are invited to the Greek island of Samos by billionaire Kabir Malhotra (Anupam Kher). On the face of it, they’re a disparate quartet: there’s Thailand’s leading political figure O.P. Ramsay (Boman Irani), London-based journalist Tisha Khanna (Shahana Goswami), the nightclub owner and no-gooder Neil Menon (Abhishek Bachchan) from Turkey and Bollywood superstar Vikram Kapoor (Jimmy Shergill). But Malhotra knows more about them than they bargained for.

It’s a thriller, so any further elaboration on the story would have to contain spoilers. All I’ll say is that the introductory passage in Game right until the first crime is committed is quite engaging. But everything begins to unravel from the moment the International Vigilance Squad (IVS) arrives on the island in the form of Sia Agnihotri (Kangna Ranaut) and her team.

Why is it that so few Hindi film makers in recent decades have managed to pull off the thriller genre effectively? Maybe Abhinay Deo should have been force-fed all seasons of CSI before embarking on this project. It isn’t quite clear what the IVS is, but I can tell you that their methods are shoddy and the dialogues given to them certainly don’t sound to me like the conversations of intelligent, international crime scene investigators. Simple question: without giving away anything, I’d love to get an answer to this question from any of you who has watched the film: why didn’t it occur to the IVS right at the start to take fingerprints from a crucial object in the room where the first crime occurs?

What do I like about Game? Well, the locations are lovely, so is some of the production design (Neil Menon’s club – I like, I like) and the outdoor camerawork. Every character in the film is appropriately styled too, from Ranaut as a well-dressed sleuth in pantsuits to Goswami as the alcohol-swilling scribe with her heavily made-up eyes, Gauhar Khan as the wealthy man’s pretty but prim executive assistant and Bachchan junior in both casuals and formals. It’s a film that also reminds me of how much I’ve wanted to see Gauhar Khan in well-fleshed-out roles ever since I watched her in Rocket Singh: Salesman of the Year. But an intriguing build-up, a slick look and a talented cast are not enough to redeem this completely unsatisfactory whodunit.

For instance, perhaps Mr Deo could tell me why a murderer appears shocked when the news of his crime is announced on TV. Didn’t he know he had committed the crime? Please note how carefully I’m wording my sentences to ensure that this review does not give away any plot twists. There’s a scene in which Sia Agnihotri’s associate is informed that Vikram Kapoor has just confessed to a crime. Right outside their taxi, a child is peddling a magazine that bears the headline: “Vikram Kapoor Exposed.” Whoa, I’d like to know the production schedules at that magazine! And if that mag story was “exposing” the actor’s earlier shenanigans, well … the point certainly didn’t come across. Elsewhere, a news channel in Thailand plays a video of O.P. Ramsay. The audio levels are raised for viewers to hear but simultaneously, on one side of the TV screen, the anchor is shown continuing to address her viewers. Err … why would the anchor remain talking when she clearly wanted her viewers to hear what was being said in that video?

I know, I know, I’ll be told that I’m being too fastidious. Well, forgive me for believing that a good film maker should be – to borrow a phrase from Arundhati Roy from an entirely different context – a god of small things.

Some scenes in Game appear designed to be profound but come off looking childish instead. There’s the one in which Sia is on the phone with her boss who is ordering her to get off a case, possibly under pressure from powerful people. As she speaks to him, the camera moves to a newspaper lying next to her with a screeching headline about corruption, and Sia – in what is perhaps an unconscious action – circles that word repeatedly and ferociously with her pen. Ooh!

And while on the subject of that boss, why oh why does Bollywood struggle so often to get decent actors to play white people in films?! And why why why is a looooong love song allowed to slow down the pace right in the middle of a murder mystery when there’s nothing in that number to take the story forward and it’s unmemorable?

It’s hard to believe that Game is produced by the team who gave us Dil Chahta Hai, Lakshya, Don and Rock On. Something about this film gave me an ache in the heart for that lovely old film Shalimar in which a bunch of master criminals (played by Dharmendra, Sylvia Miles, Shammi Kapoor, John Saxon and O.P. Ralhan) gathered at the island home of a notorious gangster for a very different purpose from the goal that Kabir Malhotra has in mind in Game. I’d love to know what Shalimar’s director Krishna Shah would have made of this material. Because Game feels like an unkind April Fool’s Joke – on the entire team of the film, and on us.

Rating (out of five): *1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	U / A with no cuts
Running time:	125 Minutes
Language:	Hindi

Photograph courtesy: http://www.gamethefilm.in/