Showing posts with label Zoya Akhtar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Zoya Akhtar. Show all posts

Friday, December 15, 2023

REVIEW 788: THE ARCHIES

 

Release date:

December 7, 2023

Director:

Zoya Akhtar

Cast:

Agastya Nanda, Khushi Kapoor, Suhana Khan, Vedang Raina, Mihir Ahuja, Aditi “Dot” Saigal, Yuvraj Menda, Suhaas Ahuja, Tara Sharma, Satyajit Sharma, Alyy Khan, Kamal Sidhu, Luke Kenny, Vinay Pathak  

Language:

Hindi and English

 


“I get a huge kick out of life. But I just don’t think about politics. What’s it got to do with my life?” Archibald/Archie Andrews asks his teacher Miss Grundy in reaction to his classmates’ concerns that the changes being wrought in their hill station, Riverdale, are driven by corporate interest, not public welfare. The year: 1964. But Archie echoes a standpoint adopted by so many people today too whose excuse for their silence on even fascism and genocide is, “I’m apolitical.”

 

The other students – all of them 17 – break into a song and dance to address Archie’s apathy, kicked off by Dilton Doiley singing: “In every fold of life, there’s politics.” It is with this lively passage that The Archies perks up, after a disappointingly bland 1 hour and 6 minutes. 

 

The Archies is the producer-writer-director Zoya Akhtar’s Hindi-English adaptation of the iconic US comic books. As you can imagine from the preceding paragraphs, Archie Comics – a frothy series about American high schoolers – provides just a sliver of a framework for Akhtar, Ayesha Devitre Dhillon and Reema Kagti’s script. The film’s updated politics, the decision to set it among Anglo Indians in north India and the non-stereotypical portrayal of the community are among The Archies’ exciting elements. Sadly, they are not effectively sewn together. The whimsicality Akhtar seems to have aimed at translates into low energy in the opening hour, and while the film picks up in the second half, it never fully recovers from the limpness of the first. 

 

Archie Comics began publication in the 1940s, revolving around an eponymous American teenager infatuated by the glamourous, wealthy and snobbish Veronica/Ronnie Lodge, and oblivious to the devotion of the pretty, golden-hearted and middle-class Betty Cooper. The vain and good-looking Reginald/Reggie Mantle was a flirt and Archie’s rival for Ronnie’s attentions. The other significant players included the gluttonous Jughead Jones, the muscular dimbulb Moose, the studious Dilton, and Ethel Muggs, a gawky girl smitten by Jughead who was repelled by her. 

 

In the early decades, “Archie and the gang” rarely rose above these basic characteristics. Their popularity was precisely because of this superficiality: the one-dimensional characters that did not strain the brain, a mild sense of humour, pretty outfits, pretty people, a clueless but non-malicious lead, and for Indian teens up to the 1980s, a glimpse into an alluring foreign land of tiny skirts and ice cream sundaes that were a rare sight here back then. Thankfully, Akhtar and her co-writers’ love of Archie Comics does not extend to the politics of the series that pitted two women against each other for a dull man’s affections, or the reductive gaze on the others. 

 

The manner in which the Ronnie-Archie-Betty triangle is turned on its head in The Archies is what intelligent adaptations are made of. (Spoilers: In the film, Archie dates multiple women without being honest with them. This quality is not pedestalised here unlike in conventional pop culture. Akhtar & Co’s Ethel calls Archie out for being a philanderer, and when Ronnie and Betty realise he is two-timing them, they tell him he’s not worth more than their friendship with each other.) It was also a smart move to situate the film among Anglo Indians, a community that traces its ancestry to the children of Indian and British parents in the colonial era. This allows The Archies to retain the names of the characters from the American comics – “Dilton Doiley” is a stretch, “Jughead Jones” required a backgrounder, but the rest could well be actual Anglo Indian names. Meanwhile, the north Indian location justifies the English-Hindi amalgam in the dialogues.

 

For the most part, however, the link between the film and the books is tenuous to the point of being superfluous. Reggie, for one, is nothing like the Reggie of the comics, barring a token allusion to an interest in Ronnie, and an introduction in which he makes out with a woman in a car. Akhtar’s Reggie is socially conscious, an aspiring journalist and a student activist. Sometimes the film introduces a connection to the books and promptly forgets it (the Archie-Ronnie-Reggie triangle, the Ethel-Jughead equation). Some characters are given short shrift (Mr Weatherbee, Pop Tate). Some are present but redundant (Moose). Akhtar and her team also seem not to have aimed for one of the hallmarks of Archie Comics, a sense of humour, unless you count Reggie’s Dad pooh-poohing his son’s prescient remark that comedy can be a career. Ha. Come visit us in 2023, Dad. 

 

Ultimately, there’s no satisfactory answer to why The Archies is an adaptation of Archie Comics rather than a brand new desi teen drama. This film is also no match for Akhtar’s track record as a director. It has neither the observational power of Luck By Chance, nor the ruminative depth and pizzazz of Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara and Dil Dhadakne Do, nor the grit, gumption and visceral energy of Gully Boy. It does, however, come across as a personal work in its own way. 

 

Zoya Akhtar is 51, which means she was a teenager when Archie Comics were all the rage among Indian teens. She turned 18 in a decade when the country transitioned to satellite television. MTV and the desi youth platform Channel V epitomised adolescent and young-adult coolth in the rapidly transforming India of the 1990s. If The Archies per se is her tribute to the comics, then the casting in part is a bow to the ’90s, with some of MTV and V’s earliest Indian VJs being roped in to play senior characters – Kamal Sidhu is Ronnie’s mother, Luke Kenny is Reggie’s Dad, Vinay Pathak is a villainous neta. When you think of it that way, it’s sweeta sort of love letter to a generation. 

 

The casting of the young leads seems just as personal to Akhtar. It comes across as a big fat middle finger to the online mobs hurling charges of nepotism at her industry. Unless you have been living under a rock, you know that Archie in The Archies is played by Agastya Nanda, grandson of Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan, and great grandson of Raj Kapoor; Ronnie is Shah Rukh Khan’s daughter Suhana Khan; in Betty’s role is Sridevi and Boney Kapoor’s daughter, Khushi Kapoor. 

 

The kids are neither great, nor awful. Khushi and Agastya are cute. She could be special. He lacks verve here, but comes alive while dancing. Suhana reveals a spark during Ronnie and Betty’s face-off over Mr Lodge. She could work on that. Would the trio have snagged such plum roles if it weren’t for their lineage? Unlikely. But it does not make sense to blame them entirely for the narrative’s limited vitality, which is a fault of the direction, although they do contribute to it. 

 

The rest of the cast are vastly better. The stand-out debutant is Vedang Raina playing Reggie. He can act, he can dance, he is handsome, but most important, he has screen presence and is born to be a star. Yuvraj Menda who plays Dilton and Dot i.e. Ethel are comfortable before the camera. 

 

The Archies is not a typical Bollywood musical. In terms of structure and sound, it is Bollywood’s nod to Hollywood/Broadway, although the background score (by Shankar Ehsaan Loy and Satya) and songs (by SEL, Ankur Tewari, The Islanders and Dot) are more distinctive and tuneful than what the average Hollywood/Broadway musical delivers. 

 

The most heart-warming aspect of The Archies is its depiction of Anglo Indians. Up to the 1990s, Hindi cinema inexorably stereotyped Christians, and confined the community to a clichéd notion of Goans and Anglo Indians. Christians almost disappeared from Hindi films thereon. The Archies’ characters are people, not cartoons. By not referencing their religion at all and focusing on their ethnic identity, Akhtar does something Hindi cinema has rarely done before: she points to diversity within a small religious minority. Anglo Indians, after all, are a minority within a minority. 

 

The diversity in this sub-group is also on display. While most women in The Archies wear dresses, as would have been the reality among 1960s Anglo Indians, note the women in saris and churidar kurtas especially in the opening montage and at the club. Farhan Akhtar’s dialogues are a smooth English-Hindi blend, with the kids mixing both, like city-bred youth across communities, while the adults are shown to have a spectrum of adeptness with Hindi – one parent struggles with “hoyenga” vs “hoga”, the others tease him about it. Sari/kurta-clad Anglo Indians who speak Hindi well are very much a reality, though you would not know that from Hindi cinema of a bygone era.  

 

The film even snubs its nose at the Right-wing that has always conflated Christians with British imperialists. The Archiescharacters are invested in India’s future and have contributed to our past. Reggie’s granddad, like many Christians, was a freedom fighter. The Archies is thus a lesson in showcasing patriotism truthfully, unlike the Akshay Kumar brand of propagandist cinema.

 

So, The Archies’ politics is worth rooting for. Normalised minority representation here extends to a gay boy who is not defined by his sexuality. Even the generic storyline is imbued with layers of meaning as it mimics real-world events in India today: big business buying politicians, corporates muzzling the press, and more. The storytelling is too flat for too long though to be redeemed.  

 

The kids in The Archies were born in 1947, and are 17 in the film. They embody an Independent India, but belong to a community that in today’s India is told they do not belong. The Archies has a lot to say about that and much else, but flubs its tone and tenor. When your source material is almost irrelevant to the point you wish to make, a floundering end product is perhaps inevitable. Akhtar could have heeded Archie’s father’s advice when the boy says he wishes to leave India for England to build a music career. “To make art,” says Dad, “you have to go in, not out.” 

 

Rating (out of 5 stars): 2.5   

 

Running time:

144 minutes 

 

Poster courtesy: IMDB 

Tuesday, February 4, 2020

THE ANNAVETTICADGOES2THEMOVIES AWARDS: BEST INDIAN FILMS 2019

Poetry and courage across languages, from Assamese to Hindi, Khasi, Malayalam and more

2019 was a year in which small films in the Assamese and Khasi languages drew eyeballs beyond their traditional audiences, the Kerala-based film industry a.k.a. Mollywood outdid itself, and its counterparts in Bollywood under-performed. In this year that no seer could have predicted, here is a list of my favourite Indian films, with the top spot going to one that enjoyed an unprecedented months-long run in theatres across India, from Thiruvananthapuram to Chennai and the National Capital Region. 

1: Kumbalangi Nights / Malayalam

Madhu C. Narayanan’s Kumbalangi Nights feels like what you might get if you were to sit by your window in a house in Kumbalangi – a tourist village on the outskirts of Kochi – and gaze at life as it passes by. Realism has never been as enjoyable, educational and romantic as it is in this delicately woven saga of a dysfunctional family. A couple frolicking in the bioluminescence in the waters outside their home, an angry woman telling her boyfriend her biopic could be titled “The Girl Who Fell For An Idiot” and a generally light-hearted veneer partner this film’s grave concerns ranging from patriarchy to mental health. At once hilarious and thoughtful, Kumbalangi Nights is a sublime experience. 

(For more on the significance of Kumbalangi Nights, click here)

2: Aamis / Assamese 

Bhaskar Hazarika’s Aamis revolves around the attraction between a married doctor and a PhD student in Assam. A love of meat here becomes a metaphor for carnal longings, but gets a whole new layer in this story’s setting, since India’s North East is othered by the rest of the country for, among other reasons, its differing food choices. Only a deliciously wacko mind could zero in on this everyday reality and mould it into the surrealism of Aamis. If you have seen Kothanodi, you already know Hazarika has just such a mind. 

Aamis is about sexual desire in a repressive society and the definition of “normal”. It is scrumptiously twisted and an electric shock to India’s cinematic conventions. 


3: Iewduh / Khasi

Iewduh is set in an iconic marketplace in Shillong, which serves as a microcosm of Indian society. While the film’s characters go about their daily grind, the hustle and bustle of the bazaar absorbs a constant and lethal churning. Pradip Kurbah’s naturalistic storytelling is perfect for this slice-of-life film in which a community seems largely unmoved by a battered wife’s cries that are now a background score to their lives, but kindness too rears its head amidst apathy and despair. Iewduh is a beautiful film, and Kurbah one of the most significant voices to emerge from Indian cinema this decade. 


4: Virus / Malayalam 

How Keralites joined hands in 2018 to contain a deadly Nipah outbreak forms the story of Aashiq Abu’s Virus. The film’s clinical tone mirrors what must have been the business-like persistence of the politicians, bureaucrats, healthcare professionals and average citizens involved in this real-life emergency. Virus’ massive ensemble cast featuring some of Malayalam cinema’s most respected names in big, small and even tiny roles serves to underline the importance of every available individual in a crisis, including those who have no clue that they served a role. The film is a stirring ode to human compassion and a reminder of the best that we can be in trying times. 

(For the full review of Virus, click here)

5: Asuran / Tamil 

In Asuran, writer-director Vetri Maaran gives his hero a larger-than-life persona and all the trappings usually reserved for upper-caste male leads in masala films. The protagonist journeys from defiance to pacifism then all-out aggression through his life-long battles with the caste system and class. Within a mainstream format, in a space most unexpected, Asuran demands that we step out of our privileged existence and confront the demonic force of caste in our midst. 

(For the full review of Asuran, click here)



6: Jallikattu / Malayalam 

When a buffalo goes wild in a Kerala village in Lijo Jose Pellissery’s Jallikattu, the men pursuing it go wilder. Their chase soon becomes an outlet for their true selves, a camouflage for personal battles and ultimately, the most imaginative deconstruction of the self-destructive nature of patriarchy seen on the Indian screen. 

(For the full review of Jallikattu, click here)

7: Super Deluxe / Tamil 

Some of the biggest stars from Telugu, Tamil and Malayalam cinema come together in Thiagarajan Kumararaja’s gut-wrenching Super Deluxe, which tells the stories in parallel of an unhappily married couple trying to dispose of a corpse, teenagers surreptitiously watching pornography, a trans woman returning to the wife and son she abandoned in an earlier life and a porn actor seeking hospital treatment for her child. The fine balance it strikes between its sense of humour and its sensitivity is one of Super Deluxe’s many achievements.

(For the full review of Super Deluxe, click here)


8. Article 15 / Hindi 

In Anubhav Sinha’s Article 15, an upper-caste policeman is dragged out of his privileged cocoon when two Dalit girls are raped and murdered in an Uttar Pradesh village where he is posted. Through the Dalit activists Gaura and Nishad, he is forced to confront the very real dangers faced by India’s most oppressed community. This line spoken by a policeman in Article 15, “Aap se nivedan hai Sir, santulan mat bigaadiye (I beg you Sir, don’t disrupt the balance),” must rank among the starkest samples of status quoism ever showcased in a Hindi film.

(For the full review of Article 15, click here)

9. Hellaro / Gujarati 

A group of women discover dance and with it the courage in their veins in Abhishek Shah’s Hellaro. The story is situated in an isolated Gujarat village where women have accepted domestic violence including rape as a way of life, even as some of them in turn target the less fortunate in their midst. Swept up in an outburst, a hellaro, a gust of energy and optimism when they chance upon dance, they learn the power of solidarity and find in it a reason to live. 


10. Gully Boy / Hindi

In the richly rewarding Gully Boy, Zoya Akhtar places a poor Muslim slumdweller in Mumbai’s underground rap scene. Gully Boy’s gripping story is bolstered by the addictive rhythms of the hero’s compositions and his infectious rebelliousness, which are the handiwork of a host of Indian rappers including Naezy and Divine whose lives Akhtar acknowledges as the inspiration for her film. 

(For the full review of Gully Boy, click here)

A VERSION OF THIS ARTICLE IS ALSO ON FIRSTPOST:


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Photographs courtesy:

Kumbalangi Nights poster: https://www.facebook.com/KumbalangiNights/






Thursday, February 21, 2019

REVIEW 673: GULLY BOY


Release date:
February 14, 2019
Director:
Zoya Akhtar
Cast:



Language:
Ranveer Singh, Alia Bhatt, Siddhant Chaturvedi, Kalki Koechlin, Vijay Varma, Amruta Subhash, Vijay Raaz, Sheeba Chaddha, Nakul Roshan Sahdev
Hindi


A young man has been waiting outside a stadium where a musical show is taking place. He is one among the number of drivers whose wealthy mistress is in the audience inside. For a while now he has been listening to the pulsating sounds emerging from within, and then, in a manner that tells us he can finally no longer hold back, that he cannot help himself any more, he begins striding purposefully towards the performance venue.

As he gets closer though, a security person spots him. There is no noisy confrontation between the two men, just a firm look from that hefty uniformed guard we see only from a short distance and a slight, dismissive wave of the hand, brushing the youngster aside like dust off a carpet, as if to emphasise his insignificance. 

We know Murad Sheikh (Ranveer Singh) well by then. We know that this college student cum driver from Mumbai’s congested Dharavi slum is also a gifted aspiring rapper with poetry and music rushing through his veins. We know too that this is not the first time he has been told he is a nobody.

In another scene, one of the most beautiful passages in writer-director Zoya Akhtar’s Gully Boy, Murad is driving the same mistress and her parents in their spacious, gleaming sedan one night. The father and daughter are having an argument – she wants to begin working right after her graduation, he wants her to study further. Everyone is a graduate these days, graduation means nothing, the Dad tells her, before asking Murad how far gone he is with his education. I am about to complete my graduation, comes the reply, at which point, as if Murad is deaf and invisible even while he is seated among them, the rich man asks the girl if what she wants for herself is to be at this fellow’s “level”.

There is so much happening in that seemingly low-key scene. The cruelty of the master’s words, the barely discernible look on the daughter’s face that suggests confused disapproval of her parent’s inhumanity, and the treatment the storyteller metes out to the older man (Mohan Kapur) – the camera opts not to show us his face, treating him instead with the same disdain that he displays towards Murad.

Akhtar’s decision to erase or blur those who erase and blur Murad is important, because Gully Boy is an ode to the Murads we don’t see, the drivers outside who do not get to enter the stadium, the chap in our midst that we ignore in our conversations.

Set in Mumbai’s underground rap scene, Gully Boy tells the story of the impoverished Murad’s journey from being forced into jobs he does not want, to his determined pursuit of his music dream. Supporting him on this road is his long-time girlfriend Safeena Firdausi (Alia Bhatt), a fiery, short-tempered medical student who has her own battles with family conservatism she must fight.

Gully Boy is inspired by the lives of Mumbai rappers Naezy and Divine (a.k.a. Naved Shaikh and Vivian Fernandes respectively), but it is not a biopic. Like Murad’s being, every cell of this film beats with and for the art form to which it pays tribute. The music is so powerful that it has the strength to make a committed rap fan out of a rap virgin.

The writing by Reema Kagti and Akhtar rarely misses a step, completely immersed as the screenplay is in the socio-economic realities of its crowded, filthy slum setting and the present-day socio-political reality of the India in which that slum is set. 

Rap numbers by a bouquet of writers are a constant in the narrative, either performed on screen in lava-like eruptions by various artistes or playing out in the background. The incessant swings to and from, in and out of these energetic, audacious compositions are handled deftly by editor Nitin Baid.

Cinematographer Jay Oza (Raman Raghav 2.0, Blackmail) keeps things personal, staying close to his principal characters except in the impressive opening scene and when he pointedly zooms out a handful of times to offer us an eyeful of boxy, cramped Dharavi.

To the outsider unaware of India’s current troubles or cineastes who prefer viewing films divorced from the global and national context in which they emerge, Gully Boy may seem like just a coming-of-age / rise-to-stardom / rags-to-possible-riches drama. But it is not. This is an era of right-wing dominance, the mainstreaming of extremism and chest-thumping nationalism, or as Dub Sharma puts it in Jingostan beatbox featured in the film:

2018 hai desh ko khatra hai /
Har taraf aag hai tum /
aag ke beech ho /
Jor se chilla lo /
sabko dara do /
Apni zahreelee been baja ke /
sabka dhyaan kheench lo... /
... Jingostan zindabaad.

(Rough translation: It is 2018, the country is in danger / You are in the midst of the flames that have engulfed us / Scream out loud and scare everyone / Draw everyone’s attention with your poisonous agenda... / Hail the land of jingoism.)

Jingostan beatbox is arguably the most forthright political comment to emerge from an otherwise largely cowardly Bollywood in recent years.

Rap becomes a tool to spell out Gully Boy’s position on multiple prickly issues in a hugely entertaining fashion without sounding like sermons. Much is also said via the storyline sans bhaashanbaazi. This gives the narrative a fine balance between allusions and open declarations, making it both fun and unapologetically political.

Islamophobia, for one, is referenced in a conversation overheard from another room. Murad’s most unwavering ally and fellow musician MC Sher is introduced in an emphatically feminist, massively enjoyable sequence, but the feminism of the rest of the film – its take on gender segregation, discrimination in education, the hijab, domestic violence and more – emanates from the life stories being told.

The Muslimness of the leads is neither over-emphasised nor underplayed. This is in keeping with the evolution of the portrayal of Muslims in Bollywood from a pre-2000 positive stereotype and characters whose religious identity was an overriding factor, to present-day Hindi cinema where the likes of Akhtar normalise the Muslim community, giving us the good, bad, wonderful and ugly just as they do with the majority community.

Gully Boy is not without its rough edges. Male infidelity is usually humourised in Hindi cinema. Here it is not dealt with lightly, but is certainly forgiven with a speed and casualness that is uncharacteristic of the female partner facing it and thus unconvincing. The tone of the film is just as generous towards the man in question in this matter. At this juncture alone, it feels like the writers did not quite know what to do other than hurry past this failing in a character they otherwise want us to like.

The screenplay also papers over class divides on the music scene. A deliciously furious duel of songs between the hero and an uppity rival (insult rap is what it should be called, if that term does not already exist) gives us a clear view of what our man is up against, but it is soon glossed over by the film’s talent-conquers-all idealism.

What does indeed conquer all in Gully Boy are its songs, with their addictive rhythms and volcanic poetry. To watch the birth of Apna time aayega in particular (composers: Dub Sharma and Divine, singer: Ranveer Singh, lyrics: Divine and Ankur Tewari) is a special experience in itself.

Singh embodies Murad as he drowns out his naturally flamboyant personality to play a shy, angry yet optimistic youth whose words have the ability to crush a harsh opponent in a way fists never can. His body looks better nourished and more carefully sculpted than you would expect from a person in his dire circumstances, but his physique is wisely not displayed often enough to distract from the believability of the rest of him.

In real life, at least in public, Singh is more Simmba – his last screen character – than Murad. It is impossible to remember the Simmba in him though while watching him here.

His brilliance is matched scene for scene by the devastatingly good Alia Bhatt who has a comparatively smaller role but owns Gully Boy as much as he does. The writers have ensured that Safeena is not merely a satellite revolving around Murad. Her battles are a crucial element in the screenplay’s study of the social milieu he inhabits, in which his art is initially suppressed and ultimately blossoms.

The superlative supporting cast includes the charismatic debutant Siddhant Chaturvedi playing MC Sher. Vijay Varma, who epitomised evil in Pink (2016), is immaculate as Murad’s morally ambivalent friend Moeen. And sweet Nakul Roshan Sahdev gets to headline Gully Boy’s most hilarious scene.

Zoya Akhtar has shown remarkable maturity from her very first feature, Luck By Chance (2009). In Gully Boy she displays the same clarity of vision she had when she started out.

For a film that is about protest music, the music of anger and rebellion, Gully Boy is surprisingly quiet and extremely funny. Its understatedness and sense of humour are among the multiple reasons why it is also one of the best films to emerge from the Hindi cinemascape in recent times.

Rating (out of five stars): ****

CBFC Rating (India):
UA 
Running time:
155 minutes 48 seconds 

This review has also been published on Firstpost:


Poster courtesy: