Sunday, August 21, 2016

REVIEW 421: ANN MARIA KALIPPILAANU


Release date:
August 19, 2016
Director:
Midhun Manuel Thomas
Cast:



Language:
Sara Arjun, Sunny Wayne, Aju Varghese, Siddique, John Kaippallil, Shine Tom Chacko, Dharmajan Bolgatty, Leona Lishoy, Saiju Kurup
Malayalam


On the face of it, Ann Maria Kalippilaanu is a light-hearted romp through an episode in a pre-teen’s life. Ann Maria (played by Sara Arjun) lives in Kerala with her doctor mother (Leona Lishoy) while her father – also a medico, played by Saiju Kurup – has taken off to a Red Cross camp in Syria. Clearly he is a nice guy, which is why he voluntarily works in a war-torn country – he just forgot to make his own daughter his priority.

Ann is a lively girl with a sunny disposition, dearly loved by both Mum and Dad. He, however, constantly disappoints her by reneging on his promises to be there for the next big day in her life then the next and the next. Her troubled mind combined with her acute powers of observation and fertile imagination set off a chain of events as a result of which she ends up crossing swords with the school’s villainous physical training instructor David (John Kaippallil) and becoming buddies with a small-time crook called Poombatta i.e. Butterfly Gireesh (Sunny Wayne), a nickname earned from the lore that he strikes so hard, his victims see butterflies and not stars.

It is all sweetly child-like until this point. Kids tend to say and do the darnedest things. We know too that they are quick to imitate and imbibe the worst of what adults say and do, often the very things we hope they did not see or hear us do or say, so it is both amusing and believable that Ann goes off in search of a “vaadaka goonda” (hired hooligan) when she overhears her mother telling another adult that that is the only way to set some people right. What is strange though is a Mum who is portrayed as an otherwise sensible parent, allowing a minor daughter to constantly hang out with this particular vaadaka goonda because someone happened to tell her he is a harmless fraud. Err… he is a petty criminal and a drunken lout.

Would a responsible parent not conduct some sort of investigation on discovering the unlikely friendship? Would she, should she assume that such a person is “harmless” to an under-age girl? Not only is this parental behaviour improbable considering what we otherwise see of Ann’s mother, but it is also risky, foolish and certainly not something a children’s film should endorse. This is hardly the best way to teach young viewers an anti-classist lesson.

Midhun Manuel Thomas – who earlier directed Aadu Oru Bheegara Jeevi Aanu – clearly means well. The old dictum about the road to hell being paved with good intentions is worth remembering here though. Because over and above the charms of the principal cast and the film’s frothy veneer, lies a bizarre – perhaps unwittingly made – point: that since every child needs a father figure to look up to, if the father is not available then any man will do. Seriously, anybody! Daddy illengil, vaadaka goonda engilum. Pita nahin toh acchhe dil waala goonda hi sahi – koi toh mard hona chahiye har bachche ki zindagi mein. This is as silly and dangerous as the wicked-stepmother stereotype perpetuated by children’s literature down the ages.

When faced with demands for accountability, many film folk respond with: this is just a film … c’mon chill … it’s only entertainment. Actually, no film is ever “just a film” and there is no genre in the world that requires closer attention than films directed at the very young. At a time when Hollywood appears to have turned over a new leaf, and is turning stereotypes on their head in films so beautifully relatable to children such as Maleficent, Frozen and Inside Out, it is disappointing that Malayalam cinema would churn out such tosh.

More’s the pity because Ann Maria K has so much potential and several endearing elements. Such as the blossoming bond between Gireesh and his new employer played by Siddique – now there is a lesson about ignoring class boundaries that is well worth offering children. Likewise, it is lovely to see Gireesh’s transformation in the face of Ann’s innocence and innate goodness.

Writer-director Thomas displays some panache in the narration of two versions of Gireesh’s back story. The use of animation in one is both adventurous and apt. The later trip to a fantastical realm with Ann’s ‘angel’ (and a neat overturning of gender assumptions in that sub-plot) is also evidence that Thomas is not as casual a filmmaker as one might assume from the less-well-thought-out aspects of this film.

The cast is a roll call of fine talents. Arjun – who earlier starred in Deiva Thirumagal with acting stalwart Vikram and in a small role as Aishwarya Rai Bachchan’s daughter in Jazbaa just last year – is a sturdy performer, self-assured beyond her years. She is just 11.

Gireesh is played by the unassumingly attractive Sunny Wayne who manages to give his character both a brooding intensity and a comic appeal. Wayne’s Gireesh finds a perfect foil in his partner-in-criminal-laziness, Ambrose played by Aju Varghese. Varghese and Dharmajan Bolgatty in small roles are fun to watch.

The pick of the supporting cast though is Siddique who enters the picture late into the story, yet owns Ann Maria K as much as Arjun and Wayne. This is the sort of film in which care has been taken in the casting of even the tiniest roles (including one of the most handsome men in this country in a cameo) and it shows.

Similar finesse was required in the subtitles though. While occasionally glancing at the subs for this review, I did not see any grammatical or spelling errors (what a relief!) but I noticed a couple of places where the words on screen were different from what was being said. I distinctly remember one point at which a child refers to someone called “Alex C Chacko” whereas the line flashing on screen mentions a “Jose C Kurian”. Wonder what that was about.

Nice music, nice visuals, pretty art design – the packaging is all in place. If Thomas and his co-writer John Manthrickal had not been so nonchalant about certain aspects of their screenplay, this could have been a significant film. Their good intentions and the allure of the cast, however, are not reason enough to ignore Ann Maria Kalippilaanu’s mindless, oddball messaging.

Rating (out of five): **

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

This review has also been published on Firstpost:





Saturday, August 20, 2016

REVIEW 420: PINNEYUM


Release date:
August 19, 2016
Director:
Adoor Gopalakrishnan
Cast:


Language:
Kavya Madhavan, Dileep, Nedumudi Venu, Indrans, Akshara Kishor, Srinda Arhaan, K. P. A. C. Lalitha
Malayalam (The film was subtitled in the hall where I watched it. And the subs were, for a change, good.)


A Kollam man struggles to find employment and regain his standing within the family and community. K. Purushothaman Nair has been a jobless graduate for eight years, a husband for about seven and a father for six. His wife Devi’s teaching position and father-in-law’s pension keep the kitchen fires going. The couple, their daughter, Devi’s father and her sickly brother stay together in a house Devi inherited from her mother.

This is the setting in which Adoor Gopalakrishnan places Pinneyum (Once Again), his first film in eight years. Like most of the legendary writer-director’s works, this one too is distinguished by its apparent stillness that belies the turmoil within. Everything about it is minimalist – from the dialogues to the lovely background score that effectively partners the sounds of nature. As always, the film’s deceptive calm blankets a multitude of complex, crucial issues.

There is much then in Pinneyum to remind us why Gopalakrishnan’s first feature became a milestone that changed the course of Malayalam cinema. Unfortunately, that pathbreaking 1972 film – Swayamvaram starring Sharada and Madhu – and its mature, credible handling of a couple in far worse financial and social circumstances, is also why the confused characterisation and gender politics in Pinneyum ends up being particularly disappointing.

In a way, Pinneyum comes across as two films. The first one is before the interval, bearing the director’s masterful signature: quietly observant, deeply saddening, exemplifying the strain that money-related stress can place on even the most loving relationship, and illustrative of how patriarchy weighs down not just women, but also men who reap the benefits of their social privilege not realising that it could be accompanied by back-breaking burdens for the less well-off among them. The second is post-interval when Pinneyum shifts its tone, wandering off into a more mysterious realm reportedly inspired by a real-life crime.

Both might have come together as a cohesive whole if it had not been for the unconvincing characterisation. Purushothaman is portrayed as desperate but not greedy, devious or over-smart in the opening half of Pinneyum. Once life looks up, he appears relieved, especially since his relationship with his beloved Devi seems to have repaired itself. Their bond had weakened through his years of unemployment, but they seem to have made their peace with each other.

It is hard to believe that at this point, the Purushothaman we met initially would have thought of such a drastic step to further secure their future unless something pushed him over the edge or he was haunted by memories of his earlier misery – neither case is made evident to us. What was the tipping point then? The natural progression of thoughts and events in the first half takes leave of the film here. One day he and Devi are chatting about how people’s attitudes have changed ever since their lives improved, shortly afterwards he is sharing a dramatic plan with her. Why?

This is not to say other men and women have never acted in this fashion in similar situations when life is trotting along comfortably, but that this particular man did not come across as being that kind of person. In retrospect, Purushothaman’s literary interests mentioned early in the film can be seen as a hint of what is to come. That hint, as it happens, is very contrived. 

Similarly, Devi’s father Pappu Pillai and uncle’s decision to cooperate with Purushothaman is inexplicable. He seems not to have needed to persuade them much. Devi’s dad was always fond of his son-in-law and never unkind to him, but he also comes across as a level-headed, good man. Why then did he go along with such a foolhardy and needless plan? And having gone along with it, how come he and the others were so stupid in their execution, so cruel and so untouched by their conscience?

Devi’s evolution is more believable. However, a few moments in the treatment suggest that perhaps the director is not as liberal as he seems. Through the first half, Devi is shown being irritable with her husband. This is perfectly realistic – after all, financial tension can affect the best of us, many of us are guilty of letting off steam on our loved ones and such a portrayal is certainly not judgmental towards her or women at large. However, when she asks her husband to get their daughter ready for school, it seems as if that too is being offered as evidence of her impatience with him. It is as if Gopalakrishnan does not automatically see an overworked woman wanting her husband to share the domestic workload; as if the mere act of seeking his cooperation in housework is a slight.

If this was not his intention, then it amounts to unacceptable thoughtlessness, since this fleeting scene perpetuates a misogynistic notion that home management is a woman’s sole responsibility, that economic independence makes women arrogant, and that an expectation of teamwork in the house is a mark of that arrogance. This is a let-down, coming as it does from the King of Nuance.

That said, Pinneyum is not insignificant on the gender front. Commercial cinema tends to romanticise marriage without taking into consideration the practicalities of running a house. Song and dance, violins in the wind, hormones and true love cannot put a roof over your head and food on the table. This was Swayamvaram’s pre-occupation 44 years back. Ditto Pinneyum today. In that sense, this new film could well have been titled Swayamvaram Pinneyum (Swayamvaram Once Again). The point it makes is still relevant. In keeping with the timelessness of his theme, Gopalakrishnan does not specify the year in which his story is set. We are left to figure out the date from the absence of cellphones and other small clues.

The most believable – and appealing – of all Pinneyum’s characters is Devi’s brother Kuttan, a sharply etched example of how innocents often suffer for the sins of those they love.

It needs to be said though that Gopalakrishnan inexplicably papers over the absolute callousness and immorality of Purushothaman’s actions in the latter part of Pinneyum. When Devi reminds him of the consequences of his deeds, she forgets to mention those outside her family who were destroyed by him. At least she is not mindless of them. Purushothaman, on the other hand, is acutely aware of the pain caused to her and himself, but seems not to spare a thought for what he has done to others. Yet, the film works hard to make us like this man.

Despite its flaws though, Pinneyum remains intermittently moving. This is partly because of the atmosphere Gopalakrishnan builds up from the opening scenes, shot through with a sense of foreboding and a pall of gloom; partly because of the editing (B. Ajith Kumar) and camerawork (M.J. Radhakrishnan) that give the narrative a natural air and pace; but most of all because of the principal cast.

Kavya Madhavan and Dileep share an easy on-screen chemistry playing Devi and Purushothaman, even if it is amusing to see the 47-year-old actor announce his character’s age as 31 years and 10 months old. What is it about major commercial male stars in India that makes them so reluctant to play men of their own age?

Dileep effectively conveys Purushothaman’s initial desperation, his later sense of relief and his searing heartbreak in the end with remarkable restraint. Madhavan is faultless in presenting to us Devi’s fatigue, her bitterness and her sense of utter hopelessness.

Although this is not the kind of film that concerns itself greatly with physical beauty, it is still hard not to note, for the nth time, that she is one of the most gorgeous women in India.

Despite the sketchy characterisation, the ever-wonderful Nedumudi Venu too tugs at the heart strings with his portrayal of Pappu Pillai. Akshara Kishor as the younger version of Devi and Purushothaman’s daughter is cute as a button, just as she is on TV’s Karuthamuthu.

The shining star of the lot though is Indrans playing Devi’s brother. The writing of his character and his sensitive performance could bring a lump to the throat of the worst cynic.

Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s Pinneyum then is a mixed bag. It is weighed down by its confused characterisation and shift in tone, yet manages in the overall analysis to remain a poignant film.

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

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

This review has also been published on Firstpost:




Friday, August 19, 2016

REVIEW 419: HAPPY BHAG JAYEGI


Release date:
August 19, 2016
Director:
Mudassar Aziz
Cast:

Language:
Diana Penty, Abhay Deol, Momal Sheikh, Jimmy Sheirgill, Ali Fazal, Piyush Mishra
Hindi


Urdu is like French and Bengali – the sort of language in which a person might spew abuse yet sound like they are telling you they love you. This lyrical tongue with all its eccentricities and beauty is one of the pegs on which hangs the week’s big Bollywood release Happy Bhag Jayegi. The other peg is a Punjabi woman called Happy.

Written and directed by Mudassar Aziz, Happy Bhag Jayegi is the story of Amritsari bride Happy (Diana Penty) who runs away on the day of her marriage ceremony. Even as the groom is readying himself for their mandap, Happy boards the wrong escape vehicle and ends up in Pakistan. While her husband-in-waiting Daman Singh Bagga (Jimmy Sheirgill) and her boyfriend Guddu (Ali Fazal) desperately search for her, she creates havoc in the lives of a budding politician in Lahore, Bilal Ahmed (Abhay Deol), and his fiancé Zoya played by the Pakistani actress Momal Sheikh making her Bollywood debut here.

Most of this you might already have gathered from the trailer. What the trailer does not reveal is that the film’s best moments have been packed into it, and there is nothing much else it has to say. Happy Bhag Jayegi is hilarious at a superficial level and Penty is brimming with potential – as she was in her first film Cocktail in 2012 – but her Happy, despite being the titular protagonist, is the most under-written character in the entire story. So ultimately what we are left with is a film filled with laughter up to a point but completely lacking depth. 

Co-produced by Aanand L. Rai, the supremely successful director of Tanu Weds Manu and Tanu Weds Manu Returns, Happy Bhag Jayegi starts off very well. A runaway bride landing up in the home of a prominent politician in Lahore without her passport or visa is a situation teeming with possibilities. The first half moves at an accelerated pace, the humour is unrelenting and every single member of the cast is rock solid. Deol, in particular, gets a role worth his charisma after a long time and Piyush Mishra playing his ally, the hapless senior policeman ASP Usman Afridi, nudges the funny bone each time he walks on to the screen. Besides, how can you not giggle over a film featuring a grown Punjabi man called Winkle?

And then something goes wrong. What happened in the pre-interval portion is repeated post interval, and it gradually becomes evident that Mudassar Aziz – who earlier made the disastrous Dulha Mil Gaya (2010) with Sushmita Sen – does not know how to take his concept forward. The film’s limited writing is its failing.

Worst of all is the treatment of Happy. She seems like an interesting creature, a free spirit who will not be constrained by a despotic father, a violence-prone fiancé or misadventures in enemy territory. Yet beyond that one-line description, the film fails to acquaint us with this woman. She remains nothing more than the introductory note about her that was probably sent to the producer at the start of this project. Guddu tells Bilal that it is impossible not to love Happy once you get to know her, but we never get to know her so we do not find that out for ourselves.

Imagine having your name in the name of the film, and yet being given only one calm conversation with another character throughout that film’s 126 minutes. Happy is constantly described with admiration and gazed at with adoring eyes by the two young men in her life, but we do not have a chance to fall in love with her ourselves because she remains such a distant figure. She is forever running in Happy Bhag Jayegi, but after a while the running too remains a gimmick that worked well in the promotional teaser but means little in a full-length story.

Oddly enough, Bilal’s character is far better explored in the screenplay. In fact, at some point this becomes more a film about Bilal and Zoya than about Happy and Guddu. Perhaps a more appropriate title could have been Kya Bilal Happy Ke Saath Bhag Jayega? However, Aziz’s inadequacies show up here too. He is clearly keen to surprise us with Bilal’s actions and decisions towards the end of the second half, but since the man’s motivations are poorly fleshed out, they remain completely unconvincing.

Bagga, on the other hand, is described as a vicious fellow by Happy. You can see that he ain’t no saint by the behaviour of the goons who form his coterie. However, his character never rises above Jimmy Sheirgill’s naturally likeable personality.

For the record, though most of the story is set in Pakistan, the film is shot entirely in India – in Amritsar, Chandigarh and Mumbai. Aziz throws in some crowd-pleasing lines about Pakistan, but they are inoffensive and balanced out by the bond that forms between the four youngsters at the centre of the story.

These are among the few moments of maturity in the screenplay. The others come in the atypical portrayal of the film’s Punjabis (they do not call out “Balle Balle” or dance the Bhangra at the drop of a hat) and in the writing of Zoya. She could have easily been pigeonholed as the evil doosri aurat (other woman) in the hero’s life, but somewhere along the way, a spot of nuance enters the picture and she becomes more than that lazy stereotype. One of the film’s nicest scenes is the one in which she urges Bilal to make his own life decisions rather than bowing to his father’s wishes at all times.

Happy Bhag Jayegi includes the song Ashiq tera with the following lyrics (music – Sohail Sen, words – Aziz himself): “Dil ke aage yeh aafat badi hai / Khwahishein phir bhi zidd pe adi hain / Humse maayus hoga zamana / Par zamane ki kisko padi hai.” Roughly translated, that means: “There is a huge hurdle standing in the way of my desires / but I am determined to follow my heart / The world may be disappointed in me / But who cares about this world?” THIS is what the film should have been and could have been about. Happy Bhag Jayegi could have been about finding happiness in pursuing your dreams. You can see that that is what it wants to be, but does not know how to be.

Aziz obviously has a flair for comedy but he needs to work on it. What he desperately needed here was either more time and thought, or a co-writer to help him build on the starting blocks he set up. Happy Bhag Jayegi is fun and funny in large parts, but the second half is also bogged down by how insubstantial and consequently forgettable it is.

Rating (out of five): **

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

This review has also been published on Firstpost:


Film still courtesy: Raindrop Media