Sunday, December 24, 2017

REVIEW 554: MASTERPIECE


Release date:
December 21, 2017
Director:
Ajai Vasudev  
Cast:





Language:
Mammootty, Varalaxmi Sarathkumar, Unni Mukundan, John Kaipallil, Mukesh, Maqbool Salmaan, Gokul Suresh, Kalabhavan Shajohn, Poonam Bajwa, Mahima Nambiar, Leena     
Malayalam
 

Since the December 2012 Delhi gangrape, which fixed the media spotlight firmly on India’s long-running feminist movement, many autorickshaws in the city have taken to carrying stickers bearing the words “This auto respects women”. It is the most tragic and ironic testament to how dangerous this city is for 50 per cent of its population and how autowallahs in particular have been known to harass female passengers in particular.
 
A similar irony marks director Ajai Vasudev’s Malayalam film that is in theatres this week. Masterpiece’s leading man, college professor Edward Livingston played by Mammootty, chants a mantra throughout his time on screen. “I respect women,” he says again and again and then again, clearly unconvinced by and uncommitted to his own declaration. The character’s actions suggest that the megastar has taken on this catchphrase to mock those who have slammed him over the years for the horrendously misogynistic films he has chosen to act in, including last year’s Kasaba that earned him a notice from Kerala’s Women’s Commission. His insincerity is underlined by the scorn and condescension with which he dispenses these words each time he wishes to put a woman in her place, in a film that has been made with the evident purpose of celebrating aggressive masculinity and treating women lightly.
 
No, I am not kidding. The hero even has this theme song playing in the background while he struts about: “He’s the man, macho macho man.” I swear I am not making this up.
 
Masterpiece is set in a men’s college where two gangs of students are constantly at war. Their competitiveness extends to a good-looking youngster called Vedika in a women’s college in the city who recently won a major cultural crown. Soon after they mark Vedika out as property to be duelled over, she is raped and killed. Suspicion falls on her boyfriend, which leads to a clash between students and the local police including ACP Bhavani Durga (Varalaxmi Sarathkumar) and her colleague John Thekken (Unni Mukundan).

About an hour into the narrative, Edward Livingston enters the picture. He is the sort of prof that dudes consider cool because he effectively disciplines them in class but in his free time becomes one of the boys, so to speak, such that when he beats up goons to protect them, the young men on campus cheer him by yelling “goonda masha” (hooligan teacher), which the film seems to consider a compliment.
 
Edward, of course, proves to be a better investigator than the police, and solves the mystery over Vedika’s death. Of course. The whodunnit part of the film is no doubt suspenseful, but when the big reveal comes, its contrivances somewhat overshadow its interesting elements. For instance, the crime at the centre of the plot took place when a young woman fixes a late night rendezvous with her lover. A credible explanation is not offered for why she chose a lonely spot and that particular time. Another instance: a tubby middle-aged person is shown chucking a human body over a wall as if it were a sack of cotton, a task that perhaps a real-life WWE wrestler might be equal to.

Even the anticipation of the case being cracked is overshadowed by director Ajai Vasudev’s fan worship of Mammootty, which dominates every scene in which Livingston appears. The rape and murder are just an excuse to prove how cool Mammukka can be when he plays detective-detective. There is no dividing line here between the character and the actor, not because the actor is doing a great job of immersing himself in a role, but because he does not bother. Mammootty here is himself on screen as he has played himself in countless films through his decades-long career.
 
Masterpiece, in that sense, is not so much a film as it is a prop against which Mammootty leans. Everything in it is geared towards paying tribute to the star while apparently signifying Edward Livingston’s coolth. And so, Livington’s car registration number is KL02 BOSS. During his introductory scene an hour into the narrative, “Maharaja” from the college’s name on its boundary wall is highlighted, as are the words “limited edition” on the back of his Hyundai Creta. He has a signature gesture: he keeps holding up his right arm and shakes down his shining kada. Even the title is unrelated to the film’s storyline: it is an ode to him.
 
It is not that such swagger does not ever work. Mammootty himself has pulled it off in the past. The problem here is that these moves are so lacking in novelty and so generic, that far from being impressive, they come across as laboured and puerile. The director also seems to be working on a template already visited by the Mohanlal-starrer Velipadinte Pusthakam to slightly better effect this Onam, right down to the hero’s late entry, the much younger woman teacher who evinces romantic interest in him and a murder with a college in the backdrop.
 
What distinguishes Masterpiece from Velipadinte Pusthakam is the utter contempt for women pervading every cell of its being. When a classroom full of male students gawk at a pretty young teacher (Poonam Bajwa) with a sari draped low down her waist, a senior colleague (Mukesh) chides them but mutters to himself as he looks away from her slim body in embarrassment, “There is no point in scolding the students.” In his book it is the woman’s fault that those paavam, helpless young men are leering at her.
 
Let us pause for a moment to think of the extreme insensitivity of that line being featured in a film in which a rape – a crime usually accompanied by victim blaming – occurs shortly afterwards. The low point of this film though is that long after this gruesome assault takes place, a marginal character, the canteen guy Manniyan, makes a quip about rape. Despite the abysmal expectations Masterpiece had set up for itself by then, I was startled in that moment.
 
Incidentally, the aforementioned woman teacher is included in the film solely as a showpiece who is smitten by Edward, because no Mammootty or Mohanlal film these days is complete without a good-looking woman young enough to be their granddaughter falling for them. Her youthfulness is unwittingly rubbed in our faces in a scene in which she opts out of her usual saris and wears jeans and a shirt to dance with the students.
 
Through all this misogyny, Varalaxmi Sarathkumar stands tall as ACP Bhavani Durga, the actor’s natural screen presence defying every effort by Edward Livingston to rubbish her character. Varalaxmi conveys power effortlessly, possibly because of her own innate strength. She deserves better than to play secondary characters in macho-fests like Masterpiece and Kasaba.
 
The film itself squanders away whatever little potential it has in its adoration of Mammootty and its misogyny.  

Rating (out of five stars): 1/2

CBFC Rating (India):
U (because rape jokes, in the Censor Board’s view, are suitable material for children)
Running time:
160 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:




Saturday, December 23, 2017

REVIEW 553: TIGER ZINDA HAI


Release date:
December 22, 2017
Director:
Ali Abbas Zafar
Cast:

Language:
Salman Khan, Katrina Kaif, Angad Bedi, Kumud Mishra, Girish Karnad
Hindi


Yeh toh puri army lekar aa gaye hai,” a scared Indian nurse says at one point as she looks out of the window and sees ISIS troops landing up in droves at a hospital in Iraq where she and her colleagues have been held captive.

Ghabrao mat,” says her companion, an Indian RAW agent, “abhi Tiger zinda hai.”

Literally translated, those last three words – which are also this film's title – simply mean that someone called Tiger is alive. But since this is conventional commercial Bollywood fare and the aforesaid Tiger is played by a certain Mister Salman Khan, they are also a metaphor for “all is well with the world kyunki (to borrow and adapt a signature phrase from the works of another iconic Khan) Salman hai naa”.

How foolish are the governments, policy analysts, intelligence agencies and academics of the world investing time and money in figuring out how to bring ISIS to its knees. They should have known that the solution lies in the muscular arms and golden heart of a character played by Salman.

Tiger Zinda Hai’s strength is that it is unapologetic about its stupidity. And so, although it is for the most part simplistic in the socio-political statements it lays on thick, it is packed with so much action that it ends up being a fun, even if clichéd, Bollywood-and-Bond-style masala flick which, if you are looking closely enough, does make a subversive point or two.

Writer-director Ali Abbas Zafar’s film is a sequel to Kabir Khan’s 2012 hit Ek Tha Tiger in which Salman played Indian espionage agent Avinash Singh Rathore a.k.a. Manish Chandra a.k.a. Tiger who, while on a mission, falls in love with a Pakistani spy called Zoya (Katrina Kaif). Tiger Zinda Hai continues where Ek Tha Tiger left off. Zoya and Avinash have quit their respective agencies and are now living in hiding along with their son Junior. Their calm life is interrupted when RAW seeks Tiger’s help to free a bunch of Indian nurses who have been taken as hostages in Iraq.

The opening text acknowledges that the film is inspired by true events. The reference here is to an episode in 2014 involving 46 Indian nurses who were held at a hospital in Tikrit, caught between ISIS and Iraqi government forces. This remarkable real life drama was chronicled beautifully by Mollywood earlier this year in Take Off starring Parvathy, Kunchacko Boban and Fahadh Faasil. The Malayalam film though was told through the eyes of one of the nurses who was at the forefront of the rescue effort and who, by coordinating with the Indian Embassy in Iraq, ultimately helped get herself and her colleagues back to India. Bollywood’s take on this well-documented episode from our contemporary history sets this woman firmly aside (along with the embassy, the governments of India and Kerala) and revolves around a single man instead.

If you have seen the sobre, credible, realistic yet supremely entertaining Take Off you may understand why Tiger Zindagi Hai feels so ridiculous in comparison and so shamefully male-centric. It took considerable strength of will this morning to put that film out of my mind while I watched Tiger take the reins and make a meal of ISIS. (For the record, ISIS is called ISC here, and Tikrit is Ikrit.) I was rewarded for my efforts with humour – some intentional, some not – and intermittent adrenaline rushes.

Both Salman and Katrina are limited actors, but they are charismatic and pleasing to the eyes here as always. Katrina is convincing enough in her action scenes to make you wonder why it has not occurred to any Bollywood director to cast her along with perhaps Deepika Padukone and Priyanka Chopra in an all-out action flick centred around women. Salman has been heavy on his feet in recent years, but a combination of well-planned stunt choreography and clever camerawork ensures that we are not aware of that at any point in this film, unlike in Ek Tha Tiger in which he looked visibly tired.

Tiger Zinda Hai is a slick production (though the background score’s jarring resemblance to Don’s music is distracting) and the fisticuffs in it are enjoyable. It also clearly means well in most political matters even though it feels the need to underline its messaging repeatedly and plays to the gallery in an India that is increasingly demanding chest-thumping proof of patriotism from all its citizens and is openly suspicious of minority communities. So, Tiger and the other characters stress and re-stress their love for India with lines such as this one from Zoya: “Sab log samajhte hai ki duniya mein sabse zyaada pyaar tum mujhse karte ho lekin mujhe pata hai ki tum mujhse bhi zyaada apne desh se pyaar karte ho” (everyone thinks that you love me the most in this world, but I know that you love your country even more than you love me). Tiger’s Muslim colleague gives triple evidence of his desh prem. And since the audience cannot be trusted to appreciate that theirs is a culturally disparate team, we are reminded of its Hindu-Muslim-Sikh composition in a pointed exchange between Tiger and his teammate (Angad Bedi) about what it means to be a sardar. We should have seen that coming considering that early on, in a scene in which Katrina’s Zoya bashes up a bunch of goons, the writer felt the need to throw in a character dispensing a line about this being an example of women’s empowerment. Does an audience that supports dumbed-down cinema lose the right to complain about spoonfeeding? Perhaps.

To be fair, Tiger Zinda Hai is not as tacky or loud as Gadar, a film it references with a mention of Sunny Deol’s infamous handpump-uprooting scene in which he scared off the entire Pakistan Army with a bellow. Tiger inhabits a Bollywood that has evolved to a stage where Pakistanis can now be shown as allies in the face of a common enemy, and one character, when confronted over Pakistan’s wrongdoings in Kashmir, gets away with implying that India’s hands are not clean either. Considering the divisive times we live in, even this fleeting scene, sadly, is an act of courage that needs to be lauded, as does another contrived passage involving national flags that pushes the envelope up to a point (though without crossing a certain line). Even the ISC members we meet are not entirely satanic.

Tiger Zinda Hai’s supporting cast is a mixed bag. Kumud Mishra manages to be comical without allowing his comedy to become incongruous in this grim setting. Paresh Rawal, however, overdoes his villainous labour contractor. The handsome Angad Bedi is impressive in a small role that does not challenge him as much as last year’s Pink but still reminds us that this man is hero material. 

Tiger Zinda Hai is not a film that is meant to be taken too seriously. I mean c’mon, Salman/Tiger takes off his shirt for no reason at all to give ISC/ISIS and us a generous view of his fabulously toned and oiled torso and arms in a scene that does not even bother to offer a logical excuse for his shirtlessness. And after engineering the escape of those nurses, Tiger and Zoya dance to an item song playing along with the credits. I laughed through these two stereotypical scenes because by this point I had given up gasping with exasperation and had surrendered myself to the idiosyncrasies and ludicrousness of the genre (the genre being Bollywood masala). If you can see Tiger Zinda Hai for what it is, you too may not mind its unabashed blend of swag, silliness and schmaltz.
  
Rating (out of five stars): **1/2

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

This review was also published on Firstpost: