Film Discussion : Meri Pyaari Bindu

There is a song that plays in the backdrop when Abhimanyu (Ayushman Khurana) and Bindu (Parineeti Chopra) first get together. It’s called Afeemi hai yeh pyar, which is a little how I feel at the moment – slightly high on this beautiful little gem I caught today, when I should have been shopping for groceries and other household items (you shall judge me if I tell you when my house was last mopped).

When I say little, I only mean that if I had any semblance of a social life, I would probably have not watched this. Some of it has to do with my general disdain for Hindi romantic comedies, some to do with my suspicion of anything Yashraj. And when the film started, I almost felt that suspicion vindicated when Abhimanyu (henceforth Bubla, his daak naam) first finds a video of Bindu and him. Parineeti looks great in those first visuals, exactly like how Aditya Chopra visualises all women – thin, bronzed make-up, and messy-bed-head-but-carefully-styled hair. In sum, nothing like a young woman in 90s Kolkata. Bubla’s description of her also seemed right out of the Chetan Bhagat  Manual of How to Reduce a Woman to a Few Pithy Stereotypes. So I settled myself in for a regular “modern” romantic comedy where the hero would talk about how a hyper-active talkative girl (ok fine, manic pixie dream girl) came into his life, changed it, but left him because she wanted to be “free” or something. And they would get together in the end (the film starts by telling us that Bubla is currently heartbroken over a girl) when the girl realised that our hero gave her wings all along.

Instead, what followed was a roller-coaster of emotions which is really quite inexplicable given how gently the film is paced. And, there is that word again, how reliant it is, on the “little” moments. The Big Boss watching friend and the running bet. The double ring missed calls on the sturdy landline. The cheating scene. Bindu’s telephone call with her property agent. Bindu and Bubla’s conversations on Marine Drive. The Mere Sapno ki Rani throwback in Goa. When she runs to give him a hug after already having said goodbye. The first time Bubla tells her about his feelings and asks her to respond with the three words every Bengali wants to hear (He means aami tomake bhalobashi, she comes back with korbo, lorbo, jeetbo). Little by little, the movie builds a loving portrayal of its heroine, her strengths and foibles, her dreams and fears, through Bubla’s eyes.

It helps that Bubla is a nice guy (though he treats a token girlfriend quite shoddily), aka not-Ranbir Kapoor from Ae Dil Hai Mushkil. And it helps that both Ayushman and Parineeti are good actors with lots of charm. And this might be me being defensive after all the negative reviews I read, but yes they don’t share a crazy devouring passion. What they do share is a genuine camaraderie in all their interactions that I couldn’t help but smile every time they were on the screen together.

The film also does a spot on job of showing the parents, especially Bubla’s mother. The first laugh out loud moment for me she emotionally manipulates him about, well manipulating him into coming home. Then there was another hilarious scene when the father of a prospective bride reads out a scene from one of Bubla’s books (he is the writer of shady literature about daayans and chudails), with appropriate expressions. The parents (both sets) are also there when he proposes, and then again, sleeping on the floor of the drawing room (as they are likely to, if your son is a 20 something employed in Bombay), when they break up. These are the details that make you feel that the writer is sharing a part of his/ her life with you.

But it was really the climax that nudged me to the realisation that this film would likely be a little part of my life, my heart too. I was suddenly sitting there, seeing these beautiful people realise that though they were happy right then, there was no happily ever after - not professionally, not personally. And I wept copiously, not from sadness, but from joy that that was enough.

Update: it holds up.

Very Short Review: Detective Byomkesh Bakshy!

It was easy to be excited about this one. A film about a Bengali detective set in 1940s Calcutta. A director who inspires trust about being able to do justice to it. And YRF's big bucks. Were we finally to have a big fun franchise film which was also smart (in other words, not Dhoom or Golmaal)?

Not quite.

Because Byomkesh is just the reverse. It is a smart smart film which is also loads of fun.

Sushant Singh Rajput, an awesome Byomkesh, unibrow or not

Admittedly, the film had me very early (even before the fantastic credit sequence). We meet Byomkesh while he is playing chess in his college common room. Banerjee doesn't show us his face for almost a minute. And we start expecting a proper hero-esque build-up. But when the detective's face is finally revealed, it is completely devoid of fuss. I remember while watching Sherlock, how I knew I would love the show the moment they started playing *this-is-the-hero-and-he-is-awesome* music after Sherlock introduces himself to John. The makers had respect for Holmes (and filmy traditions), it showed. Byomkesh shows how a muted entry can also work wonders.

Like most good films, Byomkesh moves at a measured pace, giving the viewer time to get to know and like the protagonist and the other lovingly etched characters (especially the brawny sidekick Ajit, and the kindly Doctor-landlord) . Yet, the scenes and the sets were crammed with so many details, it became difficult to take my eyes or mind off. Like the reference to Bata shoes. Or the ex girlfriend's husband. Or the real life temptress playing demure roles in the movies. Or the codes designed to tell whether the other person was a cop.

Also if you ever needed proof to know that an arty-looking film need not be boring-it is Byomkesh with its fantastical, crazy plot.  Some reviewers I read, were not satisfied with the whodunnit aspect of Byomkesh. Which though true, leads me to believe that they have only read Agatha Christie in classic detective fiction. Indian writers like Satyajit Ray (and presumably Saradindu who I haven't read, to be honest) were however inspired by Arthur Conan Doyle's Holmes (and there is a reference to this in the film) where the emphasis was more on action and adventure. The plots themselves were sometimes outlandish and sometimes plain mediocre. Which in cinematic adaptations at least, does not make a difference. If anything, Dibakar Banerjee's adaptation adheres fastidiously to the spirit of these traditions. Hence it is misguided to criticize the film's writers for succeeding at something they set out to do.

My only worry is that the less than spectacular commercial performance of the film is going to shelve the sequel that was so tantalizingly promised to us as a post-script to the film. If you are the kind of person who bitches about the Dhoom and the Golmaals that Bollywood produces, and still did not watch this one, I hope you are sorry.

Why I love Bollywood- In Celebration of the Mediocre Films

We all rhapsodise about the good films. And bitch incessantly about the bad ones. Everyone knows about Lagaan and Jaani Dushman.

Yet there are other perfectly ordinary films that nobody really cares about. Which have stellar moments, where you can see that the writers/ director paid attention, applied thought.

In no particular order, and with no pretensions of being exhaustive, my favourite sequences from these films are as below.

(Please feel free to add yours in the comment section)

·         The Opening Sequence in Hasee toh Phasee

It’s a wedding. Douchey boys are engaging in the sexist pursuit of rating girls. And then Siddharth Malhotra rates Parineeti Chopra as an eight. Still sexist , you would say, except Parineeti plays a chemical engineer from IIT, in spectacles and a boy cut. The eight is on the basis of a stimulating conversation he has with her. The unthinkable has happened. You just met a likeable rom-com hero.

·         The rescue sequence from Ek Villain

She is a shrill, manic-pixie do-gooder. He is a brooding anti-hero. She makes him go to a retirement home to kidnap an old man (where he has been dumped by his evil children) so that he can be reunited with his elderly girlfriend. You have started rolling your eyes.

And then the sequence in question-where the rescue is orchestrated in the backdrop of Amitabh Bachchan’s Shaheshah playing out at a movie screening. It helps that Siddharth Malhotra has the right physicality. But you have to admire the director’s cheekiness. Get the ultimate brooding anti-hero to do the heavy lifting, while the pretty boy…well…looks pretty.

·         The via-Agra song in Yeh Jawani hai Deewani

Okay fine, I just called YJHD mediocre to curry favour with the cool kids. I loved the film through and through. But even the haters have to appreciate the genius of the song with Madhuri Dixit and Ranbir Kapoor. It exists in the film…just because. Just because it would be fun to see Madhuri match steps with the son of the hero she has been cast opposite in the past. Just because the audience was bound to love it. And more cynically, just because…it was a way to sell more tickets.

·         The treasure hunt in Student of the Year

Crowd-pleasing scenes used to be usual fare in Hindi films before our directors grew up and decided to tell real stories. (Examples are the antaksharis in Maine Pyar Kiya and Mujhse Dosti Karoge, the special appearance of Salman Khan in Dhai Akshar Prem Ke, and the shenanigans on the ship in Kaho naa Pyaar Hai). The treasure hunt in the school with inane clues and frenetic running around was a reminder of how film-makers used to get family-friendly eyeballs in the nineties.

Want to guess who my favourite student is?

·         The road sequence in Mujhse Frandship Karoge

Yes, there is a film by that name. Yes, I paid money to watch said film in a multiplex. The leads (in the precarious we-hate-each-other phase before they move on to the I-think-I-am-in-love-with-him/her phase) are travelling by car. To fill the time, she starts humming English songs, and he jumps in to sing their Hindi versions. At one point they sing ‘Neela duppatta, peela suit, chali chali tu dil ko loot’, and it’s English original (which I had no idea, existed).

·         Salman Khan’s cameo in Phata Poster Nikla Hero

Salman Khan’s reaction when thinking about working in the sequel to Andaz Apna Apna: “Aamir ke saath kaam karna padega…”.  *Pained expression*. Pure gold.

Even part from the cameo, this is recommended for Shahid Kapoor fans 

·         Ranveer Singh and Ali Zafar’s pillow talk in Kill/ Dil

The two are staring at the stars with Singh sighing about people turning into stars after death. Zafar chimes in…”Haan, inmein se toh kitno ko humnein taara banaya hoga”. The two are contract killers by the way.

   

Countdown to Blog Birthday-Day 6

Since it's my blog's second birthday this week (26 April 2014), I have decided to blog every day up to it. However short. However frivolous (which of course goes without saying).

I saw 2 States last weekend.

The trailers during the interval were more interesting than the movie.
Alia Bhatt was wonderful though.
Now only if someone advised her to not do bland romantic comedies. (And physically restrained Randeep Hooda from doing trash like Jism 2).

The two trailers I saw were of Revolver Rani and Samrat and Co.

Revolver Rani looks horrible. But I am still going to watch it out of academic curiosity. And to express solidarity with the feminist cause. Though I doubt that's what the film-makers were going for. It looks more like they first saw Neha Dhupia in Phas Gaye Re Obama, then watched Loin and his moll in Yaadon ki Baarat , and decided how fun it would be if the tables were turned. Not that that's a bad thing.

The hero of Samrat and Co. is a detective. He sports curly hair, goes around in a coat with an upturned collar, and talks very fast. In one sequence he runs out of a building (presumably in pursuit), stops in front of the gate, shuts his eyes and seems to concentrates hard. Maps appear on the screen, indicating directions (presumably of the possible routes his quarry may have taken).

And ooh, he has a 'seventh' sense. Since the sixth one is so passé.

Please Baba, aar five minutes khelbo...

Unlike my friend, the Mutinous Scribe, I care deeply about Imtiaz Ali's filmography.

I have, since the day I stumbled on to Socha Na Tha on t.v*.
In one scene, the hero and heroine are in Goa and facing the prospect of sharing a room together. (They aren't in love yet). The heroine tells the hero, "Ghabrao nahi, main tumhare izzat pe haath nahi dalungi."
That nonchalance, the non-drama was refreshing then to a child of the nineties for whom the Hindi film heroine was always a bit of a tight-ass paragon of virtue.
Geet in Jab We Met was even better etched, with lovely shades of so many people I knew. Self-obsessed, talkative, feisty, and armed with a healthy sense of adventure. And then came Veera**, who on the outside, was in the same mould as Geet. When she hides herself in the truck during the police search, and Aadu, the genial goon asks her why, I didn't need her to answer. It was just what an Imtiaz Ali heroine did.

Except it wasn't. While Geet's flight came from the protected, indulgent child-hood she had had, Veera's was a result of her cloistered one. And it wasn't a sense of adventure, as I came to learn a bit later in the film, it was a need to escape, a need to enjoy her new-found freedom. I wouldn't say that this need or feeling resonated with me, because it didn't, at least not at the time I was watching the film. There was so much else to take in-the characters, the acting (thanks to the casting-everyone, down to the creepy molester goon, was perfect), the visuals of the great Indian countryside (which I admittedly wouldn't care for, in a lesser film), the music (it is all I listen to, anymore), the world that Ali transports us to (so much so that the police shooting, in spite of its inevitability, felt like an intrusion in an otherwise idyllic life),  the "neat" story-telling (Mahabir dying before he was put on the stretcher). But the reason that all of this came together, the reason that I understood and accepted Veera's longing for the journey to continue (even if it was with her kidnapper), was possibly because I have wanted the same at different points in time.
Did I have a traumatic childhood? Far from it.

But who as a child has not wanted to play for "five more minutes", because home was boring place in your sister's board years? Which child hasn't dreaded the last week of the summer holidays when all the pending homework would have to be squeezed in? Which harassed masters student has not wanted to run away before a game theory/ econometrics exam? In fact, I only realised why I loved Highway the way I did, four days after I had seen the film, as I listened to "Patakha Guddi"on my way to office, in the white cab that dutifully carries me there and back every working day.


*And not since the day I realised I went to the same college as him.
**Yeah, I just pretended that Love Aaj Kal and Rockstar didn't happen.

What I want to be when I grow up

I want to be rich.

Upper middle-class won't do.

Upper middle-class can get you branded clothes, access to expensive restaurants, high-end technology, a reasonably fancy car and an occasional foreign holiday. None of which I particularly desire.

Rich will get me the mansion in New Friends Colony that I have had my heart set on, since the age of twelve. Rich will get me the holiday home in Goa.
Most importantly, rich will get me my private movie theatre.

I don't mean a home theatre. I mean a proper theatre that you have to commute to, the one with the darkened halls and the giant screen, screening the newest trailers (and the anti-tobacco lectures).
Just minus the people.

Okay fine, I am perfectly happy watching Dhoom 3 or Phata Poster Nikla Hero or Chak de India with other people. I can even ignore the crying, screaming children then. But not all films are given to collective viewing. Or maybe not all movie-goers are given to watching all kinds of films. Children certainly are not. Nor were the adults at the theatre where I caught Highway.
What is with all the talking? What is so important that people have to immediately tell their friends, during Veera's  (Alia Bhatt) outpouring about a childhood trauma? (I would understand if they were sniggering about the dialogue, in a film like Prince or Love Story 2050 or Race 2, I really would). And what's with the inappropriate laughing? Twenty minutes into the film, when a goon is pawing Veera, there was laughter from the audience. The scene wasn't even being played for laughs (There was a brief sequence earlier with the man, that was). Here, Veera was visibly disgusted. And so was I, with my co-audience. That apart, I loved Highway. Even though I went in expecting a love story, and got...I don't exactly know what.

I can't possibly talk about the film giving the crucial bits away (I know because I spent an hour on that post). Just go watch, preferably by yourself, in a theatre.

Kai Po Che!

This is not a review. Just a few spoiler-ridden thoughts on the movie, which I need to get out of my system.

People all over the world today, including those in urban India, lead increasingly homogenised lives. We watch the same American television programming, use the same kind of brands, and eat the same kind of food.  It’s not just about a job anymore, any job that would support a family back home. Our aspirations for a career revolve around the more first-worldly ideal of finding one’s true calling. Likewise, our movies have come to reflect this (or a more exaggerated version of this) reality. Take the toast-making, skydiving trio of Zindagi Milegi Na Dobara. I can’t help but feel that they would fit in rather more comfortably in New York than Mumbai. Transplant the leads of Dil Chahta Hai to London, and it would make absolutely no difference to the narrative. Which is probably why films like Cocktail and Ekk Main aur Ekk Tu completely dispense with an Indian backdrop. And which is why Kai Po Che is the most refreshing film I have seen in a long time.

Kai Po Che is an Indian film in every sense of the word. Yes, of course there is song-and-dance, and Manja manages to evoke an atmosphere that reams of dialogue could possibly never establish. But more importantly it’s the world Govind, Omi and Ishan inhabit that makes the film resonate so much. You can see the dust, the sweat. Here, an eleven year old’s most pressing concern is the goti championship in his neighbourhood. A young man longingly fingers the plastic covered seats of a new car. Dates are carried out in extreme secrecy. Travelling inside a Roadways bus is more uncomfortable than on the roof. Sure, finding love is important, but achieving other goals (monetary, political or, otherwise) more urgent.  This is a movie where you cheer the Indian Cricket team on for a match you know they have won. Because you know cricket can resolve feuds between friends. That it can magically paper over religious fissures. You pray the ending doesn’t enter the territory, you know it’s heading for, when a dazed Omi finds his Mama injured by Ali’s dad. And when the fatal shot hits, you hold back tears, wishing that Ishan and Govind could sort it all out, Omi and Ishan could sort it all out.

If only Bolly-wood can now come up with an ode to female friendship. One that preferably does not involve two pretty girls falling for the same guy.

My Taxonomy of Academic Writing (in Economics)

I am currently reading a paper, firmly ensconced in the intersection of B, D and E (see below). Which motivated this.

A.      Vishal Bharadwaj cinema^*- Our microeconomics professor encourages students to write short answers in exams. He cites the example of Kenneth Arrow, who was notorious for his short papers (most of which, went on to span complete branches of economics). I haven’t read much of Arrow, but I have certainly read other economists who decide to infuse meaning into every word they construct. You blink. And you miss the most important plot point. These economists enjoy sneaking in a harmless looking line in the introduction, or worse, a footnote- the one line that holds the key to all the mind numbing (unsolved) differential equations that you are so impatient to get to, in later sections.

B.      Ekta Kapoor Soaps- These authors lie on the other extreme end of the continuum. They absolutely must give us a recap of every section of the paper at the end of the section, as well as at the beginning of the subsequent section. And in the introduction. And in the recommendations. And in the concluding remarks. You get the idea. (And then almost start missing the algebra).

C.      Farhan Akhtar/ Abbas-Mustan projects- While the Vishal Bharadwajs are theoretical economists (in the vanguard of academia), empirical economists (especially if you skip the methodology bits to power on to the results and discussion) are more accessible. That’s not to deny their capability of employing stunning gadgetry on the way to the climax. When done well, the results are sublime. When not…umm I trust you have seen Race.

D.      Rohit Shetty filums- unambitious and unpretentious. But (happily) not very taxing on the brain. These benign authors decide that they must make life easy for students, and spend most of their paper presenting a simplified version of the papers written by Exhibit A and C. Just as fancy cars hurtling in the air are a regular fixture in Shetty’s films, the penultimate section of these papers too must invariably involve critiquing the papers they discuss, and sometimes an extension.

E.       The ensemble film (in the tradition of Aaja Nachle, Chak de India)- Chak de India straddled regional chauvinism, national unity, religious persecution, sexism, the pathologies of Indian sport, all in a three hour narrative. The academic equivalents may not give such gripping results, but they do manage to flog a single mathematical model into providing amenable results on a variety of points the author wishes to prove. Sometimes this is not limited to a lone paper. Several careers have often hinged upon one model, one idea. Sometimes so much so that all the loving self referencing pushes it into Yashraj Films territory (who remind us at every chance they get, that Aditya Chopra made DDLJ).

^* Yes I compare academic papers to Bollywood films and Hindi television. Sue me.