Filmi Geek

Shaque (1976)

शक़

A story of a marriage worn down by fear and suspicion, Shaque ("doubt") has a very strong start but takes a few unfortunate turns that leave the film overall with a very unsatisfying heft. 

Vinod Joshi (Vinod Khanna) is a witness to a murder in his workplace.  He cooperates with the police investigation; there is an arrest and a trial at which Vinod testifies; and Vinod's colleague Subramaniam is convicted of the crime.   Vinod  and his wife Meena (Shabana Azmi) do their best to forget the harrowing incident, thinking it is behind them.  Ten years later, Meena receives an ominous letter from a man called Maan Singh (Utpal Dutt), who claims that Vinod was more involved than he let on and allowed an innocent man to be convicted in order to cover his own crimes of embezzlement from the company.  Meena is troubled by the letter, but while Vinod assures that it's nothing but the baseless ravings of disturbed old man, Meena can't shake the dreadful feeling that Vinod hasn't told her the whole truth.  She launches an investigation of her own, behind Vinod's back - but their marriage bends under the strain of her suspicions.

Shaque is at its best when its focus sticks to the relationship between Vinod and Meena and the strains placed upon it by Meena's suspicions.  Vinod Khanna and Shabana Azmi are understated and sweet in the scenes establishing their relationship early in the film, and the realist style of their performance lets tensions grow between them without too much overwrought dramatizing.  The tension is delicately enhanced by some very nice camera work, framing shots like the one pictured above.  Their tenderness and passion is apparent too, illustrated in a handful of touching, intimate scenes.

Unfortunately, the film's masala elements - especially the supposedly suspenseful confrontations towards the film's end - contrast with the delicacy of its study of the marriage, in a distracting rather than an effective way.  And Meena makes some very questionable judgments that make it hard to identify with her.  Her poor judgment about Maan Singh when it's painfully obvious that he's blackmailing betrays her as naive, and her incomprehensible suicide attempt seems like drama-mongering.   Neither paints a sympathetic heroine.  The film would have done better to give us a sensible woman caving to the temptation of doubt, rather than Meena almost wrecking her own marriage through stupidity.   In the end, the weaknesses outweigh the strengths, and even though Shabana and Vinod give the best performances they can under the circumstances, Shaque isn't much more than a forgettable timepass, despite its well-crafted moments. 
 

Filmi Geek metapost

Hi folks,

There is some kind of technical problem with the Dor post that is not permitting comments to go through even though comments are supposed to be open on that post.  I have submitted a support ticket to TypePad and will hopefully get it resolved quickly. In the meantime if you feel the urge to comment on Dor you should be able to do so in this post; I think I can move the comments to the Dor post later. UPDATE:  The problem appears to be resolved and I have moved the comments from here to the Dor post.  Please let me know if you still have trouble.

I've not been a conscientious blogger for the past month or so but now that the Dor review is up and I have a few more in the pipeline I hope to be back up to speed soon.  I miss watching Hindi movies and reviewing them, and I miss hearing from you about them as well.  Thanks for reading Filmi Geek!

ETA:  There are worse technical problems than that; apparently all the work I did getting Dor ready for publication last night has been lost, and the review that is published has reverted to a half-finished version of the post.  I have pulled it and am mightily annoyed that I've lost my work.  I'll try to reconstruct it as soon as I can. ETAA:  Fixed!  I knew there was a good reason I subscribed to my own RSS feed.  :p

Dor (2006)

डोर

As an engaging film about the bonds between in women in which the women are sharply drawn and neither archtypical nor sterotypical, Dor (thread) reminds me a little of some of Shyam Benegal's films.  But it is sweeter and gentler than Benegal's gritty tales, and that sweetness endures long after the film is over.

Though Zeenat (Gul Panag) and Meera (Ayesha Takia) live half a nation apart and have never met, their lives are destined to intertwine.  Zeenat's husband Amir (Rushad Rana) and Meera's, Shankar (Anirudh Jaykar), both join a crew of migrant workers in Saudi Arabia, leaving their wives behind.  One night, in a heated argument, Amir (perhaps accidentally) kills Shankar.   Amir is convicted of murder, and under Saudi law, will be executed unless Shankar's widow Meera signs papers pardoning him.  And so Zeenat, desperate to save Amir, treks across hundreds of miles of Rajasthani desert to find Meera. Spurned by Shankar's family, Zeenat befriends the melancholy Meera directly.  But the bond that forms between them is shattered when Meera learns the true motive behind Zeenat's warmth.

Dor is a lovely, delicate, engaging film, and is most unusual in its presentation of the transformative power of friendship between women.  Meera, prior to Shankar's death, is so young and full of life that seeing her broken under the strictures of traditional Rajasthani widowhood is heartbreaking; where before she sang and danced to film songs, afterwards, wrapped in an unadorned cotton sari, she is tentative, afraid to move or speak, even to voice her grief.  Zeenat prods Meera to take control of her own destiny (to a degree) and helps reintroduce color into her life.  Zeenat, in contrast, is strong and practical almost to a fault - when we first meet her she is working on a construction project, and when Amir distracts her from her work and tries to kiss her she produces a nail from between her lips.  Meera teaches her an empathy for the emotions of others that she never had previously. 

There are men in Dor too but the story - refreshingly - is not about them, though it does demonstrate the action-at-a-distance force that the actions of men can have on the lives of women, as Meera and Zeenat would not have been brought together at all but for Shankar and Amir's cataclysmic burst of testosterone that fateful night in Saudi Arabia.  Some of the men in the film are piggish and cruel, like Meera's father and his wealthy tenant, who attempt to arrange a business transaction in which Meera is the barter.  Others, though, bolster the women's strength and spirit with their love and support, like Amir and Shankar, each of whom loves his wife exactly for the woman she is and would not dream of trying to mold her into something else. 

The standout among the film's men is Behroopiya (Shreyas Tapalde), an actor and a trickster who first cons Zeenat, then befriends her and helps her in her quest to find Meera, and finally falls in love with her - though his love is not the demanding kind, and he never intrudes on her marriage or her love for her husband. Behroopiya's friendship is a kind of anchor for Zeenat's passion, and the aid he provides is both practical and spiritual.

Dor is well-wrought and memorable, delicate and sweet, and achieves that rare feat of being both real and touching at the same time.  It achieves a very fine balance, making its bittersweet point with a gentle touch.

Jodhaa-Akbar (2008)

जोधा-अकबर

Ashutosh Gowariker's take on the story of the ecumenical court of the great Mughal emperor Akbar owes a debt to Hindi classics like Mughal-e-azam as well as modern Hollywood epics in the vein of Gladiator or Troy.  Epic in scope as well as in length, Jodhaa-Akbar does not quite hit all the right notes, but at its best moments it's effective, painting a story with modern resonance on a lush historical canvas.

The young Mughal emperor Jalaluddin Mohammed (Hrithik Roshan) dreams of a united Hindustan, joining both his own Mughal territories with the tribal lands ruled by the valiant and proud - and Hindu - Rajput clan.  He attempts to annex the Rajput kingdoms with a combination of military might and honorable rule, doing away with his ancestors' practices of slaying conquered kings and making slaves of their people.  Meanwhile a succession struggle within one of the Rajput kingdoms, coupled with the ambitions of certain members of both the Mughal and Rajput houses, leads to a marriage between the young emperor and a Rajput princess, Jodhaa (Aishwarya Rai).  This alliance - and in particular the marriage of the Muslim emperor to a Hindu princess - sends shockwaves through both the Mughal courts and Rajput palaces alike, and tensions flare even within Jalaluddin's own household.  Jodhaa demands respect for her religious traditions, and the ecumenical Jalaluddin is happy to comply, to the outrage of his Muslim advisors - particularly his closest advisor, his wet-nurse and surrogate mother Maham Anga (Ila Arun).  She begins plotting against Jodhaa almost the moment the Rajput princess arrives.  In the midst of this grand-scale political battle and the politics of the royal court, Jalaluddin has clear goals that are easier to state than to achieve - to unite Hindustan without bloodshed; to rule a peaceful nation where Hindus and Muslims are each free to worship as they choose; and to win the heart of his stubborn Rajput bride. 

This is truly the stuff of which epics are made, but it's a whole lot to fit into a movie.  Gowariker attempts to graft a classic filmi love story - where partners in an arranged marriage gradually develop real tenderness - onto a grand historical tale with all the full complement of battle scenes, palace intrigue, and allegorical resonance.  The result is a film that is not always sure what it's trying to be. 

It is one part a paean to Jalaluddin, whom history remembers as Akbar - the Great - and the film's Jalaluddin is certainly flawless almost to the point of dullness, with his limitless capacity for compassion and forgiveness, and his vision of a united and tolerant Hindustan.  Jalaluddin is presented as the first Mughal emperor actually born in Hindustan - these roots are part of why he sees himself as an emperor of the people rather than a conqueror.  The parallel between Jalaluddin and the generation of Indian leaders born after Partition is certainly not lost on Gowariker.  And just as Mughal-e-azam made its subtextual plea for Hindu-Muslim unity to a post-Partition audience, Jalaluddin's impassioned speeches about tolerance are clearly directed to the modern audience even more than to Jalaluddin's ministers and subjects.  Indeed, the film portrays his great proclamation of religious equality - abolishing the Pilgrimage Tax against Hindus - as the act that earned him the title Akbar.

In another aspect Jodhaa-Akbar is a grand swords-and-horsemen drama, with interminable battle scenes in which Gowariker shows his technical skill at managing sophisticated shots stuffed with thousands of extras and adding little to the film except a Hollywood sense of spectacle.  The alliances and betrayals swirling through the Mughal and Rajput camps add more in the way of substance, but even the best of these episodes of palace intrigue - the betrayal engineered by the terrifying Maham Anga - is reduced to shorthand and resolved almost instantaneously after it unfolds, with no real lasting consequences for the story. 

Finally, and perhaps most indulgently, Jodhaa-Akbar is a romance, developing a love story between the emperor and the princess in occasional moments of erotic heat embedded, unfortunately, in a large base of rather ordinary filmi conventions.  In one of Gowariker's cleverer moves, he provides the requisite gratuitous bare-chested shots of Hrithik Roshan exercising in the sun - firmly anchoring the scene to the story's arc by showing Jodhaa (who has not yet allowed her husband to touch her) slack-jawed with lust, surreptitiously watching him.  The effect is that even if the beefcake show isn't your thing - it isn't mine - the scene is memorable and appealing.

On balance, despite Jodhaa-Akbar's directorial indulgences, it's a satisfying spectacle, a solid timepass with a few elevated moments.  While its stars are too pretty by half - their bearing is more like movie stars playing dress-up than like a young emperor and princess - their performances are adequate to the film's unsubtle presentation.  (In a nice detail, Jalaluddin speaks high Urdu while Jodhaa and the Rajputs choose a much more Sanskrit-derived vocabulary.)  It is a waste that neither Hrithik nor Aishwarya gets to dance in the film. Gowariker attempts to compensate by giving them swordplay but it isn't the same; Jodhaa's swordplay in particular is a gratuitous and silly plot device, if pretty to watch.  But there is some wonderful music all the same, including two very memorable song sequences - the grand, imperial celebration of "Azeem-o-shaan shehenshah" and the gorgeous hymn "Khwaja mere khwaja" (discussed further by Sanket here).  The latter ends with the swirling dance of a troupe of Sufi dervishes, and in another of the film's touching moments the sensitive Jalaluddin is moved to join them in the dance. 

Mandi (1983)

मंडी

Shyam Benegal films often explore broad social themes through a closely focused lens, in detailed studies of relationships among a handful of people.  Mandi ("market") is broader in scope, featuring a large number of characters whose relationships form an intricate web in which concepts like loyalty, morality, and duplicity are tangled.  A wry film with a healthy dose of black comedy, Mandi presents a sarcastic look at the tension between venerable but questionable traditions and modernity in its various forms. 

Rukmini bai (Shabana Azmi) is a madam who runs her brothel with a stern and demanding hand.  Aided by her melancholy houseboy Dhungrus (Naseeruddin Shah), Rukmini is protective of her girls, especially the brothel's virginal prize, Zeenat (Smita Patil), who is permitted to spend her days practicing her music and kathak instead of submitting to the kotha's more lascivious customers.  When a sanctimonious moralist, Shanti Devi (Gita Siddharth), flexes her political muscle in an attempt to drive the brothel out of town, Rukmini turns to her landlord Mr. Gupta (Kulbushan Kharbanda) for assistance, but finds in him only a conditional ally.  Caught in the crossfire is the town's mayor, Agrawal (Saeed Jaffrey), who is under the powerful Shanti Devi's thumb but also beholden to Rukmini, lest she air his own dirty laundry.  Rounding out the vast network of players is a terrified mute girl (Sreela Majumdar) married under pretext and sold by her new husband to Rukmini; a dirty-minded photographer (Om Puri) who prowls around trying to snap naked pictures of the tawaifs; a police-wala who does his "night duty" at the brothel; Agrawal's son, engaged to Gupta's daughter but madly in love with Zeenat; Shanti Devi's beleaguered assistant (Pankaj Kapur); a crazed and pious hermit (Amrish Puri) who shows Rukmini how to extract wishes from a variety of holy objects; and all the girls of the brothel (including Soni Razdan and Ila Arun), with their varying levels of satisfaction and loyalty to Rukmini.

That's an awful lot to squeeze into a film, and the squeezing does, to some degree, compress Benegal's characters into two dimensions.  The outstanding talent of the cast offers some compensation, though, allowing each character to be vividly rendered despite the tendency toward archetypy.  The darkly comic tone of the entire film enhances the vividness of the characterizations.  Without it, the film would collapse under the weight of its themes.  Delivering the tale with archness, teetering on the brink of tumbling over the top, allows the actors a breadth of expression that helps them pop out of the screen.  Amrish Puri's bug-eyed ascetic, Saeed Jaffrey's nervously buffoonish aristocrat, Naseeruddin Shah's droopy drunk - each plays to the back of the house in a departure from Benegal's usual hyper-realist style, yet the broad style is precisely what renders each of them memorable. 

Shabana Azmi's turn is the broadest of them all, and her performance is deliciously physical and yet still evoactively subtle.  Rukmini flits between angry snarls and obsequious smiles at a moment's notice, one minute dripping with maternal concern and the next barking orders like a foreman.  And she cannot resist a mirror, interrupting herself often, whether mid-tirade, mid-sob, or even mid-prayer, to smooth a stray strand of hair.  If there is an overarching mood to the changeable Rukmini, it's that she never for a moment displays an ounce of sincerity.  Indeed, most of the characters in Mandi are somehow scheming, double-crossing, or working both sides against the middle.  From the brothel girls whose loyalty to Rukmini is fragile and fleeting, to Zeenat who is not nearly as ingenuous as she seems, and even to the pompous Shanti Devi who (we learn from a throw-away line of Rukmini's) is having an affair with her own son-in-law, each of the characters is concealing a card or two.  And it is this ubiquitous duplicity that gives Mandi its entertaining edge -  it's hard not to laugh watching these colorful characters squirm, hedge, and lie through their teeth. 

Mandi's final scene is a little bit puzzling, but the ultimate message may be that degradation is in the eye of the beholder, and that perhaps the concealed hypocrisy of those who call themselves modern and upright is just as oppressive as the ancient traditions of the kotha.  Whatever the true moral of this amorality tale may be, though, it is a terrific film. 

Filmi Geek metapost

I have had to close the comments on the review of Fire.

The person who drove the flame war may not believe me, but my problem with his/her posts is not the underlying substance of the views they express; rather it's how s/he chose to express them, with name-calling, vitriol, and disrespect. That person fancies India to be a largely monolithic country where the vast, vast majority not only agrees with him/her, but would support forcibly expelling everyone who doesn't - starting with Shabana Azmi.

I know I am an outsider and that it's presumptuous of me to take up the banner of someone who takes controversial positions that I only begin to understand. I am not prepared to provide a forum for political debate with any of my blogs, but I have to recognize that Shabana Azmi is a political person and one cannot talk about her without talking about politics. That is why I do not censor political discussions, why I don't delete comments and why I allowed the debate on the Fire post to go on as long as it did.

Having said that, I have to demand a certain level of civility and respect for differing viewpoints. The person who ignited the comment war did not evince that (though the regular commenter who engaged him/her largely did, and for that I am thankful), and so I had to shut the discussion down.

The point of this post is not so much to call attention to that debate (though it will certainly have that effect), but to urge all of you to feel free to express whatever opinions you have, as long as you do so in a way that is respectful of everyone involved. I don't want either Filmi Geek or SLP to be a wasteland of vapid praise or boring sycophantism - I encourage substantive disagreement - but I can't let them be breeding grounds for angry invective.

Can we get back to talking about movies now?

There are reviews of two great movies coming soon - I am working on review of Shyam Benegal's Mandi and Nagesh Kukunoor's Dor will follow not far behind.  In the meantime please have a look at some wonderful new(-ish) blogs that I'll be adding to my blogroll at the right:  So they dance! by my friend Sanni, who loves old films as well as new and has a wonderful style;  Picturesque, featuring Sunny's detailed and thoughtful reviews; and Bitten by Bollywood, by Nida, who is new to Hindi films and offers the fresh perspective of the thinking neophyte. 

Anand (1971)

आनंद

This is one of the most difficult reviews to write of any since I started this blog.  I usually get a perverse kind of pleasure from writing about films I didn't enjoy, but this has not been the case with Anand ("joy," as well as the lead character's name), which I watched months ago and haven't brought myself to review until now. 

Dr. Bhaskar Banerjee (Amitabh Bachchan) is a young physician with a gloomy outlook.  A workaholic, he takes his work to heart and doesn't see much to enjoy in life.  Then his mentor introduces him to Anand (Rajesh Khanna), a cheerful soul who brightens the spirits of everyone he meets, including the dour doctor.  But Dr. Banerjee is dismayed to learn that Anand has an inoperable, terminal cancer, and a prognosis of only a few months to live.  Anand is determined to spread as much joy as he can in the short time he has left, and from him Dr. Banerjee learns to appreciate all aspects of life. 

I wanted to like Anand; I love so many of the films of its director, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, and I adore the performances of young, pre-stardom Ambitabh Bachchan.   And The film is so widely loved, and had been recommended to me by so many different people, that I feel like an insensitive philistine for failing to appreciate it.

Yet just about everything about it grated, starting with the hyperactive cheerfulness of Anand himself.  I've not found a single appealing quality to Rajesh Khanna, between his froggy smile and his mumbly, droopy-eyed diction; here, he combines these traits with a ferret-like energy that is by multiples more annoying than charming.  But it's not merely that Anand's idea of cheerfulness is too shouty and bouncy to appeal to me; it's that everyone in the film is as delighted by it as I am irritated.  Even the somber doctor, a man who looks like he should be getting migraines from Anand's very presence, is instead moved to the depths of his soul.  I understand how I am supposed to feel, but I can't get on the train; instead of being charmed by Anand's joy, I just want him to shut the hell up.  Anand is not merely terminally ill; he's terminally annoying. 

Beneath the surface - of course - Anand harbors some melancholy, which shows itself only in quiet moments when he thinks he's not being watched.  This feature of Anand's character is such an obvious cliche that it adds no depth to him at all, and I found myself only rolling my eyes when it was revealed.  It's just one more predictable step in the very predictable arc of this entirely by-the-book story.  Anand's inevitable end - the conclusion is painfully apparent from the moment Anand is introduced - brought me no tears, just relief that it was finally over. 

I suppose the saccharine sentiments would have been forgivable if the characters had worked, but between Anand's hysterical babble and the doctor's sour-lemon demeanor there wasn't much to sink my teeth into.  The entire experience was like biting into a puff of cotton candy and finding it artificially sweetened, bitter with aspartame aftertaste.  Though one of the best-loved emotional tear-jerkers of Hindi cinema, Anand's delicacy was completely lost on me.   

ETA:  I feel somewhat less self-conscious and thick about disliking this film after reading Philip Lutgendorf's astute (as always) comments on it.  He notes, as I did, that whether one is moved by the film depends upon whether one is charmed or irritated by the character of Anand; he also observes that Anand is an archetype of the manic, self-centered embodiments of romance heroes all over Hindi cinema. 

Awara (1951)

आवारा

When I saw Raj Kapoor and Nargis in Shree 420 I was astonished in equal parts by the magnetism of the stars and by Raj Kapoor's mastery of the art of entertainment.  So I had high expectations for Awara ("vagabond") - perhaps too high, because while Awara was certainly an excellent film, it left me somewhat unengaged and disappointed.

Raghunath (Prithviraj Kapoor) considers himself a forward-thinking man, and bucks tradition and his family by marrying a widow.  When his wife Leela (Leela Chitnis) is kidnapped and then mysteriously returned, though, Raghunath is overwhelmed by the wagging tongues of his community.  He concludes, in shades of the Ramayana, that her honor is sullied, and casts her out of his household; she bears his son in squalor. 

Raghunath continues to rise in esteem and eventually becomes a judge who deals harshly with criminals, believing them born of bad blood and incapable of rehabilitation.  His son Raj (Raj Kapoor), meanwhile, under the influence of the same thug Jagga (K.N. Singh) who kidnapped his mother, grows up to be a crook and a bank robber.  When he is reunited with his childhood friend Rita (Nargis) - who happens to be Judge Raghunath's ward - sparks fly, and Raj is torn between his desire to be good enough for her and his belief, fostered by Jagga, that he is no good for anything other than crime.

Like Shree 420, Awara explores a wide range of social themes.  Dominated by ruminations on the question of nature versus nurture, it also addresses classism, injustice toward women, and other weighty issues.  But where Shree 420 clothes its missive to post-partition India in a truly entertaining package, watching Awara it is difficult to shake the feeling of being educated.  Everything, and everyone, is deadly serious.  The tone is set by Prithviraj's clenched jaw and furrowed brow and carried through Raj's dour sarcasm, a bitterness that sours even the film's tender moments.  The result is a movie that, despite the excellence of its craft, feels like work to watch. 

There are unquestionable strengths to Awara.  Raj Kapoor and Nargis turn in subtle and emotional performances.  And Nargis's character Rita is a rare treat - a young woman who also happens to be a lawyer.  She is cautioned against allowing her emotions (presumably a feminine weakness) to interfere with her rationality, but her introduction of compassion into the cold calculus of criminal justice is presented by the film as an unambiguous asset and the key to both Raj's and Raghunath's redemption.  This is possibly Awara's most radical idea, the notion that criminals should be treated as redeemable individuals with the potential to rehabilitate, rather than as the mechanical sum of their breeding and past bad actions. 

Awara also features a beautiful evergreen soundtrack, whose highlights include the title song, a creepy and gorgeous dream sequence in "Tere bina aag yeh chandni," and - especially - the cheeky "Dum bhar jo udhar munh phere,"in which Rita implores the bright full moon to give her and Raj some privacy for an amorous moment.  But the film's sweet, engaging, or moving moments just aren't enough to overcome the general tone of gloom and preachiness.  I realize that Shree 420 is an impossible standard to hold any film against (and that it was made after Awara), but Awara just misses striking that balance of offering its substantial message in a package that would make me want to watch the film again.  It's a great film in many ways, but just a little ponderous, a little off. 

Aaja nachle (2007)

आजा नचले

Madhuri Dixit is back, and as stunning as ever, in a vehicle whose very title, Aaja nachle ("Come and dance"), tells you that it's designed to play to her greatest strength.  That alone makes Aaja nachle worth seeing, and while the film otherwise doesn't quite meet its potential, it's still a good solid all-around entertainer.

As a young girl, Diya was the toast of her small town of Shamli - both the star dancer in the local troupe and the breaker of local hearts.  Impulsive and thirsty for adventure, Diya eloped with an American photographer, and Shamli was never the same.  Diya's parents were shamed right out of town, and Shamli's stage, Ajanta, where Diya once dazzled with her performances, fell into disuse.  Some ten years later, Diya, now divorced, returns to Shamli at the request of her dying mentor and decides to take on the establishment - in the form of a young MP named Raja (Akshaye Khanna) and a scheming businessman Farouq (Irfan Khan) - who would like to see Ajanta torn down and replaced by a shopping mall.  Diya sets out to woo the hearts of Shamli back to her, and back to dance as well, orchestrating a home-grown production of the classic romance of Laila Majnu.  She's operating against long odds though.  The town is arrayed against her, and her troupe, led by the recalcitrant Imran (Kunal Kapoor) and the unpolished Anokhi (Konkona Sen Sharma) is ragtag at best.  Diya's work is cut out for her.

Aaja nachle doesn't mess around.   There's no coy opening, no stalling the much-anticipated revelation of its heroine.  Instead, it gives you what you came for right in the very first frames - Madhuri smiling, Madhuri dancing.  But this delectable appetizer is not offered without a hint of reproach toward Bollywood's prodigal daughter.  Madhuri is dancing, all right, but she's dancing in New York, to a distinctly American-sounding R&B song with English lyrics, and surrounded by gora extras so pale that even fairer-than-fair Madhuri looks dusky in comparison.  The effect (clearly calculated, and perhaps enhanced by makeup) is both striking and confusing, as if the film is simultaneously chastising Madhuri for fleeing to the States while reminding the audience that she's still very much theirs.

Unfortunately that symbolically laden opening is the last opportunity Aaja nachle takes to tie its feel-good story to a deeper message.  There are numerous opportunities for allegory here, but none of them are clearly taken.  There is neither a clear nod to the modern NRI incarnation of Madhuri Dixit as the prodigal savior of Hindi film, or a sharp criticism of those who might see her such.  The groundwork is laid for a strong message on the tension between the benefits of progress and development on the one hand and the preservation of traditional art forms on the other, but nothing is built on that foundation either.  Every time Aaja nachle gets close to saying something about anything at all, it shies away, retreating into the bright, shiny, familiar clothes of an all-out entertainer.

If that's all you demand from Aaja nachle, though, it delivers amply.  After all, Madhuri is Madhuri, and she's as gorgeous and perfect as ever; there's nothing like watching her do her thing in a colorful production number, whether the resplendent title song in the film's first half or the intense 20-minute extravaganza that is the town's Laila Majnu production.  And she's given a supporting cast that enhances the fun.  Konkona Sen Sharma is particularly brilliant as the rough, gruff, tomboy Anokhi - she's an actor with seemingly limitless range and guts to match, and she inhabits this unglamorous character with delightful fearlessness. 

And so Aaja nachle takes its place among satisfyingly solid entertainers, films that look great and leave you tapping your toes and smiling but that don't stand up to much deep thought afterward. Though I know that Madhuri is good for more than that, I can't really complain -  I'll watch her come and dance any old time.   

(Thanks to David for some helpful discussions.)

Taare zameen par (2007)

तारे ज़मीन पर

Aamir Khan acts in his own directorial debut, but he doesn't fill the screen with himself.  Instead he steps aside, giving top billing to an engaging little boy.  The result is Taare zameen par ("stars on earth") a film that's charming and sweet - if a touch preachy at moments - and highly, highly recommended.  Just don't forget to bring the Kleenex.

Ishaan (Darsheel Safary) is struggling in school.  His homework makes no sense to him; scorned by his teachers and laughed at by his classmates, school is a daily torture that he endures the best he can.  His doting mother (Tisca Chopra), demanding father (Vipin Sharma), and affectionate big brother (Sachet Engineer) don't know what to do with him.  After Ishaan fails the third standard for the second time, his father sends him to a boarding school whose strict discipline he believes will set Ishaan straight.  But things only get darker for the boy, who is beaten and declared hopeless by his teachers, until he's all but given up on himself.  Then Ishaan's rescue arrives, in the form of Ram Shankar Nikumbh (Aamir Khan), a substitute art teacher who sees his own childhood in Ishaan's lonely struggle, and helps to give it a name: dyslexia.  Ram sets to work getting through to Ishaan and showing his teachers and parents how to see the world through his eyes.

A story meant to raise awareness about dyslexia - especially in India, where I suspect the disorder is even less widely understood and accommodated than it is in the U.S. - will not be able to completely avoid the pitfalls of pontification, and Taare zameen par has its moments when the preaching gets out of hand.  For the most part, though, it hits all the right spots, giving its instruction by illuminating Ishaan's world - a world where letters and numbers dance on the page, transforming themselves into imaginitive flights of fancy reminiscent of Bill Watterson's Calvin & Hobbes strips.  The occasional wrong note - like Ishaan's father bowing his head and taking an insolent lecture from Ram Nikumbh without a trace of defensiveness or outrage - is more than made up for by the numerous soaring - and searing - moments.  In one standout scene, Ishaan, confused and enraged after his first week or two at the boarding school, breaks away from his visiting family and runs as hard as he can - in tiny circles, around a basketball court. 

Aamir Khan asks young Darsheel Safary, as Ishaan, to shoulder the burden of his film, and the child actor rises to the challenge stunningly.  He is on the screen in nearly every scene, and he fills it with his infectious joy and his heartbreaking anguish. The meticulous detail of his relationship with his family is another of the film's strengths, especially that with his successful older brother Yohan, who takes firsts in every class and plays competitive caliber tennis. Yohan is puzzled by his little brother's failure to thrive but he never once calls him "stupid" or questions the boy's spark.  Aamir himself stays out of the way for the film's first half - he doesn't even appear until seconds before the intermission - but he can't really help taking over in the second half, making it a little less pure and immersive than the first.  But again, like the preachy moments, these are small quibbles about a lovely and winning film. 

The Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy soundtrack, like the film itself, hits all the right manipulative notes, now sweet and melancholy, now driving and manic like Ishaan's frustration.  The standout songs include "Jame raho," detailing in frenetic stop-motion the morning routine of Ishaan's family - and the contrast between his father and brother's approach to the day, and his own.  Another memorable song is "Maa," a hymn of love and loneliness played when Ishaan is left alone at the boarding school watching his family recede into the distance.  Reach for the hankies - in scenes like this one, Taare zameen par had me crying buckets.