Filmi Geek

Ishqiya (2010)

इश्क़िया

Any movie that opens with a languid, warmly-lit amble along the rolling curves of the supine body of Vidya Balan is a movie I am going to like.  A lot.  When I mentioned I was watching Ishqiya, several friends expressed surprise that I hadn't yet seen it.  ("That is basically inconceivable," said Beth.)  For what it's worth, I do have an excuse. I was a late boarder on the Vidya train; I did not realize that this mind-stompingly gorgeous woman was the love of my life until halfway through my first viewing of Kahaani just about a year ago.  I have been playing catch-up - but pacing myself - ever since. Having said that, in Ishqiya, Vidya is about as ohmigodHOT as a woman can be without violating several multilateral treaties.

Indeed, I don't know how to write about this movie without dissolving into a gelatinous heap of gush.  And not just for Vidya, either.  Ishqiya's director, Abhishek Chaubey, studied at the knee of Vishal Bhardwaj (who produced the film), and Bhardwaj's masterful influence is all over this striking, wry movie. Its tone is reminiscent of the most dry and funny vignettes of 7 Khoon Maaf.  Its narrative is less rangy than that of 7 Khoon Maaf, however, and therefore less lurchy.  Two of the dumbest criminals ever to cross a filmi screen, Khalujaan (Naseeruddin Shah) and his nephew Babban (Arshad Warsi), are in flight from their boss, Mushtaq (Salman Shahid), whom they have cheated out of some 25 lakhs.  The pair takes refuge in the home of Krishna (Vidya Balan), widow of their erstwhile business associate, the smuggler Vidyadhar Verma (Adil Hussain).  Both men fall for the quiet, intense Krishna, who hatches a plan to kidnap a local steel magnate KK Kakkad (Rajesh Sharma) for ransom.  But the kidnapping soon unravels and the men slowly realize that Krishna has manipulated all of them - Khalu, Babban, and even KK - for her own mysterious purposes. 

There is craft in every aspect of this Ishqiya. It is as beautifully shot as any Bhardwaj movie, and in the same warm, enveloping earth tones that can make a a movie as seductive for the eyes as lush caramel is on the tongue.  From the throaty reds of Krishna's sarees, to the damp brown clutter of the interior of her home, to the salted beige landscapes of the Uttar Pradesh countryside, every frame of this movie is almost tactile in its richness.  Bhardwaj's score, as his music usually does, adds texture and character, from the jaunty swagger of "Ibn-e-Batuta" to the sweet lilt of "Dil to bachha hai ji."

The characterizations are meticulously detailed  in both writing and performance. Khalujaan is philosophical and poetic, the brighter bulb of the two thieves, but not by a lot.  As he trims his beard, dyes his hair, dons handsome traditional clothes, and discusses the finer points of evergreen filmi songs with Krishna, Khalu projects the air of a man who does not necessarily want to shed the grit of his criminal life, but who wants to look as though he wants to shed it.  His love for Krishna is a touching mixture of passionate and avuncular; it's not clear exactly what relationship he wants to have with her, but it's clear that it's very loving.  Babban's style is more bombastic; his stupidity displays in rash, testosterone-driven bursts rather than Khalu's intellectual posing.  In one scene, Mushtaq and his men track down the pair when they run into Babban at a brothel in the town near Krishna's village; one has the impression that Mushtaq knows well that the most efficient way to find Babban in any city in the country is always to make a beeline for the nearest brothel. The performances of Naseeruddin Shah and Arshad Warsi as these not-so-clever medium-time crooks are pitch perfect, just the right mixture of grit and scene-chewing to be both endearing and eye-rolling.  It's hard not feel sorry for them when it becomes clear just how outclassed they are by Krishna, even when you facepalmed at their ill-considered antics just a few scenes before.

And then there is Vidya Balan, as smoldering, fierce, and sexy in this role as in any other.  (I considered doing this review in the style of my piece on The Dirty Picture - a debate between my analytic intellectual ego and my horny lesbian id - but my id did not have much to say beyond "Guh...."  A superbly executed sex scene had me wistfully craving an alternate universe in which I could be Arshad Warsi.)  But as gorgeous and fierce as Vidya is, there is a great deal of nuance to Krishna; the character is not merely a cartoon femme fatale with an eye for manipulable men.  Krishna begins the film as a loving wife, anxiously imploring Verma to give up the dangerous smuggler's life and turn himself in to the authorities.  Krishna's circumstances and what she has endured - not an inherent vicious streak or a flaw in  her nature - drive her to the bold and violent actions she takes as the film unfolds.  This is evident the first time she overtly betrays Khalu and Babban.  The men have gotten into a fight - mostly over her - while she waits in their getaway car with their kidnapping prey, the dazed and bound KK, lolling in the backseat.  Krishna hesitates nervously before taking the wheel and speeding away with their prize.  This is a woman with a plan, but not a woman so cold as to have no need to muster her courage before executing.  It is just one of a myriad finely wrought details that make Krishna - like everything else about Ishqiya - thoroughly compelling.

English Vinglish (2012)

As the opening date of Sridevi's first movie in 15 years approached, I began to notice a rising pitch of excitement and anticipation among desi women of a certain age. So many of my friends and acquaintances in their 30s and 40s were beside themselves, unable to contain their delight at the prospect of their childhood favorite returning to the big screen.  An outstanding article by Supriya Nair captures what Sridevi means to that generation. (It also includes a fascinating discussion of Sri's masterful song from Mr. India, "Hawa hawai.")  

As an outsider, I  have no childhood memories of Sridevi to draw on to fuel my anticipation - only an admiration for Sridevi's obvious gifts, which to my eye are so often far out of proportion to the horrible movies she graced with them.  Nair's nostalgic exploration traverses the many faces of Sridevi - her comedic radiance, her raw ingenuous vulnerability - that captivated and confused a generation trying to find its voice in a nation transitioning to modernity.  Reading this piece helps me understand why the women I know awaited the new movie, Gauri Shinde's English Vinglish, with such thrill and expectation.  Seeing the movie made real for me all the praise I'd ever heard for Sridevi.  She is a gifted, empathetic, and thoroughly charming performer. And English Vinglish is a beautiful, lovable movie, fully worthy of her gifts.

Sridevi's Shashi Godbole is an overworked, underappreciated Pune housewife who, like the classmates Supriya Nair remembers from her school days, also finds her voice in a confusing world.  Shashi's family unthinkingly undermines everything she does from which she might derive a sense of pride or accomplishment.  Shashi's husband, Satish (Adil Hussain), has no problem with modern women in his working life, but it's clear that he prefers a submissive galley slave at home.  He tells her in so many words that he only bothers coming home from work because of her cooking.  More than that, he belittles and discourages her from pursuing her independent business, hand-crafting and delivering laddoos.   Shashi's preteen daughter sasses her, as young girls will do to their mothers - but the girl's embarrassment has an edge that gets under Shashi's skin.  She is disgusted by what she perceives as her mother's backwardness - especially her inability to speak English.  When a business meeting keeps Satish from a parent-teacher conference, Shashi attends in his place, to the girl's utter mortification.  Shashi is elated after a charmingly successful discussion with one of the teachers, but her daughter destroys that elation in a single verbal stroke, leaving Shashi bruised and uncertain.

One has the sense - thanks both to taut scripting and Sridevi's masterful performance - of a woman bursting with intelligence and creativity, a woman who harbors a flickering sense of her own power, as yet unable to find a suitable outlet for it.  When preparations for a family wedding land her in New York with a month to herself, Shashi sees an opportunity and leaps at it, signing up for an intensive English course.  What follows is a delightful and touching adventure, as Shashi discovers the capacious strength and courage that has been in her all along, and presses these into service of her pursuit of respect for everything she is and can do. 

I crave stories like this, stories about mature women finding ways to express themselves independently, tapping into strengths they may not even have been aware they had.  And in this, English Vinglish delivers beautifully.  This is Sridevi's movie from beginning to end, and she is simply outstanding.  She is in every scene, and her famously huge eyes fill the screen with emotion and sensitivity.  The physicality of Sridevi's performances is legendary, but her work in English Vinglish is entirely different in character from her comedic physicality, on display in iconic pieces like "Hawa hawai," with their nods to the tradition of Lucille Ball.  Here, rather than comedy, Sridevi's body language conveys broadly ranging emotion.  Beaming with delight after her conference with her daughter's teacher, Shashi visibly deflates under the girl's mocking words.  In a later scene, Shashi talks with her sister about the latter's great success  as a businesswoman in New York.  While her sister sits straight-backed and confident, Shashi slumps in her chair.  Later, though, Shashi's posture and stride grow more sure as she navigates the subways and streets of the city daily on her way to class.  How satisfying to see her strut down a crowded avenue wearing a trenchcoat over her gorgeous Sabyaschi sari, clutching a cup of coffee.

Another delight of English Vinglish is that it doesn't take a romance for Shashi to find her confidence. There is a romantic element - one of Shashi's classmates, the dashing Laurent (Mehdi Nebbou), falls for her quite hard - but there is little sign that Shashi returns his feelings beyond friendship.  Indeed, Shashi seems to find Laurent's romantic interest somewhat frustrating and beside the point.  Instead of being inspired by male attention, Shashi is inspired by recognition and respect.  When her English teacher (Cory Hibbs) tells her that her laddoo business qualifies her as an "entrepreneur," Shashi glows with wonder as she tries the word on for size - and walks unnoticingly right past the smitten Laurent.

Recognition and respect is exactly what Shashi does not get from her husband Satish, who is a first-class jackass.  Even when attempting to pay her a compliment, he belittles her - as when he exclaims "My wife was born to make laddoos!" after dismissing the business earlier in the film as a frivolous waste of time.  But here the script and Shinde's direction again achieve flawless balance - Satish remains just this side of mustache-twirling cartoonishness, even as his maddeningly demeaning comments make one want to punch him in the head.  The disrespect from her family makes Shashi's climactic speech about the vitality of support for one's family - delivered, of course, in slow but increasingly confident English - all the more satisfying.

If I have to lodge even one complaint about English Vinglish, it's that the movie shortchanges Sridevi's wonderful dancing.  She does dance a little in the film's final song, and while her bashfulness at doing so is entirely consistent with Shashi's character, it would have been nice if she cut loose for more than a few seconds once that tentativeness is established and overcome.  But this is such a small nit to pick about a movie that is a true delight.  The journey that Sridevi takes us on with Shashi, learning to flex her strength and her voice, is beautiful.  It's one that I am sure I will revisit again and again - an instant favorite. 

Delhi-6 (2009)

दिल्ली-६

A recent Outlook India piece by Sunil Menon (one that also happened to mention this blog, I'm delighted to say) lamented the absence of a sense of place in many Hindi films.  Traditionally, Menon argues, geographical realism yields to movie magic, be it in masala films that are "officially headquartered in cloud-cuckoo-land (with branches in Switzerland)," or even in more serious films that make only passing invocation of locale through picture-postcard shots of landmarks. 

But my own experience of Hindi movies of late has been quite different from this.   From Kahaani's vibrant Calcutta, to Chhoti si baat's bustling Bombay, and even Tere ghar ke samne's romantic traipse up and down the spire of Qutub Minar, I have felt exquisitely connected to locale in many movies I have watched in recent months.  Almost certainly this is a lingering effect of my first trip to India, taken earlier this year, which converted many of the colors and locales of the movies from flat scenery to real, swirling, sensual associations in my mind.  One of the most potent experiences I had - one that made India pop off the movie screen and into the rest of my senses - was a bicycle-rickshaw ride and walk through Chandni Chowk on just the second full day of my trip.  Rakeysh Omprasad Mehra's Delhi-6 whirls through those very same churning streets, and watching this excellent movie closes the feedback loop of my experience - watching Hindi movies has made India a fascination for me of limitless depth and life, and seeing India inperson has made Hindi movies breathe with a new vivacity.

Annapurna (Waheeda Rehman) has been living with her son and his family in New York for many years, but her only wish is to return to her home in Delhi and spend the end of her life there.  Her grandson Roshan (Abhishek Bachchan) takes her there, and meets the extended family of relatives and neighbors who welcome Annapurna back into their crowded Chandni Chowk lives.   Roshan is thrilled by the sensory overload of the neighborhood, the brilliant pageantry of the Ram Leela plays, the broad spectrum of people he meets there.  He makes a bumpy adjustment to the realities of life in old Delhi - city streets choked by the holy spectacle of a cow giving birth, the arbitrary exercise of power (and reaping of baksheesh) by the police.  He is caught up, too, in the fear and excitement that grips the city because of seemingly random capers of an enigmatic assailant, Kala Bandar (the black monkey).  As Roshan gets pulled deeper into the mystery of Kala Bandar, he becomes a part of Delhi 6, and Delhi 6 becomes a part of him.

Among the many pleasures of Delhi-6 is Roshan's broad sense of wonder as he greets the tumult of Chandni Chowk for the first time.  As Roshan gazes across the crowd and exclaims "Awesome!", I can't help but share in that wonder and relive it with him.  Roshan is a foreigner, despite his family roots in the community - he grew up in America, speaks Hindi only as well as is expedient for the story, and greets the city and its inhabitants with wide-eyed fascination (and occasional indignation) that is palpably identifiable to a firang like myself. 

The people Roshan meets there provide the texture that brings the location to life.  Central among these is a close family friend, the avuncular Ali Baig (Rishi Kapoor), one of the wealthier inhabitants of the neighborhood, who becomes a father figure and confidant to Roshan.  Rishi Kapoor is delightful in this role, a more natural performance than his scene-chewing in Luck by Chance.  Less loveable but just as compelling is the cranky Madangopal (Om Puri), father of Bittu (Sonam Kapoor), who hides her makeup and navel-piercing from her family and dreams of Bombay and stardom.  Madangopal's ambitious but somewhat stupid brother Jaigopal (Pavan Malhotra) teases the apparent simpleton Gobar (Atul Kulkarni), who of course turns out to be smarter and wiser than anyone gives him credit for.  A sinister money-lender (Prem Chopra) wields his power and influence like the jeweled walking-stick he carries.  The sweet-shop owner Mamdu (Deepak Dobriyal) greets Roshan with overflowing warmth and offers of sweets; he declares, "Bhookh mitane ke liye kutte khate hain - insaan khaate hain jodne ke liye." (Dogs eat to sate hunger - people eat to bond with each other.)

I adore this sort of neighborhood ensemble cast that brings to a movie a vibrancy, an essence, a palpable sense of life in a particular place.  This was something I loved, too, about Shyam Benegal's Welcome to Sajjanpur - and here, as in that movie, Divya Dutta once again utterly fascinates in a very brief but completely riveting role.  She plays Jalebi, a low-caste woman who collects trash and, with a compelling mixture of viciousness and sadness, harrasses neighborhood boys who cringe superstitiously away from her.  And she is a harbinger of the divisive mentality that lurks below Chandni Chowk's affable surface.

The people generate the pulse of Chandni Chowk, all these religiously, ethnically, economically diverse souls cramped together in the narrow galis of the old city.  And they live together in relative harmony, until the tension of Kala Bandar drives wedges between them, splintering the neighborhood.  Roshan, of course, ultimately helps to repair the shattered community.  But he is not so much the prodigal savior, as is Shah Rukh Khan's character in Swades.  Roshan is not a smarmy hero, swooping in with great knowledge from the West to rescue the backward locals.  Instead, he is something of an accidental savior.   After his initial tourist reaction to Delhi 6 subsides - and when internecine tension threatens to set the neighborhood ablaze - his first instinct is to flee back to the comfort of the US.  But finally, moved by love (both for Annapurna and for Bittu), Roshan sees, and takes, an opportunity for self-sacrifice. 

It is a very satisfying character arc, in a very satisfying movie.  Roshan's growth, the superb cast of richly diverse and colorfully sketched characters, the swirling sense of Chandni Chowk, the beautiful array of A.R. Rahman's songs, all combine and resonate with my own memories of Delhi, for a movie I am sure I will return to whenever I want to relive my thrilling afternoon in Delhi 6.

Luck by Chance (2009)

Irrational love for The Dirty Picture notwithstanding, I do not usually have much patience for movies that purport to be self-reflective about the movie industry.  Even the undeniable artistry of Kaagaz ke phool is somewhat obscured for me by that movie's whining about how haaaaard it is to be an artist in the crass, cold environment of commercial cinema.  My experience of Zoya Akhtar's otherwise very good Luck by Chance suffers a bit from the same affliction. 

Sona (Konkona Sen Sharma) is an actor with dreams of landing a big role and becoming a star.  She works tirelessly at bit parts in mainstream productions, and waits for the break she's been promised by a shady producer (Alyy Khan).  Sona meets another ambitious young actor, Vikram (Farhan Akhtar), and the two connect and start a relationship.  In the meantime, big-time producer Rommy Rolly (Rishi Kapoor) is trying to complete his next blockbuster, a star vehicle for the A-lister Zaffar Khan (Hrithik Roshan) and launch for newcomer Nikki (Isha Sharvani), the daughter of 70s silver screen legend Neena (Dimple Kapadia).  When Zaffar abruptly withdraws from the film, an opportunity arises for Vikram - he lands the part, and soon is riding the relentless scree of studio promotion, media attention, and superstar-level temptation.  Vikram's movie is a hit, but his relationship with Sona takes a hit. 

Laments about the hardships faced by industry outsiders do ring somewhat hollow in the all-Akhtar extravaganza that is Luck by Chance.  And in addition to a supporting cast packed with industry elder statesmen, the movie sports actor cameos to a degree not seen since Om Shanti Om - a sure sign of a moviemaker's movie if there ever was one (though I admit my heart broke a little when I spotted Manish Acharya).  Nevertheless, apart from a bit of eyerolling at this (and a slightly draggy middle section) Luck by Chance is a strong effort whose best points stand out much more than its weaknesses detract.  The contrasting arcs of its two principals - Vikram and Sona - are especially well-rendered.  Vikram's abrupt rise and equally abrupt - if predictable - fall serves a sharp counterpoint to Sona's hard slog through obscurity and squelched hope toward a peaceful and mature landing. 

Vikram's arc, in particular, offers the incontrovertible stamp of a movie written by a woman.  Vikram is seduced by success in no time flat, and acts like a complete asshole, making not even an attempt to resist the artlessly forward advances of the vapid, unappealing Nikki.  Sona understandably grieves her lost love - but when Vikram begs for a second chance, she calls him out for the self-absorbed man-child he is.   In most movies written by men, self-absorbed man-children behave like complete assholes as a matter of course, and are usually forgiven and get what they want all the same.  Not so Vikram; Zoya Akhtar makes sure that his actions have reasonably satisfying consequences. 

As for Sona's arc, I wish the movie were less coy about the nature of Sona's quid pro quo with the producer Chaudhary who promises her a second-heroine role in a movie he is always on the cusp of making. It seems from the innuendo of the movie's opening scene that the arrangement includes Sona doing time on the casting couch, but the movie otherwise gives the subject very wide berth, and nothing is made of it after that exchange.  Where Luck By Chance is fearless about poking a stick at so many industry pecadilloes - from the favoring of talentless star kids to the out-of-proportion influence wielded by gossip rags - it is telling that the movie treads so cautiously on the subject of swapping sex for roles. 

It is perhaps redundant to praise a Konkona Sen Sharma performance, but I won't let that stop me.  She brings an outstandingly moving wounded delicacy to Sona.  As Sona's dreams fade she seems to become wearier and wearier; her posture droops and her expression takes on a more exhausted aspect.   Konkona also conveys the real work of acting - when Sona finishes a take, her face and body visibly relax. Always looking to improve her craft, Sona never fails to buttonhole someone on set and ask whether the take was good.  There is another contrast with Vikram here that is surely intentional.  Vikram studies also - he practices dancing and martial arts; he is chastised by a workshop instructor for being too understated in his delivery.  Vikram is studying to be a Hero, not an actor.

And as a hero, I am not yet fully sold on Farhan Akhtar.  He's a very good-looking fellow (just like his father) but his perpetually dazed expression does not convey a great deal of emotional range, and he speaks (just like his father) as though he's still finishing dinner and has a cold.  I will reserve judgment until I've seen more of his movies. 

The supporting cast lends a great deal of texture to Luck by Chance's portrayal of how the sausage gets made in mainstream Hindi cinema.  Dimple Kapadia is always riveting - sometimes I wonder if she is not simply the most beautiful woman in the movies, bar none.  In Being Cyrus, she made an aborrent character thrillingly appealing, and she calls on some of the same art for the slightly more sympathetic Neena, who is part over-the-hill superstar, part horrifying pageant mom.  Dimple brings a measure of subtlety to this blend that makes Neena the most compelling character in the film.  Rishi Kapoor, as the emotional producer Rommy, does a lot more scene chewing in a performance with a lot less depth, but he's nevertheless a lot of fun to watch. 

In sum, if you do not share my mild aversion to industry navel-gazing, Luck by Chance has a lot to offer.   Most movie lovers would be fascinated by the sort of insider peek it offers behind the camera and into production offices.  Toss in an excellent Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy soundtrack (including, over the opening credits, a moving montage of behind-the-scenes workers from set-builders to costume-tailors) and that vast menu of supporting roles and cameos, and on balance you have a well-made movie worth watching - even if it will never be a favorite of mine. 

Chhoti si baat (1975)

छोटी सी बात

Don't ever let anyone tell you, as one of my guides in India claimed, that all Hindi movies are the same.  We know better.  They are not all bombast and melodrama, improbable dance numbers and dishum-dishum.  Not that there's anything wrong with that!  But there has long been a place in Hindi cinema for sweet stories adorably and delicately told.  Taking pride of place alongside charming gems like Chashme buddoor and Katha is Basu Chatterjee's lovable, scrumptious, and hilarious Chhoti si baat ("a little thing"), truly one of the cutest, most delightful Hindi movies I have ever had the pleasure to see.

Arun (Amol Palekar) is a mild, bashful accountant with an all-consuming crush on Prabha (Vidya Sinha), a woman who works in a nearby office building and takes the same bus as Arun to work.   Arun can't bring himself to speak to Prabha, but his adoring gaze on the bus - and his habit of following her all the way home - tips his feelings to Prabha.  She indulges him, and even seems rather to like him - but she can't resist teasing him a little, too.  Soon, though, a rival arrives on a shiny yellow scooter and forces Arun's  hand - the breezy, confident Nagesh (Asrani), a lawyer in Prabha's office who takes an obvious shine to her and leaves Arun in the dust.  Desperate, Arun turns to a famous fixer, retired Colonel Julius Nagendranath Wilfred Singh (Ashok Kumar), who dishes out advice to everyone from lovelorn office workers to superstars like Amitabh Bachchan.  The Colonel takes a fatherly interest in Arun's case, and gives him a month-long crash course in suavity and confidence.  But it remains to be seen whether following the Colonel's sometimes questionable guidance will do the job to help Arun turn the tables on Nagesh, and win him Prabha.

If I weren't already firmly on the Amol Palekar train after Golmaal, Chhoti si baat would certainly have done the trick.   The guy is flat adorable.  From his first appearance minutes into the movie, with his sweet anxious demeanor and nervous smile, I was grinning like a dope and didn't stop until long after it was over.  He renders Arun's docile sweetness just perfectly, and is a complete delight to watch - and to root for - as he stumbles through his courtship of Prabha.  Palekar brings a charming physicality to this role, adjusting his posture and mannerisms almost continuously as his confidence grows and wanes and grows again.  And Arun's Walter-Mittyish fantasies add to his charm and make him thoroughly relatable to a daydreamer like me.  In one fantastic sequence Arun, in a cinema hall, watches a song featuring Dharmendra and Hema Malini.  He squirms jealously in his seat as Hema morphs into Prabha in Dharmendra's arms - and then relaxes into a contented smile as the image of Arun takes Dharmendra's place.

 

Vidya Sinha brings her share of adorable to the show, too - Prabha sports a magnificent smile (not to mention a vast collection of fabulous sarees), and it's not difficult to see how Arun could be utterly besotted by her.  Especially charming are the scenes where she recounts Arun's fumbling attempts at stalking and courtship to her coworker (Nandita Thakur), who cracks slightly racy jokes as the clearly smitten Prabha blushes.  Indeed, most wonderfully portrayed is that Prabha actually likes Arun, right from the very beginning, and is fairly unwavering in that - Nagesh's smooth talk and slick scooter may seem a threat to Arun, but the audience is in on the secret that as far as Prabha is concerned, it's Arun all the way.

The best treat of all, though, is Ashok Kumar, who is simply hilarious as the avuncular Colonel Julius Nagendranath Wilfred Singh (I never tire of that name, and neither does the movie).  I chronicled my ever-growing appreciation for Ashok Kumar when I recently wrote about Ek saal - it's hard to imagine a more different role from that of the Colonel, but here he is just a riot.  He spews an endless stream of advice that is somewhere between platitudes and complete nonsense, and then chides Arun for answering "yes" when the Colonel asks "samjhe?"  "Khak samjhe!" the Colonel spits, "main khud nahin samjha maine kya kaha!" ("Like hell you understand! I myself don't even understand what I said.")  And as humorously and broadly-drawn as he is, the tenderness with which the Colonel realizes, toward the end of the film, that he might have steered Arun wrong is genuinely touching.

Chhoti si baat offers some visual treats too, including a fun hillside trek through Khandala.  And, of course,  there are marvelous street scenes of Bombay that made me long for more time there, after my very abbreviated visit a few months ago.  These are crowned by this wonderful sparkly poster for an Amitabh and Saira Banu film that adorns the bus stop where Arun and Prabha meet:

Among Chhoti si baat's pleasures are a number of cameos, including a hilarious appearance by Rajendranath as a fake sadhu who pulls out a lemon out of his rear with a ridiculous "look what I did!" grin, bilks Arun out of a tidy sum, and steals his pen to boot.  I first saw Rajendranath in his riotously cute role in Tere ghar ke samne, and I laughed like a loon through his entire scene here.

What can I do besides gush?  Chhoti si baat is a thoroughly delightful film, one I'll watch over and over again, and one that is available in reasonable quality with subtitles on YouTube.  What are you waiting for? 

 

Band baaja baaraat (2010)

बैंड बाजा बारात

It isn't often that a new film makes me wonder how it will be remembered in 30 years.  Even most good movies are looked back on with affectionate nostalgia; only a few attain the status of classics, elevated in memory to a cultural touchstone, something more than a nice way to spend a few hours. Before you decide that I have lost my mind: I am not quite ready to say that Band baaja baaraat ("band, fanfare, wedding procession") is such a movie, though it is delightful and extremely well-wrought.  Yet, just like the business created by its protagonists, Band baaja baaraat is a synergy, more than the sum of its parts -  enough so to make me wonder whether more might be going on here than just the best-made love story of the past few years.

Shruti Kakkad (Anushka Sharma) is a young woman with a plan.  Fresh from college, she has a vision of building the biggest wedding planning business in the country, and is not afraid to work for it.  Her classmate, Bittoo Sharma (Ranveer Singh), talks Shruti into a business partnership, if only to buy some time before his father drags him away from the excitement of Delhi, and back to the family farm.  Shruti and Bittoo take to the work like demons, putting in long hours together and working their way up from small celebrations in dingy chawls to the grand prize of wedding planning - giant, multi-day, estate home affairs.  Their style is unique, colorful, and fun, and their business - Shaadi Mubarak - has arrived.  But the growing attraction between Shruti and Bittoo sours the laddoo; Shruti's rules of business don't leave any room for passion, and Bittoo sees himself too much the gadabout to let love tie him down.  Shaadi Mubarak bends and breaks under the strain, and each of the partners tries, unsuccessfully, to carry on the business alone.  It is going to take near-divine intervention to get Shaadi Mubarak - not to mention Bittoo and Shruti - back on the right track.

Band baaja baaraat is, most importantly, a ton of fun, well-paced and colorful - and cleverly constructed with built-in excuses for multiple wedding songs without turning the movie into Hum aapke hain koun.  It is a cute, shiny entertainer - accessible, charming, and funny, and blessed with lots of terrific music.  Shaadi Mubarak's signature style is described in the movie with the words "chatak" and "dhinchyak" - both rendered in the subtitles as "kitsch" - which lend the whole film a wonderful shimmering color and energy that is exactly what makes this kind of Bollywood movie so immersive and fun.   

But for all of that delicious sparkle, Band baaja baaraat is also a lot richer and more character-driven than most love stories.  It isn't just two hours of stalling to see how the principals find their way to each other; there is a strong character arc for each of them, a process of maturation that is very satisfying to watch.  The movie gives them a few lucky breaks - the one that brings Shaadi Mubarak back together after the rift, in particular, is a little too far on the deus ex machina side of things - but it also never shies away from showing just how much hard work Shruti and Bittoo pour into their business. 

As a modern, independent young heroine, Shruti is even better than Jab We Met's Geet, strong-willed without being reactionary, visionary without being flighty.  She is far from flawless - she has eye rolling down to an art form, and it is clear from the beginning that she will need to develop some flexibility and a sense of humor before movie's end.  But develop she does - her speech to Bittoo in the movie's climax nearly made me stand up and cheer - how refreshing to see a young woman in a movie, after suffering a heartbreak, dust herself off and prepare to get on with her life!  And at the resolution, she accepts him without compromising her strength, noting that "uske tang tod dungi, partership nahin" ("I'll break his legs, but I won't break the partnership").   

The movie's excellent handling of the sexual facet of Bittoo and Shruti's relationship is refreshing, poignant, and thoroughly relatable.  It is not sex itself that throws a wrench in Bittoo and Shruti's works; it is their failure to honestly acknowledge and communicate their feelings about it and about each other.  Band baaja baaraat does not have even the scent of a morality tale, in which young people's ambitions are driven off the rails by sex.  No one's life is ruined by sex - in particular, Shruti's life is not ruined.  The message here is only that one should be as mature and forthright about matters of the heart as one is about matters of business - but in neither sphere is it necessarily a bad thing for a woman to be aggressive about getting what she wants.  

With all that richness in Shruti's character arc, Band baaja baaraat would have been a good movie even if Bittoo were merely a cipher or a foil for her development, but he too gets a satisfying character progression.  He starts the movie as a bit of a feckless loser with more strut than substance, and a capacity for lying under pressure that, one feels, will cause him more trouble than it gets him out of.  But Shruti's steadying influence puts his natural (if rough) charm and fast-talking ability to its best possible use, and there is much delight in watching Bittoo coming to understand how he needs her.  

As such a character-driven movie, Band baaja baaraat asks much more of Ranveer Singh and Anushka Sharma - a newcomer and a near-newcomer - than most light romances demand of their young stars, and part of what makes it so good is that the two of them are more than up to the task.  And that is where I start to think about where Band Baaja baaraat will end up after a few more decades of filmi history.  There is something about its electric young jodi that reminds me of the thrill with which folks remember star-launching romances like Bobby or Qayamat se qayamat tak.  As a work of filmmaking craft, Band baaja baaraat is far better than either of those.  But even as the decorations get taken down and the bleat of horns fades into the distance, the question lingers: are Anushka Sharma and Ranveer Singh a nascent powerhouse jodi? 

And  beyond just the power of the pairing, Band baaja baarat offers a bold, empowering, reflection of the industrious, young population of urban India - it's like Rocket Singh with sex and without the questionable business practices. (It's no small matter that Shruti is explicit in her conviction that Shaadi Mubarak distinguish itself from the prevailing wedding-planning practice of cheating customers.  Band baaja baaraat strives to show an alternative path to success besides beating the establishment at its own game.)  The segment of middle-class society portrayed so positively in Band baaja baaraat is, in no small part, the folks  who get to decide which of today's movies are tomorrow's classics.  So, does this movie capture a watershed moment in the development of the Republic?  That is a grand and heavy load for a light, comedic romance to carry.  If any movie can shoulder that load, though, Band baaja baaraat is it.

 

Kahaani (2012)

कहानी

Sujoy Ghosh's outstanding new thriller is taut, compelling, and very satisfying.  Kahaani ("story, tale") careens through the living streets of Calcutta, offering a palpable sense of that vibrant city.  Toss in an engaging mystery, a female lead who is both strong and likeable, and some excellent performances, and the result is a simply superb movie.  

Vidya Bagchi (Vidya Balan) arrives in Calcutta, heavily pregnant, to search for her husband Arnab, who left her behind in London a month previously for a work assignment.  Arnab, she tells a young police inspector, Rana (Parambrata Chatterjee), phoned her several times a day during the first few weeks of his time in Calcutta, but then the calls stopped abruptly.  Vidya can't get a straight answer from Arnab's employer, nor from the guest house where he was staying.  Frustrated, Vidya launches her own investigation, with Rana's help.  She soon learns that her husband is a dead ringer for a mysterious figure named Milan Damji.  Vidya convinces Rana that tracking down Milan Damji will lead her to Arnab.  But her investigation of Milan draws the attention of an obstructive federal intelligence agent, Khan (Nawazuddin Siddiqui), as well as other, even more sinister characters who don't hesitate to use deadly force to block her leads.  Vidya's peristence brings her into the crosshairs of thugs, contract killers, and even domestic terrorists - but the danger won't deter her from the trail of the man she came to Calcutta to find.

It is difficult to write about a current thriller without spoiling its surprises.  I cannot even name other thrillers with which I think Kahaani shares a kinship, or to which it pays explicit, deliberate homage, without giving too great a hint towards its climax and denouement. But since I want to urge all readers to see this splendid movie, I'll choose to steer clear of much discussion of the finer points of its plot.  (This is one reason I prefer writing about older films - I worry less about spoiling those!)  Many reviews I've read since seeing the movie pick at the plausibility of its details.  I find these criticisms shallow and beside the point.  Perhaps Kahaani's  twists and angles would not stand up to repeat-viewing scrutiny, but few films do.  And among the multi-layered significances of the movie's title is the straightforward interpretation that Kahaani is a story, not real life.  No matter how realistically they are portrayed, stories by their very nature reside at the fringes of credulity, exploring the improbable.   

Like its Bengali characters with their good names and pet names, Kahaani sports dual identities - it adopts the pacing and format of a slick western-style thriller while remaining a thoroughly Indian movie.  Even the movie's denouement, which practically quotes one particular Hollywood thriller, follows a climax that is set among swirling clouds of vermilion in a swarming Durga Puja celebration, and that neatly parallels the mythology of Durga - such allegory is a hallmark of a certain kind of Indian movie, and disarms the criticism one sometimes hears that modern Indian cinema is too keen on courting a western audience.  The teeming streets of Calcutta are more than mere backdrop - these are not mere postcard-flashes or scene-setting, but a strong sense of place.   The grimy alleys, worn awnings, and cobbled streets lined with tea and snack vendors strongly evoke the feeling of an Indian city, while the scenes in the city's metro and streetcars add a sort of kineticism that is unique to Calcutta, making the city a character in its own right.  A cast largely populated with Bengali actors - rather than a truckload of Bollywood stars transplanted to an exotic location - enhances that strong sense of place. 

Nearly all of the actors give terrific performances that help keep Kahaani immersive and engaging.  The movie is driven by a wonderfully physical performance of Vidya Balan who, even playing an enormously pregnant character, is smartly sexy and confident.  Her pregnant-woman waddle is in counterpoint to a kind of nervous energy, a straining fidgetiness that conveys the anxiety of her situation.   She shifts from impatience to tenderness, stern anger to sorrowful exhaustion, always broad and screen-filling, never simpering or hyper-feminine.  Female characters with grit and power, who are not bitchy and not secondary to a male lead, are rare in movies of any language and particularly thrilling in Hindi movies; Kahaani has given me a thirst for more of Vidya Balan that will take quite a few of her movies to slake.  Parambrata Chatterjee, too, as Vidya's would-be protector (Rana's good name, Satyaki, refers to a warrior in the Mahabharat who was a friend and protector of Arjun) is tender, idealistic, and sympathetic.  The only performance that verges on scene-chewing is Nawazuddin Siddiqui as the bombastic Khan; even the contract killer Bob Biswas (Saswata Chatterjee) is weirdly appealing as he offers his deferential "Namaskar" to each of his victims.   

While Kahaani, like many post-modern multiplex era Hindi films, lacks song-and-dance in the traditional mold, its soundtrack is dynamic, with songs that enhance mood and feeling when they are used.  The gritty energy of "Aami shotti bolchi" is the perfect complement to manic scenes of Calcutta's rush.  Rabindranath Tagore's pensive poem "Ekla cholo re," sweetly arranged by Vishal-Shekhar and competently performed by Amitabh Bachchan, provides a moment of calm before the film plunges into the churning roil of Durga Puja for the climax.  Like the best songs in the best movies, these add more color to an already compelling movie that is everything a thriller should be. 

Golmaal (1979)

गोलमाल

As much as Delhi Belly is not my sort of comedy, Hrishikesh Mukherjee's Golmaal ("confusion") is a movie made for me.  Light, smart, and downright funny, Golmaal is a story of clever people improvising their way through a thoroughly ridiculous series of deceptions.  It is a simply delightful movie, similar in feel to Hrishida's equally charming Chupke chupke. 

With his freshly minted degree in accounting, Ram Prasad Sharma (Amol Palekar) needs a job.  To land a position with the stern businessman Bhavani Shankar (Utpal Dutt), Ram plays up his studious, serious side - dressing in traditional clothing, spouting aphorisms about the value of hard work, and concealing his passion for sports.  After Bhavani spots Ram skiving off work to watch a hockey match, the quick-thinking Ram invents a no-good, layabout twin, whom he calls (of course) Lakshman, and convinces Bhavani that the fellow he saw at the match was Lakshman, not Ram.  Bhavani, wanting to favor his protege's family, insists that "Lakshman" tutor Bhavani's daughter Urmila (Bindiya Goswami) in music.  Now Ram has to play two roles for Bhavani - the earnest respectful Ram, and the modern loudmouth, Lakshman.  Other improvisations force Ram to enlist an amateur actress, Kamla Shrivastav (Dina Pathak) to introduce to Bhavani as his mother.  Soon, when Kamla runs into Bhavani at a party, she too invents a twin for herself, so as not to blow Ram's cover.  It's not long before all hell breaks loose when Bhavani decides that the hard-working Ram is a perfect match for Urmila - she, of course, prefers the free-spirited Lakshman.

It's hard to say what is most to love about Golmaal.  It's crisply paced and smartly scripted, full of the sort of linguistic humor that I especially love (and that was also in Chupke chupke) - Ram graces Bhavani with such upstanding shuddh Hindi that Bhavani can't quite keep up.  The physical humor is hilarious and masterfully performed.  Utpal Dutt pulls a diverse array of magnificent expressions as Bhavani - wistful as Ram praises the value of the mustache, horrified as Bhavani listens to Urmila recite shamefully modern lines from a play she is acting in.  Amol Palekar, too, is charming, adorable, and very, very funny as he squirms every which way to convince Bhavani that his two sides are two different people.  One cute running physical joke has Ram constantly tugging at his uncomfortably short kurta.  The kurta itself is the result of another of Hrishida's favorite devices, movie in-jokes.  Ram borrows the kurta from his childhood friend, the actor Deven Verma (playing himself), on a movie set - it's short because it's Asrani's kurta, settled on after rejecting Amitabh Bachchan's as too long, and Sanjeev Kumar's as too wide.

Golmaal has too many funny set-pieces and running jokes to call them all out, but a few bear mention.  In one great sequence, Bhavani's widowed sister overhears Urmila rehearsing the melodramatic lines from her play, and concludes that Urmila is pregnant by a man who is now abandoning her.  Much hilarity ensues.  There are very funny running jokes about Ram's mustache.  Bhavani is nearly obsessed with the idea that the mustache makes the man, and Ram is equally attached to his own, which he sacrifices for the sake of his double life.  Every interaction between Ram and Bhavani is hilarious, whether showcasing Bhavani's over-the-top paternal affection for Ram Prasad, or his equally extreme disdain for Lakshman. 

The greatest joy of Golmaal is that even in its comedy of errors, it resonates with everyday experience.  Ram is neither as earnest as Ram Prasad, nor as breezy as Lakshman - his true character is a blend of both.  But most of us find that different aspects of who we are emerge in our interactions with various people.  I do not show the same face to the head of my department at work as I do to my closest friend.  By amplifying this sort of common multiplicity and taking it to an absurd extreme, Hrishikesh Mukherjee makes Ram - and Golmaal - supremely relatable.  Add in a lot of laughs and a few catchy songs, and the sum is just a thoroughly delightful movie. 

Delhi Belly (2011)

I recentlty read Neal Stephenson's new novel, Reamde, which is about (among other things) regular people who get swept into the circles of very dangerous criminals, and find themselves in desperate situations doing very desperate deeds.  Watching the recent dark comedy Delhi Belly, I was struck by the similarities of its basic outline to that summary of the novel. Most of us will never find ourselves face-to-face with the likes of the movie's diamond smugglers or Reamde's panoply of international gangsters, terrorists, and spies.  But there is something nevertheless compelling about such stories; even with its veneer of silliness, it's hard to watch Delhi Belly without thinking, what would I do if that happened to me?  

Tashi (Imran Khan) is a young, unambitious Delhi reporter who lives in squalor - borne more of laziness than necessity - with his two roommates, the lecherous photographer Nitin (Kunal Roy Kapoor), and a depressed commercial artist named Arup (Vir Das).  Tashi's breezy fiancee Sonia (Shenaz Treasury) has cluelessly agreed, as a favor to friend, to deliver a package that is quite obviously (to the audience, at least) contraband.  Sonia asks Tashi to complete the delivery, but thanks to a series of mishaps the package is confused with a stool sample of Nitin, who is afflicted with the filmi's titular ailment.  Needless to say, the intended recipient, a diamond smuggler (Vijay Raaz) isn't too pleased with the delivery.  And when the young men discover that they have a cache of stolen diamonds, they make a series of spectacularly bad decisions that lead to them chasing all over the city trying to sell the diamonds and, later, recover them.  Tossed in the mix is a colleague of Tashi's, the worldly Menaka (Poorna Jagannathan), whose homicidal ex-husband Rajiv (Rahul Singh) is violently jealous of Tashi - as if Tashi's life isn't complicated enough, an attraction is developing between him and Menaka.

Delhi Belly is, in an objective sense, a very good movie.  It's well crafted, nicely paced, and genuinely funny at times (despite a generous helping of toilet humor).  The three young men in their filthy apartment evoke a sort of parallel-universe version of Chashme buddoor, where post-modern ennui and bitterness replace the dreamy innocence of the trio in Sai Paranjpe's charming movie.  The characterizations are mostly lively, even if the characters are not always likeable.  The acerbic Menaka is especially appealing, though (partly because she is an older actor) she seems at times to belong to a different movie with more mature characters.  Tashi is the least lively; he moves through the film in a nearly emotionless haze.  This is probably intentional, as he seems rather buffeted and passive in his life, bullied into marriage by Sonia's family and shoved into a violent underworld he isn't at all prepared to handle.  And so even his dazed performance is engaging in its own way. 

And yet, despite Delhi Belly's strengths, I can't exactly say I enjoyed it.  Usually I relish high-fidelity renderings of Indian life, and this movie offers a very unusual serving of that, with its young urban atmosphere, its salty language, and its open, realistic, and often funny sexuality.  But perhaps I am simply too old for a movie like this one.  There are for sure some Hindi movies I like more than I would like their Hollywood counterparts, simply because they are Hindi movies.  Delhi Belly, though, is mostly in English, and while I can take some interest in it as an Indian movie, perhaps the overwhelming ways in which it is a youth movie leave me, teetering on the brink of middle age as I am, somewhat cold. 

Then there is the question I raised in the opening paragraph - what would I do in Tashi's situation?  The characters in Reamde do violence I could never imagine myself doing, but in the simple morality of that story the correctness of their actions is never really in question.  In Delhi Belly, by contrast, Tashi and his friends, motivated entirely by selfishness, take steps that ensure their bad situation gets worse and worse.  While that could arguably add an interesting shade to what is essentially an absurd sort of comedy, it does make it harder for me to root for them unconditionally.  And that leaves me feeling that I missed the point - that if I were younger, with nothing to lose, I would sympathize with them and be more willing to get into the spirit of the movie. 

 

3 Idiots (2009)

Raju Hirani movies are thoroughly modern and yet still express a uniquely Bollywood sensibility.  He does not shy away from melodrama or big unambiguous messages.  Yet he still puts entertainment first, with an attention to detail and characterization that yields truly loveable and fun-to-watch movies.  As Lage raho Munnabhai before it, 3 Idiots leaves you grinning like a dope even as you're thinking about ways to make the world a better place.  And there is no doubt that his approach resonates hugely - Lage raho Munnabhai was a massive hit, and the success of 3 Idiots eclipsed it.

When they were classmates in engineering college, Chatur (Omi Vaidya) and Rancho (Aamir Khan) were rivals.  Or, at least, Chatur was - competitive, materialistic, and rote, he chafed at Rancho's playful attitude and seat-of-the-pants, intuitive approach to engineering.  Now, 10 years later, Chatur gathers Rancho's best friends from their college days - Farhan (Madhavan) and Raju (Sharman Joshi) - and sets off on a quest across India to find Rancho.  Chatur wants only to gloat, to flaunt his success over Rancho, whom none of the men have heard from since school days.  Farhan and Raju, though, just want to find their cherished friend, whose influence was immeasurable.  As they travel, they flash back to memories of the school days together.  Rancho's compassion and thirst for hands-on learning put him at odds with the college's stern, tyrannical dean, Viru Sahastrabuddhe (Boman Irani), whom the students called "Virus".  It also won him the heart of Virus's daughter, a medical student named Pia (Kareena Kapoor).  But Rancho disappeared after graduation, and as his friends drive from Shimla to Ladakh to find him, remembering how he changed their lives, they learn a puzzling secret about his past.

I've been told by people who studied engineering in India that 3 Idiots perfectly captures the stresses of the pressure-cooker, rote-learning environment of colleges like the one it portrays.  It's easy to see why the movie strikes a note so close to the audience's heart; the boys' situations are readily relatable.  Farhan studies engineering to only to fulfill his parents' expectations - his own dream is wildlife photography, an ambition that his father values not at all.  Raju's desire to succeed at engineering is more sincere, but he places on himself the great burden of rescuing his family from crushing poverty.  And who doesn't remember an irritating helium-handed brown-noser like Chatur from our own days in school? 

On top of these relatable themes, the movie is full of laughs that run the gamut from fart jokes to clever linguistic humor (as there also was in the Munnabhai movies). The most prominent example is Chatur's memorized speech in shuddh Hindi - Rancho tampers with the speech, and the unsuspecting Chatur pompously delivers an outlandishly bawdy oration before the whole school.  (The point is to illustrate the pitfalls of rote learning, but it also exposes a much-needed, humanizing flaw in the otherwise godlike Rancho's character - that humiliating others is acceptable to him so long as it furthers his principles.)  But there are subtler plays on language as well, such as a cross-linguistic play on suffer/safar (the latter meaning "journey"). 

The language play is just one aspect of the terrific level of detail in this tightly crafted film.  Other nice touches include Virus's introductory speech to the students, which "Millimeter," the young boy who runs errands for pocket change, recites verbatim.  Another is that Raju's poor urban family is shown in black & white, a wink to the echos of 1950s-filminess of their situation.  There are too many more to mention. 

It feels nitpicky to point out flaws in such a well-crafted movie.  Still, there are a few.  One that gets under my skin just a little is that the story is overwhelmingly male.  There are female students in the college but they are just visual backdrop - none has so much as a line of dialogue.  Pia is a smart, level-headed medical student, but her only story arc is deciding which man she should marry.  Nevertheless, no movie can be about everyone, and so it's a forgivably small irritation for me. 

The movie's overarching message, too, is delivered with a cudgel, even by filmi and Hirani standards.  One student committing suicide would have been enough to convey the toxicity and destructiveness of the college environment - but the movie doesn't stop there.  Instead, there is one suicide, a plot reference to another earlier suicide, and a suicide attempt by a major character.

Yet the preachiness - along with a few extremely filmi, over-the-top plot twists - is forgivable, even charming, in such a good movie overall, especially with the loveable performances of all the actors.  The naturalness of these (except for Irani, who exercises his typical wonderful broad comic physicality) tends to offset the extreme aspects of the story, tempering the shrillness of the melodramatic turns.  The result is a movie firmly grounded in Bollywood's melodramatic roots, yet offering natural, breathing characters who are relatable and modern.  And the twist at the movie's end is so marvelous and satisfying that anything less than perfect about what went before is readily forgiven.