Special 22.50

Bollywood has been surprising me of late: I have seen more good movies come out in the past few years, and more frequently than I can remember. And my mental library of movies, foreign and domestic, spans several decades; if not by the dint of my years on this planet, then by the sheer man hours I've spent watching movies. Ludwig Eduard Boltzmann's epitaph is s = log w. Mine might be, "tried to spend life watching only good movies" (Now that's a scary thought. I hope my life amounts to more and those that I leave behind are considerate enough to enshrine their kind lies in my eulogy. On a practical note, what happens if one is cremated? Do they still get an epitaph? if so, what piece of land survives their memory?)

Flash forward to the current topic:  I recently enjoyed the morally ambivalent heist caper "Special 26" (स्पेशल छब्बिस ) starring Akshay Kumar (अक्षय कुमार ), Manoj Bajpai (मनोज बाजपयी ), Anupum Kher (अनुपम खेर ) and Jimmy Shergil (जिम्मी शेरगिल ). It is perhaps a sign of the times that this movie resonates so well with paying audiences. Honest folk are portrayed as hapless, impecunious, wretched beings suffering the daily atrocities and injustices of a cruel society, while desperadoes who disrespect the rules and plunder the ill-gotten riches of the privileged corrupt are projected as paragons of success. The "system" shackles and extorts those that dare possess a moral compass, while audacious outlaws pervert the system and rule the roost. The fact that some of the movie's capers draw inspiration from India's crime history serves only to bolster the disconcerting and depressing hypothesis. 

At face value, Special 26 is a heist comedy drama that is taut, at times intense, and almost always, engaging. The lead characters are not one-dimensional, but are carefully and artfully imparted depth and credence. They have distinct personalities and roles. The Thespians Anupam Kher and Manoj Bajpai morph beautifully into their respective characters: their characters' excitement, intensity, gravitas, vulnerability, determination, joy, and despair are brilliantly subtle, and because of that, supremely evocative. Akshay Kumar tones down his goofiness and brings forth a Clooney-isqe pizzazz that is equal measure Dean Martin's Danny Ocean, and Cary Grant's Roger Thornhill.

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The petulant arm chair movie critic me detected smoky undertones of the Edward Burns, Dustin Hoffman, Rachel Weisz, and Andy Garcia starrer "Confidence", and noticed hints of cinematic inspiration from the masterpiece that is The Illusionist (starring Edward Norton, Jessical Biel, Paul Giamatti, Rufus Sewell), and the subtle after taste of the original Ocean's Eleven (starring Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis. Jr). But the overall brew is definitely as Indian and robust as Masala Chai, Bhel Puri, Paapdi Chaat and Chana Masala (though thankfully, not all at once). The locales, the sub-stories, and the action sequences are decidedly Indian: you won't get to see a stunt involving a toppling auto rickshaw and an over-crowded bus elsewhere (Vijay Amritraj driven auto-rickshaws carrying womanizing British uber-spies needn't apply. Thai Tutktuk's conveying newer incarnation of said spies through sewer tube wormholes are excluded as well).

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The fact that the story is set back in 1987, a time when land-line telephones were a concept still unknown to a large majority of the Indian populace, and when the hegemony of a socialist government ran unchecked, is made utterly believable by the use of appropriate props (clunky cars, bulky rotary dial phones, just to name a few) and relevantly dated attire. Clever use of computer graphics wizardry helps carry the suspension of disbelief a little further. CG is jarringly perceptible in only one instance, but mercifully it is in the one and only song, and thus the concomitant distraction is limited too.

What is perhaps more striking, to me, is the production value and the overall message, intended or not, of the film. That CBS media conglomerate (think MTV, Nickelodeon, Dora the Explorer, and Spongebob Sqaurepants) seems to be the lead producer, is in itself telling: the developing world is where the Occident find itself yet again, seeking untold riches.

What bothered me a little about the movie though, is the apparent pandering of lawlessness to the masses. An ivory tower commentator might be tempted to deride and chide the nexus of foreign media-conglomerates and Bollywood for eulogizing anarchy and crime through the lionization of crooks and con-men. A casual observer might argue that such depictions are, in the net, harmful to society since they seem to encourage desperadoes, while demoralizing the law-abiding, educated masses. 

Contrary to the above, I am convinced that the success of such capers is more a result of art imitating life; more a result of popular demand than a concerted push to demoralize a country. 

Truth be told, there is already plenty wrong to be dispirited about the Indian dream. The continuing social outrages, be they the unimaginably cruel rape of innocents on city streets, or the daily terrorist attacks, or the brazen murder of well heeled builders in broad daylight, or the perpetual pillaging of the entire country by corrupt politicians, have desensitized the general population. I contend that the reason such movies do well is because they appeal to the sub-conscious helplessness of each and every Indian. I believe Indians are innately aware of the law of the jungle: every one is Mowgli, the sole human child amongst animals, and is constantly struggling to ward off the Sher Khan of a predatory society. Amidst the decay and unsanitary environs, it is quite literally, the Lord of the Flies. 

Any fantasy that shelters the weary souls, even momentarily, from the despair is reflexively appealing. Any nostrum that promises escape from an unjust and stifling system is accepted as elixir. It is not the movie that promulgates law-breaking, but rather the yearning of the masses to be free to live their lives in peace and security. 

Yeah, it was a good movie.

The story of Kahaani

I am a movie buff. That means I like watching good movies. Only good movies. If it's an awful waste of time, I end up in a foul mood. I can feel like I lost IQ faster than my natural, physiologically-ordained rate of degradation. And since I don't have much of it to start with, I'm naturally a little guarded.

Having been burned enough in the past by the pabulum Bollywood often pedals as entertainment, and then having been hit on the head with recycled trash of late from Hollywood, I have been wary of watching garbage on the big screen. The fact that I have to shell out hard earned dollars for it, only adds insult to torture. In short, it hurts. If I had to enshrine my feeling in a movie character, I suspect the emaciated food critic from Ratatouille would perhaps come closest.

However, I was pleasantly surprised on watching the latest Vidya Balan thriller Kahaani("Story"). I don't want to reveal too much, but then I will talk about it because I don't think too many netizens stumble on-to my blog, so I guess I'm, ironically, safe.

Kahaani starts with a very fragile, and very pregnant Vidya Balakrishnan Bagchi (played by Vidya Balan) arriving at Calcutta airport. Her portrayal of an NRI (non-resident Indian) from the UK landing in the hot, humid, congested Calcutta is spot on. One look at her, and anyone who's become habituated to more temperate climes than the sub-tropical weather of the Indian sub-continent can immediately empathize with her plight. Her relief at encountering the air conditioned environment of the National Data Center after days of shuffling around in the dusty, thick, steamy summer heat of a foreign but friendly Calcutta is eminently natural and refreshing. The fact that she has to labor to keep moving from place to place, while bearing a child who seems ready to force its way in to the world, only adds to the concern the audience feels for Mrs. Bagchi.

Much as Vidya deserves accolades for her portrayal of a hapless pregnant South Indian NRI floundering in Calcutta in search of her missing Bengali husband, kudos are due to the crisp editing and engaging direction. Each scene and every gesture has a well defined purpose and only adds to the narrative. While the fact that a despondent Mrs. Bagchi is desperately searching for her husband who seems to fallen off the face of the planet is clear from the start, the reason for his disappearance only seems more mysterious and intriguing as the story plods forward on Mrs. Bagachi's ponderous steps. The supporting cast is well composed as is every scene. You even get to see Calcutta and India in their natural colors: neither Yash Chopra-ization nor City of Joy-ization here.

The characterization in the movie is smart, if not shrewd. A terrorist attack is depicted as shattering a nation... but it is not an Islamic radical element who perpetrates it. Nor is it a fanatic Hindu oppressing any minorities. The little known Information Bureau (as opposed to the more popular CBI and RAW) provides a rich backdrop of intrigue. There is a token Christian person too... Fortunately, the secularization instinct is not carried too far. Sikh, Buddhist and people of other religions are thankfully absent since the story does not need them.

The narrative and plot twists do have weaknesses. One notable instance is when an assassin is chased by an unarmed cop. Why the Glock-wielding assassin doesn't simply stand his ground and deal with his pursuer is, simply, puzzling (no, he didn't fire enough bullets to be empty). The other laughable element is the depiction of software and computer technology. While, to their credit, the creative team does try to depict extant interfaces, the depicted screens couldn't trouble a wandering fly, let alone allow someone to accomplish daring hacks into the bowels of heavily fortified websites and encrypted data networks. A Windows console showing ping results does NOT equal a hack. At best, it is equivalent to phoning your friend for a cup of coffee. A Windows Notepad window showing 10 characters, or a syntax highlighted page of HTML represents as much hacking cred as a glass of orange juice. But such is the depiction of technology even in Hollywood. If you don't believe me, watch Swordfish or the Angelina Jolie starrer Hackers. Oh and there is also a Team America worthy montage.

These peccadilloes, fortunately, are limited and do not derail the story (which incidentally starts with a terrorist attack in the Calcutta Metro subway).

With tense drama, crisp narration and solid characterization the movie delivers on all levels. So much so, that it brings the ignominious enquiry "which foreign movie is this inspired from?" My friends mentioned that the plot is similar to the Andie McDowell starrer Ruby Cairo. I certainly hope not. I haven't felt such admiration for Bollywood fare very often (Swades, Peepli Live, Rang de Basanti do have my respect).

I want to give this movie 9/10, which in my book is rather high (not that it matters), but given the pall of suspicion that hangs on Bollywood (with good reason), I will give this a 7/10. If I do find that this is an "inspired" work, I will still give it 5/10 for amazing assimilation in to the Indian context. If it isn't I'll happily give it 9. In any case, this is another notch on the yard stick against which other Bollywood movies will be stacked.

Changing Stories

Bollywood is infamous for copying movies, songs and ideas with impunity. Sometimes it imitates and exaggerates life (e.g. “The Bandit Queen”), sometimes it is “inspired” by a good movie (e.g. Sarkar and The Godfather) and some cases it outright plagiarizes scenes (e.g. the Matrix elevator foyer scene in “Awara Pagal Deewana”).

But what happens when the copy is better than the original? I recently watched Taxi No. 9211 and the original “Changing Lanes”. Though the original starred Samuel L. Jackson and the pompadour sporting Ben Affleck, I have to say that I liked Taxi No. 9211 better than the original. It could be simply be a matter of Ben Affleck’s jinxing every movie he stars in or the fact that I saw “Taxi” before I realized that it was based on Changing Lanes. But I feel the blame lies with neither.

I just felt that despite its length (a common shortcoming, pun intended, of Bollywood fare), extensive melodrama, and numerous factual faux pas (e.g. getting around from one end of Mumbai to another in 45 minutes, yeah right and the Devil died in a snow fight), “Taxi” managed to build tempo in the story and engage the viewer much better than “Lanes”.

I also felt that the situations depicted in “Taxi” were more likely to piss one off quicker into taking harsher and stupider actions that those shown in “Lanes”. While losing one’s family, as shown in “Lanes”, would depress and frustrate one to no end, it still leaves one feeling that a high profile lawyer (like Affleck’s character) might have been able to, as quid pro quo for getting the all important file back, plead exigent circumstances before a judge and convince him to hear Jackson’s character’s case again. The segue between civil rationality and criminal action is jarringly small, if not non-existent.

“Taxi” on the other-hand builds up the misdeeds much better: the taxi driver (played by Nana Patekar) is blamed for a road accident, is berated, jailed and manhandled in an entirely plausible manner. Taxi also does a decent job of subtly bringing into focus the class differences and the abjectly wretched concept of disposable human-rights of the hapless. “Lanes” never manages to vest the viewers in either character, while “Taxi” manages to endear and alienate the characters, in equal measure, to the audience.

Perhaps this is representative of a new “twist” in Bollywood’s story: one where the imitator excels past the original.

Watching Cyrus

Bollywood (a portmanteau of Bombay and Hollywood, typically used to describe the Indian/Hindi movie industry) is known for being the most prolific movie industry in the world. However, it also has the dubious distinction of churning out some of the fugliest (fugliest: greatest comparative form of the adjective “fugly”, itself a portmanteau of the adjectives “fucking” and “ugly”) on-screen wardrobes, the weirdest dances and unimaginably unoriginal and/or brain-dead (I’m told “fucktarded” would be politically incorrect) plots known to human-kind. Most boil down to some inane rehash of “Romeo and Juliet” with insipidity that would inspire Shakespeare to overdose on sleeping pills and hang himself while committing hara-kiri, just to escape the guilt and insult. Fortunately for him and us, he is simply relegated to turning in his grave. Maybe there is a God.

Ever so sporadically in Bollywood, a film maker or two will take courage, muster the funding and rally a cast and production around a script that is truly different. These incidents were often less frequent than sun-spots and more sporadic than solar flares. Things, however, seem to be changing. Maybe it is the innumerable, passionate, loud, and alcohol-infused debates around the world between admirers and decriers of “Andaz Apna Apna” that is making the movie industry realize that there truly is a market for Indian movies that aren’t formulaic, slapstick or otherwise brain-dead. It could be the unconscious guilt of espousing a movie industry that churns out sub-par fare, or a desire to prove to the world (and to itself) that Bollywood can make fare to match and compete with the world’s offerings. Perhaps it is simply the empowering of a new generation of artists and financiers with the conviction to tell a new story, the gall to experiment, the nerve to break tradition and the savvy to tap a bohemian market. Whatever the reasons, I am glad it is happening. It’s about damn time.

“Being Cyrus” is the latest offering from Bollywood to chart the unknown. Like “Hyderabad Blues” and “Monsoon Wedding” , it is shot mainly in Inglish (portmanteau of Indian and English ), with the characters flitting between Inglish and Parsi/Gujrati in a very Bombaiya (lingua-franca of Bombay) manner. I am thankful to the local cinema-plex for closing down at 10:45 p.m. on a Friday night, preventing us from watching “Rush Hour 3”. I am, however, more indebted to my friend for recommending “Being Cyrus” as the alternative.

Starring Saif Ali Khan, Naseerudding Shah, Dimple Kapadia, Boman Irani and Simone Singh as the main characters, this effort by Homi Adajania (based on a story by Homi Adjania and Kersi Khambatta) is a thrilling narrative of Cyrus Mistry’s (Saif’s character) interactions with the dysfunctional Sethna family. The movie features a very Guy Ritchie-isqe feel: it starts at the end and progress forward in flash-back mode, with Cyrus providing copious voiceovers. The slow narrative, interspersed with Cyrus’s musings that paint the broad strokes of the plot, develops the characters and their interplay sufficiently and remains engaging enough to keep the viewers guessing. The genius of the movie stems from bringing into sharp relief the pedestrian-ness of the personnalités principales; the murkiness of their characters and their physical imperfections are highlighted. The make-up, costumes, locations and situations depicted make for very earthy and réaliste characters.

The plot is set within the Parsi community in Bombay and plays on the associated clichés: the old-money parsimony of the Parsis (Parsi + money = parsimony?), their ownership of old large houses/ buildings in Bombay that are now worth millions, driving old cars even though they can afford the hippest, their de facto nobility and aloofness from the rest of society since the days of the British Raj etc. Confluent with the plot, the movie is vaguely reminiscent of Y Tu Mama Tambien in that it attempts to show, albeit very obliquely, the underlying socio-economic conditions: child abuse, maltreatment of senior citizens, uneven wealth distribution, corrupt and heavy-handed law-enforcement and the crumbling family structure.

The movie is truly notable for how far it deviates from the banal boy-meets-girl-from-inimical-family cliché, for the absence of any feel-good, goody-two-shoes characters and the total (and heaven-sent) lack of unrealistic, unwarranted 5-minute songs featuring sirens in fugly couture. A talented director/ story-teller at the helm, a very gifted cast and an engaging musical score enable Saif to carry this intriguing thriller on his shoulders.

Are any performances in here Oscar worthy? Probably not. Will this be a hit with the common Indian populace? Probably not. Is it enjoyable and entertaining? Most definitely so. Would I pay money to watch in a theater? Yes, definitely. Would I recommend renting it? Most definitely. Will you enjoy it? That’s up to you.