It's a thumbs up for A Wednesday despite many inherent and deep flaws- for Naseeruddin Shah, and because it's a bold and confident debut

Originally published on NOWRUNNING.COM 

But the true mark of a fine thriller is in skillfully, believably and meticulously leading to the finale, no matter how revelatory or earth shattering it may be. A Wednesday ends on a provocative note, but it doesn't have that unsettling quality simply because Pandey's arbitrarily constructed screenplay containing silly gimmicks and conspicuously gaping plot holes doesn't allow you to take the film very seriously. There are countless amateurish moments, some descending into unintentional humor, and while this could be excused in a routine popcorn thriller, it is difficult to ignore in a film that attempts to make a profound ideological statement.

Still, the very competent cast including Anupam Kher (in pretty good, no-nonsense form), Jimmy Shergill and Aamir Bashir do well in giving the film some much-needed substance and credibility, something that Deepal Shaw’s terribly annoying lip-glossed reporter act constantly threatens to take away.

The rest of the supporting cast is pure cardboard, but frankly- it hardly matters when Naseeruddin Shah’s out there sitting on top of a desolate building, chewing the scenery with alarming nonchalance. It’s clearly an author-backed role, and Shah is at his effortless best here in a lean, solid performance that is both chillingly convincing and filled with humor and unpredictability as he delivers a knockout punch.

It is probably on purpose that Shah’s character is kept as a menacing shadow instead of being a full-fledged, flesh and blood character, but his performance actually made me wish that the film was about him and delved deeper into this potentially fascinating character. And thus, while it’s none of my business to dictate the story a filmmaker chooses to tell, I can’t help but get the niggling feeling that that could truly have made this A Very Memorable Wednesday.

Abhishek Kapoor’s film has an inspiring theme- but also too many cliches, flaws and a disappointing score- and therein, as the Bard would tell us, lies the rub

Originally published on NOWRUNNING.COM 

I confess I am not a rock music aficionado. And I guess I am too young and with too little experience to completely identify with the theme of dreams and aspirations crushed by the cruelty of fate and life. I am perhaps still building my dreams, and maybe that’s why I didn’t respond as emotionally to Rock On as many others have.

For Rock On is really not so much about music, as it is about following your passion and living your dreams. It is about the regret, disappointment and frustration that inevitably haunt a life fueled by compromise, but as rocker-turned-investment-banker Aditya Shroff (Farhan Akhtar) says in the film- ‘Compromise kaun nahi karta?‘

The first half of Rock On is too glum for its own good, and having established Aditya and Co. as tortured, unhappy souls, one wishes that the screenplay writers Abhishek Kapoor and Pubali Choudhary spent more time and energy establishing the friendship and camaraderie among the band, and their past journey till when they fall apart. The fun, madness and humour are almost completely missing, and that’s where Rock On fails to do a Dil Chahta Hai.

The male bonding just doesn’t come across strongly enough, and the film turns soggy, even boring- I mean come on, the rock band in this movie is so unbelievably scrubbed clean, it is not funny- and in that context it is only perhaps fitting that they sing songs with embarrassingly nursery rhyme lyrics that go- ‘Aasmaan hai neela kyon, Paani geela geela kyon, Gol kyon hai zameen‘ and have a name like Magik.

So while there are two instances of some cool great tongue-in-cheek humour- including that hilarious scene where the band is forced to do a dandiya gig to raise money, and another one that takes a dig at the corny and poisonous-sounding lyrics that feature in songs by young rock bands- the film struggles to find its feet and rhythm, uncomfortably shuttling between past and present.

That said, the second half, while equally predictable works way better than the first, and it’s really a pity because provided a more solid foundation earlier, it could have worked wonders. The feeling of reminiscence and nostalgia doesn’t quite reach our nostrils in the latter part of the film simply because the film doesn’t give us enough to reminisce about in the former. Still, some clichés (and-spoiler alert- an unforgivably soppy and unnecessary brain tumour angle) apart, the nicely understated humour, emotional moments and most importantly, the performances keep you hooked on till the neatly drawn and fairly rousing end.

Farhan Akhtar may not exactly be a great singer (and while he doesn’t sound awful, I do hope he restricts any future singing to the shower), he impresses with a confident and mature debut performance. Prachi Desai also scores in her big-screen debut, and she is delicate and vulnerable without turning into saccharine. Arjun Rampal (looking every inch a rock star) and Luke Kenny are nicely restrained, while Purab Kohli is his usual endearing and affable self, adding that dose of cheer when the film needs it the most. But the standout here is clearly Shahana Goswami, who despite having a brief role manages to more than make her presence felt, every glance of hers effectively portraying the pain and angst of a woman who sacrifices her own dreams for her family’s sake, forced to be harshly pragmatic, take charge and wear the pants in the house as her husband (Rampal) struggles with his failed idealism.

Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy’s music while decent could have been way better, and the love ballads work way better than the other tracks which lack that quality to lift us off our feet. What really deserves applause is Jason West’s superb photography that is as stylish and textured as it is beautifully evocative.

Rock On is a lovely, almost fable-like story that uses music as a metaphor for life and all we hold dear in it, and would probably be loved by many viewers for various personal reasons- and I can completely understand why- because when a film’s story touches that chord deep within, the heart takes over the head and the film transcends its cinematic artifice.

For someone like me, however- Rock On is, after all, another movie and there is no denying that the cinematic potential contained within the story is far from exploited to its fullest. Rock On takes way too long to take off, and when it finally does, the sheer adrenalin rush we deserved from this film is missing, and hence, while Abhishek Kapoor’s second film is a laudable effort which often surprises you with its subtle layering, it does fall short, and that makes me feel sad- for this could truly have been Magik.

Don’t even bother to read this, just go and watch it- Nishikant Kamat’s unbelievably heartfelt and magnificently realised film demands to be seen

Originally published on NOWRUNNING.COM 

Ah. Finally, it has come- that breeze of fresh air, that booster dose of good, genuine and honest cinema that keeps our cynicism in check, that removes the horrible bitterness that follows months of suffocatingly plastic films that leave you gasping for breath and hope.

Hope comes this Friday in the form of Nishikant Kamat's heart-hitting Mumbai Meri Jaan- hope not only for the future of Indian cinema but also for peace and humanity. A magnificent tribute to the much-abused 'Spirit of Mumbai', Kamat's first Hindi feature (after helming the much acclaimed Dombivli Fast) could be well called India's answer to Crash, but this original and superbly written and performed film deserves better- praise on its own terms, and not through ubiquitous comparisons.

Mumbai Meri Jaan is based on the tragic bomb blasts that hit Mumbai on July 11, 2006, targeting the very veins of the city, the local trains and shaking up the very heart of the city. But rather than being a scalpel that opens those wounds, Mumbai Meri Jaan acts as a healing balm, one that gently rouses and lifts the spirit.

Writers Yogesh Vinayak Joshi and Upendra Sidhaye create a detailed, engrossing script that's thoroughly real, relatable and laced with compelling characters and a wonderful sense of humour- at once both full of comforting warmth and tongue-in-cheek sarcasm. With the backdrop of a terrifying tragedy, the journey of the six main characters of the film vividly delves into the human psychology of fear, hatred, frustration and acceptance. The writing is intelligent, sensitive and serves as a showcase of topical issues without being didactic or preachy, and salutes the city of Mumbai without losing objectivity.

The terrific ensemble cast (one of the best assembled in a Hindi film in a long time) does more than justice to the painstakingly drawn characters, and the performances are all first-rate. Soha Ali Khan couldn't quite take the weight of her demandingly complex character in Khoya Khoya Chand, and she is a lot more in command here playing a journalist who has no qualms about turning stories of human suffering into sensational scoops until a personal tragedy makes the tables turn on her in an almost surreal manner while she looks on helplessly.

Irrfan Khan crafts yet another gripping portrayal as a Tamilian coffee vendor who struggles in frustration to find space for himself in a city that seems to no longer want him. Kay Kay Menon is brilliant as an out-of-work computer salesman who is on the fringes of being a fanatic, underlining his performance with his trademark deadpan comic timing. R. Madhavan is nicely subtle and understated in his role as a man scarred by the blasts and fractured by fear. But the best parts of the film are undoubtedly the ones featuring the Guru-Shishya pair of cops played awesomely by Paresh Rawal and Vijay Maurya. They complement each other beautifully, Maurya's hot-headedness and raw vulnerability serving as a perfect foil for Rawal's character, who with experience has learnt to deal with the unfairness of life with humour.

Maurya is a revelation, but it is Paresh Rawal who stands shoulders above the rest with a humble but towering performance. Each wrinkle on his face reflects the wisdom, pain and understanding accumulated over years of a career with no apparently significant achievement (At his farewell, all that his immediate senior can muster in praise of him is that he cracked wonderful jokes). But while he may not know it, it is he who truly embodies the unbeatable, resilient spirit of the city, and that is his real accomplishment. What joy it is to see one of our country's most skilled and underused actors finally feature in a film that does justice to those vast reservoirs of talent lying wasted all this while. Rawal is good as gold, and in a film full of delicious dialogue he is given to best lines, and he delivers them with the calm assurance of a veteran. Even when the film teeters towards tedium, Rawal is the jaan of Mumbai Meri Jaan, keeping the film throbbing and alive.

Technically too, the film is first rate- while the fact that Kamat's direction is outstanding is a given, Sanjay Jadhav's gritty camerawork splendidly captures the ethos of the film and the city, and the background score is resonating, quite like the film itself.

Yes, the film isn't without it's faults- the Soha Ali Khan track is a tad weak and unconvincing in comparison to the others - why she would willingly allow herself to become a victim is something one can't really fathom completely, and the writers' keenness to wrap up everything neatly means that the film is about 15 minutes too late by the time it reaches its wonderful culmination. But quibbles aside- it's still an experience that's not to be missed, and besides, when art mirrors life so closely and beautifully, it's only apt that it too, like life, is forgiven its minor imperfections. 

Anees Bazmee, in his grand ambition to glorify Sardars and Akshay Kumar (who should be declared an honorary Sardar himself, having occupied what was once Sunny Deol’s territory in Bollywood) only manages to make a mess that’s nothing short of mindnumbin(n)g

Originally published on NOWRUNNING.COM

I can already sense the brickbats. What’s my problem? Why can’t I just sit back and enjoy a no-holds-barred funfest that’s sans logic?

Why can’t a ‘hard-nosed’ critic like me take a chill pill and ‘leave my brains at home’ (I must confess I still haven’t figured out how I’m supposed to perform that anatomical impossibility)?

Anyway, why am I cribbing about a film that’s so obviously critic-proof?

Let me tell you why. Because, the truth is that I was, in fact looking forward to seeing some genuine balle-balle fun, to jump up from my seat and do the bhangra routine- and generally let my hair down in a way that only we Singhs perhaps can.

Because I don’t wince while wholeheartedly declaring that I had thoroughly enjoyed Anees Bazmee’s other recent slapstick caper No Entry- it was mostly light, breezy and had some genuinely sharp comic moments. Total paisa vasool- I thought. Unfortunately, I can hardly say the same for this indulgent, vain and messy film that is so full of itself that it can’t help but burst from its seams.

Everything about Singh is Kinng is loud, over-the-top, spicy and downright outrageous- and understandably so- after all, this is a film about a community that embodies all these qualities and as a result, has unfortunately been reduced mostly to a sad cliché on screen. If only it had another quality that the balle-balle boys are well known for- humility, that is.

But Singh is Kinng is a film completely oblivious of how embarrassingly awful, unfunny and even racist it sometimes is (though coming from the man who produced and directed the thoroughly racially-offensive Namastey London, it isn’t exactly surprising.) For a film that raises the bar for suspension of disbelief by several kilometers, Bazmee’s film is mostly unpardonably boring.

What could have saved Singh is Kinng from being the colossal disaster it is, is undoubtedly the man of the moment- Akshay Kumar, and it is truly tragic that he falls way to short of the kind of trailblazing, larger-than-life and spectacular performance he should have delivered. After some twenty odd minutes of Sonu Sood, Javed Jaffery and a dozen others (including a painfully bad Neha Dhupia) fooling around, one was dying to see Kumar weave his hilarious magic, to give the film the adrenalin boost it so desperately needed. But the sheer energy of his performance hardly sustains, and by the time the first hour has passed, this has already ended up being yet another so-so act by the gifted comic actor.

I could go on but I guess it is only wise to stop- cause no matter how much I rant- the writing on the wall is- the cash registers are still going to inevitably rin(n)g.

Kismat Konnection lacks the Mirza Magic- this one doesn’t quite konnect

Originally published on NOWRUNNING.COM

Quentin Tarantino, while explaining why he deleted one of the scenes from his 1994 masterpiece Pulp Fiction said, “It sounds like someone trying to write like me, (rather) than me.”

No line could better describe Aziz Mirza’s new film Kismat Konnection, which marks his return to direction after a span of nearly five years. It feels like Aziz Mirza trying to make an Aziz Mirza film, which is a pity- for despite their apparent ordinariness, it was the effortless charm and generosity of heart that characterized his previous films that made them so very endearing.

On the face of it, Kismat Konnection has all the trademark themes of an Aziz Mirza film- the struggle of the everyman to survive and succeed, the conflict between morals and ambition, and of course love and romance- why, even the main leads are called Raj and Priya. But while even the rather unsatisfying Chalte Chalte was irresistibly romantic before it became unbearably screechy, that Mirza magic that never failed to connect with us feels strangely amiss here.

The attempt to make everything oh-so-familiar clearly shows from the beginning, and in an emotional scene Shahid almost seems to be unconsciously channeling Shah Rukh Khan, which also makes you yearn for the original Raj- perhaps the only actor who can make doing mush, look like mush.

Shahid Kapur does a decent job but never really manages to come totally into his own, alternating between earnest and trying-too-hard. To be fair, he is an actor who is always easy on the senses- and that sure does help- but the angst of his character never really comes through effectively. Then again, maybe that’s also because despite the number of times it is mentioned in the film, Raj never really seems to be ’struggling’. Frankly, if you ask me, he seems having quite a gala time in picturesque Toronto, attractively lensed by the ever-dependable Binod Pradhan.

Vidya Balan, who quite literally plays ‘lady-luck’ here, could do with some luck herself, or perhaps some better choice of roles and hairdresser/stylist. Her woefully vapid character is a sorry rehash of her roles in Lage Raho Munnabhai and the disastrous Heyy Babyy. The film does absolutely nothing to justify her presence, and it is sad to see the immensely talented actress do little more than well, just look immense.

A great supporting cast can often raise a film by many notches (like we saw two weeks back in another rom-com that has since become the flavor of the season), but that doesn’t happen here either, as all we see are loud stereotypes playing themselves out here.

Having said all this, it’s not as if the film’s all that bad- it’s never exactly unwatchable, and after seeing most other films this year, trust me when I say I’ve seen much worse. But a feel-good film should make you feel good, and that’s not exactly the emotion I’m feeling right now. Well, well- what can I say, Mr. Mirza, except- better luck next time?

Hansal Mehta’s latest (non) effort is nothing more than a painful chore

Originally published on NOWRUNNING.COM

Imagine a near-empty movie hall. A few people sat shifting in their seats at the back of the theatre- muttering and sulking, waiting for Woodstock Villa to end. Away in the front rows sat I, howling with laughter.

Movies like Woodstock Villa have the ability to make you go on an emotional and cerebral roller-coaster ride. For the first half of the film I was getting bored to death, wondering if the movie would ever really take off. Then, having lost hope for the film and its possible redemption, I sat feeling depressed and confounded, wondering how such a poor script actually manages to find its way to the multiplex. Do the producers actually expect us to pay to watch this?

But towards the end I was so amused by the sheer inanity and of it all that I couldn’t help but crack up. The way the film ends seems to suggest that the makers think they have actually pulled off a stunning twist, a genuine revelation on the audience. If they do, they are sorely mistaken.

Woodstock Villa is- well, quite a terrible film- not really in the most obviously obnoxious or offensive way, but worse- so indifferently made and so uninvolving, that the only parts that might surprise you do so only because they are so amazingly ridiculous.

The story follows a good-for-nothing cad Sameer (Sikandar Kher) who desperately needs money to pay off his debts accumulated with his lavish all-play-no-work lifestyle while Arbaaz Khan and Neha Uberoi play an unhappily married couple. When Zara (Uberoi) asks Sameer to ‘kidnap’ her and ask her husband for ransom to ‘test if he still loves her’, he jumps on the offer. What follows is a plodding tale of lies, deceit and murder.

Even at my kind and lenient best, I have failed to find a single redeeming point about the film. Bunty Nagi’s editing is plain annoying and tries to treat every scene as a sensation, with incessant dissolves, split frames, flash cuts, jump cuts, slow motion, the works; Vikash Nowlakha’s camerawork just passes muster while giving your eyeballs a lot of painful exercise. And the best thing I can say about Anu Malik’s music is that maybe it’s not as horrendous as it sounds.

The dialogues by Milap Zaveri are an embarrassment, and the screenplay by Sanjay Gupta, Rajiv Gopal and S. Farhan is totally bankrupt of logic. Songs are arbitrarily and unnecessarily placed in the film- after a seriously dull credit sequence, we are subjected to Sikander Kher singing in Mika’s lecherous sounding voice, and a crucial point of the story is interrupted by Sanjay Dutt pretending to play the drums and guitar through another nerve-wracking song.

Sikandar makes a debut that is just about okay, while Arbaaz Khan and Neha Uberoi desperately seem to be vying for the title of the most wooden actor in this enterprise. Meanwhile we have Gulshan Grover doing his typical cartoony bad-man act, while Shakti Kapoor does a bit role, playing an over-the-top (what else?) Sardar.

Let me be curt. The makers have obviously wasted a decent lot of time and money on this sheer farce. My solemn and obvious advice to you is to avoid committing the same mistake.