Guys, thanks for the awesome response. Glad to know all of you want to read about my version of Tarantino’s Bible. Posting it right now.

Sorry for the wait, and I think I need to explain myself: I didn’t ask you guys to flatter myself with the number of comments. I asked because I wanted to see if there were objections, to check the dissent, to see if there were people offended enough to tell me to stop. I wasn’t waiting for more requests, I was waiting for an objection.

Mercifully, all is unanimous. Let the madness begin.

Howdy, y’all.

Been almost two years since I moved to Bombay, and was playing déjà vu through the old folders the other day and stumbled upon the coolest thing I’ve ever written.

Unfortunately, this was deemed too scandalous to print, and because the word ‘blasphemy’ scared every editor who read even a bit, (and because I didn’t want it to be just another blogpost) it remains tragically unread. Which is a pity, cause I think it’s a trip. :p

What’s it about, you ask? Well, it’s a post-Passion Of The Christ piece, one looking at gore and the Book. Basically, it’s a Quentin Tarantino version of the Bible. I come in peace, my Catholic friends.

Now, a lot of you might not think I can write, might not care for Tarantino, and might not want to read about this warped piece at all, for whatever reason. Fair points. But…

if enough of you guys wanna read it, I’ll put it up on Spotboy.

Now raise those hands, varmints.

Barton: Have you read the Bible, Pete?
Pete, the grizzled old liftman: Holy Bible?
Barton: Yeah.
Pete: Yeah, I think so. *pause* Anyway, I’ve heard about it.

Barton Fink is a masterpiece, a tale of a playwright reluctantly trying to make it as a screenwriter in Hollywood. John Turturro is fabulous in the lead, and the rest of the cast — John Goodman, John Mahoney, Steve Buscemi, Tony Shalhoub — is magnificent. The film won the Palme D’or at Cannes in 1991, plus Best Director and Actor.

The Brothers Coen are remarkable filmmakers, constantly pushing themselves and always experimental. From Raising Arizona to The Big Lebowski, director Joel and producer Ethan (co-writers both) have marvellously experimented with every cinematic genre, often repeating a handful of actors — Frances McDormand (Joel’s ultratalented wife), Turturro, Buscemi, Goodman, Thornton – with tremendous results. Their style is perpetually dark, wildly funny, and brilliantly scripted.

Blood Simple, Raising Arizona, Miller’s Crossin, Barton Fink, The Hudsucker Proxy, Fargo, The Big Lebowski, O Brother Where Art Thou, The Man Who Wasn’t There, Intolerable Cruelty, The Ladykillers.

They’re all fine films, but which is your favourite, and why?

The Dude: It’s like what Lenin said.. you look for the person who will benefit, and, uh, uh..
Donny: I am the walrus.
The Dude: You know what I’m trying to say…
Donny: I am the walrus.
Walter Sobchak: Shut the **** up, Donny! V I Lenin. Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov!

My vote goes to The Big Lebowski, dudes.

A truly smart screenplay is a rare thing.

Something polished and refined, with a non-linear narrative, intelligent pop-culture references, and consistent unpredictability.

Shane Black, writer of 3 out of 4 Lethal Weapon movies and The Long Kiss Goodnight, seems to have saved his best writing for himself. His directorial debut, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang is a superb entertainer, a brisk, lots-of-nonsense thriller that waves aside minor plot details to engage us in a wonderful, spoofy, refreshing melange.

And the characters, the characters. Robert Downey Jr is Harry Lockhart, our narrator. A suddenly ‘discovered’ actor, he’s in LA to train as a detective in an upcoming film. To help him hold his gun correctly, so to speak, he’s told to hang out with private detective ‘Gay Perry’, a superbly-cast Val Kilmer. Both actors are at the top of their game, and this film is a vindication for Val; the actor needs to do more humour. He’s Lebowski-worthy, dudes.

And Michelle Monaghan is as fatale as femmes get. The delicious woman rushes, bewildered and hyper, between an increasingly twisted murder case and Harry Lockhart’s affections. Limbs are severed, the putdowns are ruthless, corpses are hopped over, pistols are lost, and each chapter in the movie is named after a Ray Chandler novel. This is seriously cool inanity.

What do you expect from a film that gets it’s name from Pauline Kael’s most famous quote? Disillusioned with modern cinema, the extraordinary critic said that most films were turning into nothing but those four words she saw on an Italian film poster: ‘kiss kiss bang bang.’ But the title is also a doff of the hat to James Bond. Shirley Bassey and Dionne Warwick both took turns recording a fun track called Mr Kiss Kiss Bang Bang for Thunderball, but it never made the cut. Download, children, thou shalt not regret.

This is a cheeky film, a ride that races along faster than it unravels, with a blissfully sporadic and irreverent narrator. It’s not Tarantino-esque in the strictest sense of the decade-old term, but it has the same self-referential beat, laced with some old-world charm. Black’s gone adoringly into the world of the potboiler and the b-movie, and the result is immensely fun.

Watch Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s one helluva blast!

Time for some feedback.

A disgruntled fellow blogger has vented his wrath on my Oscar writings thusly. While I appreciate his sentiment, he hasn’t given me commenting room, choosing to only post moderated comments. So I thought I’d reply to him here, if you please:

Hi

I understand your frustration with the Oscars. If you’ve read my stuff, you’ll know I’m not exactly an Academy-fan myself. However, it still does frequently bring to light some great cinema and fabulous performances.

As for the nominated films: Yes, I watch every film I write about. In fact, over the last week, I was up through several nights making sure we carried all the major reviews ahead of the Awards. I don’t quite know how to write about a film (lesser still review it) without watching it. If you have the answer, do please drop me a line — will use your technique on the next Mallika Sherawat flick

Now, back to all of ya: I know everyone’s bored with Oscar-buzz, but seeing that so many big films are playing in desi theatres right now,everyone wants a recommendation. Well, go watch Brokeback Mountain, of course, though I’m not sure how much will be clipped by desi censors. But if you can only watch one film this weekend, don’t think twice and go see A History Of Violence. Fantastic.

Wow!

There’s been much speculation about the plotline for the upcoming Spider-Man 3, especially with the characters already announced: apart from Peter, MJ, Aunt May, J Jonah Jameson and Harry Osborne, the 2007 release will introduce us to The Sandman, possibly Electro, and Gwen Stacy! So even as we fanboys try to wrap our head around exactly which plotline Sam Raimi will embark upon, here comes the picture.

Here is a photograph from Spider-Man 3, the first of the leading man in costume. And no, it’s not in black and white. It’s just that the Spidersuit is black. [pause for dramatic effect]



To fanboys, this means the symbiote, venom, John Jameson, a killer plotline with muchos actionas, and tons of geeky excitement. To the rest of you, it means Tobey Maguire is going to be wearing the coolest black superhero costume (no pointy ears here), period.

Enjoy, peeps:

Alright, boys and girls, it’s Question Time!

I sat through Fun With Dick & Jane a couple of days ago, and it was not entertaining. Hollywood’s constantly churning out remakes, and with some exceptions (like Bad News Bears or King Kong), they’re all unspeakably awful. Remember Alfie?

Here’s your question: Which is the worst Hollywood remake, and why?

As for last week’s Pacino poll, most of you said Scarface was the man’s finest performance. Point noted, and watched it again on Saturday just to drive it home. Also, you guys made sure I must rent Merchant Of Venice.

I dig George Clooney. He’s a rarity among those actors labelled ‘dishy’ because of a constant willingness to experiment. Right from O Brother, Where Art Thou to Ocean’s Eleven to Intolerable Cruelty, he’s been supremely quirky in his choice of roles. Heck, he’s even done a Batman.

Now, with his political Good Night, And Good Luck he’s being taken seriously as a director. His first film, Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind was an interesting attempt, bringing out Sam Rockwell to the fore, and even though the DVD extras (especially the audition scenes) were more fun than the movie, it was worth a watch.

The Guardian has run a terrific interview with George, written by a helplessly besotted female journalist. It also offers great insight into his directorial methods:

Each morning before shooting he would gather the actors, including Robert Downey Jr and Jeff Daniels, and give them copies of the newspapers of that day in 1953. They’d spend an hour and a half on old manual typewriters, copying stories from the paper. Then Clooney would hold an improvised “news conference”, filmed by hidden cameras, in which the “journalists” would pitch stories in the traditional way.

By George, I can’t wait to watch this film.