akbarnali Reviews

Mom (I) (2017)

Sridevi Returns with a Powerful, Devastating Performance

[8/10 · 27 July 2017]

Bollywood has a problem. And that problem's name is 'Sridevi'.

Gone (mercifully) are the days when actresses over the age of 40 were automatically relegated to matronly roles (see Nutan, Rakhee, Farida Jalal, and even Rekha and Dimple for proof of this). We're lucky enough to live in an age when many actresses over a certain age abound in modern Hindi cinema: apart from Sri herself in Mom, we recently saw Manisha Koirala (Dear Maya), Raveena Tandon (Maatr), Kajol (Dilwale), Juhi Chawla (Chalk n Duster), Aishwariya Rai (Ae Dil Hai Mushkil) and Tabu (Fitoor) taking center stage in major films, all playing roles that required them to do more than serve as mother figures to younger protagonists. Credit this to expanding mindset of an audience that has gradually woken up to the fact that women are interesting (and, indeed, desirable) outside the customary Bollywood sphere of commercial romance.

So what's the problem? The problem is that Sridevi has outgrown Bollywood. Arguably the greatest actor of her generation (and certainly a far more potent performer than the would-be usurpers who followed her), Sridevi has come to be regarded by the media and masses alike as "The Indian Meryl Streep". Which, though she may be, is secondary to the fact that she is "The Indian Sridevi". India has not witnessed an actor as complete and transformational as Sridevi since the dawn of cinema – so it makes sense that in the wake of her career as a mainstream leading lady, Bollywood is forced to confront a quandary unlike any other it's faced in the past.

Having outgrown the usual romantic roles of her repertoire in the '80s and '90s (her last of which was her bewitching turn as the shrewish virago in Judaai), Bollywood now has the dilemma of trying to figure out what to do with a talent the size and scope of Sridevi's (hint: it has no clue). Asking Sridevi to play "the mother" or "some generic older female relative" is like asking Picasso to paint a wall: you do not – indeed, cannot – ask a genius to perform the mundane. We know what she is capable of; hers is a talent whose full potential can never be tapped (I'm quoting Shekhar Kapur here). What, then, is an industry built around the trope of 20-something romantic musicals to do with an actor like Sridevi?

Sridevi is intelligent enough about her artistry to know that audiences will not accept her in the same mould of the past. She isn't the comic sprite of Chaalbaaz or Mr. India anymore – nor does she insist that she be treated as such. This is something megastar actors seem to have trouble accepting: remember Amitabh's disastrous re-entry into Bollywood as a leading/angry young man with "Mrityudaata"? Madhuri Dixit would also do well to learn this lesson given that she continues to insist that she be featured in song-n-dance roles (and now dance- themed television shows) which don't go over particularly well with either critics or audiences.

Which brings us to 'Mom'.

Bollywood is obsessed with rape. It's a trope that the Largest Film Industry in the World has relied upon quite steadily since the early 80s when every hero from Mithun Chakraborty to Amitabh Bachchan to Govinda regularly avenged the rapes (or would-be rapes) of his sister/daughter/and even mother. Leading men even play "hero" rapists from time to time: remember Anil Kapoor playing an unrepentant rapist in Benaam Badshah who is only tamed (incredulously) by the love of his victim (Juhi Chawla)? Things got (marginally) better when the same Anil Kapoor offered to marry a rape victim (Aishwarya Rai) when she was forced to consider marrying her rapist (Puru Raj Kumar) in Hamara Dil Aap Ke Paas Hai. Progress? Well, okay.

Mom – which follows a stepmother's journey to avenge the gang rape of her stepdaughter - has summarily been compared to the standard '80s Bollywood potboiler in which the (male) hero restores the dignity of his beloved by killing off her rapists. Ravi Udyawar's directorial debut certainly has this trope at its center, but the film reminded me in many ways of Sridevi's 1996 film Army, in which she plays a widow seeking to avenge the murder of her young husband (Shah Rukh Khan). Mom is a far, far superior film to Army, but the resemblance between the story lines is difficult to ignore. Sridevi was pure arresting melodrama in Army (as only she can pull off – remember the brilliant scene in which her pregnancy was revealed?) and holds a more nuanced yet bitter tone in Mom. But in Mom she's also an army of one, choosing to go it alone when the law lets her down and even a good cop named Francis (Akshaye Khanna) seems eager to thwart her maternal yearning for justice.

Yes, Sridevi's performance is devastating and brilliant, but even more than that, this is a performance which is agonizing to witness. She summons not only the tentative love of an unwanted stepmother, but brings to the surface the burden of a raw, all-consuming pain of a parent drowning in her child's misery. Much has been said about Devki's quest for revenge, but almost nothing is mentioned about the quiet moments of steeliness and stillness which punctuate Sridevi's performance throughout the film.

Watch, for example, the many scenes between Sridevi and Nawazuddin Siddiqui (Daya Shankar, the detective). She expertly conveys the resigned feelings of an unwanted quest, of a heroine in search of a destination she never wanted to seek out. Revenge is not something to be celebrated, her body language tells us, but it is (in some scenarios, it seems) the only path to resolution. She asks her cohorts on one occasion: if you must choose between wrong and very wrong, which will you choose? She will emerge victorious, we know from the outset; but she is also already defeated.

English Vinglish (2012)

The Queen Has Returned

[10/10 · 25 October 2012]

If creative intellectuals have their way, when the history of Indian Cinema is written, it will be written in two parts: Before Sridevi and After Sridevi. With due respect to Dilip Kumar, Kamal Hassan, and even Amitabh Bachchan, Sridevi stands as the sole female actor in a country whose native cinema has historically preferred its women to be little more than ornamental showpieces to equal and even generally outrank and outshine her male counterparts by building a legacy that is as artistically rich as it is historically significant.

She has achieved every benchmark befitting a historic thespian who is now commonly referred to as "India's Meryl Streep": as the only Indian actor (male or female) to have achieved supremacy in every major regional language of the World's Largest Film Industry, her return to the silver screen is not one that can go unnoticed. This is, to put it mildly, The Return of the Queen.

And now, at age 49, she reinvents the wheel yet again, giving audiences reluctant to view women past the age of 35 as anything other than matronly spinsters a fully existential view of middle-aged femininity that is somber, sweet, and wholly unlike anything Indian cinema has ever dared to say about women of a certain age. Fifteen years after her last film, Judaai (in which she triumphantly played a materialistic husband-selling virago), she returns to the big screen with a difficult but simple story of a middle class housewife named Shashi who finds her life, relationships, and identity limited by the fact that she cannot speak English.

Summoned to New York by her sister to help with the preparations for her niece's upcoming wedding, Shashi finds herself confronted with ideas, customs, and individuals that, while foreign, are not wholly alien to her. She doesn't mind that strangers offer her wine on planes, or that gay couples stroll hand in hand on the Upper West Side. Shashi should be a narrow-minded and provincial simpleton. She is, instead, a warm and accepting woman with a heart of gold who simply doesn't know the language of the world. Or does she?

Like all Sridevi creations, Shashi is complex in both her design and her ambition. Unlike all other Sridevi creations, however, Shashi is firmly rooted in reality. Sridevi has almost exclusively been held to the larger than life standard that has enabled her to play some of the most unique and legendary characters ever enacted by any actress, Indian or otherwise. As Mani Ratnam famously said in 1995, "Asking Sridevi to play the typical heroine role is like asking Picasso to paint your wall."

With due respect to Picasso's creative process, Sridevi is able to conjure miracles in seconds. Shashi has no grand designs on life. Her only desire is to be taken seriously, to know that she is as important as her family members that converse and operate in English when at the office or at school. For her, there is no tragic event that becomes the impetus for her desire to learn English. It is the cumulative effect of a thousand petty humiliations, borne upon her face day after day, as she is derided, diminished, and dismissed as being less than. Shashi knows that she is capable and intelligent; her mind is as open as her heart; and yet no one will take her seriously.

Despite the supporting cast's best efforts, all of the film would be for naught were it not for the heart-poundingly delicate performance from Sridevi who elevates the film as only a master can. That Sridevi is a world-class thespian does not need to be repeated. What does bear pointing out is the utterly flawless way in which Sridevi communicates Shashi's building frustration with her linguistic limitations at every moment when she is derided or disdained by her daughter, husband, or random strangers abroad. It becomes clear to Shashi that no one – not even her loved ones – view her as an individual. She is only to be considered in terms of her social relations- as wife, mother, homemaker. That she is an existential being in her own right, with her own desires and ambitions, is something only Shashi asserts, albeit in complete silence. The look of muted broken heartedness that Sridevi conjures at every slight is something to behold: she swallows her humiliations with bitterness, unsure that this is the way things are supposed to be. Sridevi's frankly perfect performance gives rise to more than just her second innings as an actor: it heralds the beginning of a new Golden Age in Hindi Cinema.

Such expectations aside, critics and Sridevi fanatics alike have all been asking the same question: where does her portrayal of Shashi rank among her legendary performances? Is it of the caliber of her greatest achievements Sadma, Chaalbaaz, Mr. India, and Lamhe? Does it deserve the same consideration of her landmark work in movies like Chandni, Gumrah, and Laadla? All I can positively assert without any hesitation is that Sridevi's Shashi allows her to produce a fine and finessed performance that is unassuming and wise at the same time. Sridevi has long been "afflicted" by the demand that she play only grandiose women. Even "ordinary" women like Chandni became larger-than-life purely because Sridevi was playing them. Her very essence speaks to the isolated, the elevated, and the unique.

As R. Balki has recently said of Sridevi, an actress of her ability is born but once in a thousand years, and that she must continue to act, not only for the sake of her own career but for the sake of cinema itself. Some artists are their medium in such definitive ways that their absence means a weakening of the entire medium itself. Sridevi is, almost 50 years since the beginning of her career, the purest distillation of Acting India has ever known. And if the 15 years since Judaai are any indication, she will remain thus.

Avatar (2009)

The Definitive Film On Native Americans and Manifest Destiny?

[10/10 · 28 December 2009]

For all its visual proficiency, "Avatar" is not the apex of cinematic achievement some reviewers would have you believe it is, and the primary reason is this: the wobbly script is about as old as cinema itself -- the abundance of flat dialogue like "You're not the only one with a gun, bitch" doesn't help either. For this reason (and others discussed below) I still rank Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings" trilogy as superior to "Avatar" -- Cameron's film may be technologically superior, but it lacks the intelligence and subtle emotion of Jackson's expertly crafted cinematic trio.

"Avatar" is filled with familiar characters, from the rebellious outsider and hero Jake Scully (Sam Worthington) to noble human scientist Dr. Grace Augustine (Sigourney Weaver) to a cartoonish villain (Stephen Lang) invoking the imperialist bloodlust of Bush Cheney Co. to the wise and peaceful Na'vi chief (Wes Studi) and shaman (C.C.H. Pounder) who happen to be parents to the Na'vi princess, Neytiri (Zoe Saldana).

Neytiri is the sole standout among the film's characterizations as aspiring to something more than cliché: she is not cast simply as Jake's mandatory love interest or the raison d'etre for the switching of his loyalties. She is a fierce warrior, a defender of the environment, and a potent force of nature whose love and life are at the center of the film. The film makers spared no effort in crafting her as authentically as possible; there are moments (i.e. the destruction of the Great Tree, her animalistic cries over the body of her father) when she seems more real (even more human?) than the human characters, which is testimony to the fact that she is the greatest technological achievement in a film boasting of literally millions of special effects and synthetic manipulations. Indeed, when all else about the film may be forgotten, it is her image which persists in the memory, so powerfully is she depicted.

It is difficult to watch the onslaught of attacks on the Na'vi without thinking of how closely this scene of unadulterated horror and depraved violence resembles what the people of Iraq, Afghanistan, and Vietnam have endured throughout the U.S. led invasions of those nations. It is clear that Cameron views those invasions as immoral and evil. Should there be any doubts, he has his villain proclaim his desire for "preemptive attack" by fighting "terror with terror." I wonder what arch conservative Rupert Murdoch (whose Fox produced "Avatar") thinks of this not-so-subtle bit of Bush bashing . . .

It is impossible -- yes, impossible -- to view the film without thinking of real, historical, flesh and blood Native Americans who lived in North America long before Jamestown was ever a colony. The Na'vi of Pandora are the Native Americans of the 16th and 17th centuries, complete from their tribal lifestyle to the markings on their bodies.

To be sure, there is much in "Avatar" that borrows from earlier films about Native Americans, namely Disney's animated musical "Pocahontas" and the Kevin Costner epic "Dances with Wolves". Neytiri IS Pocahontas, and if Jake isn't John Smith, he is most definitely John J. Dunbar/Dances With Wolves. The dominant themes of environmental oneness, natural spirits, and kinship with all of creation abound in stark contrast with the "human" values of greed, war, and destruction. Cameron even managed to reincarnate Grandmother Willow as a divine tree called Eywah.

The film also delves into the issues of race, genocide, and manifest destiny (admittedly, not always with subtlety or sophistication) in ways that many will decry the film as blatant anti-American propaganda, or as some have described it, as a liberal apology for genocide inflicted upon the indigenous peoples of the Americas by Europeans fueled by white guilt and a visceral hatred of all things neocon. Clearly, much more unfolds on the screen than simply the greatest collection of cinematic visuals you've ever seen.

Thus the question naturally arises, is this the definitive mainstream Hollywood film about Native Americans and what they endured under siege of the settlers in the founding years of America? The truth is I do not know. But if what is essentially a popcorn blockbuster can encourage the average film-goer to reassess how they view their place in the natural world and what it really means to invade another nation and unleash war, then Cameron will have far exceeded his goals. What I do know is that "Avatar" is an AMAZING piece of entertainment (cheesy dialogue, superficial characterizations and all). You've never seen anything like it -- and likely won't for a long, long time. A definite must-see.

Kurbaan (2009)

He Doesn't Believe In Long Distance Relationships. But Suicide Bombing Is Fine.

[5/10 · 23 November 2009]

I sauntered into "Kurbaan", the latest offering from the house of "Kuch Kuch Hota Hai", with terribly low expectations. I expected the story to be full of ridiculous plot holes (it was), the production values to be slick and solid (they were) and for Kareena Kapoor to outshine her co-stars by a mile (she did).

Now, for those who aren't familiar, "Kurbaan" is based on a story by Karan Johar who likes to construct his plots with a lot of melodrama and a few twists . . . all at the surface. That would be fine for a superficial exercise in Hindu Family Values a la "Kuch Kuch Hota Hai" or "Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham" but "Kurbaan" is not about Hindu Family Values. It's about a secret cell of terrorists in New York whose star commando is a university professor named Ehsaan Khan (Saif Ali Khan). He lures an unassuming Hindu colleague of his named Avantika (Kareena Kapoor) back to New York where she comes to discover that her Prince Charming is really a bloodthirsty, bin Laden loving, pro Taliban terrorist whose greatest wish is to see America crumble under the weight of its own illegal nation-invading and genocidal hypocrisy.

Vivek Oberoi inserts himself into the giant conspiracy to take down America when his girlfriend (Dia Mirza) is killed in a suicide bombing, thus setting himself up as would-be savior to the now captive Avantika. Long story short, most of what happens would not unfold if Avantika would just pick up her phone and dial 911. Seriously.

"Kurbaan" marks the latest in a long line of Bollywood films dealing with terrorism. After this year's earlier "New York" and films like "Fanaa", "Maachis" and "Terrorist", "Kurbaan" simply reinforces the idea that the best of these films are those which provide a truly interested glimpse into why terrorists become terrorists. "Kurbaan" offers a background story for Ehsaan's motives, but it rings as hollow; instead the film serves are political polemic for all the aggrieved masses of Afghanistan and Iraq whom the mainstream press collectively refers to as "collateral damage" when American bombs happen to destroy them.

To be fair, "Kurbaan" is about as good as "New York" and far superior to the overly commercialized "Fanaa". Its primary failure (apart from the glaring holes in its plot) is that it is written from an outsider's perspective: the hopelessly cheesy dialogues at the beginning (Ehsaan tells Avantika "I don't believe in long distance relationships, they just never work out" followed by the equally banal "Why is it women who are always asked to sacrifice") don't do much to give us a glimpse into why Ehsaan does what he does. Ditto Avantika: why doesn't she call the police the second she witnesses her neighbor getting beat up by her husband? Is she waiting for her to be murdered? Oh, wait . . .

We are also asked to believe that Ehsaan and Avantika are truly in love with one another, a truly credulous feat considering what Avantika is forced to endure. "Kurbaan" is no love story: it is about deceit and murder, plain and simple, and unlike Mani Ratnam's masterpiece "Dil Se" which was a love story about the destructive nature of love told against the backdrop of terrorism. (Side note: both Saif Ali Khan and Aamir Khan are talented actors who have taken valiant stabs at playing terrorists, but the gold standard remains Manisha Koirala's hauntingly tragic portrayal of the suicide bomber in "Dil Se". Nothing else compares to that truly transcendent performance).

The performances are solid, if not extraordinary, with Saif doing his best with a surprisingly superficial characterization. Vivek Oberoi is sufficient as the infiltrate who seeks to avenge his lover's death. Om Puri and Kirron Kher are expectedly good in their parts, though Kher at times seems to be doing an imitation of Amitabh Bachchan from "Khudah Gawah" (this Kabul accent is seriously affected -- you half expect her to declare "Benazir!"). But the show belongs to Kareena Kapoor, proving yet again that despite her presence in silly films and the movie media's obsession with her size zero figure, she is the best actress around today who can make even mediocre material palpable. This is isn't her best work (or anywhere near it) but there are glimpses of those trademark Kapoor thespian skills on display.

Oddly enough, with "Kurbaan" not being Bollywood enough sans any lip synching or item numbers, the target audience of "Kurbaan" ought to be mainstream America: it might actually glean something useful from a film which presents (an admittedly weak) perspective different from what Hollywood and the mainstream American media are capable of producing. Any takers?

Love Aaj Kal (2009)

Jab We Jumped The Shark

[5/10 · 14 August 2009]

One of the hallmarks of Bollywood cinema in recent years has been its almost single-minded purpose to imitate Hollywood and MTV to such extremes that the weekly offerings of the Indian marquee often play as parodies of parodies (that's right, I'm talking to you, Kambakkhth Ishq). The main purpose of Bollywood cinema is no longer to tell stories or to give actors characters to play, but rather to rev up the hype machine, produce chartbusting musical numbers, and to guarantee an initial weekend box office take which will recover all of the cost of making the film. High art mainstream Bollywood is NOT.

But then it doesn't pretend to be either. So imagine my delight when in the midst of that swell of mediocrity came Imtiaz Ali's delightfully charming (and similarly charmingly delightful) 2007 feature "Jab We Met". His second directorial feature combined all the ingredients of popular cinema: a rigid-boy-meets-garrulous-girl love story full of comedy, song, dance and even (dare I say it?) intellect. Whatever was going on on the sets of "Jab We Met" clearly worked -- the story (while not entirely original) seemed fresh and interesting, compounded by the sincere turn put in by Shahid Kapur and the dizzyingly enthusiastic and big-hearted performance of Kareena Kapoor. Clearly, a major new talent had arrived.

If only. His follow-up to the sparkling "Jab We Met" is a disappointingly stale "Love Aaj Kal". The main gripe one has with the film is that (unlike "Jab We Met") there is no story. None. There is no proper plot, nothing that feels like a sequence of events. In fact, at the end of the film, one has to really stretch to come up with anything that actually "happens". I guess Meera (Deepika Padukone) got married. That counts . . . barely.

The problem is that Ali seems to have been seduced by the all-show-but-no-substance writing formula of Aditya Chopra-Karan Johar-Sanjay Bhansalli that made films like the emotionally dead weight "Mohabbatein", "Kabhie Khushi Kabhi Gham", and even the oh-so-heinous "Devdas" commercial successes. It's a shame, as one expected Ali to come up with something both entertaining and thoughtful.

So what went wrong? It seems that Ali was acting more as observer than as story-teller. The main sequences of "Love Aaj Kal" are the director's musings on the modern interplay of the sexes, a sort of deduction of contemporary romantic and sexual behavior that elicits remarkably little insight. Yes, the main characters Jai (Saif Ali Khan) and Meera throw a break-up party once they realize their relationship has run its course. Is it unusual for a Hindi film? Yes, undoubtedly. Is it especially revealing or interesting to the modern viewer? Regrettably, no.

Though neither of the concurrent "storylines" are gripping, one must admit that the love story between Veer Singh (Saif Ali Khan) and Harleen (Giselle Monteiro) is infinitely more interesting than the one between Jai and Meera. Why? Perhaps it's because Veer and Harleen are infinitely more sympathetic than their shallow modern counterparts. Or perhaps it's because in their world, things actually happen. Like events. And experiences.

The other problem is that the casting is rather off. Serving as both lead and producer, Saif Ali Khan comes across as a bit too old for the role of Jai. Though Saif is undoubtedly a fine actor with terrific comic timing, he isn't presented as well as he ought to be here. He suffers the same issue Aamir Khan had in "Fanaa" wherein he came off as haggard and bloated next to the litheness of the heroine. He isn't hindered by such constraints as Veer because Veer is more dimensional and has that beard and turban to hide behind. It's a shame to be forced to evaluate an actor's performance at such a superficial level, but the writer has given us little else to consider.

Which brings us to the film's other main pitfall: Deepika Padukone. Ms. Padukone rightly has her legions of admirers smitten by her perfect cheek bones and her perfect hair. Unfortunately, her physical charms are not enough to counter her glaring limitations as an actress. The role requires someone of a natural wit and charm to play with the hero's jocular declarations on modern love (in essence he needs a foil whom he will both find attractive and maddening, a la Aamir Khan and Juhi Chawla in their best work). Deepika, having none of the natural wit, acidic humor, or comic timing of Kajol, Juhi Chawla or Kareena Kapoor, comes off as a one-dimensional mannequin who operates in two modes: smilingly nice and frustratingly nervous. She needs major work on her dialogue delivery and she ought to familiarize herself with something called voice modulation. Her thick Indian accent jars embarrassingly against her supposed British upbringing.

The supporting cast is arguably the strongest element of the film: Rishi Kapoor is as natural as ever, giving the elder Veer Singh all the romantic gusto and melancholy one expects from an old fashioned romantic. Neetu Singh shows up at the end of the film as an older Harleen, though the cameo lasts literally 90 seconds. The younger Harleen, played by Brazillian model Giselle Monteiro, is convincing as an emotionally fractured Punjabi damsel: Monteiro hits exactly the right note with her furtive glances and cowed body language. In many ways, she steals the film from the Bollywood stalwarts by actually inhabiting the character she's given to play (novel, isn't it?). Admittedly, she lacks the dancing ability needed to pull off the boisterous "Thoda Thoda Pyar." It must be nearly impossible for non-Indian actresses to attempt to enact all the "nakhras" and "adaayein" associated with India's legendary screen mavens like Rekha and Sridevi.

In the end, "Love Aaj Kal" will probably make tons of money and maybe even inspire a few copycats. What it won't do is instruct or dramatize the trials and trivialities of modern love stories.

Ghajini (2008)

Another Innovatory Vehicle from Aamir Khan. Well, Almost.

[7/10 · 26 December 2008]

The Bollywood remake of the Tamil blockbuster "Ghajini" retains both the title and leading lady (Bollywood debutante Asin) from the original. Still, you might wonder, What exactly does "Ghajini" mean? Literally, I haven't a clue. But after watching this three-hour celluloid saga, it seems to signify a torturous desire for love, justice, and revenge all at once. The latest attempt by Aamir Khan to prove himself more cerebral than the Bollywood standard, "Ghajini" emerges at the intersection of "The Hulk" and "Sholay", right around the corner from "Memento" and "Army." But it is its own picture, one that hearkens back to the Bollywood revenge dramas of the 1980s. Dharamendra must surely be strutting proudly somewhere.

The story of "Ghajini" will be familiar to anyone who's ever seen a Sunny Deol or Sylvester Stallone film – or if you've read a Marvel comic in the last 75 years. Sanjay Singhania (Aamir Khan) is a debonair cell phone tycoon who falls for a struggling model named Kalpana (Asin). But Kalpana isn't content leading a life in front of the camera independent of altruism – she helps the handicapped into museums, escorts blind old men to bus stops, and even disrupts the trafficking of young girls whose internal organs are forcibly removed and sold by a gang of villains headed by a depraved monster named . . . Ghajini.

Ghajini cannot tolerate being challenged or thwarted, so he and his goons murder Kalpana in front of Sanjay (who is curiously left alive in an episode depicting the very worst of human nature). By the time Sanjay recovers, he is suffering from retrograde amnesia, a form of short-term memory loss wherein the patient cannot remember anything longer than 15 minutes. Clearly, avenging his beloved's murder will not be easy.

Enter senior medical student Sunita (Jiah Khan) whose fascination with retrograde amnesia gets the best of her. Soon, she has inserted herself into the cat-and-mouse game and her life is at stake. She puts into play many of the most critical plot twists, though at considerable peril to her own safety. Curiosity killed the cat; it just might kill a few medical students, too, in "Ghajini." There isn't anything particularly surprising or innovative about "Ghajini" (as "Lagaan" and "Rang De Basanti" certainly were – and memorably so). You shouldn't be surprised by how it ends. It is distinguished purely by the performances of its main players, especially Aamir Khan as a tortured avenger whose biggest obstacle is himself. He is part forsaken lover, part Sanjeev Kumar in "Sholay" and Sridevi in "Army", and part Hulk superhero whose physical strength and tolerance for pain is beyond the limits of human biology. It would be easy to dismiss his indifference to physical pain as requisite Bollywood disbelief suspension, but then, that's exactly the point: after witnessing Kalpana's murder, Sanjay is no longer human; he is reduced to a series of synapses punctuated with animal lust for violence and domination. There are more than a few scenes in the film where his behavior is more reminiscent of a caged bull than an amnesia patient. This isn't Aamir's best work, but he deserves credit for going where he hasn't ventured before.

Jiah Khan impresses as an earnest but foolhardy character; she is the lynchpin throughout much of the film, serving as both the character who puts the story into action and acts as the link between Ghajini and Sanjay. Mercifully, she is not cast as Sanjay's latent love interest. Curiously, she is given a staged dance number at a critical point in the film, something the film could certainly do without. Come to think of it, all of the film's musical sequences (fine compositions though they are) should be rightly deleted. They are well-placed, but essentially distracting from the narrative.

The film's most interesting yet most conventional characterization (as played by Asin) very nearly steals the show from Aamir Khan; maybe it's something about debuting with Aamir Khan (or maybe it's the fact that this is her second go at the role) but Asin very clearly reminds one of that other actress who debuted with Aamir Khan. I wouldn't go so far as to say that Asin seems to have graduated from the Juhi Chawla School of Acting, but the semblance is definitely there: the hyper vivacity, the bubbly cheeriness, the cutie pie with a healthy dose of sarcasm the hero is only too happy to suffer (romantically). The idealized Kalpana will remind you of many gummy sprite roles of the past: a big hearted, well-intentioned impish beauty with a big mouth. Think Juhi Chawla in One Two Ka Four (or Kajol In K3G). . . or Juhi Chawla in Ishq . . . or Juhi Chawla in Bol Radha Bol. You get the point. But the real point is that a star is born: Asin is here to stay.

Mehbooba (2008)

It Must Be Frustrating When You Know How To Act . . .

[5/10 · 25 August 2008]

If you were around in the 1920s and 30s you might have read what were commonly referred to as "Modern Morality Plays." These were basically extensions of medieval plays in which the main character (generally a young woman) was punished for attempting to legitimize a blatant violation of social norms. A typical story might be a young woman in WWI era America trying to live life independent of marriage, motherhood, or patriarchal social customs. She would try to survive, suffer in the process, and ultimately die or be outcasted from the town in which she lived, torch-wielding villagers and all.

That was then. Today (in the post-feminist 21st century) moral standards are decidedly different. But what hasn't changed is our desire to punish those who violate them.

Case in point: Afzal Khan's "Mehbooba", a much-delayed and surprisingly anti-patriarchal love story from the House of Bollywood.

"Mehbooba", as it were, translates to "female beloved" who in this case is Varsha, played by Manisha Koirala, one of India's finest dramatic actresses who not so long ago (i.e. Pre-Aishwarya Age Bollywood) was one of the nation's leading marquee attractions.

But she isn't the one who violates social norms in Khan's film; rather, it is the treacherous chauvinist Shravan (Sanjay Dutt) who spends his days and nights informing women that they are to be used and discarded for his sexual pleasure as he wills. All of this takes place in New York because of course women are always respected within India's borders . . . (ahem, ahem).

Varsha becomes of one of his victims, except that she doesn't go as quietly as the others. She curses him, leaves the country, changes her name to Payal, and heads to Budapest where she meets the charming and gentle Karan (Ajay Devgan) who thinks she is the woman of his dreams.

She eschews his advances, informing him that she doesn't trust men having lost her virginity to a misogynistic snake. Karan tells her it he doesn't care about her past; at last she relents, becomes his fiancée, and they are united.

Sort of.

Since this is Bollywood, she must of course go to Karan's home in India (where he apparently lives in a government palace) and receive the blessings of his astrologically inclined mother. Karan leaves first, arriving home to his family and an elder brother who turns out to be (zoinks!) Shravan. Cue the bombastic background music.

What happens next? Shravan, it seems, has turned a leaf and now deeply regrets the pain he caused Varsha and spends his nights drinking and playing the piano a la Rishi Kapoor in every film he made in the 90s. He professes (incredulously) that he loves Varsha and that she is the greatest specimen of femininity on the planet. Karan counters, professing his Payal is the greatest specimen of femininity on the planet. Sibling rivalry and ribbing turns into melodramatic irony as the audience knows they are unwittingly talking about the same woman.

At this point, Payal/Varsha returns . . . and thus the unraveling and punishment of Shravan begins. Several twists and turns later, the film reminds us that when you disrespect a respectable Indian (or Nepalese) woman, prepare yourself for ugly (and fierce) retribution.

The film borrows heavily from Bhansalli's puerile "Hum Dil Dechuke Sanam", not just in terms of characterization (Dutt plays an extremist version of Salman Khan's cad, Devgan is back as the knight in corduroy armor), but in terms of structure as well – the story spans three continents, involves a once happy-go-lucky girl understanding the unhappiness of relationships, and comes to center around a typically large extended family prone to celebrating all things Hindu, signing and dancing throughout.

In all, "Mehbooba" is pretty standard Bollywood melodrama. If there's any reason to watch, it's Manisha Koirala. This is definitely not her best or most interesting work – for an actress who's built a resume of offbeat and non-romantic roles, including starkly brilliant performances in films like "Dil Se", "Khamoshi", "Bombay" and "1942 A Love Story", "Mehbooba" is very middle-of the-road. She's very well presented and seems at ease in the chic getups, though not particularly interested in the emotional swell that surrounds her. One may even argue that she's the one Bollywood performer who looks better without makeup than with. But such superficial evaluations are exactly what she's not (and has never) been about.

Several actresses, including Karishma Kapoor, Urmila Matondkar, and Kajol vied for this typically glamorous role, but Khan went with Koirala. One wonders why. Her role in "Mehbooba" is the film's central one, but it doesn't provide her the kind of structure she requires to shine. It is yet another reminder that her talent far exceeds what mainstream Bollywood offers her to play. Surely Tabu, Urmila, and Manoj Bajpai will concur (with frustration).

Hopefully, bolder filmmakers will cast her in more complex and interesting roles. Wot say, Deepa Mehta?

Shikari (2000)

So Godawful, It's GENIUS!

[10/10 · 10 June 2008]

Let me be frank: N. Chandra's "Shikari" is hands-down one of the all-time worst films ever made. To be fair, there is a story, there is plot, and there is character development. What there isn't is any sense of reality, suspense, or logic applied to this wannabe (and I use the term loosely) "thriller." That having been said, the film is so, so bad as a thriller that it's actually a brilliant comedy. Every scene which is supposed to be menacing, terrifying, or moving is hilariously, hysterically, uproariously funny. Govinda is a born comedian (repetitive though he may be) and it seems he just can't contain the inner clown. Watch the scene in which he "chooses" to drop Karishma down a large mud hole to (he hopes) her death. His method of deciding whether she lives or dies? Eenie meenie minie mo. And no, I'm not joking.

"Shikari" was supposed to have been to Govinda's career what "Baazigar" and "Darr" were to Shah Rukh Khan's: proof that he could excel as the anti-hero. For more reasons than can be listed here, the film is a flat-out failure, reinforcing the notion that Govinda is, first and last and even when he doesn't want to be, a comic.

Tabu and Karishma (both brilliant actresses in my book) have plenty to do, though their hopeful performances fail to counter the sheer stupidity of the film they are stuck in. Karishma is a fiery romantic in search of her brother's killer; Tabu the subdued sister-in-law who simply wants to escape. Tabu is the more straightforward love interest, though Karishma seems to get the more conventional heroine tasks (dancing, prancing, and torturing the hero).

Bottom line: this is a bad, bad, BAD movie- but the conviction of its leading man and the filmmaker's fidelity to an absurdity he seems entirely unconscious of make it a veritable (and entirely accidental) masterpiece of farce.

Jodhaa Akbar (2008)

"Jodhaa Akbar" : Paro Grows Up, But She's Still A Little Girl (Oh, and Thank Goodness for Subtitles)

[8/10 · 19 February 2008]

Ashutosh Gowariker's "Jodhaa Akbar" is the most ambitious film to emerge from Bollywood's stables in quite a while. Based on the historical alliance between India's greatest Mughal emperor and a Rajput Hindu princess, Gowariker models his film on the Shakespearean mould of palace intrigue with its collection of warring power brokers, plotting princes, distant queen mothers, bitchy but loyal eunuchs, and concubines galore. It's also something of a gamble: Gowariker has never treaded the historical epic in his earlier features, especially one about India's first attempt at religious pluralism. The results are mixed but laudable, largely because the script adheres to the golden rule about bringing historical episodes to film: know the history, but print the legend.

Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, and Pocahontas were all real people whose life stories have been told and retold in popular Hollywood films, each retelling adding and embellishing elements of the story which have helped the stories attain the status of pseudoreligious myth. India certainly has a rich history of quasi-historical legends: Anarkali, Heer-Ranjha, Umrao Jaan, Devdas, and now Jodhaa-Akbar.

Let there be no doubt: this is not a documentary nor do the filmmakers make any overt attempt at a documentary characterization of Akbar. History tells us that he was a unique and even megalomaniacal emperor: he had many wives and untold numbers of concubines in a harem which (depending on which account you believe) included a few male lovers, invented his own religion in which he was divine, and held court with atheists, Jews, and Jesuits, a practice which would become decidedly less common with future emperors.

Hrithik Roshan puts up what is probably his best performance as Akbar, though he is hindered by the sheer volume of activity making up the plot: an absent queen mother, sinister foster mother, devious brothers, and, above all, a reluctant wife, all demand his attention. Roshan is at his best when Akbar is wooing a banished Jodhaa and when he ventures off into his kingdom; in many ways, Akbar remains a symbol of tolerance and benign authoritarianism throughout—despite the fact that he is the one who sets much of the narrative's action into play, surprisingly few scenes give us insight into his inner workings; the opposite is true for Jodhaa.

In the last decade since Aishwariya Rai was introduced to movie-going audiences, she has grown tremendously as an actress. "Jodhaa Akbar" is not her best work, but it offers ample evidence of her growth along the spectrum of Paro-type roles she has enacted since Bhansalli's "Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam" : Nandini of "HDDCS," Paro of "Devdas," the eponymous Umrao Jaan, and now Jodhaa are essentially different interpretations of the same feminine archetype: a Lady Beloved of the Legends, who, having been robbed of all agency because of her gender, comes to embody beauty, suffering, fidelity, and, of course, love.

Nandini was a flighty romantic, Umrao Jaan a forlorn romantic, and Paro a languishing fool who settled for survival when love literally slashed her away. Jodhaa is decidedly not romantic, being that she is an emblem of her family's honor. She is given away as a peace offering to an emperor who demands alliance and submission only to find that he wants to become her ally in love.

Rai plays Jodhaa as a torn victim, but she is not without her own inner steel: she sets her own conditions for marriage, challenges palace customs, and steps on more than few royal toes along the way, notably those of the unforgiving Maham Anga. She's not as wishy-washy as Paro or as flirty as Nandini, but she is undoubtedly cut from the same cloth. And speaking of cutting, she's first rate in the five-minute sword fight between Jodhaa and Akbar, a scene which goes from swordplay to foreplay.

Rai is slated to play Anarkali opposite Ben Kingsley's Shah Jahan in an upcoming film and has yet another role as the pining courtesan in Bhansalli's next, "Bajirao Mastani." Normally, I would accuse her of self-typecasting, but it seems that filmmakers themselves are unwilling or unable to see her differently. Jag Mundhara did with "Provoked," extracting an emotionally naked performance from her which is without question her finest work to date. Will others be as daring to cast her in similar light? Probably not.

The film works best when the narrative focuses on the interaction between its two leads who are more similar than they perhaps ought to be: both are icons of physical beauty, sexuality, and glamour, but thankfully this has been tampered down by Gowariker's interpretation of the characters. True, Akbar probably didn't have Roshan's sinewy physique, and Jodhaa (whose existence continues to be challenged in certain historical readings) probably couldn't write in Arabic and likely never set foot in a kitchen. But such considerations are immaterial when you're telling a love story.

The other striking thing about the film is that for non-native Hindi and Urdu speakers, the dialogue is virtually incomprehensible without the subtitles. The old fashioned Urdu recitations are especially difficult to ascertain, though sometimes the subtitles only further your confusion. One line in "In Lamhon Ke Daman Mein" which is literally translated as "Beauty is imbibed in cherished blandishments." What???

Gowariker makes a valiant attempt at a film that is war epic, love story, and costume drama all in one, but never does "Jodhaa Akbar" approach the charm or finesse of "Lagaan." The main flaw with the film is that it is overly ambitious: Akbar may have been a polymath, but there's no way a single film could encompass all of his endeavors. Gowariker's script strays into too many quarters looking for the historical Akbar and ends up offering what is an unfortunately shallow characterization. Jodhaa, conversely, has less to occupy her and is more clearly defined.

And so in the end it turns out that "Akbar the Great" is, in celluloid terms at least, "Akbar the Pretty Good."

Bas Ek Pal (2006)

It's like "Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna" – Except It Has A Brain!!

[9/10 · 25 November 2006]

In mid-August, many an unknowing filmi buff was psychologically impaled in the cinema halls during screenings of Karan Johar's hopelessly awful "Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna" which purported to be a mature examination of extra-marital affairs. It was, of course, nothing of the sort, and despite raking in the moolah, it has found little favor with fans or critics.

About a month later, a comparatively small budget film, Onir's "Bas Ek Pal" (reminiscent of experimental European cinema), released, dealing with a similar theme but without any of the reigning puerility and adolescent conventionality which made Johar's film so utterly absurd. Instead, Onir infuses his film with a complex morality and a matrix of thoroughly realistic characters where there are no heroes and no villains, no glamorized damsels and no bitchy mistresses. It is also impossible to say who is opposite whom- there are no "pairs" as one is universally accustomed to seeing in Indian films. A brief recap of the premise will explain why: The story begins with the reunion of two friends, Nikhil (Sanjay Suri) and Rahul (Jimmy Shergill). Nikhil becomes acquainted with Steve (Rehaan Engineer), a friend of Rahul's who is also an abusive alcoholic. Steve is married to Ira Malhotra, a former beauty queen turned humanitarian (Juhi Chawla) who has suffered a miscarriage, physical battery, and a failed marriage. Nikhil becomes infatuated with a young engineer named Anamika (Urmila Matondkar) who—unfortunately for him—is attached to a trust fund named Rehan. At their second meeting, Nikhil and Rehan scuffle over Anamika, and in the midst of their battle Rahul is shot, resulting in paralysis. Nikhil faces prison for three years, which actually turns out to be the least of his troubles. During those three years Anamika becomes romantically linked with Rahul, who it turns out had a long-standing affair with Ira who was tired of her pathetic husband's emotional and physical torture. Ira helps free Nikhil, whom Steve suspects of having an affair with his wife. Rahul also accuses Anamika of rekindling her "affair" with Nikhil. Ira compels Anamika toward Nikhil in her final attempt at escape. Confused? You should be, because (like real life) it's complex and disturbing, and there are no designer outfits or grandiose dance numbers to numb the pain of the tragedy which unfolds around these five lives. Betrayal turns to Obsession, Helplessness to Hopelessness, and Attraction to Rape in this brilliantly constructed and acted film.

Though the film's title purports it to be about how one incident transforms the lives of all those involved, its final implications are of much more ubiquitous themes: it is basically a filmed series of unending horrors and disappointments which shows life in its most bitter and grotesque form. There is also a shocking twist at the end which makes the film really work. It is a true "Greek" tragedy, which should give you little doubt as to how it ends, but there is more than general catastrophe: there is murder, suicide, betrayal, abuse, deceit, infidelity, jealousy, self-hatred, enmity, violence and whole host of depravities which are too many to be named here. On top of it all, there's a rape which victimizes neither Ira nor Anamika, but one of the male leads. Oh, and the film also takes time to explore the realities of forced oral sex. Suffice is to say, treacly "Hum Aapke Hain Kaun," this film ain't.

Onir's tactfully written screenplay aside, the real mainstay of the film is its performances turned in by a fine cadre of actors led by the peerless Juhi Chawla. She is simply outstanding in a role which makes one sit up and notice the currents of strength and despair in Ira which Juhi expertly etches in Ira's eyes and movements. This is not a character one expects to find in Juhi Chawla's repertoire: Ira is bold, self-loathing, and desperate for affection, which drives her into an affair with Rahul which is both emotionally and sexually satisfying. And yes, she does something truly shocking at the end. But Ira is also something of a mystery whose acquaintance with happiness proves too short. Anamika, conversely, is easy to read, though her lucidity does not translate to simplicity. Matondkar portrays her as the eternal romantic, albeit a somewhat helpless one who frequently cannot tolerate her own circumstances. Less fiery and more vulnerable than her usual characters, Matondkar plays her flawlessly as a little girl with adult ambitions. Love, Success, and Self-Actualization are her goals, but she becomes ensnared in a bizarre and almost inexplicable love for Nikhil. One expects Nikhil to be the centerpiece of the film, but he turns out to be much more of a cipher than the others. Suri is always at the center of Onir's films, but in this collaboration he gets a more supportive role which he carries effortlessly, by turns suave, angry, and desperate. Jimmy Shergill is the surprise packet of the film: one expects great performances from Juhi Chawla and Urmila Matondkar, but the Shergill proves he can match their talents with a brooding and intense portrayal of Rahul. In many ways, he is the character at the center of the film. Rehaan Engineer is somewhat of a mixed bag- his delivery teeters between odd and satisfactory, the main problem being his menace is somewhat flat and benign. In some scenes, particularly those with Juhi, his performance clashes with the finesse of the others.

Unfortunately, films which forgo formula and embrace innovation are too often ignored by the indiscriminate masses who would rather see Shah Rukh Khan in DDLJ Part VII (or whichever configuration we're on now) so don't be surprised by the many reviewers who have no idea how to react to it. It will join the league of thoughtful cinema rendered obscure by the very fact that it makes demands on its audience instead of bowing to commercial pressures. "Bas Ek Pal" holds the mirror up to Life and dares to show us that the reflection is sometimes purely shattered.

Umrao Jaan (2006)

Rai shines, but Dutta fails a Legend.

[6/10 · 11 November 2006]

Poor Aishwariya Rai. To have had to suffer the indignity of being "the most beautiful woman in the world." It may sound like I'm being excessively sarcastic, but you're only half right. Rai, like many other actors before her, has had to contend with preconceived notions of her artistic abilities. What makes her unique is that she has also had to contend with the very thing which has brought her so much international attention: her looks.

Unlike India's other major screen mavens renowned for their beauty (Madhubala, Rekha, and Manisha Koirala among them) Rai's ethereal charms have consistently been lodged against her as proof that she is nothing but a plastic mannequin with the emotional range of a Barbie Doll. And until recently, her detractors have largely been right.

Bhansalli's "Hum Dil Dechuke Sanam," for all its puerility, showed that Rai deserved the title of "performer," if not "actress." His follow-up, the heinous melodramatic bloat called "Devdas," gave a glimpse into what was possible for Rai under the right set-up: she was, and remains, the only thing worth watching in a film that should have been called, "Paro." And now "Umrao Jaan" finally brings the inner being out which pronounces the arrival of Aishwariya Rai "the actress." While one may question J.P. Dutta's motives for filming a story already memorialized as a classic, one does not question his casting of the lead. As Ameeran/Umrao Jaan, Aishwariya at last achieves that elusive but indispensable acting necessity: emotional nudity. Regardless of whether one agrees with the film or the character, she cannot be faulted for turning in a hollow, soulless, or canned performance. Here she is fully in character, physically, aesthetically, emotionally—even psychologically. And while the film is melodramatic, Rai is decidedly not. She delivers the superficial necessities of the eponymous courtesan—breathtaking beauty and grace, and dances which are embodiments of both—but her performance is never subdued by the surface features of Umrao Jaan. Witness the scene in which she is repudiated by her aristocratic lover in his drunken stupor: the dual conjuring of disbelief and anger as she spits out the refrain, "Vah Re, Kismat" ("Oh, Fate.") is perfect in its subtlety. Barely moving her lips to deliver the curse of her fate, Rai demonstrates that she is capable of much more than is customarily delegated her way.

The film features a few lightweight actors, like Sunil Shetty, who is woefully wooden and miscast. One cannot help but pine for a menacing Shah Rukh Khan or a grunting Abhishek Bachchan in the part of Faiz Ali. Bachchan is, of course, present as Nawab Sultan, Umrao Jaan's only true love. Sadly, he delivers an uninspired portrayal of an aristocrat tormented by his desire for a courtesan. Dutta's casting is way off here as well. Sultan is frankly the kind of part screaming to be played by Ajay Devegan or Akshaye Khanna.

Much has been made of the fact that Shabana Azmi is playing the part of brothel keeper which her mother played in the 1981 film. Unfortunately, Dutta conceptualizes the part from a much more clichéd stock "mother" stereotype which lacks the bite and deformed morality which made the original so interesting. Perhaps a Rekha or Sridevi would have made the part more deliciously dramatic, making this a film about the forging and destroying of female bonds in a misogynistic world, rather than a romanticized portrayal of prostitution which ignores the fundamental questions of a woman-identified sanctuary for women in 19th century India. We'll have to wait until the story is absorbed by experimental feminist cinema—oddly enough, Muzaffar Ali's film deals with these issues rather lucidly. One thing I'd love to see is an adaptation by a female director- Mira Nair or Deepa Mehta could work unique wonders with such a story.

But back to Dutta. The main drawback of his film is its script. It is constructed as a chaptered retelling of the life of Umrao Jaan who recounts her memorable journey to the man who would later memorialize her in print. The film revolves around a ho-hum love story thrown on top of an absolutely awful introduction in which the kidnapped Ameeran inexplicably accepts her place in the brothel because it offers her material opulence. How many sheltered 10-year-old girls will accept the position of prostitute-in-training? Not many, I'm glad to say, but Dutta's film explains away the young victim's angst or torment as though she had been peddled off for a day at a carnival. Whatever the realities of life were for 19th century working class girls, the flippant caricature offered by Dutta was most definitely not it.

Comparisons between Dutta's and Ali's films are difficult to maintain, yet unavoidable. The plot/characterizations are sufficiently different, yet one cannot help but think of the peerless Rekha as Umrao Jaan. Despite Rai's earnest performance, designer costumes, and modernized mujras, Rekha continues to literally own Umrao Jaan. Few scenes can compare to Rekha's wordless devastation in the moment her lover has come to invite her to his wedding. Her longing, yearning, and rage all rally in her eyes as angry tears and she tears away Sultan's shirt without revealing the heart she longed to conquer. Not a single moment in Dutta's film approaches the depth of this scene, and so Dutta will have to settle for the embrace of the moment, if not of history.

The same holds for the film's music: Anu Malik's compositions are fine works of music, no doubt, but there are frankly too many of them and offer little range. Javed Akhtar's lyrics, however, deserve special mention, particularly the final lament "Poochrahe Hain Poochnewale." The final stanza of "Patthar Ab Kya Phenk Raheho, Hum Pehlese Zakhmi Hain" (Why do you cast your stones when I am already wounded?) bespeaks the brilliance that *should* have been. Alas.

And so the final word is that Aishwariya is a revelation, but the film tells us something we already know: a classic cannot be remade.

Krrish (2006)

Surprisingly Watchable

[7/10 · 27 August 2006]

I'll be frank: when it comes to Rakesh Roshan's films, I have a bit of a prejudice, that prejudice being that I almost uniformly hate every film he's ever made. Barring a few scenes from "Khoon Bhari Maang" and "Kishen Kanhaiya" I find his films boorish beyond recompense. That said, I ventured to watch "Krrish" only to see how India's first comic book type super-hero would be presented. To my pleasant surprise, the film is remarkably watchable, due mainly to the 'fun and fantasy' element which Roshan Sr. gets right.

Plotwise, the film is not much different from other superhero films, but then one doesn't watch these film for plot or character. Hrithik Roshan is quite good as Krishna/Krrish, though one wishes they had injected a bit more psychological depth into Krishna- he is a unilateral character who only seems to operate in "nice" mode. Naseeruddin Shah is expectedly satisfactory, as is Rekha who delivers most of the films moments of pathos. Priyanks Chopra is perhaps the least impressive of the lot. She isn't the 'typical heroine' here, but her delivery comes off as mechanical in several scenes. She needs to can the plaintive crying from here on out. Plus those attempts at imitating Juhi Chawla's cutie pie facial expressions don't gel well with her duplicitous persona. If they were going to cast her as a deceiver, they should have gone the whole hog and made her a last-minute redeemer.

The special effects are quite good and the technical team deserves full recognition for putting together a film that is visually awe-inspiring. The major flaw of the film are its songs, which are neither particularly memorable nor necessary to the film. But hey, even superheroes should get to sing and dance (and dance he does, extraordinarily in "Dil Na Diya").

Maqbool (2003)

Is Vishal Bhardwaj India's Best?

[10/10 · 21 August 2006]

This film is, in short, a masterpiece. A unique interpretation on Shakespeare's "Macbeth", "Maqbool" features Irrfan in one of the most brilliantly executed roles of modern cinema. He remarkably inhabits the skin of a character who is muddled, murderous, and maniacal. Pankaj Kapoor, as the invincible Abbaji, is astonishing in his portrayal of the Muslim Mob Boss. Truly an incomparable performance. As for Tabu, she is PERFECTION. This is not Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth- she is equally fierce, but given a softer and more shadowy countenance. Tabu is officially a text book of acting (take note, screen queens Rani, Preity, Aish, Madhuri, and the rest- this is what a REAL actress can do). Naseeruddin Shah and Om Puri give expert portrayals. Kudos to Bhardwaj for creating a film which is not only unconventional, but eerily radiant. Ram Gopal Verma and Mani Ratnam now have company as India's most innovative filmmakers.

Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna (2006)

Karan Gets a "C" for Effort.

[5/10 · 12 August 2006]

Many questions pass through one's head while watching Karan Johar's latest magnum opus multi-starrer "Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna": first, Why has he cast Shah Rukh Khan in one of the most underwritten and unsympathetic roles of his career? Why has he chosen to situate his "adulterous" film in the US instead of India? Why does he insist on including crude humor and random gay references in his films? (I'll leave the second-guessing about KJ's sexuality to others), how does a ballsy career woman (Preity Zinta) berating her disabled husband earn the audience's only measurable respect and compassion? Why does Maya want to marry Rishi? (and then later, why does Rishi want to stay married to Ms. Misery?) And most puzzling of all, why oh why is Rani Mukherjee crying continuously, endlessly, interminably on screen for the last hour of a film that feels twice as long as its 22 reels? The biggest question of all is why he ever decided to make a film about marital infidelity in the first place. Clearly, for Mr. Johar, the idea of soul-mates (damn you, "Dil To Pagal Hai"!) supersedes any of marital fidelity or devotion. Believe it or not, we have the first Bollywood film (and I use that term disparagingly) which pronounces, without hesitation, that extra-marital affairs are perfectly acceptable so long as one has the affair with their presumed soul mate. If this doesn't rile up the moralists who stayed away from the masterpiece called "Omkara" because of its frank use of violence and verbal vulgarities, well, my suspicions about the double standards of the film-going masses will be confirmed.

For those of you who haven't heard yet, here's what the film is about: Dev (SRK) is married-rather sullenly-to an ambitious and successful magazine editor, Rhea (Preity Zinta). Maya (Rani Mukherjee), a character so bland and boring, even by Ms. Mukherjee's banal standards, is married-inexplicably- to Rishi (Abhishek Bachchan), an executive of a PR Firm. Then there are the other superstars who appear presumably because Mr. Johar has a dozen superstar quota to fill with each release: lecherous Samarjit (Amitabh Bachchan, who apparently shares the same costume designer as Star Jones), Dev's mother Kamaljit (Kirron Kher), Rhea's hunky co-worker Jai (Arjun Rampal), an anonymous disc jockey telling us "Where's the Party Tonight?" (John Abraham) and last but certainly not unexpected, Kajol as dancing fodder for father and son in "Rock 'N Roll Soniye". Karan Johar himself appears in a brief moment on a train during one of Ms. Mukherjee's climactic breakdowns. After a certain point, one begins to wonder who else might pop up on screen- where are Johar House favorites Kareena Kapoor, Juhi Chawla, and Hrithik Roshan? Presumably making better career choices.

Dev is a failed soccer player; Rhea a money-making career-woman; Maya a humble school teacher, and Rishi a sexually frustrated party-planner. Both marriages in trouble, Dev and Maya strike up a friendship to try and save their marriages. Friendship turns into what we are to presume is Love, capital "L". Both Rhea and Rishi think their relationships with their spouses are improving, all the while Dev and Maya are checked into the Radisson, presumably NOT under the name of Mr. & Mrs. Smith. And yes, if you're wondering, Maya manages to weep through adulterous sex. Ultimately, both philanderers reveal the affairs to their spouses, who dump them like Enron stocks.

But it doesn't end there. The last excruciating hour takes us on a tour of emotional convolution so bizarre and grotesque that one wonders if the film was originally meant to be a comedy, or if Johar hired out the staff writers of India's most hyper-melodramatic soap operas. Rishi marries a pretty model-type named Catherine (Saira Mohan- Urmila, where were you?), while Rhea finds herself with a pretty model-type named Jai (Arjun Rampal). As for what happens with Dev and Maya, it must be seen to be believed; though if you honestly care, well, good for you.

As light and fluffy as Johar's two previous films were, they demonstrated cohesion of vision and thought, neither of which are present in KANK. The script is lagging in more ways than can be counted, the direction is frequently aimless, and the performances are, at best, a mixed bag. SRK hems and haws and then hams in characteristic fashion. Dev is neither particularly interesting, nor is he at all sympathetic. What can one say about a man who threatens his 7 year-old son with dismemberment? Rani Mukherjee is even worse off, injecting neither depth nor complexity nor chaos into a character who should be defined by all three (though she should get some credit for spending so much of her time on the sets crying, bawling, and weeping- did I mention she sheds enough tears to fill the Red Sea?) Preity Zinta is the most impressive of the lot, delivering a restrained and subtle performance which brings out the finesse in her, a truly remarkable feat considering that not a single scene is written from her perspective. Rhea should have been the coldest and most callous character in the group, yet she manages to garner the greatest sympathy. Bachchan Jr. is also quite watchable in his role as Desperate Husband, by turns charming, funny, and familiar. He probably stands to gain the most from the film, if it ends up doing well. Bachchan Sr. is also quite likable in his role as resident Lech Extraordinaire. The rest of cast is strictly serviceable.

If there is any reason to recommend the film, it is because it treads into a darker territory than Hindi Cinema cares to know. Mr. Johar should get some credit for trying. But trying is not the same thing as succeeding. Better luck next time; better yet, stick to what you know: Shah Rukh Khan, Designer Dresses, and the Hindu Family Values Musical. Mr. Barjatya and Mr. Bhansalli can't do it alone . . .

Mr. & Mrs. Khiladi (1997)

Fun and Funny!

[8/10 · 30 June 2006]

I can't really make out why this film was made other than to cash in on the Akshay 'Khiladi' craze and to pair him (finally) with Juhi Chawla. The film has a bizarre charm to it, simultaneously sunny and silly and unapologetically illogical. Akshay gives a rare glimpse of a latent knack for comedy, but expectedly Juhi Chawla dominates the show with her patent (and now patented) perfect comic timing. Indian women are never expected to be funny, but Juhi gets all the respect in my book for being the reigning comic beauty of India. (Note to filmmakers: make more comedies with Juhi Chawla! And not just the ones where she has to share the screen with Shah Rukh Khan or Aamir Khan. Write her a great, classic comedy, a la Chaalbaaz!)

Laadla (1994)

Sridevi Introduces the Ultimate Anti-Heroine

[9/10 · 10 June 2006]

If ever someone is daring enough to take an intellectual approach to the history of Hindi films, it will be recorded that "Laadla" was a monumental event in the development of the array of roles enacted by any Indian actress. More than a decade after its release, it remains the most aggressive, anti-establishment, proto-feministic anti-heroine role ever written for a Hindi film. "Laadla" translates to The Beloved Son, and though the film makes it a point to focus on the tender relationship between an ailing elderly mother (Farida Jalal) and her working class son (Anil Kapoor), the film is really about one thing and one thing only: the diabolical and destructive nature of one woman, Sheetal Jetli (Sridevi), a Machiavellian corporate businesswoman who runs her company and family with an absolute iron fist. She is the final and only authority on all matters in which she is involved, and none dare challenge her convictions. Her parents (Anupam Kher and Aruna Irani) cower in her presence, as do the hundreds of employees who populate her various business enterprises. She is constantly browbeating her assistant, Kajal (Raveena Tandon), and is outright loathsome towards her company's second-in-command, Bhandari (Shakti Kapoor), a deceitful partner who wants to see her downfall. The only figure in this cadre of victims who dares to challenge her is an unassuming factory worker, Raj (Anil Kapoor), who sees her stubborn egomania as nothing more than misplaced and unchallenged narcissism. Sheetal and Raj go head-to-head on many issues, but when he does the unthinkable and subordinates her authority, she hatches a plan for revenge. The ultimate revenge, she decides, will not come from the termination of his employment, but from something else altogether: Marriage. Sheetal proposes marriage to Raj, and after a spectacularly manipulative bit of persuading involving Raj's helpless mother, he coalesces and becomes Mr. Sheetal Jetli. This, despite the fact that romance has blossomed between Raj and fellow middle-classer Kajal. The marriage between Sheetal and Raj is realized as a series of masochistic dominations designed to subordinate and break Raj's ego. Sheetal threatens him financially, sexually, and psychologically, and at times Raj is broken, but his spirits are kept up by his relationships with his mother and Kajal. Ultimately, Sheetal's thirst for revenge culminates in her order that Raj be arrested, interrogated and tortured by the police. His mother pleads on his behalf, groveling before Sheetal and imploring her to release him. Sheetal attacks her mother-in-law, causing her to lose her footing and collapse. At that moment, Raj arrives and delivers his final blow against Sheetal, and walks out on her and their mock marriage. At last defeated, Sheetal attempts suicide, but is thwarted by an attempt on her life by her corporate enemies. She is eventually saved by Raj and Kajal, and during recovery promises to start life anew. Amazingly, Raj stays married to Sheetal, who settles into domestic bliss and hands over her company to Kajal. The ending of the film is probably as convoluted as the character Sheetal herself: what is the film trying to say? That women should give up their corporate powers and settle for domesticity? Well, no, because the company is eventually handed over to the much more even-tempered Kajal (probably as a consolation prize for not getting the guy).

"Laadla" is probably best construed as a diatribe against unchecked egomania; the film scores because of the multilateral characterization of Sheetal and the powerhouse performance turned in by Sridevi. Though the film was a huge success at the box-office, it was not a favorite with the masses as it was with critics. The verdict among the intelligentsia was clear: the film works as a character study based on Sridevi's "fatally delicious performance" (Esquire). Raveena Tandon called her character, "Satan captured in female form." Newsweek Asia said, "This is the greatest departure from formula for Indian cinema since the anti-social love story "Lamhe." Kudos to Sridevi and the director Raj Kanwar for taking a real artistic risk." Filmfare called her performance, "Lady Macbeth meets Leona Helmsley: the ultimate she-devil." SCREEN said of Sridevi's performance: "Never has the Indian woman been portrayed as an unsavory demon, so evil and unforgettable is this Satanic Hell Queen." It is interesting that in the year of the record-shattering "Hum Aapke Hain Kaun!" which established the contemporary female archetype as one of mentally arrested passivity, that audiences eagerly lapped up this new wicked and uncompromising anti-heroine. This is undoubtedly testimony to the fact that audiences hold Sridevi to a much higher and diverse standard than other actors. Shah Rukh Khan had been riding the anti-hero wave with two hugely successful films ("Baazigar" and "Darr") but Sridevi was the first actress to tackle the subject with such uncompromising and unapologetic conviction. Sheetal paved the way for a string of new anti-heroines among the younger generation of actresses, including Kajol (Gupt), Juhi Chawla ("Arjun Pandit"), Manisha Koirala (Dil Se, Yugpurush) and Urmila Matondkar (Pyaar Tune Kya Kiya). Sridevi herself would return to the same genre three years later with "Judaai".

Fanaa (2006)

Fanaa: To Be Destroyed By Commercial Interests

[5/10 · 9 June 2006]

In "Fanaa" we are confronted with an unlikely hero, Rehan Qadri (Aamir Khan), a Kashmiri separatist disguised as a Delhi tour guide, who has an overextended affinity for women, shayari, and (apparently) hair gel. Later, he is revealed as an assassin disguised as a soldier in the Indian Army. So, one wonders, who exactly is Rehan? As it turns out, it doesn't matter.

In theory, "Fanaa" should be Aamir's film, but in truth it belongs to Kajol. Aamir is hindered with a woefully underdeveloped character who, despite ample screen time, never provides us with any reason for his actions (was he simply born into terrorism?) nor do we buy into his romantic pursuit of Zooni (Kajol)- is she just another notch on his belt? Why marry someone you can never be with? Having consummated their union, Rehan flees the scene by faking his death. Worse yet, he abandons the blind Zooni in the midst of an operation to restore her sight. Sound melodramatic? It is.

The first hour is excruciatingly clichéd, Rehan falling for Zooni at first sight and romancing her in spite of the pathetic protests of her even more pathetically annoying cadre of anorexic bimbette friends named Ruby, Fatty and . . . oh, who cares. What's worse is that Rehan falls hopelessly– and inexplicably– in love with Zooni, barrages the poor blind girl with an unending series of mediocre shayari, all the while Kunal Kohli and his team of editors killing their blossoming chemistry by constantly invoking the same accursed electric guitar in the background matched only in obnoxious measure with Kailash Kher's undying cries of "Subhanallah!" After the fourth or fifth repetition of this same device in the span of six minutes one is ready to cry, "ENOUGH!" The musical interludes do nothing to move the story along and merely grate the nerves and tax one's patience. All the songs, with the possible exception of 'Mere Haath Mein', should have been deleted from the already lumbering and sloppy narrative.

The second half, though infinitely more interesting and riddled with decidedly less cliché, does not pass muster. Its appeal rests squarely on Kajol's shoulders, whose dignified portrayal of Zooni saves the film from falling into complete chaos. Kajol, in my books, is an actress who knows her limits: having neither the sublime dramatic gifts of Sridevi or Shabana Azmi or the glamorous ethereality of Aishwariya Rai or Rekha, she has built her reputation as an actress on playing various versions of the 'adorable gummy sprite', the kind of role Juhi Chawla used to specialize in with (you guessed it) Aamir Khan. Whether it was Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Kabhie Khushi Kabhi Gham, or even Kuch Khatti Kuch Meethi, she has found recognition as an actress in a certain aesthetic groove which mixes light comedy, the Indian utopia, and feminine typology within the standard song-n-dance formula. But she (along with the gracious Tabu) saves "Fanaa", transcending the bombastic melodrama which surrounds her. In Zooni we see the human side of the story, the protective mother and daughter who refuses to be destroyed in the name of love or in the name of an ideology which considers human life political collateral.

The main problem with "Fanaa", aside from its feeble screenplay, is its inability to give us a glimpse inside Rehan: there is virtually nothing said about his motivations, the rationale behind his Machiavellian philosophy, or even the tiniest impression of his humanity. In "Dil Se" Meghna (Manisha Koirala) is depicted as an essentially solitary being, carrying the burden of pain and purpose with the intention of existential surrender. Kunal Kohli bestows no such depth or history to Rehan, prioritizing romanticism over the existentialist theme which must necessarily be given voice in such a narrative. The sexual politics of the situation are many and interesting, but Kohli curiously refuses to address them, choosing instead to sell Rehan as a wayward hero. Are we buying? Nope, and it seems neither is Aamir Khan.

The limpness of Khan's portrayal is not the fault of his limitations as an actor; rather it is Kohli's, who edits the film with a labored eye and (akin to Bhansalli's treatment of Shah Rukh Khan in "Devdas") drowns his hero in an overly declamatory background score, subjugating Rehan's humanity to the obtusely communicated emotion of the film; time after time he is drowned out by a wretched tendency to rely on 'the wailing voice' to let us know when we are to feel anguish and sorrow. Emotions cannot be manufactured or coerced; the ultimate emotional banality of "Fanaa" speaks to this very basic rule of art.

Zooni's portrayal also suffers from the requisite Bollywood suspension of belief: we are asked to believe that a blind woman can dance unassisted, romance an aggressive stranger, and appear with perfectly applied makeup and her hair flawlessly groomed every morning. Suspending one's belief is fine (and certainly not something unique to Indian films) but when it comes to a subject as sensitive as blindness or terrorism, one rightly expects the subject to be handled and presented realistically and with dignity. Unlike "Dil Se", which could afford to revel in a surreal realism because it was a love story and not a separatist polemic, "Fanaa" fails to position itself successfully as either fantasy or reality, or any kind of amalgam one can take seriously.

And so the final word on "Fanaa" will be this: it marks a step backward for Aamir Khan, who after a string of innovatory vehicles (Lagaan, Dil Chahta Hai, The Rising, Rang De Basanti) has found himself trapped in a formula fiction which neither dictates its premise with the respect it deserves nor does it offer him the creative scope to conjure a fully dimensional Rehan. Rehan is destroyed, but not by love. Zooni destroys him to preserve her life and the life of her child. And Kunal Kohli destroys him long before.

Gurudev (1993)

Frothy Filmi Fun

[8/10 · 6 June 2006]

Though the film identifies itself as 'Gurudev' in patriarchal honor of its two male leads (Guru & Dev played affectionately by Rishi Kapoor & Anil Kapoor) the film should be called "Rosie" because it belongs-- almost entirely-- to the misfit character of that name played to hysterical perfection by Sridevi. She also plays another character (a pretty stage dancer who is comparatively quite dull) but Rosie is a brilliantly fleshed out comic creation, kind of a cross between Aamir Khan in Rangeela and Lucy Ricardo: she is foul, drunk, deceitful, and constantly looking to find new ways to become rich and famous. Her facial expressions are simply priceless.

The film has lots of action typical of 80s Bollywood (it was made in the late 80s but was delayed to '93 because of the director's death) but its most memorable moments belongs to Sridevi's delicious performance as a vagrant opportunist. Sridevi is just *brilliant*. Definitely recommended.

Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak (1988)

A Memorable Angst

[9/10 · 3 June 2006]

Of all of Bollywood's 'young' love stories (Bobby, Maine Pyar Kiya, Betaab, etc.) Mansoor Khan's 'Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak' is easily my favorite. Though the story is very familiar (it's "Romeo & Juliet" reinvented for India) there is a tenderness and a freshness to the story which is difficult to articulate. It hearkens a very different era of film-making- there is no gloss to speak of, only story, conflict, and human relationships. Refreshing, yes?

Of course, most people remember QSQT for introducing two young starlets who would go on to become superstars: Aamir Khan and Juhi Chawla. Aamir, though undeniably charming, is slightly awkward (this actually adds to the performance) contrasting Juhi's more confident and elegant performance. There is no denying that they make a stunning couple, complementing each other as perfectly as other renown on screen pairs. Check out 'Hum Hain Rahi Pyar Ke' and 'Ishq' for more blazing chemistry.

The other star of the film is the soundtrack: each song is a classic, my favorite being "Aye Mere Humsafar", which is soft, sweet, and perfectly singable. A MUST SEE and a MUST HEAR!

Dil To Pagal Hai (1997)

The House of Chopra Descends

[2/10 · 28 March 2006]

Yash Chopra has oft been noted for his bold dramas, masterful characterizations, and resonating romances. Who, indeed, can forget the battle of wills between Amitabh and Shahi Kapoor in "Deewar", or the palatable devastation of Sanjeev Kumar and Jaya Bachchan in "Silsila", or the magical majesty of Sridevi in the Rajasthani deserts of "Lamhe"? Chopra reached the pinnacle of creativity with "Lamhe" in 1991. The downward slump which followed was perhaps inevitable, but definitely regrettable. "Parampara" was intermittently enjoyable, thanks in large part to Aamir Khan. "Darr" had all the requisite ingredients for success, and is certainly his best film post-"Lamhe", but lacked the taut quality a thriller requires. Shah Rukh Khan was still engaged in quality roles at that point, and succeeded in stealing the limelight from Juhi Chawla who played the protagonist famously referred to as "K-K-K-Kiran".

But alas. If the house of Chopra had attempted different themes in "Kabhie Kabhi", "Silsila", "Waqt", "Deewar", "Chandni", "Lamhe", "Aaina", and "Darr", it failed to break any substantial artistic ground with the flossy and flaccid non-event called "Dil To Pagal Hai".

In fact, it is so glaringly insipid that one cannot compare it to the repertoire which bears the name Chopra. Its clear predecessor is another "film". One cannot help but draw parallels between DTPH and Sooraj Barjatya's heinously contrived Hindu Family Values farce "Hum Aapke Hain Kaun": both films are driven by their songs, costume changes, and familial uptopias. There is no story, no plot, and outside Karishma Kapoor's spraining her ankle, no significant occurrence in the entire 180 minutes. There is little-if any-depth to the characters. Ms. Dixit is present in both, playing the same girl with different names, who is burdened with a unique form of arrested mental development in which she suffocates her own desire in deference to the will of her extended family, who in both cases is eager to marry her off to her brother-in-law (Mohnish Bahl in HAHK) or her adoptive brother (Akshay Kumar in DTPH). A curious tipping of the hat to the idea of incest, indeed. Of course, fans of Ms. Dixit have seen her umpteen times before in potbolier love triangles: "Saajan", "Mohabbat", "Arzoo", "Dil Tera Aasiq", "HAHK", "Wajood", "Koyla", "Yaaraana", "Rajkumar", "Khal-Nayak", "Sahibaan", "Hum Tumhare Hain Sanam", etc., etc., etc. Perhaps she was unaware that other types of films existed, or that embodying misogynistic feminine ideals, sucking limes, and swishing her dupatta endlessly does not qualify as "acting".

Shah Rukh is little better off with a half-baked and half-acted performance that has all the excitement of a dull thud. DTPH probably also marks the beginning of the descent of SRK's status as an actor. The joyous heights of "Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa", "Baazigar", and "Raju Bangaya Gentleman" are all distant memories. He had officially resigned his screen persona to the nondescript romantic hero "Raj/Rahul" who has since been seen in "Kuch Kuch Hota Hai", "Mohobbatein", "Kabhie Khushi Kabhi Gham", and of course, "Veer Zaara".

DTPH belongs, in all of miniscule relevance, to Karishma Kapoor. She is the only example of intelligence or artistry in the film, stealing each and every scene in which she appears, and garnering a well-deserved National Award. It is interesting that virtually every other leading actress in India at the time, including Juhi Chawla, Manisha Koirala, Urmila Matondkar, Raveena Tandon, Tabu, and even Kajol had rejected the role because it was deemed too insubstantial. Indeed, it is the *ONLY* thing that is substantial in this attempt to one-up the hacked-up and hackneyed "Hum Aapke Hain Kaun!"

Lajja (2001)

Santoshi's Feeble Feminism

[4/10 · 25 March 2006]

The bearings of western-style Feminism on the various subcultures of India have hitherto remained largely non-existent, the two entities belonging to alien realms and threatening (in the name of tradition) never to coincide. Art imitates life (or so the claim goes) and popular Hindi cinema is no exception, reflecting an underlying misogyny which, regrettably, forms the foundation of much of the collective Indian culture. But why? What is it about the female gender that has rendered it so hateful to the culture that women are routinely subject to the most unimaginable horrors, including rape, murder, infanticide, imposed illiteracy, infidelity, and the subjugation of spirit that goes under the name of 'dowry'? Rajkumar Santoshi's latest offering, "Lajja", asks the same plaintive question, linking the atrocities committed against women through three separate chapters/episodes which comprise the journey of shame endured by its protagonist, Vaidehi (Manisha Koirala).

Direction on Santoshi's part is not up to par with the level the story demands. He fails to achieve the necessary sensitivity in depicting the saga of sadness and confronts the issue of misogyny from the side, instead of head-on. Santoshi has recently said that he did not make the film for an international film festival, but rather for the masses of his country. Regrettably, the tackiness shows, and the film too often delves into the action-blood-gore genre that Santoshi specializes in. The film suffers from its jerky, episodic pace and its ending is rather too contrived.

The female cast is given much kinder and more rounded characterizations than their male counterparts. The protagonist is played sensitively by the luminescently beautiful Manisha Koirala who proves in Lajja that she is one of our time's more competent leading ladies, and given a proper role and set up, emerges with a truly commendable performance. One wonders how brilliantly she may have shone had the film been made by a director with the appropriate creative intention and appreciation of the issue at hand. Mahima Choudhary puts in a laudable performance and continues to show that she is an untapped talent. Cast as Janki, Madhuri Dixit performs with a never-before-seen fervor and felicity for what truly deserves the name of 'acting.' The role of a street smart performer who finds solace in alcohol and the promise of an unborn child stands as the greatest risk in her cannon of song-n-dance roles which have maintained her marquee status over the past decade. Which leaves the final and most disturbing performance in this would-be feminist saga, that of the ceaselessly talented Rekha. Lajja is Manisha Koirala's film, there can be no doubt about that, but it is Rekha who dominates the proceedings in a performance that digs into your bones and sends echoes of terror through the vestibules of your heart. Rekha dazzles as Ramdulari, foregoing vanity and complacency to deliver a performance that is so replete with authenticity and ingenuity that emotional nudity becomes the mantra of this portion of the film. Comparisons are indeed odious, especially when rendered opposite one of the world's great leading ladies, but in the gracious presence of this reigning screen legend the others fade in her shadow.

"Lajja" has none of the sophistication of proto-feminist dramas like "Zubeidaa", "Pinjar", or even the Hell-Queen celebration "Laadla": it fulfills its feministic goals in two early moments:the loud tirade in which Mahima berates her in-laws for their abuse of her father who has committed no other crime than given birth to a girl. She erupts, leaving the wedding procession in shambles. Seeing her father devastated, she begins to weep, blaming herself for the chaotic destruction in front of her. She bemoans, "Why did I say anything? I have ruined everything! It is all my fault!" Her grandmother, witnessing silently the abuse she bore, comforts her by saying, "Why are you crying? There is no reason for you to be crying. You are not at fault for anything. The fault is mine. The fault is of every woman who came before you, because if we had had the courage to say in our day what you have said today, there would have been no need for you to say anything today." In this scene the importance of the Feminist Legacy is laid plainly in sight through words.

The other, more subtle moment comes very early in the film when Vaidehi (Manisha) has fled from her abusive husband to the refuge of her parents' home in India. To viewers of western societies, it may seem perfectly reasonable (indeed, natural) that any abused woman would seek the protective guardianship of her parents; this, however, is a societal taboo in many eastern cultures, India among them. Once a woman has been married, the identity she assumes is that of her husband and his personal assets (family, business, children, etc.) For her to turn her back on these responsibilities is a grave social sin, one which truly has no equivalent for the western woman. She is thereafter regarded as tainted and as 'damaged goods', one whose value has been nullified entirely by her own actions and her refusal to submit to the role she has been given. She is not so much an individual as she is an emblem of familial honor. Her father rebukes her for her actions, concerned that his familial honor will be tarnished irreparably by the daughter he had already transferred to another man. His primary concern is that of the impending marriage of Vaidehi's younger sister, a prospect made far less likely with a divorced elder daughter in the same household. He tells her in no uncertain that she must return to the man to whom she lawfully belongs, however violent and sadistic he may be. He levies against her the age old adage that, "The honor of every home lies in the hands of its daughter." Quietly and pensively, she replies, "Yes, the honor of every home lies in the hands of its daughter. But there is no honor for the daughter herself."

Lamhe (1991)

Lamhe: THE Modern Masterpiece of Hindi Cinema

[10/10 · 6 November 2005]

In the career of every celebrated artist there is one work of art which stands above all others, one that is celebrated as the pinnacle of artistry, the apex to which all that preceded it has led, and against which all that follows will forever be compared. "Lamhe" is that performance in the gallery of Sridevi's great acting achievements: indeed, it is THE masterpiece in her repertoire. Of all the films ever made by Sridevi, "Lamhe" is (and shall likely remain) the greatest film of her career. Since its release, critics have universally praised the film, and upon viewing it, one cannot help but submit that the praise is rightfully deserved. While "Sadma" has been called the definitive performance of her career, there is a strong case to be made that 'the performance' of her career is that of "Lamhe".

Though the film was deemed too 'risqué' for the average film-goer (its first issue to cinema halls was an abysmal financial disaster) it remains the most bold and uncompromising love story ever made in India. Here for the first time in India's long and sordid celluloid history, we witness the consummation of a highly unconventional relationship between Pooja (Sridevi) and Viren (Anil Kapoor), a man twenty-five years her senior who had himself been in love with Pooja's mother, Pallavi (also Sridevi) who was herself a decade older than Viren. Therein lies the incestuous shadow which has forever made viewers both weary and fearful of "Lamhe" and its fiercely non-conformist morality. One critic has written that, "Viren was not only the father figure in her orphaned life, he was the man who could have been her father if her other had reciprocated his ardour. But for Pooja, bred on Viren's intermittent visits to his ancestral property in Rajasthan, there was no distinction between Prince Charming and this long-distance godfather. Hers was the love that knew no barriers. Neither spatial, nor temporal, nor of age. Even the knowledge of her beloved's repressed passion for her deceased mother did not act as a deterrent. For Viren, too, the initial shock of discovering an unconventional emotion was gradually replaced by self-analysis, introspection, and self-discovery."

Yash Chopra recalled that when he first screened the film prior to its release, "the response was ecstatic, but many who saw it advised me to change the ending. They said it would be a big hit with a conventional happy ending. I said if I change the ending, there's no point in making the film." "Lamhe" is the pinnacle in bold and sensitive film-making, so incomparably replete with the message that love knows no limits, that pain and passion have no boundaries, that it reveals a revolutionary maturity of expression far beyond the conventional clichés of love stories. "Lamhe" is a fiercely unconventional film, standing in defiance of the totalitarian ideas of what is and what is not Love. Its theme of transgenerational romance, under the very heavy and unsettling shadow of incest, have made it a litmus test of our moral tendencies and artistic liberties. Traditionalists watching the film will find its theme difficult to digest—"How can any woman find love with a man who loved her mother?" they ask.

But the film begs us to understand that one can love in different ways, and for Viren the passion he has for Pallavi is his first real love of anything that dared to exist on its own terms, human or otherwise. Raised in very polite but stoic English society which has made him hopelessly sheltered, Viren is used to things and people being of the 'proper' sort. When he is confronted by Pallavi, he is entirely smitten by her exotic charms, her chaotic wildness, her absolute connection to the world in which she lives, a notion of which Viren knows nothing about. He is seduced and enchanted by this exotic figure, but her regard for him is that of a foreigner who has come to reacquaint himself with his roots. Many years later, the experience is echoed in Pooja's upbringing: lonely and isolated, she somehow manages to recall her mother's wondrous spirit, and then lays the memories of Viren's past squarely in front of him.

Whatever assessment of the film one chooses to make, the brilliance of its performances cannot be denied or overstated. Anil Kapoor has never delivered a more accomplished or subtle performance. Viren is etched with such finesse and delicacy that it is his heartbreak which becomes our own. Waheeda Rehman gives a heartbreaking and heartwarming portrayal of Daija, Viren's maternal confidante and caregiver who plays the same role in orphaned Pooja's upbringing. Anupam Kher is riotously funny as Prem, Viren's only real friend, a sort of elder brother who understands Viren better than Viren will ever understand himself. It must be said, however, that all of these exceptional performances are given to balance the duality of Sridevi's brilliance: she is literally awe-inspiring in a double role which transcends anything India has ever put on the big screen. The mother-daughter characters are inverse reflections of one another, and are played in such distinct fashion that one never feels one character intruding into the other, a perennial fear of actors playing multiple roles in one film. One prominent reviewer probably said it best in her review: "Sridevi does not enact a performance in 'Lamhe'. She becomes an incarnation of two women whose lives (and deaths) are bound by the nature of Love. Sridevi has pushed the limits of acting with 'Lamhe', and like the film, she has decided that there are no limits."

There are a great many treasures in the cannon that calls itself Hindi Cinema, but none more resplendent, more wondrous, more beautiful or more painful than "Lamhe". This is a film that challenges, both artistically and morally, and has emerged as an unforgettable and unmatched work of human artistry.

Chandni (1989)

Chandni: Birth of the Modern Romantic Archetype

[10/10 · 6 November 2005]

Whenever the current crop of actresses is asked to list their dream roles, Chandni is almost always included at or near the top of the list. And yet when one considers the possibility of the role being performed by any but Sridevi, one cannot help but feel that she is the only one who could ever play the part with as much grace, humor, elegance, and restraint. Sridevi *is* Chandni, just as Dilip Kumar is Devdas, Amitabh Bachchan is Don, and Rekha is Umrao Jaan. These performances are so completely intertwined with the actors who embody the characters that it becomes all but impossible to imagine anyone else in the part. Because of this Chandni has become a romantic archetype, one that would inspire the generation of romantic heroines who were to follow (it will be obvious to anyone who has seen Juhi Chawla in "Darr", Madhuri Dixit in "Dil To Pagal Hai", Kajol in "Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge" or even Preity Zinta in "Veer Zaara" that these characters are derived from the "Chandni" mold). It is interesting, therefore, to consider that in the career of a woman who has nearly always played larger-than-life characters, she achieves one of her great successes in playing an average, middle-class girl, one who is not afflicted with any of the great dilemmas that burden her other characters, like ravaging insanity (Khudah Gawah), diabolical egomania (Laadla) or matrimonial self-destruction (Judaai). Chandni is a typical Punjabi girl: carefree and fun-loving, who falls for Rohit (Rishi Kapoor), an upper class heir who defies his conservative family and marries the girl of his choice. All seems relatively pleasant until Rohit is paralyzed in a helicopter accident. This strains the relationship, and Rohit declares that his love for Chandni has died. Thus the marriage is ended, and Chandni is left to live the life of a single working class woman. Thrown for the first time into the whirlwind of economic independence, she stumbles as she tries to relieve the tragedies of her past with the responsibility of the present. Eventually she catches the fancy of her boss, Lalit (Vinod Khanna), whose advances she rejects until Rohit reenters her life. The structure of the plot is not unlike other love triangles; where Chandni was different (and magnificently so) was in the way it presented this 'every woman': childlike but wise, suffering but sexual, this was a major multi-dimensional screen creation, and Sridevi infused her with her own brand of quiet dignity, raucous silliness and pert sexuality. Yash Chopra originally offered the role to Rekha (who had played a woman named Chandni in "Silisila" nearly a decade earlier) but she did not want to go back and play a character she thought she had already done. So she recommended Sridevi for the part. If the film proved one thing it was that even in the every-woman guise, Sridevi cut a larger-than-life figure. She was not a Hema Malini or a Madhuri or even a Rekha. She inhabited the 'normal' woman in such an abnormal way that at once we knew that though she was real, she would remain untouchable. 'Chandni' is a modern day icon to film actresses, proving that one need not sacrifice novelty for the sake of normalcy. The film boasts of incredible chemistry between Sridevi and Rishi Kapoor, especially in the first twenty minutes when Rohit romances Chandni, revealing her inherent vivacity that later becomes tempered when Life interrupts her hitherto ideal love story. "Chandni" is also important in that it was during the shooting of the film that Yash Chopra also came to realize that he had at last discovered the actress who would make possible the realization of a film he had been planning to make for nearly two decades, but had shelved the film because the theme was deemed too controversial. The film was "Lamhe".

Yugpurush: A Man Who Comes Just Once in a Way (1998)

Yugpurush: Almost a Classic!

[8/10 · 19 August 2005]

Yugpurush is one of the more memorable films to emerge from Bollywood in the last decade. In a decade saturated with candy floss love stories, song-laden Hindu Family Values movies, and dozens upon dozens of lesser (and lesser) remakes of Hollywood films, Yugpurush was one of the standouts from 1997, a year notable for memorable films like 'Virasat, 'Judaai' and '1947'.

The story revolves around four characters: Anirudh (Nana Patekar), a simple and guileless man who has recently been discharged from the mental institution in which he has spent virtually all of his life, Ranjan (Jackie Shroff) a violent and possessive man who admires and resents Anirudh's innocence, Sunita (Manisha Koirala) a spoiled and self-loathing kept woman who finds life unbearable, and Deepti (Ashwini Bhave) a kind and gentle creature who loves Anirudh unconditionally, but not without complaint.

The film is structured as a love story and as a character study. Each of the four protagonists is carefully etched and sufficiently developed. Nana Patekar is absolutely phenomenal as Anirudh. His manner, mannerisms, and tone are perfect, and he delivers one of the best performances of his career. Jackie Shroff is well suited to his part, displaying full control of hate, jealousy, love and resentment that burden Ranjan. Ashwini Bhave is also perfectly cast as Deepti, a simple and lovely women who becomes bound with a man unlike any other. Manisha Koirala's performance wavers as Sunita: in a part written for Sridevi, Manisha is astonishing in the later portions when Sunita comes to terms with her fate, but less at ease playing the bitchy, shrewish moments that frankly Sridevi could have pulled off in her sleep. Manisha is perhaps too innocent an actress to enact some of the earlier scenes: instead of coming off as cold and diabolic, she is merely loud and falters. Sunita seems to be an extension of Sridevi's Hell Queen in Laadla, and no doubt she would have walked away with the film had she stayed on. Manisha herself has said in MOVIE in 1996: "I would have died to see Sridevi do these (Yugpurush) scenes." It would have been incredible to see Sridevi in the scene where Sunita auctions herself off to Ranjan.

The film is very well-written with none of the typical Bollywood clichés, though it could do without most of the songs, none of which are particularly memorable. The ending is a complete surprise, one that will leave a knot in your chest and a lump in your throat. Do see Yugpurush: a film that comes along once in a while!

Ishq (1997)

Benign Chaos

[7/10 · 15 August 2005]

'Ishq' is a wacky, off-the-wall, illogical romantic-comedy-cum-drama. It stands out purely because of the awesome cast assembled by Indra Kumar. Substitute any other actors in their parts and the film loses its appeal- substantially. Aamir Khan leads the cast with great gusto and charm typical of his naughtier-than-naughty streetsmart roles. Ajay Devgan provides a somber balance to Khan's antics, and he comes in strong in the second half when things go awry between the bosom foursome. Kajol is competent in her part, never really exciting to watch but gratefully present- her character is one of the plot points of the film. It is Juhi Chawla, however, who steals the show with her high voltage comic delivery that is, appropriately, screamingly funny. Even in the parts when Indra Kumar has seemingly asked her to 'stretch' to be funny, she carries the scenes off with aplomb and skill. Her chemistry with Aamir is undeniable and the most memorable portions of the film revolve around their I-Hate-You-But-I-Love-You relationship. It's kinda sad to say but there really is no other comic beauty in India currently. Juhi Chawla was, for the time being at least, the last.