Krrish 3 is a mixed bag…of scenes that keep you hooked and cheesy sequences that make you pucker your lips in distaste. The film had all the potential to be the kind that makes you come out of theatre all satisfied and satiated. But, the director forgot to prune parts that mutilate the movie badly. The mutants aka manvars (a combination of human and animal) in the flick look like classy well-equipped tech monsters. I enjoyed watching their action-packed antics, until the lead mutant Kangna Ranaut (who can switch appearances like a chameleon changes colours) ruins it by having a romantic dance number with the cape-clad Hrithik Roshan atop idyllic mountains. 

The wheelchair bound Vivek Oberoi (Kaal) brings flashes of professor X from X-Men into our minds but we soon realise he’s nothing like him. His sinister pastel face, slick back combed hair and high necked black ensemble complement his wicked attitude. He also makes a sizzling entry, sleighing dramatically in the snow, his expressions screaming – ‘I am cold as an icicle.’ Just when we start to revel in the evilness, songs like Raghupati Raghav and God Allah aur Bhagwan do a fabulous job of fouling up the fun moments. Some of the fight sequences were smoooooth! Just like a perfect glass of red wine; they truly reflected ingenuity. One thing that totally gave me the irritable giggles was that the superhero was so jingoistic. Raving about your desh in absolute Manoj Kumar-esque style and repeating ‘Hum sab mein ek Krrish hai’ like innumerable times is hardly going to make us righteous saints.

Special effects and graphics were decent but the artificial sets were an eye sore. The old Hrithik Roshan was an absolute sweetheart, sticking to his Bournvita and deriving all the power from it to crack some of the most critical scientific formulas. His character bought back memories of Koi Mil Gaya which was (if you ask me) the only watchable and whistle worthy superhero movie in Bollywood. We don’t expect fancy-schmancy visuals or mind blowing special effects a la Wolverine or Superman, but refraining from all that mawkishness is not much we are asking for. Also,  in-film branding was way too ‘in your face’. It conjured up images of Hrithik slipping out of his leather get-up and appearing in a salesman-like crease-free shirt and tie in our imaginative heads.

Spoiler Alert!
Everything’s hunky dory in the superbly talented Mehra family; the superhero son is living a happy life with his journalist wife Priyanka Chopra and Bournvita chugging scientist dad. Hrithik is saving lives, the old man is conducting cool experiments and PC is diligently doling out national news until one day Kaal creates a deadly virus that is killing people at the speed of light. He does so with the motive of earning profits as he has the solution to make the antidote as well. So the moment people get desperate, Kaal laboratories (owned by Vivek) pull a rabbit out of the hat and help the infected victims with the life-saving nectar. Kaal is a shrewd science genius who wants to earn a lot of moolah and support his experiments which he undertakes, in order to find the right bone marrow for his body, a part that will finally make him stand erect. His hunger to solve the mystery of his superpowers and his handicap is unquenchable. And thus what ensues is a war between good and evil. Kaal’s malevolent ideas vs Rohit Sharma’s pen-like weapon that bring back people from the dead with the help of sun rays, Krissh’s love for humanity vs Kaal’s desire to be the supreme destroyer.

Verdict: Watch it for Rakesh Roshan’s earnest attempt at creating a superhero flick or else you can always give it a miss and watch it at home when it comes on TV of course, after a couple of weeks.

Rating: ***

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Film: Gravity

Cast: Sandra Bullock and George Clooney

Director: Alfonso Cuaron

Rating: ***/5

Rarely does one encounter a film that excites you visually but leaves you feeling continuously weary at the same time. Alfonso Cuaron’s Gravity suffers from the same mind-boggling setback. A visual masterpiece, it was impossible to look away from the screen lest you should miss even a second of the stunning cinematography. Set entirely in outer space, the film is a work of art, glorious in the way it captures the beauty of circling our blue planet in an infinite universe. Not a big fan of 3D, I understood in the first scene itself how 3D actually added to the experience of the film. Watching George Clooney and Sandra Bullock floating about in space, one could actually feel the absence of gravity, the need to hold on to something, and the complete nothingness within which they floated. At several points during the film I found myself reaching out to touch, or ducking to avoid matter that seemed to fly into the camera. To experience images as sensory devices, triggering real physical reactions was indeed magical — something I last experienced in Jurassic Park perhaps. Excellent use of 3D, no doubt.

And yet, the film didn’t quite engage me the way I had expected it to. Essentially, a personal journey of a mother struggling to overcome the death of her daughter, the film didn’t really invest much time in building on this aspect, in effect rendering her possible redemption incidental to and not crucial to the narrative of the film. An American crew repairing the Hubble telescope is suddenly struck by satellite debris which destroys their ship, breaking communication with Earth and killing everyone except Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) and Ryan Stone (Sandra Bullock). The rest of the film follows these two as they attempt to somehow make their way back to Earth.

While the film absolutely nails recreating outer space — offering interesting point of view shots that never seem to focus on anything (there is after all nothing to focus on) — it lacks depth for it struggles to get into its character’s inner experiences. I wanted to hear more of Bullock, see her fears and anxieties. She was after all a medical doctor in outer space! Surely, there was scope to etch out her character more. At the end of the day, the film seemed too controlled, concise, and formulaic.

The real heroes of the film are Emmanuel Lubezki’s cinematography and Steven Price’s superb soundtrack. You leave the theatre with astonishingly beautiful images in your head and Price’s disconcerting music. Cuaron also uses silence brilliantly, case in point leaving the sequence where a satellite is destroyed by high speed debris, completely mute, highlighting the extent and speed of devastation.

The film is a technical marvel, in keeping with his previous film Children of Men where he shot a stunning five minute long single-shot chase sequence. Bullock gave her best performance to date as a deeply conflicted and troubled mother. My biggest grouse would be that I wanted to see more of Clooney, but then that‘s just greedy me. A must-see nonetheless.

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Movie: Besharam; Starring: Rishi Kapoor, Neetu Singh, Ranbir Kapoor, Pallavi Sharda, Javed Jaffrey; Directed by: Abhinav Singh Kashyap; Rating:**

The number of times Ranbir Kapoor, that simmering restless bundle of unstoppable talent, calls himself ‘besharam’ (shameless) in this movie is not funny. And with good reason, one might add.

The plot is evidently written as a back-handed homage to the 1980s and 90s cinema of outlandish logistics where coincidences covered up for the lack of a sound sense in the script, and every actor screamed his or her dialogues to conceal the embarrassment of doing stuff that no one with an iota of intelligence would attempt. 

But even the logistics of the cinema of the absurd had a rhythm of its own. 

“Besharam”, however, is devoid of rhythm, sur or taal. It’s shot like an ongoing television sitcom where the actors are clueless about which way the intended laughter would take them. Everyone in the movie, from the redoubtable Rishi Kapoor to the gifted-in-her-own-right Himani Shivpuri, is in it just for fun.

I am sure the script, when it was narrated to the actors, must have had them in splits.

And why not? Director Abhinav Kashyap’s debut in Dabangg gave a new language to the Hindi commercial cinema. The language of cocky hero-giri. But then, “Dabangg” featured Salman Khan who does not need to act to impress audiences. He does not even try. 

Ranbir Kapoor in “Besharam” goes the other way. Every scene in the film is an “acting” moment. Ranbir does the equivalent of a very accomplished gymnast who must impress the sports council that he is qualified for the next Olympics.

The director obviously thinks very highly of Ranbir’s talents. So do we. But does that mean he must attack every scene like an audition? There is a desperation in the narration hidden out of our view, but discernible nonetheless. A desperation to project the protagonist as infinitely wacky.

Cynical disregard for basic decency is meant to be cool in this film. In the endeavour to imbue Ranbir’s car-thief character with a sense of mischievous artlessness, the narration becomes woefully heavy-handed. The tone adopted is that of a conversation between two reputed stand-up comedians who are out to prove they can convey the seriousness of existence even while maintaining the jokey tone. 

Everyone, barring the villain Javed Jaffrey, is given funny lines. They speak it with with twinkle-eyed pleasure that, alas, is lost somewhere as it makes its way from the screen to the audience. There are passages of excruciatingly gauche writing where the actors run around in circles, trying to be cute replicas of characters from the movies in the 1990s.

Among these aimless drifters in the province of the potboiler are Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh, playing a corrupt quarrelsome Haryanvi cop couple. Their roles seem to start with the firm resolve that their real-life relation to the hero would be kept completely out of bounds. But then, as the script progresses, real-life references like “Tum toh meri maa samaan ho” (“You’re like my mother”) and “Main tera baap hoon” (“I’m your dad”) creep in, until the margin of satire shrinks to the extent of being non-existent. 

And we finally come to a stage where Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh “adopt” Ranbir’s character!

“Go for it,” Ranbir’s sidekick Titu (well played by Amitosh Nagpal) tells the hero. “You even look like the female cop (Neetu Singh).”

Well, well.

The trouble with mainstream Hindi cinema is that when all is said and done, it is nothing but a star-vehicle. “Besharam” stars off cocking a snook at conventional trappings. It eventually ends up sucking up to cinematic cliches, and with not even a pretence of subtlety.

“Besharam” is clogged with plot-holes into which the characters happily fall. There they remain happily wallowing in the uni-dimensionality of their narrow world-view. 

The fuss, if you must know, is over a posh car bought by the girl that our hero, Bunty, has fallen for. 

That the girl, Pallavi Sharda, seems to belong to another plot and another film is besides the point. 

Bunty loves her, period. And what follows is a series of goofy escapades where Bunty outwits the villain. Laughter.

It is sad to see Rishi Kapoor reduced to sitting on the potty and noisily clearing his bowels. And at one point, the heroine herself asks: “Yeh thoda vulgar nahin ho gaya?” (“That got a little vulgar?”)

Enough, as they say, is too much.

IANS

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Film: Elysium
Cast: Matt Damon, Jodie Foster, Sharlto Copley, Alice Braga, Diego Luna, William Fichtner and Wagner Moura
Director: Neill Blomkamp
Rating: **/5

Set in a futuristic sci-fi environment, “Elysium” is a tale of a hero’s journey. It’s the story of his motive to survive and how he liberates his brethren.

Cut to year 2159. The world is divided into two sets of people, the haves and the have-nots. The rich and the extremely wealthy live on a pristine man-made space station called Elysium while the rest reside in the overtly congested, chaotic, crime-ridden and polluted Earth.

The stories relating to the luxurious lifestyle and state-of-the-art medical facility on Elysium are interesting. It’s this paradise where every earthling vies to escape to.

Young Max (Matt Damon), living in an orphanage is once told by a nun, “Everyone has a destiny, a purpose to live”. So he promises his girlfriend Frey (Alice Braga) that he would take her to Elysium one day.

But years later, Max, an ex-con, single and separated from Frey is a worker in a factory. Due to an accident, he is exposed to high radiation and now he has only five days to live. The only way he can survive is if he can access Elysium’s medical facilities.

With his life hanging in the balance, he reluctantly takes on a dangerous mission. The only way out is by taking the illegal route which is controlled by local crime lord Spider (Wagner Moura).

The deal between the two is that Max kidnaps a leading industrialist and arms supplier John Carlyle (William Fichtner) so that Spider and his buddies can have control over Elysium, and in return Spider would transport Max to Elysium.

However, things don’t work out as planned. Max soon finds himself on the wrong side of Elysium’s ambitious Secretary of Defense (Jodie Foster) and her local agent on Earth, Krugger (Sharlto Copley) and events go from bad to worse to absurd.

Director Neill Blompkamp’s plot is too convoluted, fragmented and unbelievable. The premise and characters all feel like boring recycled archetypes. Even worse, we get a series of silly and convenient circumstances that manufacture a narrow and equally silly plot of one hero who does what every generic hero does. Also, the key antagonist turns out to be some moronic hack and slash mercenary.

The performances of every character range from engaging, over-the-top to confusing. They deliver whatever is expected of them. While Matt Damon is steadfast and consistent, Jodie Foster’s accent wanders but she makes up for her icy screen presence. Wagner Moura as Spider seems to have promise.

Elysium’s greatest strength is its aesthetic vision of future space-crunched Earth. The opening shot is reminiscent of the cityscape opening of “Blade Runner”. But unlike “Blade Runner”, here it is much more rough and gritty, set primarily in harsh daylight and with most of the conflict taking place outdoors.

Also, another irritant is the constant shaky camera work.

Overall, “Elysium” is a well packaged under-developed film.

– IANS Review

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Film: “Maazii”
Cast: Sumeet Nijhawan, Mona Wasu, Mohd Zeeshan Ayub,Pankaj Tripathi

Director: Jaideep Chopra 

Rating:*** 1/2

The disconcerting prelude of this probing piercing pulsating study of crime and atonement is among the best opening sequences I have seen in recent times.

“Maazii”, which means the past, shows extraordinarily talented actor Pankaj Tripathi narrating to a dumbfounded cop in a mofussil thana his adventures at a home that the chronic criminal has just robbed.

In a very matter-of-fact tone Tripathi tells the officer how he raped the wife and killed the matriarch of the family. And then before we can ingest the infinite immorality of the goon’s proclamations, Tripathi kills all the cops and flees.

This is the kind of introduction Quentin Tarantino would have thought of. Or maybe Vishal Bharadwaj on a good hair day. Or maybe Ram Gopal Varma in his “Satya” season.

First time director Jaideep Chopra manages to keep the bloodshed and bullets on an even footing. Even when characters stumble and collapse under the weight of their immorality, the narrative is never caught hobbling on one foot.

Though the happy finale seems a bit of a go-home-happy concession, till the very end the sharply wound up tightly structured screenplay (written by Shirish Sharma and Sumeet Nijhawan, the latter also plays the film’s lead) keeps many steps ahead of us, leading us open mouthed through a labyrinth of crime and retribution.

Uniquely the film first introduces the bad guys. Then we meet the hero, a monk like florist Tarun (Sumeet Nijhawan) with a vivacious wife (television actress Mona Vasu, adequately cast) and a cute daughter.

Even though we know the idyllic family would soon see rough days, there is surprising skill evident in the way the screenplay creates a collage of crises in this nuclear family.

The narration is fitful and filled with events and incidents right till the end. But the wheels of the narration never get jammed with over activity.

Chopra makes vivid use of various locations. The hill station at the start with its postcard-perfect topography almost mocks the lies, uncertainties and the violent past behind the protagonist’s seemingly tranquil life. And the backwater crime towns are captured in their bare essentials. Naked and exposed.

The scenes are written deftly. In the sequences suggesting gut-wrenching violence the director allows the characters space to build the intrinsic tension without having to worry about where the next ‘cut’ would truncate the momentum of their emotional graph.

The in-sync sound is remarkably sturdy and unwavering in its determination to catch the characters’ inner voice as they grapple with the complex morality of their existence.

There are no larger-than-strife heroes in “Maazii”. The one hero that we take away with us is Tarun, who is grappling with the demons of his past by dodging the violence that hits him in the present. It’s a complex role, which newcomer Sumit Nijhawan plays with stoicism and smothered anger.

Just how much of this dispassionate implosiveness is attributable to the actor’s inexperience we do not know. It works fine for the character as he moves from a life of blissful stress free idyllism to a stunning finale that takes him through the cluttered bylanes of Meerut (in Uttar Pradesh) in search of a missing loved one.

The protagonist’s journey is undertaken in the spirit of a reversed pilgrimage. The sins that we presumed were washed away in a past phase revisit Tarun and scoff at his genteel existence. He must move without genteel grace from his working class sobriety to streetwise violence.

Nijhawan gets some unflinching support from actors of impeccable ability, notably Pankaj Tripathi and Mohd Zeeshan Ayub.

Last seen as Dhanush’s best friend in “Raanjhanaa”, Zeeshan makes an arresting appearance as a sharp-shooter in the second half. And Manish Choudhary’s cop act is again supported by credible dialogues.

Everyone gets clever and sensible lines to speak in this crime tale. I’d call “Maazii” the shocking surprise of the season.

Maazii, which means the past, also takes us back to the stylish thrillers of B.R. Chopra like “Dhund” and “Ittefaq”.

The sound design and the fluent and virile cinematography (Surjodeep Ghosh) bolster the ballsy script, whipping up a kind of excitement that is raw and earthy and yet very stylish.

Though set partly in the crime land of Meerut, no one abuses anyone’s mother or sister.

Though this is Chopra’s first film, he doesn’t try to impress with a fusillade of flamboyant gutturalism.

Because you are not force fed the violence you cannot take your eyes off the goings on in “Maazii. It is one of the most watchable films of the year which comes to us without the loud recommendation of stars promoting their products like detergent soaps.

The lather here is legitimate. You cannot miss this one.

– IANS Review

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Cast: Irrfan Khan, Nimrat Kaur, Nawazuddin Siddiqui

Director: Ritesh Batra

Rating: 4.5/5

Newspapers routinely carry stories these days about how finally we have independent, self sufficient female characters in films that are relevant to its narrative. While I agree in most part, I think in portraying these ‘liberated’ women on screen, directors/storytellers often stop themselves right before she can take a radical or unexpected decision. I was upset when Sridevi in English Vinglish decided that she didn’t need love but only respect from her misogynist husband and ungrateful children. Vidya Balan in The Dirty Picture similarly left me slightly baffled; particularly distressing was her choosing death. A gun wielding Parineeti Chopra in Ishaqzaade was such a refreshing character but then why was her fury eventually tamed and turned to love? Kangna Ranaut’s jugni Tanu in Tanu Weds Manu, Deepika Padukone in Cocktail, there are so many such characters that pushed boundaries, but were pulled back right where it mattered most.

The best thing about The Lunchbox is that it doesn’t shy away from crossing lines, and lets its characters choose their journey on their own terms. The final few moments of the film struck me as perhaps the bravest to come out of Indian cinema in the recent past. As Ila, our female protagonist, stands by the window contemplating her future, in her resolve I found the ‘liberation’ that all of the earlier films had failed to produce. This is just how I would have wanted the film to end, in ambiguity, but with hope.

The film uses Mumbai’s famous dabbawala service as its premise and ponders over what would happen if the flawless delivery system was to go wrong once, delivering a housewife’s dabba for her husband to a stranger instead?

Ila (Nimrat Kaur) is a bored housewife, desperate for her husband’s attention who packs up a delicious meal in a dabba hoping to make a place for herself in his heart via his stomach.  Except the dabba is mistakenly delivered to Saajan Fernandes (Irrfan Khan) – a reclusive accountant, on the verge of retirement. What begins here on is an utterly honest and real exchange between the two, over letters that take off awkwardly with conversations about the city and its happenings, slowly moving to personal insecurities, fears, and dreams. Both find in each other the antidote to their loneliness.

The letters never become overbearing or heavy, always keeping it real, speaking the language of everyday people. She writes to him in Hindi; he replies in English. She opens her heart to him; he’s mostly curt and unemotional. And yet, they fill a gap in each other’s lives, helping them realise they want something more, something else.

The character of Ila, burdened by the responsibility of a young daughter, an absent unfaithful husband, a troubled mother and a terminally ill father, needed an actor who could pull off the many layers and complexities that the script allowed her. Admittedly, Nimrat Kaur was absolutely fantastic as Ila, conveying mischief, desperation, loneliness, hopelessness and resolve with flair.  Her interactions with her neighbour ‘aunty’ (a brilliant voice over by Bharati Achrekar) with whom she only talks through her kitchen window were particularly lovely, adding some relief to her otherwise claustrophobic life.

Irrfan Khan as Saajan Fernandes was exceptional. There aren’t enough adjectives to describe his superlative performance as a man who spends most of his day by himself, tapping away on his calculator or puffing cigarettes on his dingy balcony, all alone. He genuinely seemed reluctant to talk, and reply to questions, as if by breaking his reverie someone had encroached upon his personal space.  Awkward and melancholy, Khan was a delight to watch. Nawazuddin Siddiqui as Aslam, Fernandes’ colleague and friend helping unravel Fernandes’ guarded self with well meaning humour and jest, was also fantastic. 

This is easily one of the best films I have watched in years, overwhelming me with its quiet, slow and gentle pace. Ritesh Batra is clearly a master storyteller, turning the simplest of stories into a powerful treatise on love and life.

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Cast: Vivek Oberoi, Aftab Shivdasani, Riteish Deshmukh, Sonalee Kulkarni, Bruna Abdullah, Manjari Phadnis, Kainaat Arora, Karishma Tanna and Maryam Zakaria 
Director: Indra Kumar
Rating: Zero

Grand Masti is one of those films that should never have been made. And even if it was to be made, it shouldn’t have been released on the day that the nation was attempting to come to terms with the death penalty given to the four accused in the December 16 gang rape case in Delhi.

While the filmmakers of this painfully atrocious film said that ‘adult comedy’ can be enjoyed by adults in a humorous environment, the sheer extent of this film’s sexism is appalling. The entire crux of what the film would have us believe is a plot based on notions of viewing the woman as a sexual object, to be seen and enjoyed – exactly the mindset of entitlement that leads to cases of rape in the first place (And no number of death penalties can lead to a change in this attitude)

The film is the sequel of the 2004 film, Masti. In the opening scene of the new film Ritesh Deshmukh, Vivek Oberoi and Aftab Shivdasani are in college and are teaching young, impressionable students about how to enjoy life. They start simply with the alphabet. The letter A is supplemented with a close up shot of women’s buttocks clad in exceptionally skimpy outfits, B leads to a similar shot of women’s chest. This opening scene lays the foundation for the rest of the film and apart from the cheap, sleazy alleged humor in the film, there isn’t much else.

The four, after marriage, find themselves predictably horny but stuck in sexless married lives. Upon receiving an invitation from their college (Shree Lalchand University of Technology and Science, yes, S.L.U.T.S), the four decide that this is their opportunity to gratify their ‘sexual needs’. 

The director seems to believe that the yawning gap left open by the non-existence of a plot could be filled up by overloading the audience with sleazy and bad jokes. Take for instance the fact that the girls that our heroes are chasing are “Rosy, Mary and Marlow”, who are obviously referred to in the film as “Roz meri mar lo”. 

Apart from the unapologetic sexism in this film, there is little else. Heaving bosoms, tight shots of women in hot pants are juxtaposed with sleazy dialogues. The humor itself is forced and doesn’t do much for the audience. In fact, this has been a problem with adult comedies in the film. They seem to believe that odd motley of forced cheap humor and sleaze would somehow lead to a successful film. 

Honestly, no one expected the film to be anything else. Sophistication or intelligence weren’t expected, though some subtlety would have been nice. This film is a lesson in how not to make an adult comedy. Film makers should really realize that unadulterated lechery is not equal to adulthood.

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Film: Grand Masti
Cast: Vivek Oberoi, Aftab Shivdasani, Riteish Deshmukh, Sonalee Kulkarni, Bruna Abdullah, Manjari Phadnis, Kainaat Arora, Karishma Tanna and Maryam Zakaria
Director: Indra Kumar
Rating: Zero

We can re-christen “Grand Masti” as “Dildo Chahta Hai”. And if that sounds crude then wait till you see and hear what Indra Kumar’s new cocksure comedy has in store for you. There is no pulling back from the black hole of luridness this time.

I remember many of Indra Kumar’s film featured a particular tree, which the director considers lucky. There is a tree here in “Grand Masti” too, where a rigid college principal hangs any student who looks with lascivious intent at the girls on the campus.

The three leering…sorry leading men who come together represent the spirit of defiant devil-may-care and chase women. If you feel movies that objectify women must be discouraged, then you are advised to stay as far away from this horny farce as possible.

There are the comedies. Then there are the SEX comedies. Filled with innuendos, suggestive leery double-meaning dialogues that make us chuckle and giggle even if we are not the sort who like to exchange dirty jokes in the SMS, “Grand Masti” has itself a ball at the expense of basic good taste.

The gags in “Grand Masti” unabashedly celebrate the puerile spirit of SMS forwards. If you packaged those pssst-pssst jokes from your puberty in plenty of loud aggressive dialogues loaded with double meanings and oodles of close-ups, you’d get into the spirit of “Grand Masti”.

To their credit Aftab Shivdasani, Vivek Oberoi and Ritesh Deshmukh – now in their mid-30s – get into the spirit of the sex-comedy full-on. Oh, they love talking dirty!

The one thing that works fully in this film’s favour is it unabashed homage to horniness. Our three heroes are perpetually aroused. To prove it they emanate moans groans and sighs constantly.

Kumar has never been a slave to subtlety. Here he pulls out all stops. He also pulls out other ummentionable objects that are defiantly pointed into our faces.

One really can’t complain about the film’s remarkably steep level of innuendos. Not a single member of the audience for “Grand Masti” expects anything but coarse humour borrowed from low-brow Gujarati plays.

Writer Milap Milan Jhaveri’s wickedly wanton word-play leaves no space for subtlety in the script.

Stand-up comedian Suresh Menon shows up as a mock-villain wearing a golden underwear.

The obscenity flows out unstopped, unchecked, uncaring of rudimentary rules of decency. Having declared this to be irreverent territory director Kumar doesn’t really care how lowbrow the humour gets. And the jokes happily really plumb to unimaginable depths.

More than the boys I salute the three pairs of ladies playing the trio of gharwallis and baaharwallis for surrendering to the sexually suggestive spirit of the proceedings.

The writing and direction in a film such as this is either a sign of absolute innocence about political correctness or indicative of an obstinate disregard for all good taste.

– IANS Movie Review

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Film: Zanjeer

Director: Apoorva Lakhia

Cast: Ram Charan, Priyanka Chopra, Sanjay Dutt and Prakash Raj

Rating: Zero

Sher Khan walks into the police station and pulls up a chair to sit. A buffed up Vijay glares at the chair and quite suddenly kicks it out of Sher Khan’s reach with all his might, baring his teeth. He then scowls quite angrily, “Yeh police station hai, tumhaare baap ka ghar nahi!”. 

If the filmmakers expected applause from the audience here, all they got was awkward silence. 

Every two minutes while watching Apoorva Lakhia’s Zanjeer, I would tell myself, “Power through. It’ll all be over soon.” Unfortunately, even in just about two hours, the film managed to ruin the original, make a farce out of the angry young man character, remind us that women are dispensable and give us a good solid headache.

Though Zanjeer launched Amitabh Bachchan’s angry young man phase, it wasn’t exactly the best film in this genre. Yet, the strength to all of his films from this phase lay in the writing. All credit to Salim-Javed, the script-writing duo, who gave India some incredible films like Yaadon Ki Baaraat, Sholay, Deewar etc. While watching Lakhia’s Zanjeer I got the feeling that they had in fact lost the script and were simply faffing around, making up the story as the shoot went by. How else does one explain the utter lack of logic and reason that characterised the film!

Sample this- Vijay (Ram Charan) wants to take the oil mafia in Mumbai down (spearheaded by Teja), and for this he blazes into an illegal slum colony in his expensive SUV, on the hunch that that’s the centre of the oil smuggling network. He literally blows up the entire slum, loss of innocent human life be damned, and walks off in slow motion. Stylish aviators and linen shirt- check.

 The new Vijay is ultra macho, hyper masculine, and perpetually angry. His back story is barely delved into and we never feel invested in his fight against crime. Ram Charan glares, twitches, barks, shouts and pouts his way through the movie, never really emoting at all. I’m quite certain he had more makeup on than Priyanka Chopra. Not a hair out of place, he seemed airbrushed all through.

Priyanka Chopra’s character was utterly pointless and she was infuriatingly annoying. Jaya Bachchan’s ‘chakku-churri’ wielding spunky Mala is replaced by an NRI dimwit whose only aim in life seems to be shopping. Vijay’s confidant and aid Sher Khan (Sanjay Dutt) is perhaps the only human character in the film and Dutt does well to invoke both fear and friendship. I still can’t understand why he was wearing hot pink and yellow kurtas, but then there isn’t much that makes sense in this film.

I was ecstatic at Prakash Raj’s entry, but my joy was short lived since Ajit’s cold and calculating Teja had been mutilated into a clown right out of Sajid Khan’s films. He even ‘meows’ every time he sees Mona (Mahi Gill) mouthing such terrible lines like, “Mona darling, you should only open your mouth for one and only one purpose.”

If this is the filmmaker’s idea of a tribute, then I shudder to think what other films he might threaten to remake next. Zanjeer was and is loved by so many because it spoke of moral corruption just as much as it addressed material injustice. Lakhia drained the film of all its emotions, relationships and reason and filled the gap with well shot action sequences, chiselled bodies, cheap humour and atrocious dialogues. Unfortunately, no one remembers a film that doesn’t bother to take itself seriously, particularly a remake of a classic.

We hear Amitabh Bachchan’s version of the ‘yeh police station hai…’ dialogue at the end of the film and immediately it becomes clear how shallow the remake was. Bachchan’s voice had more power and weight than three hours of clowning about. Salim-Javed must be weeping at this travesty of their masterpiece. 

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Director: Maneesh Sharma

Writer: Jaideep Sahni

Cast: Sushant Singh Rajput, Parineeti Chopra, Rishi Kapoor and Vaani Kapoor

Rating: ***/5

Ah! Finally a film that doesn’t make its audience want to burn the screen down. Directed by Maneesh Sharma, our very own shaadi specialist (Band Baaja Baaraat), Shuddh Desi Romance is essentially a desi version of Runaway Bride, except its the groom who’s the one with commitment issues here.

 Raghuram Sitaram (a consistent Sushant Singh Rajput) is a tourist guide and a small time crook who sells dupattas made by “orphaned children from Iraq” to unsuspecting Americans in Jaipur. He meet Gayatri (Parineeti Chopra) on the way to his wedding and instantly falls in love with her. Given his rather shifty stance on marriage, it takes him no time to dump his would-be-wife Tara (Vaani Kapoor) at the altar and run away. Back in Jaipur, Raghu and Gayatri begin a rather adorable live-in romance, resulting in an eventual marriage proposal from Raghu. Except this time Gayatri isn’t sure and she sprints right away. Cue Tara’s re-entry where she teaches Raghu a lesson or two in humanity and what it feels like to dump someone. They fall in love to some okay-ish music by Sachin and Jigar. Just when Raghu’s made up his mind about marrying Tara, Gayatri returns, asking him to choose her.

 By the end of the film every character has dumped and been dumped by the other at least once. What is interesting is how the film questions the idea of marriage, and actually makes it fun. Gayatri’s reluctance to commit to someone comes from her troubled past relationships, one of which left her pregnant and alone. Raghu, who works part time as a fake wedding baaraati, similarly can’t see honesty in an institution that is filled with nothing but lies. In a country so obsessed with matchmaking and weddings, what happens to characters like these?  At one point Raghu even tells Tauji (Rishi Kapoor) the wedding planner and his confidant, that he should find himself another profession; the idea of marriage is about to die.

Particularly wonderful are the women in this film. Both Gayatri and Tara are independent and whacky in the way that people in real life are. They emerge far more intelligent and sorted than our hero who starts resembling a lost puppy by the end of the film. I cheered hardest in the scene where Tara tells her uncle off for defending her ‘honour’, asserting that she was no one’s responsibility and that he should stick his nose out of her business. Gayatri’s ‘safe-side’ attitude towards life similarly reminded me of so many of my friends.

 While the first half of the film was impeccably paced and packed with some absolutely delightful dialogues written by Jaideep Sahni (who has also written the story and screenplay), the second half tends to drag on and there doesn’t seem to be any chemistry between Rajput and Kapoor. It is only the casual banter and unexpected moments of quirkiness between Raghu and Gayatri that make the film light up again much later. 

 Shuddh Desi Romance is no Band Baaja Baaraat but it definitely has it’s moments of fun and insight. Live-in relationships, marriage, and premarital sex, all are broached but never spelled out or made moral issues. True to Maneesh Sharma’s style, the characters use colloquial language which adds to the charm of the film.

 A double thumbs up for this smart, light and breezy love story that starts with, but doesn’t end with a wedding.

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Director: Prakash Jha

Cast: Ajay Devgn, Amitabh Bachchan, Kareena Kapoor Khan and Arjun Rampal

Rating: 1/5

When you are unclear about why you are making a film, the confusion tends to spill out somehow.

The idea of a modern day satyagraha against corruption sounds engrossing — particularly when

inspired by real life incidents from merely two years ago — however, when the director has nothing

new to say or offer to the narrative against dishonesty, the premise has no way of sustaining an

audience’s interest in the film.

An idealistic man Dwarka Anand aka ‘Daduji’(Amitabh Bachchan) is forced to take on the system’s

wrath once he raises his voice against corruption, following his equally moralistic son, Akhilesh’s

death under suspect circumstances. He turns into a local Mahatma Gandhi, courting arrest and

rousing a social movement against corruption. Manav (Ajay Devgn) is Akhilesh’s corrupt corporatetype buddy who in Daduji finds a father figure and decides to follow the right path. Yasmin Ahmed

(Kareena Kapoor Khan), a big shot journalist, who along with Arjun (Arjun Rampal), the youth leader,

help shape this movement, culminating in the final act of the film — perhaps the most absurd kind

of kraanti. It seemed more like an exercise in self aggrandizement than a people’s struggle. Which

self respecting activist group hangs gigantic posters of only their leaders as if it were a popularity

contest? I particularly couldn’t understand how Yasmin made it to these posters. Wasn’t she

supposed to be an objective, independent reporter?

Ostensibly an ideological film, the characters are all allegedly ‘Gandhian’, yet they seem to have

no clue as to what that means. They swing between violence and non-violence as per their

convenience, and even a gravely ailing Daduji’s rousing speech about peace fails completely to

register any change. Ajay Devgn promptly goes and lands a deafening slap on Manoj Bajpayee’s

cheek in the very next scene!

Perhaps this philosophical oscillation has much to do with Prakash Jha’s vague notion of politics,

where in film after film he raises important questions but settles for easy answers. He never seems

to want to push his questions beyond a point and routinely ends his film with a speech that seems

like a paraphrasing of a school level civics book.

Like all other Prakash Jha films Satyagraha too is basically about relationships. The answer to all

problems, for him is an appeal to the essential humanity of each person, without taking political

sides. Family and friends is what matters and it is these relationships that he affirms his faith in, not

in any idea, system or programme. With the effect that his films tend to look exactly the same (no

thanks to his obsession with casting the same actors repeatedly), where the core issue might be

different, but the final resolution will always be one based on familial affections and love.

Nearly 150 minutes long, the film is exhausting and completely predictable, utilizing every cliché

in Bollywood’s book on political dramas. The music is particularly appalling, and the never ending

background score of Janta rocks! , or Raghupati raghav raja ram are a real pain.

By the end of the film, the filmmaker seems to lose all sense of logic and rationality, turning

the small town of Ambikapur, where the film is set, into a full blown war zone with makeshift

fortifications and ammunition bearing goons. All female characters seem to disappear from the film

(I mean all- there is no woman in sight) by the last scene, where the mob must decide a corrupt

politician’s fate.

Quite troubling, the film was unsettling for the way it reduced an interesting political idea to a

hollow, superficial drama without any conviction.

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Director: Rawson Marshall Thurber

Cast: Jason Sudeikis, Jennifer Aniston, Emma Roberts, Will Poulter

Rating: 2.5/5

Four loafers come together to pose as a happy family on a mission to smuggle drugs into America from Mexico and on this journey together somehow find in each other the family they never had. The premise of We’re the Millers admittedly is quite novel and exciting. The only glitch is that the joke kinda loses steam halfway through and the film never quite ups the ante. Directed by Rawson Marshall Thurber, the film is a mediocre comedy that has it’s moments, managing to elicit a fair amount of laughs from its audience.

David (Jason Sudeikis) is an easy going small time drug dealer who after being robbed of all his cash and stash, is forced by his supplier boss (Ed Helms) to bring back a smidge of drugs from across the border to clear his debt. He realises his best shot at not getting caught at the border is to find himself a fake family out on a harmless vacation in Mexico. For this he turns to Rose (Jennifer Aniston), the local stripper, Kenny (Will Poulter) his naive eighteen year old neighbour and Casey (Emma Roberts) a runaway with issues, and together they make their way across the border and back, pretending to be a typical American family, but failing miserably at it.

The star of the film is quite clearly Aniston, who is a delight to watch as a strong willed stripper. Ever since Friends, she’s somehow always played Rachel and one can see why she signed on to do We’re the Millers, where she gets to stray away from the goody-two-shoes, innocent, and lovable kind she’s always played.

Predictably, there are a number of gags and sexual shenanigans that are more amusing than they are hilarious. With a few baddies and drug lords in tow the adventures of this makeshift family end at a fanciful if not absurd note, leaving one slightly bewildered.

You can save yourself a trip to the movie theatre and keep this one for one of those nights when you need a meaningless comedy to fill the hours.

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Rating: ****/5

Film: “Satyagraha”

Cast: Amitabh Bachchan, Ajay Devgn, Kareena Kapoor, Arjun Rampal, Manoj Bajpayee, Amrita Rao.

Director: Prakash Jha

Prakash Jha’s “Satyagraha” bears no thematic relation to any of his earlier political dramas. It is certainly not a sequel to his “Raajneeti”, as has been reported in some sections of the media. And yes, it is most certainly based on the movement that Anna Hazare started against corruption. To say that Mr. Bachchan’s character Dwarka Anand in “Satyagraha”, lovingly called Dadujee by one and all, and Dadujee’s turbulent relationship with the go-getting NRI-turned-Gandhian-nationalist Maanav Raghvendra(Devgn) does not bear a resemblance to the Anna Hazare-Arvind Kejriwal equation, would be plain blindness.

What Jha and his very able astute and politically informed co-writer and long-time collaborator Anjum Rajabali have done, is to collect together the thematic threads of Anna Hazare’s mass anti-corruption movement and weave it into a gripping, thoughtful, hard-hitting and inspirational drama which contains all the resonances of a newspaper headline, and wrap it up in the semantics of cinema with as little creative violence as possible even while addressing an inherently violent issue.

From the time Jha made his intensely political drama “Damul”, there has been a constant strife between the director’s personal political ideology and its rendition into cinematically interpreted language. Drama and emotions have always been Jha’s bete noire. In his predominantly brutal domain of interpersonal politics, the human drama is played out austerely, often at the cost of squandering away the chance to draw the characters’ innerscape in an elaborately-charted scheme.

In Jha’s “Aarakshan”, we had seen that trademark emotional austerity in the way he portrayed Mr. Bachchan’s relationship with his screen-daughter Deepika Padukone. In “Satyagraha”, one feels the relationship between Mr. Bachchan’s character and his widowed daughter-in-law (Amrita Rao) could have gone a little further. But then Mr. Bachchan is the kind of extraordinary actor who can say so much about his character’s emotional environment in the most meagre playing-time. Here, he has that one moment with Amrita Rao when hearing her sob in the dead of the night, he goes into her room to console her… And we know the kind of deep bonding this powerful patriarch shares with his cruelly widowed Bahu.

There is little time for emotions in Jha’s world of politics and national awakening. Dwarka Anand gets just one sequence to show how much he misses his son. It’s the moment when he returns to the scene of his son’s death… The father’s anguish here is palpable, throbbing with unexpressed grief. And then before we can wallow in the moment, Jha’s editor Santosh Mandal mercilessly tears us away from this poignant scene of a father’s loss.

In my favourite sequence, Mr. Bachchan shares a son-like camaraderie with Devgn’s character telling him how he would miss Devgn when he leaves the next day. It is a deeply contemplative moment where Devgn reacts to Mr. Bachchan’s supple emotions with rare care and attention.

Hold on to these infrequent episodes of emotional expression in this turbulent tale of awakening the nation’s conscience where there is no room for individual’s self-indulgence. In fact, Devgn’s growing fondness for the TV journalist Yasmin Ahmed(Kareena Kapoor, lighting up every frame) and the sudden burst of a acutely romantic song seems to belong to some other time-zone.

You see, there’s the business of the country’s future to be attended to. And who better at creating a cinema of socio-political reform than Prakash Jha? The director constantly wrenches away from his individuals’ personal feelings to focus on the broader picture.

Jha’s narration gets busy with the business of swooping down on huge crowds of anxious restless people looking for a way out of the country’s scam-frozen destiny. It’s a world built on the premise of socio-political reform that Mahatma Gandhi and Jayaprakash Narain dreamt of and Anna Hazare attempted to bring to fruition.

There’s an abundance of references to mobilisation of youth power through the Internet and mobile. “Satyagraha” probes and questions the validity and motivation of any mass movement that is born out of an inividual’s genuine passion for reform. The pitfalls of such a mass movement are brought into play with a vingery mixture of broad drama and subtle humour.

It is no coincidence that the film’s arch-villain is a politiciam portrayed as a kind of evil clown. Manoj Bajpayee plays the scummy ‘scammy’ brazely corrupt politician with lipsmacking relish. His smirky villainous neta act works as a perfect foil to Mr. Bachchan’s controlled never overdone messianic act.

Devgn, in the all important role of the ambitious entrepreneur who becomes a catalyst for social change, could have taken his character much further down the road of self-articulation. On the other hand, Arjun Rampal has limited scope as a goonda-turned-self-appointed youth leader. He has great fun sinking his teeth into the rustic accent and boorish body language.

While the three main actors play off with each other with supple grandeur, some other supporting actors and characters are played at much too broad a pitch to be effective. When a corrupt policeman takes off his uniform to join the mass movement, you feel the script is teetering dangerously towards over-idealism.

But the message must be, and is, loud and clear. It is time for the nation to chase away damnation before it’s too late. Jha’s film is a timely wakeup warning, a massive clarion call for the conscience, brilliantly manifested in Prasoon Joshi’s title song which tells us enough is enough, and listen… getting Gandhian on the cancerous community of corrupt politicians is a symptom of cowardice.

“Satygraha” conveys the uncontrollable anger and energy of a nation on the brink. For telling it like it is and for creating a compelling film out of the raw material of present-day corruption, the film deserves a standing ovation.

– IANS Review

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Director: Shoojit Sircar

Cast: John Abraham, Nargis Fakhri, Siddharth Basu

Rating: 2.5

As members of the Tamil activist group Naam Tamizhar managed to block the screening of Madras Cafe in Tamil Nadu, the rest of the country still managed to catch Shoojit Sircar’s latest, starring John Abraham and Nargis Fakhri. The problem with pre-release controversies is that when someone declares a film to be offensive and politically problematic in advance, as a viewer you begin to look for every small error that might suggest the film’s moral bankruptcy. I found myself doing the same and at several points I felt that the film seemed to tread very close to becoming a thriller that demarcated its black and whites very clearly. Anna (Ajay Rathnam) is quite obviously modelled on LTTE leader Prabhakaran and is often criticised in the film for being a megalomaniac, hell bent on sacrificing human lives just to have his way. The naive nationalist zeal with which special army officer Vikram Singh (John Abraham) and senior RAW bureaucrat Robin Dutt (Siddharth Basu) approach the Sri Lankan civil war situation is most bizarre. In one scene Dutt wonders if they have a Vietnam on their hands and it becomes quite difficult to disagree with him on that. The film doesn’t quite delve into why and how Indian military forces became embroiled in the conflict in the island, and instead takes off from the year 1987 after which India’s mission was to break up the LTTE dominance in Sri Lanka and conduct peaceful elections. If it had in fact spoken about India’s desire to interfere in its neighbour’s affairs so as to project itself as superior, maybe the film would have gone on to become truly extraordinary.

Keeping things simple, Singh is packed off to Jaffna where he must negotiate with the LTTE and attempt to break it from within. What follows is a series of whirlwind episodes of conspiracy, intrigue, backstabbing and mass murder that end with the Indian forces’ eventual embarrassing retreat from Sri Lanka. The second half of the film then follows the threat to the ‘Ex-Prime Minister’s life (an obvious allusion to Rajiv Gandhi).

Abraham as a no nonsense army officer haunted by the scars of war is effective, registering his best performance till date. The best thing about the film is perhaps Kamaljeet Negi’s cinematography, capturing some terribly poignant and moving images of a people displaced.

Though one must commend Sircar’s intelligent use of the Sri Lankan civil war situation to weave an engaging and at points thoroughly engrossing story, one is left slightly discontented with the shifty and almost apologetic stand it takes on the political questions the film itself raises. It seems the filmmaker was careful not to piss off either the Congress or the Sri Lankan governments and in effect couldn’t make up his mind about who the real terrorists were. Overall, a well made thriller that had the potential to be much, much more.

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Rating: ****

Film: “Madras Cafe”; Cast: John Abraham, Nargis Fakhri and Raashi Khanna; Director: Shoojit Sircar

If only history could be changed by art. Cinema is a powerful medium for socio-political expression and revolution. Alas, in this country, entertainment engages all other aspects of life on celluloid.

But seriously, it’s time now to get off the “Chennai Express” and get into “Madras Cafe” for a cup of the compelling. We need a reality check. And we need to regain a sense of history in Bollywood cinema which seems lost in the hoary art of streetside tamasha, glorified and aggrandized by processes of cinematics that are perceived to be the elixir of pop culture.

It is time for mainstream entertainment to grow up. Heightened realism is a means to achieve a synthesis of fantasy and history in this deftly scripted semi-fictional account of the processes leading to Rajiv Gandhi’s tragic assassination in 1991.

The trenchant script, co-written by Somnath Dey and Shubendu Bhattacharya, attempts and succeeds in building the same spiral of pseudo-history that Oliver Stone built in “JFK”. I feel Indian politics, because of the country’s multi-culturism, is far more complex than its American or European counterpart. Our cinema tends to dilute, simplify and trivialise history because we are much too wary of and lazy about getting involved.

Not Shoojit Sircar. Not “Madras Cafe”. Not John Abraham. What a courageous producer and actor John has proven himself to be! More of that later.

But first the plot.

Let me say right away, that to understand the enormity of the story told in “Madras Cafe”, the audience ought to be familiar with the violent history of the Sri Lankan civil war. But even if you don’t know that thousands of Tamilians died in the war of separatism, it is no sweat off the screenplay’s back.

Tucked away in the compelling creases of the plot is a terrific thriller about the assassination of a prime minister, who, let it be known, is not named in the film. Nor are the LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam), Prabakaran and the other key players. But then this is India. Here, secrecy and stealth are the founding fathers of any political expose.

But you can’t escape the clutches of history’s tyranny. Sircar’s skillful interweavement of fact and fiction leaves little room for scepticism. We know as we watch with helpless astonishment, that the ‘Prime Minister’ will die, that the hero in this case won’t be able to save him.

Such are the heroes in real life. Unsung, sizes smaller than life. John Abraham skips into the part of the RAW agent Vikram Singh with an ease and comfort of a natural-born secret agent. If James Bond or for that matter Kabir Khan’s Tiger were to have any truck with real-life politics, they would have been as believably brave and as credibly heroic as John in this film.

Every actor seems to take a cue from the vast resources of authenticity at their disposal. Specially riveting is Prakash Belawade as John’s associate, who seems to drink hard to escape from the enormity of his compromise. Even Nargis Fakhri, so self-consciously affected as Ranbir Kapoor’s doomed soul-mate in “Rockstar”, nails her war correspondent’s part with her radiant presence. But I have a quibble with her character Jaya. Why does Jaya speak in English while Vikram answers in Hindi?

The linguistic puzzle never quite obstructs the devastating drama of war violence conspiracy and betrayal. These are dramatic points of political reckoning. And yet Sircar keeps the proceedings subdued and low-key. It’s a miracle how Sircar’s narrative voice never gets shrill even when the occasion is so ripe for over-statement.

Plenty of the credit for the tonal correctness of the narrative must go to Kamaljeet Negi’s brilliantly unadorned cinematography, which locks in on stunning visuals of violence and espionage-related action without falling into the mistake of making the frames look prettier than the grim situation that they are meant to capture.

Sircar’s editor Chandrashekhar Prajapati imbues a documentary style mood to the footage. But the sense of cinematic expansiveness is retained in the way the camera moves through the characters’ restless lives, searching for positions of comfort in a situation laden with desperate anxiety.

There’s a whole lot of stifled drama in “Madras Cafe”. When a key character dies in the second-half, the tragedy is handled without fuss. John’s tight-lipped performance gives the film a sense of tragic grandeur. We constantly feel we are in a territory where drama has no place. The soundtrack is exceptionally honest. Shantanu Moitra’s background music underscores every scene without hammering in the emotions.

“Madras Cafe” is a dark deep and satisfying film about the politics of separatism. The film doesn’t take sides. If it is against anything, it is the culture of violence that nations often feed into neighbouring countries for their own gains. This film opens up the hitherto unexplored genre of political drama in Bollywood.

After “Vicky Donor”, we know Sircar is comfortable exploring innovative cinematic territory. Here, he tells an edgy disturbing provocative but rational and fair-minded story that takes mainstream Bolywood cinema kicking and screaming into a new horizon.

This is cinema signifying a coming-of-age with unforgettable visuals and drama and a rousing mature career-defining performance by its leading man.

Get off the train, baby. This is arguably the best political thriller that Bollywood has so far given us.

By Subhash K. Jha, IANS

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The ending of Once Upon a Time in Mumbai Dobara! leaves one with a dreadful feeling that the filmmaker is not quite done with this franchise, letting the threat of a part three dangle over a thoroughly exhausted audiences’ heads. While the first film was quite tolerable, with some interesting moments taking us back to a time when movies were dialogue driven, the sequel is downright annoying.

Writer- director duo Rajat Aroraa and Milan Luthra had packed the first film with a lot of punch, contextualising the story of Mumbai’s gangsters by tracing the rise and fall of an ethical don Sultan Mirza (Ajay Devgn) and his eventual replacement by Shoaib Khan (Emraan Hashmi). The film alluded to the story of real-life gangsters- Haji Mastan and Dawood Ibrahim which definitely added to the appeal of the film. The sequel however, takes all the substance out of the film and leaves us with rather hollow characters engaging in a non-stop dialogue-baazi session. While yesteryears films revelled in such witty exchange of lines, OUATIMD falls flat on its face. The dialogues and film are neither taali-maar nor ‘paisa- vasool.

Nearly three hours long, the film’s first half shows promise but can never quite find its rhythm. Akshay Kumar as Shoaib Khan is dull, delivering his dialogues in a guttural monotone. Donning huge sunglasses and smoking continuously, his character claims to be far more menacing than he actually turns out to be. Imran Khan as Aslam is a total misfit, visibly uncomfortable playing a small time mawwaali. He should probably stick to playing English speaking, urban, yuppy boys. Sonakshi Sinha as Jasmine, the object of both our heroes’ attention, is decent, but there isn’t much to her character anyway. Even in a done to death storyline about a love triangle and friendship, our heroine has so little to do that the film looks more like a bromance.

OUATIMD makes references to films like Amar Akbar Anthony and its characters seemingly occupy the same universe as Manmohan Desai’s unforgettable street smart heroes. Unfortunately the film only pays lip service to the masala genre that Desai pioneered, failing completely to capture the heart and soul of the streets of Mumbai as well as the absolute terror that gangsters inspire.  Hopefully, Luthra will spare us the horror of sitting through another sequel.

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